Moroccan Spices (Continued - Part 3)

Started here:

http://realitybytes101.blogspot.com/2009/12/moroccan-spices.html

Continued from here:

http://realitybytes101.blogspot.com/2009/12/moroccan-spices-continued.html

Chande noticed Chuck grimacing, “Are you ok?”

“Yeah, Chuck is just used to a fairly tight schedule and hasn’t eaten this morning – got to feed the machine you know” said Chuck, valiantly attempting to mask the stabs of pain piercing through the lower half of his body.

In deep storytelling mode, Chande shrugged off Chuck’s unusual body language and continued, “So obviously Dan is hinting that I should pay for the calls so I offer, and he replies with "Thanks for offering, yes that would be great."



Realizing that he was now doing Chande a disservice by not focusing 100% on her situation and instead worrying about the impending bowel obstruction he was facing, Chuck reached into his jacket pocket and slipped on his Ray Ban Aviators, allowing his eyes to be covered and delved deeply into his happy zone and began Transcendental Meditation of which he was a master. Chuck’s pain quickly dissipated and his clarity returned.

“So you’re telling Chuck that this squeezer left you in a foreign country – one that’s not always known for it’s delightful treatment of women, and now expects you to square away his phone bill?” queried Chuck.

Shocked by Chuck’s sudden crispness of focus, Chande blurted “Yeah, it was two phone calls. Worth a total of £80. And yes that is expensive - I agree - but no more expensive than a night out. And I should throw in here that he lives at home, pays no rent. And I'm now about to stump up $160 for two phone calls. And I'm not exactly broke but I don't live at home and $160 is not spare change for me”.

“You spend $160 on a night out? Are you an alcho?” asked Chuck incredulously.

A sheepish Chande admitted, “I don’t mind a drop”.

  

Chuck’s adrenalin had now kicked in and he was functioning at his usual higher than the average human being level again. He stared out to the ocean and ruminated on all that Chande had offered. After 5 minutes, he turned back to Chande, “Chande, when Chuck saw you this morning it looked for all intents and purposes that you were ready to head into the early morning surf and not return like Bhodi in Point Break”.

Chande chuckled.

“Let Chuck make a few assumptions. Number 1, you’re actually contemplating paying the bill. Number 2, you’re prepared to accept that leaving you alone in Morroco was ok because he was sick. Number 3, you actually feel bad that you ran up his bill and number 4, you’re disappointed that you were attracted to a tight wad loser.”

Chuck eyes burned with passion and he radiated confidence. Chande sat slack jawed in awe.

“Oh my, you just covered every thought that was running through my head.” Then in rapid fire Chande continued “I know I shouldn't pay, but I know I will. I know I'm a total mug. I'm really disappointed he turned out to be such a tight-arse loser. Is it just me or is it really cheap to ask a chick to stump up for two panicked phone calls she made because you left her stranded in a foreign country?”

“Yeah Chuck just said all that” deadpanned Chuck.

Chuck grabbed a handful of sand and put on his most serious face. Holding his hand up, Chuck slowly let the sand fall out the bottom, “like the sands of time…”

Chande leaned in closer, ready to absorb Chuck’s wisdom.

Chuck quickly opened his hand and let all the sand drop out. “I always wanted to say that”.

Chande slumped back.

“Look my girl, first and foremost, no decent bloke leaves a woman/ date stranded in a foreign country, unless customs just found marijuana in your boogie board case and your facing 20 years to life, in that case its ok to do a runner. It’s a bullshit move and Chuck believes that you should be outraged at that straight off the bat. Now you’ll argue that he was delirious 
and not thinking straight and Chuck will implore you to stop making excuses for this drop kick and hate him for it like he deserves. Once you have mustered up enough hatred, all of your other problems will dissolve away.”

“How does that work?” asked Chande.

“Well, if you truly begin to despise his actions and in turn this guy, you’ll quickly realize that there is no fucking way you’re paying his poxy phone bill. If anything, he should be paying it and paying you damages,” continued Chuck

“Yeah but I ended up having a good time” said Chande.

Chucks eyes narrowed “Will you stop covering for this fuck knuckle?” Coincidentally (and now with a better understanding of your affinity for boozing) you met a group of decent people who you had a good time with. You’re using that to help justify things. Chuck’s sure that if you were kidnapped and forced into prostitution, you’d spend your time in between blowing middle eastern business men cursing Dan the little man and conspiring to slaughter him if you ever managed to escape like the Count of Monte Cristo”

Chuck emphasized his last point with a sharp finger point.

Chande nodded.

“So to get things right in your head, you were completely justified in using his phone in this situation and you will not be paying a cent to this dude, ‘ Chuck summarized.

“And before you even say a word” said Chuck just as Chande was opening her mouth. “Stop even worrying about dating a dude with moths in his wallet. You weren’t to know based on two months dating that he was a cheapskate.”

Chuck could sense that he had brightened Chande’s disposition as she was now openly smiling, “however, you should focus a little more on Chuck’s blog since if you really dialed in, you would have known that going on this trip was ill fated anyway based on the short tenure of your dating history. You claim that it was going to be free and easy, but there was obviously a little more to it. Unfortunately for you, you had to find out that this guy was a penis in a foreign land with no support”.

Chande was now beaming.

“Oh Chuck, you have been a ray of sunshine. I’d been beating myself up over this for weeks. I feel rejuvenated” said Chande as she suddenly lunge at Chuck and put a monstrous bear hug on him which was surprising since she was so diminutive in stature.

The surprise and speed of the hug caught Chuck off guard which abruptly cut off the Transcendental Meditation that Chuck had been practicing for the past 15 minutes. With the focus now cut and Chande’s squeezing, Chuck’s bowels sprang back to life aggressively. All of a sudden Chuck broke out in a full body sweat, had piloerections erupt all over his body and his rectum began to pulsate.

Realising that he was about to defecate in his shorts, Chuck squeezed Chande back hard, using the hug as a guise to hide his desperate attempt to slam his sphincter shut. Chande took Chuck’s reciprocation of the hug to mean that he was enjoying the embrace and ratcheted up the intensity even further. Chuck was now in full panic mode, it felt like he was trying to hold onto a bowling pin with his anus. Despite all of Chuck’s mental power, he could feel the inevitable slide of poop coming. He quickly released Chande from his arms, stood up as quickly as possible, ripped off his shirt and started running somewhat awkwardly for the surf.

A stunned Chande called out “Chuck, what are you doing?”

Always one blessed with a quick mind, Chuck screamed, “Chande, today is your rebirth” and then quoted Acts 22:16 “And now why tarriest thou? arise, and be baptised, and wash away thy sins, calling on the name of the Lord.”

 A blazing smile broke out on Chande’s face and tears welled in her eyes as she scrambled to remove her jumper.

Chuck dove headfirst into the water just as his bowels emptied. Swimmingly madly to escape the sewerage that he’d just dumped, Chuck ventured out deeper and then turned to watch Chande dip herself into Chucks murky wake. Chuck trod water as Chande surfaced and began her new life, confident that with his vindaloo blessing, she would have the strength and courage to make it.

Moroccan Spices (Continued)

Continued from:

http://realitybytes101.blogspot.com/2009/12/moroccan-spices.html

Upon hearing Chuck’s name, Chande raised her eyebrows and asked “do you write an awesome relationship blog?”

Chuck nodded in the affirmative.

Chande’s face suddenly flushed with colour (which was a good thing considering that her complexion resembled cold porridge only 1 minute before). “Oh my god, I read that blog religiously!”

Taking note of the sharp pain in his abdomen Chuck smiled and encouraged Chande to continue with her tale, before his sphincter erupted.

“oh, yes, ok, well I guess I should give you some background” said Chande.

Chuck started to employ some of his meditation tricks – focusing on his breathing in the hope that he could control his internal workings enough to get through Chande’s situation, dispense some key advice that would likely alter the course of her destiny AND make it to a toilet in time to lay some wolf bait.

Chande adjusted her woollen jumper and began, “This story starts about 20 months ago, when I met a cute blonde in a London club and we started dating. His name was Dan.” Chande’s eyes sparkled as she recalled her earliest interactions with Dan. “About two months later I had to leave for Sydney, but we got on so we stayed in touch. Eighteen months pass and we're still in touch, and I've booked a trip back to England and a side holiday to Morocco, to go surfing. I told him about the trip and after one of my mates pulled out, he agreed to come along.”

Chuck frowned, if Chande was a true Reality Bytes reader, she would have known that nothing other than a tasty shag was going to come out of this. If she was such a fan of Chuck’s work, how on earth was she sitting on the beach at the arse crack of dawn mulling over sinister solutions to her malaise?

Detecting Chuck’s line of thinking, Chande quickly responded, “Chuck, I was a bit wary of this, I hadn't seen the guy in 18 months, but I figured it's just going to be a fun week. I'm not up for anything more than a week-long fling, I'm not about to start a long-distance relationship with someone I dated for two months.”

Chuck breathed a sigh of relief which had the potentially disastorous effect of loosening his date hole and nearly ended this interaction in the most foul way. Chuck bit the side of his mouth and clamped his clacker shut in the nick of time. With eyes watering, Chuck motioned for Chande to continue.

“So we meet up in London before we go to Morocco and everything is cool. We still get on, and all is good and I really start looking forward to the week in the sun.
We get to the airport, grab the flight and arrive at the Moroccan surf camp just after midnight. Straight to bed and up really early, for a day of surfing. We're surfing with a whole heap of people staying at the villa, and it's great, I'm loving it. The sun however is scorching and I'm under the umbrella when I'm not in the water. Dan, however, is lying in the sun going pinker and pinker….”

“Fucking geezers” said Chuck, not being able to help himself, “Are they not aware of the damaging effects of ultra violet radiation?”

“Yeah, a few people suggested to Dan that he get out of the sun to which he simply says "Nah man I just tan up..."

On the way back to the villa, Dan starts acting oddly. Really oddly. Then we get into this very minor car accident and suddenly he's panicking.”

“Was he carrying a 20kg brick of marijuana in the trunk?” asked an inquisitive Chuck.

“Err, I don’t think so” responded Chande.

Chuck could feel his bowels percolating and knew he had to speed up this process. “Please go on” he encouraged Chande.

“By the time we get back to the villa he's having a full on panic attack. He is talking rubbish about being confused, not able to think straight and thinking he's going to die if he stays in Morocco.”

“Ok, so maybe he wasn’t trafficking dope, but it sure sounds like he was smoking his fair share of it,” blurted Chuck.

“Yeah, we’d smoked some hash but it was the night before, surely it wouldn’t be having this effect the next day?” said Chande.

Realizing that he was focusing more on his bowel movements than the finer points of this story, Chuck nodded in agreement and attempted to dial in his concentration. “Please continue”

“Then, out of nowhere, he announces he is leaving Morocco. He says he simply has to get out of the country, he just can't stay. He calls his family to get them to book him the next flight out of the country, which is from Marrakech - not the airport we flew into - and it’s a four hour cab drive away. He’s in the cab at 1am....23 hours after he arrived in the country...leaving me by myself in a foreign country with strangers that I've only just met.”

“He had heat stroke” Chuck said, suddenly infused with clarity.

“How did you know that?” asked Chande.

“Chuck’s been around, my dear. Heat stroke presents with a core temp of 40 °C and often results in confusion and lack of sweating. Your boy spent all day cooking himself in the sun while surfing and then went mental – it was a fairly simple diagnosis” Chuck shrugged.

“WOW, you’re the best,” gushed Chande.

Chuck was now violently biting down on the coffee stirrer that he had picked up earlier that morning to try to dull the pain throbbing through his gut. Sweat was gushing down his butt crack and the muscles in his thigh were beginning to spasm. Knowing that a steaming log was no more than 30 minutes away, Chuck signaled with his hands for Chande to continue and asked “So how did you feel and respond?”

“Well, I was pretty thrown by this. I should mention that I decided that I would stay, and that since he was leaving, and my phone wasn't working, I was keeping his phone in case I needed to call someone. In which case I actually did - I panicked and called my parents and then my sister because I didn't know what to do...stay? Get on the next plane? Also, after getting two phone calls from me - they also called me a couple of times to check that I was okay and still alive. I kept telling them I was all-good but they being parents and all wanted to know that I was safe after being left in a foreign country by myself. 


“In the middle of the week, I get a phone call from Dan. He's been to a doctor who told him that actually he had sunstroke (Chande gazed admiringly at Chuck). Of course it all makes sense in hindsight...delirium is actually a symptom of sunstroke!! But to be fair, I can't help but think it's his own damn fault...lying in the sun for three hours and drinking no water. He practically deserved it. I have a great time by the way, and thank god for the group of Scottish guys and girls that were hanging out at the villa, my holiday would have been totally ruined if it weren't for them.”

Chuck was now under considerable physical duress and was finding it difficult to be his usual congenial self. Chande providing her holiday snap shot story made Chuck feel like he was watching an episode of Getaway. “I’m, glad you ended up having a great trip” Chuck responded, his voice now operating at a higher octave as he fought his internal fecal demon.

Sensing that Chuck was keen to cut to the chase, Chande continued, “Oh, yes, anyway I get back to London and give him his phone, and he is so awkward with me it is unreal. Can't even take five minutes for a cup of coffee. I'm a bit annoyed but I figure he's too embarrassed. So I say nothing. I get back to Australia and get a couple of emails from him and then I get a really odd email asking if I made a couple of calls on his phone to Australia. I read the email again and start to sense he is hinting at me to pay for them. Part of me says "Ignore and don't even think about offering" and the other part of me thinks "Surely he doesn't mean that. Offer and give him the chance to refuse, like he should".

Chuck’s meditation breathing techniques had now failed him and he was sucking in short sharp breaths like a woman about to give birth. His body was covered in a sheen of sweat and his intestines felt like a cement mixer was operating inside them. To make the situation worse, Mrs Long had made her patented Indian Vindaloo the night before.

Tune in Friday to see if Chuck can prevent his sphincter from rupturing before helping Chande.

Great Expectations

As we all know Christmas Day is anxiously looming upon us. Well maybe not so much the day but more so pressure of buying the right gift for the one we hold the nearest and dearest to our hearts… or farts.

Being woman of the world and the bearer of many fabulous gifts from her numerous lovers over the years she can still not tell you the right gift to buy for your partner but she can offer you the right advice when selecting your gift for that someone special.

The other night I was enjoying a bbq at my cousin Richard’s. Now Cousin Dick is 32, good looking, intelligent most days and has the right assets behind him however last year for Christmas he bought his girlfriend a boogie board and naturally it didn’t go down too well.

"When choosing the present I thought it was a great idea since we were going to Bali however when I gave it to her it didn’t go down too well. So this year I don’t want to get it wrong, do you have any suggestions for me?" asked Cousin Dick.

After listening intently Madame Boodwah made herself comfortable on the banana chair while taking a sip from her Pimms and dry (her drink of choice for the summer) by the pool as Cousin Dick turned his Germanic sausage on the barbie.

"Firstly I think we should start from the basics. Men are from mars and women are from venus in simpler terms you have a penis and she has a vagina. How more different could you be?" stated Madame Boodwah before going into a tale where she lived and breathed it.

When Madame Boodwah was a teenage girl she had a boyfriend named Bob (yes the men Madame Boodwah dated weren’t that exotic back then) who just didn’t get it. Christmas was coming up and I was dropping hints left right and centre but do you think he picked up on it? No. He kept saying ‘You’re really going to love it. It’s quite creative, it’s your sort of thing.’

On the morning of Christmas Day he came round to give me the present. He walked into the house with a big box. The Boodwah’s were sitting in the living room exchanging and unwrapping gifts when finally Bob gave me his present. After unwrapping the package a Purple Lava Lamp from Thingz was revealed. Needless to say Madame Boodwah was horrified and murmured ‘gee, cool, thanks' while trying to act pleased.
'You can put that put that right next to your bong’ Brother Boodwah joked. 
Where was the nice bracelet, earrings or necklace???? Where was the present that told me I was the centre of his universe and how special I was to him? Where was the present that told me he knew and understood who I was? But then maybe he knew exactly who I was and I was completely disillusioned about myself. Either way whatever the truth was it hurt. The tears were welling up in my eyes as I looked to Nana Boodwah ‘Nana I’m not a freak am I?’ she wrapped me in a warm embrace ‘There, there darling. Lava Lamps are great, Papa Boodwah and I have one in our sex dungeon.’ It was in that moment Bob realised he was never going to be a Boodwah and I started to wail.

Upon reflection to that day 15 years ago Madame Boodwah has acknowledged that he did put some effort into that present but were on completely different pages as she was a romantic and was expecting something sentimental so was severely disappointed. Romance is part of Madame Boodwah’s DNA after all.

“So dear Cousin Dick when buying a Christmas present this year for your beloved have a good think about who she is as person, what’s important to her, what she is interested in and with a touch of romance somehow magically turn that into a present but remember it’s all about her. It’s also probably a good idea to run it past her best friends.” Said Madame Boodwah.

‘What’s in it for me?’ asked Cousin Dick

‘An increased rate of BJ’s per week.’ Replied Madame Boodwah

Before writing this post Madame Boodwah asked her inner circle of friend/s about this subject and what was the worst present they had ever received or given a partner Christmas Day;

1. Snorkelling Gear

2. A bottle of Jim Beam

3. A wallet after her partner gave her a very expensive gold bangle

4. Sex toys in front of her family

5. A voucher for a Brazilian downstairs

6. Make-up

7. An iron

8. A stolen necklace

9. Battle Axes

10. Nothing

So dear readers what’s the worst present you have ever received or given a loved one?

Moroccan Spices

Being a keen outdoors man, Chuck often finds himself in weird and wonderful places at odd hours. Whether it be running with the bulls in Pamplona, hanging off the Muir Wall at El Capitan in Yosemite National Park, filming survival videos in tropical jungles or base jumping off high rises in Asia, Chuck is constantly pushing the boundaries. So it is with these adventures in mind that Chuck decided to head to Bondi beach at dawn to catch waves when the Great Whites feed. The sun was just considering it’s rise, sending out stray streams of pink and yellow into the morning sky as Chuck began his complex set of stretching and limbering exercises to ensure that he was ready for maximal shredding the minute he hit the water.

Once every fibre in Chucks lean muscular body was limber and loose, he tugged on the chord of his wet suit, said a brief Buddhist prayer in order to awaken his inherent inner capacities of strength, compassion and wisdom, picked up his custom hand-made surfboard and set off toward the surf. The morning air was crisp and full of potential and Chuck dipped his foot into the cool Pacific Ocean. Stopping to take in the breathtaking scenery, Chuck’s attention was captured by a forlorn soul slumped on the sand in the distance.

Chuck used these morning adventures for a number of reasons. 1) To challenge himself, 2) to spike the adrenal glands and 3) to clear the mind of the daily challenges he faces on this very blog. Continually dishing sound advice and support takes its toll on the strongest minds. Perhaps many moons ago when Chuck was less responsible and more impetuous he would have ignored the figure on the beach and headed for the breaking waves, but as a conscientious man with a sense of purpose, Chuck could not ignore the despair and sadness that this individual was giving off and knew that he had to lend a hand.

Chuck removed his wetsuit and stowed his $14,000 surfboard on the way to an early opening café. Grabbing two extra hot skinny flat whites and a sachet or two of sugar, Chuck headed back to the beach, looking to offer a shoulder. The darkened spirit was in the place that Chuck had last seen them. Walking in a non-confrontational manner, Chuck quickly realized that the figure was a lady, a damsel potentially in distress. Chuck approached cautiously, after all, this person was unfamiliar to Chuck and although she was giving off all sorts of non verbal SOS’s, Chuck couldn’t be sure that she wasn’t just some methamphetamine junkie on the come down, ready to roll some good Samaritan for his loose change so that she could get her next fix.

Offering the hot cup of brew, Chuck said good morning to the young lady. Somewhat startled by the unexpected company (which was odd, since the beach was empty and Chuck had approached from at least 50 metres without making any effort to quiet his approach). The young lady lifted her forehead off her arms that were spread across her raised knees and looked at Chuck. Chuck was taken aback by her appearance. This attractive lady had been ravished by stress, worry, lack of sleep and sand blasting from sitting on the beach all night as the wind whipped in off the ocean. The young lady reached for the gift of coffee and took a long pull on the contents of the cup. As she eagerly gulped, Chuck decided not to offer the sugar sachet, assuming that she was sweet enough. The young lady gestured for Chuck to pull up some space next to her, and never being one to disappoint, Chuck obliged. The adventurer and the troubled soul spent the next 20 minutes sitting in silence, staring at the spectacular surf drinking their coffees.

As the morning began to warm up, Chuck felt a certain urge and knew that it was time to make a move.  Removing the lid of his take away coffee cup, Chuck downed the last of his coffee and smiled at the young lady. As Chuck was lowering his cup and preparing to act, the young lady reached over and grabbed Chuck by his right forearm, “please stay a little longer” she asked. Chuck grimaced; his stomach was churning and his butt crack was beginning to sweat, it was time for his morning constitutional.

Taking a deep breath, Chuck focused on clenching his sphincter and looked at the young lady, hoping like hell that she would start talking which at least would serve as a distraction to the mounting pressure in Chuck’s bowels. Chuck starting grabbing the beach sand with his toes and using that pressure to temper the uprising in his small intestine.

The young lady cleared her obviously dry throat, pushed her long brown hair behind her ear in order to give her a clear sight line to Chuck and introduced herself as Chande (there is meant to be an accent over the e but Chuck doesn’t have the technological capacity to figure out how to do it – anyway, its pronounced Shan day). Chuck offered a reassuring smile, which could be easily construed as somewhat strained considering how quickly the urge to poop was coming on.

Reading the situation, Chuck maintained his silence, staring out to the surf, trying not to think about his Royal Dalton and luscious toilet paper waiting at home.

“Thank you so much for the coffee” said Chande “I really needed it. Actually, I really needed the company”

“You’re welcome,” responded Chuck, sweat imperceptibly forming on his forehead.

Chande continued, “I didn’t think I would see anyone out here this early, I was feeling lonely and horrible and I was having dark thoughts, and even when the sun started to come up I was still miserable. And then you showed up with the best coffee that I’ve ever had and I started to feel traces of being alive again. Are you a guardian angel?”

Chuck ran his hands over his face (cleverly removing the beads of sweat) and turned to face Chande. “No, I’m no guardian angel Chande, I’m just a guy who sensed a troubled soul and thought to lend a hand”.

“Well, its much appreciated and much needed” smiled Chande, “I haven’t really had anyone to talk to about things”.

Chuck’s stomach growled and he coughed, “Chande, if you need to talk, you have someone here who is willing and able to listen”.

“I don’t even know your name” said Chande.

“It’s Chuck, Chuck Long,” said Chuck as he glanced at his wrist, regretting that he hadn’t put his watch back on. How on earth would he track how long past his constitutional he was and thus how close to breaking point? Chuck would have to fall back on his sailing days and use the sun as a clock. Subtly checking the sun’s location, Chuck calculated that he was now 7 minutes past dump time, he’d likely have 45 minutes to hold onto this puppy before all hell breaks loose and he gave Chande a big steaming reason to kill herself.

Continued on Wednesday….

Koala Ears (continued)

Continued from:

http://realitybytes101.blogspot.com/2009/12/koala-ears.html

The Reality Bytes inbox has exploded with high praise for Chuck’s thoughts on gym etiquette and tips for attracting partners. So many people had been thinking it, but it took Chuck to say it. In order to decrease the demand, let Chuck increase the supply:

-       - Loitering is for losers

If you can’t be patient waiting for someone to finish on a machine or with a piece of equipment you’re probably a premature ejaculator or at least an only child. Chuck shook his head in amusement as he witnessed losers standing next to people working out on machines, passively aggressively willing them to get off so that they could use the equipment. On top of that he counted numerous occasions where someone put down a weight, turned around to get a drink and then returned only to find a dude had swooped in and lifted the gear. Now accidents will happen but on many occasions, people just couldn’t be arsed waiting.

Chuck gets fairly jacked off when groups of dudes perform a lift then stand around talking for 5 minutes while leaning on the machine and not so secretly looking at themselves in the mirror. The only problem is that when you walk over and ask if you can jump on, they angrily state “WE’VE GOT 3 SETS LEFT”.

What Chuck is talking about here is people not having the patience or decency to wait their turn and not crowd other people’s space. If you’re like that in the gym, what are you like in everyday situations? Driving on the bumper of the car in front? Pushing in on grocery lines? Leaving sporting events in the 3^rd quarter? And of course blowing a load if a tongue is used in a kiss.

-       - Muffin tops are never a delicacy in the gym

Look, Chuck knows that people are in the gym trying to get in better shape. That doesn’t mean that all fashion sense goes out the window. If you are a little tubby, then you need to wear clothing that works with your chubbiness, not wage a war against it that it can never win. Women in tight workout pants and shortish athletic tops with a band of blubber hanging over the top is an absolute fashion faux pas and turns men’s wieners flaccid.

Chuck has heard people say “I bought these size 10 jeans for when I lose all my weight”.  That’s all well and good because you are physically unable to get in them and will not cause stomachs to turn. Unfortunately, gym gear is often elasticised meaning that you can get a size 20 into a size 10. Just because you can do it, doesn’t mean you should! Try writing your weight and measurements down. As you see progression, then by all means down size. If the numbers aren’t shrinking then do not even think about it.

Men will find you attractive when your gym gear shapes to your body, not through it.

-       A boiler should never be stoked in the gym

You know a boiler? The big ball of fat that hangs off a bloke’s stomach just below his chest. Just as women should dress appropriately, so too should men. Unfortunately, men seem a little less aware of themselves in the gym environment. Almost like “I’ve done 3 bicep curls, my muscles feel tighter, I should be showing them off”. Uh yeah fellas, it doesn’t work like that, instead of looking overweight and out of shape, now you look sweaty overweight and out of shape as well as giving off the distinct impression that you may have a myocardial infarction at any moment.

No woman is interested in a man who looks like he could have a massive coronary at any moment. If you’re new to the gym or have some unwanted podge, dress a little more conservatively to try to mask it. Once again, when the numbers start to go down, then by all means bust out your lycra.

On that note:

-       - Lycra shorts should be worn under real shorts, not on their own

No one wants to see your little pecker pushing through and sweat stains around your ball bag. The only time you should wear lycra shorts sans real shorts is if you are riding a bike and realistically only Lance Armstrong or Cadel Evans pulls it off well. Too many times since Chuck started taking notes has he seen dudes in the skin tight shorts parading around the gym like they are Greek gods. Unfortunately, about the only thing they have in common is the tiny knobs they often have in stone statues.

Once in Chuck’s youth, he was working an office job like an average joe when a skinny, longhaired dude walked into the office. He was wearing skintight denim on denim (jeans and denim jacket) a black AC/DC t-shirt and desert boots. He removed his fake aviator sunglasses and said “g’day, I’m Snake” and then proceeded to stand with his hands on his hips and his legs slightly spread. Chuck went on with his work while one of the other office workers attended to Snake. After he left, the office worker, Cathy, scurried over to Chuck’s desk with her cheeks flushed red. Chuck immediately asked what was wrong and Cathy let out a huge sigh and said, “did you see what Snake had in his jeans?”

Now please remember, Chuck was only a young tacker then and was not wise to the world like he is now. Chuck had not surveyed his surroundings and assessed his competition properly (you always want to know what you are playing against after all!). The following week, Snake stopped in again wearing exactly the same outfit, he pulled off the aviators and assumed the same pose. This time Chuck was ready.  After greeting Snake, Chuck subtly cast his eyes over Snake’s jeans and almost fell off his ergonomic chair when he saw what sort of heat Snake was packing.  Inside Snake’s skintight denim was for all intents and purposes his very own trouser python. The thing was strapped to his fucking thigh it was so long and robust. The head of it was like a baby holding an apple!

What’s the point to that tale? 1) Never enter a cock-off (a random showdown between two blokes in a pub where they drop their pants to see who has the biggest dick) against a bloke named Snake and 2) if you’re hung like Snake, you can wear lycra shorts and nothing else to the gym.

-       - Conceal your breakfast

Ladies, it’s never a good idea to wear shorts so revealing that the male gym members know that you’re of Brazilian descent without first buying you a drink and loosening you up. The only men who should see your minge non-romantically are your gynaecologist and the gay bloke who waxes your chops. That’s it.  While it makes for better viewing than watching early WWF wrestling television shows on the monitors, it probably isn’t sending the best message to the rest of the gym population. Sure, you’ll find plenty of blokes who’ll gladly pound you but not too many keen to take you home to mum, unless she runs a brothel.

Koala Ears

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An Open Letter to My Next Girlfriend

The Letter

Bat Wing

Dear Chuck,

I’ve only ever dated circumcised guys.. until now, and I’m a little bit freaked out. We were getting hot and heavy when I slipped my hand down his pants and discovered all that extra skin, I actually ended up making an excuse and going home early because I wasn’t sure how to take it. Would sex be any different? Should I give him a chance?

Deb

Dear Deb,

Funny you should email in this story. Just last night, Chuck was walking through the city with an overseas visitor who was amazed by the bats flapping through the dusk sky. He was so intrigued that he camped under a tree in the hope that a dopey bat may fall out and he could get a closer look. Once Chuck explained that he couldn’t catch rabies, he was desperate to see one. At one point he turned to Chuck and asked, “what does a bats wing feel like?”

Fortunately for Chuck’s foreign friend, chiropterology (the study of bats) is one of Chuck’s favourite pastimes. Chuck encouraged the tourist to whip out his todger and give his foreskin a bit of a stretch – there would be his answer. Unfortunately, for all those standing there eagerly waiting for a stretched skin display, he announced that he didn’t have any.

So what does this have to do with your situation? Well nothing really, but how often do you get a chance to talk about bats and foreskin in the same story when you’re not writing a novel in the Twilight series? Actually, you can probably take something away from it – that the spread of blokes with and without foreskin is unpredictable.

Estimates suggest that anywhere from 1/6 to 1/3 of the world male population has had their meat crisper removed. With statistical vagaries like that, it’s no wonder your experiences have been widely skewed in one direction. Now if you have a preference for Muslim men, then you’re situation is a little easier explained since nearly 70% of Muslims are helmetless. The Jews always religiously whip the excess skin off. South Koreans also love chopping the end off their skin flute so if you decide that you cannot deal with a little extra skin cling wrap then start hanging out at Korean BBQ restaurants.

As for any concerns you may have about the presence of foreskin, about the only thing you need to worry about is the transfer of HIV. HOLD UP!! Chuck hears you scream. It’s not that bad. Basically the transfer of HIV can be increased if the carrier has not been circumcised. This has lead to millions of Africans having their knobs shaved:

http://www.cbsnews.com/stories/2009/12/01/world/main5848920.shtml

If you practice safe sex, the dick helmet being there is totally inconsequential.

In terms of sexual performance, only anecdotal evidence exists that a circumcised penis is less sensitive than a non-circumcised penis. Chuck would be more than happy to line up a hundred blokes of varying cock sheathing and gently tickle their knobs in order to test responsiveness but he is a little busy leading up towards Christmas – perhaps next year? The biggest issue that medical people have is that the foreskin contains the most sensitive parts of the schlong so chopping it off pretty much puts your cock at a disadvantage…especially when boning ugly women.

Circumcision has been shown to reduce the incidence of balanoposthitis, which is an inflammation of the glans penis (knob) and prepuce (foreskin). Urinary tract infections and cancer of the wanger are also less in circumcised males. Chuck is no doctor but is prepared to say that if you take the time to give your purple bell a good clean, you too can live a longer and happier life.

So Deb, where does this leave you? Look, if you’ve always been one to eat a certain type of bread and then all of a sudden you’re presented with something new, then yes, there will be a period of adjustment. It wont look, feel, smell or taste the same, we know that right off the bat. But what Chuck would encourage you to do is take a big old-fashioned mouthful, work it over and swallow it down. Everyone needs to expand his or her horizons and try something new from time to time. Who knows, this may turn out to be the greatest bread you’ve ever hand and you’ll never go back – it gives new meaning to the expression ‘the best thing since sliced bread’ huh?

You need to get to know your new knob. Chuck’s hoping you didn’t see the hooded snake and run for the hills – it’s venom’s not deadly after all. If you were able to stifle your discomfort and not let your man see that you’re disgusted by his crank shaft (or as Madame Boodwah says “I just wasn’t attracted to his penis”) then you can take your time to build a relationship with this strange and new beast.

About the worst thing for you is the upkeep and smell of it. If your man is not a big fan of showering twice per day, then the stench on that thing can get to be a little overpowering. Think about it this way – imagine leaving a steak in the summer sun wrapped in a piece of aluminum foil. Well that’s a dick with foreskin, except his meat is getting broiled in his underwear – crotch pot cooking as Robin Williams referred to it in ‘Good Morning Vietnam’. If he has a vile smelling knob, is he the sort of bloke you want to be with anyway?

To combat this issue you could take a sexy shower where you gently and seductively clean the bad boy down and learn the secrets of hooded one eyed trouser snakes. Or you could just tell him to give that thing a good scrub if he wants to stick it inside you any time soon. Either way, it’s not a massive issue to combat.

Foreskin or no foreskin, if the guy knows what he’s doing he should be able to make you oooh when you’re supposed to oooh and aaah when you’re supposed to aaah. You are obviously stepping into the unknown, but remember – change is as good as a holiday.

Now, it would be remiss of Chuck to not leave you with one final warning. What you want to stay on the look out for is phimosis. This is a condition where the male foreskin cannot be fully retracted from the head of the penis. It only occurs in about 1% of males and the only real reason Chuck mentions it is because everyone’s pal – Josef Fritzel was said to suffer from it when he was a child….and we know how he turned out. Chuck encourages you to stay on the look out!