Friday, 15 February 2013

The Curse Of Valentine's

Although it may have escaped the attention of you loveless plebs out there, yesterday was Valentine’s Day. 

It didn’t escape my attention.  I always know when it’s Valentine’s Day as I can usually hear the reproductive systems of all the women around me kick into gear (it sounds like a xylophone in a tumble dryer, in case you were wondering).  As such, I tend to find myself fending off the unwanted advances of many ovary-wielding sexual predators.  This is my cross and I alone must bear it.

The day started off innocently enough.  As I went downstairs to make my usual breakfast (Cheesestrings on toast), I heard a knock on the door.  I answered it and I was startled to discover that it was the postman, or rather, he had been replaced by a new postlady.  The old postman was a rugged, testicle-laden, beast of a man named Brad.  He was hairier than a chronically masturbating yak, which enabled him to wear little else than shorts and a t shirt in the winter.  No doubt he used to swig undiluted testosterone and brew the bitterest of ales inside his scrotum.  So, to instead find myself confronted with a hairless, smiling, pointy-boobed waif was something of a shock to the system.

“I have a delivery for you” Said the new postwoman, identified by her name tag as “Jo”

An artist's rendition of "Jo"

No doubt this was a trap.  A strange woman shows up on my doorstep on Valentine’s Day with a so-called “package”?  No doubt she’s hunting for her next sperm donor and has infiltrated the postal service to get closer to me.  The package said “Amazon” on it, so I can only guess at what kind of depraved South American sex toys were contained within.  In my panic I tried to slam the door shut, but only managed to close it on my own foot.  As I moved my hands to clutch my injured appendage, I accidentally let go of my dressing gown, allowing it to gape open and expose my private parts. 

She stood there aghast for a few moments.  Any onlookers would probably have mistaken it for a look of horror, but I knew that she was secretly admiring me and wondering how she could accommodate such an engorged specimen.  I also knew that I had made the situation ten times worse and that she wouldn’t be able to control her utter horniness.  After all, she’s only human.

“Leave this place!”  I screamed, successfully slamming the door shut this time.  I ran to the washing machine and pulled out some old clothes to cover my dignity.  As I pulled on yesterday’s trousers, I noticed through the front window that Jo was still standing there, looking perplexed.  She must have been confused by my manly prowess, the poor thing.  I knew at this point that she wasn’t going to leave as she was completed captivated by me.  It was likely that more hormonally charged women would be summoned like drones to this location and I’d have to barricade myself inside, like Dawn Of The Dead.  Not wanting to become a prisoner in my own home, I sneaked out of the back door before Jo could come to her senses, and vaulted over the neighbour’s fence.

Unluckily for me, I landed directly on the lady next door.  She might have had gardening gloves on and was next to her petunias, but I imagine that this was nothing but a ruse in order to peer through the fence slats and catch a glimpse of me.

“Unhand me woman!” I shrieked as I wrestled myself free from her gardening equipment.   She looked scared, as women often do when confronted by such a hunk, but I didn’t have time to be ogled and enjoyed like an éclair.  I ran through the open back door and into her house.  As I did so, I bundled straight into her teenage daughter who had probably smelled my masculinity from ten metres away and came to investigate.  I pushed past her, tried to explain that the age difference would be insurmountable, ran out of the front door, and out onto the street.


Where could I hide out?  I needed to stay low for the next 24 hours until all this Valentine’s mayhem was over.  I needed to find a place where there would be no women.  It was obvious that I needed to get myself ordained in a catholic monastery for the rest of the day.  I could claim sanctuary there, as so many others on the run had done before me.

The nearest church I knew of was in town.  I couldn’t go back and fetch my car because Jo would undoubtedly be spreading pheromones all over it by now, so I decided to catch a bus.  As fortune would have it, there was a bus stop right next to where I was standing, and a bus was already rolling into view at the top of the street.  At last, a little bit of luck!

Or so I thought.  As I boarded the bus I found myself in the thrall of a female driver.  As I ascended the stairs, the door closed behind me.  I peered down the length of the bus and realised that most of the women on board were female.  There were one or two men on board too, but no doubt they were captives that had been snared, immobilised, and dragged aboard the breeding bus.  The bus driver looked at me expectantly.  She either wanted me to pay my fare, or she was ready to pounce on me and copulate in the most unspeakable fashion.

I didn’t intend to become one of their sex ornaments.  I knew I couldn’t simply ask to get off as I was now a prisoner, so I drop kicked my way through one of the windows.  The women on board screamed in abject terror at this.  They must have realised I was onto them.  Picking myself up from the shattered glass, I noticed a police siren sounding in the distance.  Perhaps Jo or my next door neighbour had called for backup from the FemPolice.  I was now a fugitive.  I’d have to make it to the church on foot.

Ducking through various back alleys to avoid the police, I eventually found my way to what would be my sanctuary for the next 24 hours.  I burst through the doors and begged Father O’Fellatio to provide me with relief from these overbearing females.  He took me into the pulpit, told me to close my eyes, and suckle upon a “Divine Rod”.  Apparently, men who do this are not considered by women as potential partners, so I agreed and allowed the Father to perform this act upon me.  I could feel the divine energy dribbling down my chin by the end.

So that’s how I spent my Valentine’s Day.  How was yours?

Also, for more of this kind of thing, see here.


  1. Was this all your letter to Penthouse? (Does Penthouse still exist for that matter?) Also, I think you neglected to mention this is how they chose the new Pope.
    Thank you, thank you. No, please, I don't even qualify for an Academy Award for that joke, how can you give me one? Okay, I accept, thank you.

    1. Yes. They printed it without the priest-fellating part. As for the Pope, isn't that why they have to dedicate themselves to (lip)serving God?

  2. That's quite a busy V-Day you've had there. I personally spent most of the day inside and didn't get any mail so I didn't find myself accosted by hordes of women. I guess I really missed out. Though I am now wondering what was actually in the package. When a man knocks on your door and says he has a "package" for you, it's obvious what it is. But I don't think the saying can really apply to a woman.

    1. Well I had ordered a copy of Cheryl Cole's Greatest Hits from Amazon, but it all seems a bit too convenient if you ask me...

  3. Oh, how I missed you, Addman! Hilariousness immediately ensues upon your return.

    Anwyay, I'll bear your cross with you! I'll be like that samaritan who attempted to help Jesus carry the cross, except I'll try not to lose my head (both of them for the matter).

    And I'm with Mark on the womanly package. I suppose she could pull it off if she placed the package between her legs, but I'm no scientist.

    1. Thanks Chiz, and yes, I am rather like Jesus in some aspects. For example, I can turn wine into water. Yellow pee water that is, but water all the same!

    2. As the young innocent child of cyberspace I had to ask mum about much of what this Blog was about but she hit me with the Armadillo Toaster and said not to talk to strange men. However she did indicate that your Pope training appears to be going well and was wondering if you have tried anything Latin with that Father Othello chap yet.

    3. Well Rob, I hope your innocence is still intact after reading this. Did your mother shout IDIOT as well? She's a wise woman your mother.

  4. Hahahaha...oops! *goes to change 'Always panty liners, with it's new neutralizing odour and active pearl beads.' Damn you Addman for making me laugh. My pelvic floor muscles just couldn't take the pressure. :)

    1. I'm going to put a special disclaimer on my Blog saying that "Addman is not financially responsible for any pelvic muscular damage caused by reading this Blog". Honestly Lily, I don't know how your bladder can cope with all this.


    2. I am with Lily- this silly mayhem is comic kegals! "sounds like a xylophone in a tumble dryer" made me almost pee

    3. I might open up an online shop that sells incontinence pads. Do you think there's a market here?


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