Tag Archives: sex

In bed with Shahid Afridi

Yes this post contains satirical penetration and other sex stuff. Not for kids, honest catholic priests or politicians courting the religious right vote. Part of the ‘in bed with‘ series.

It’s been a big night. Drinks, drugs, making out with casual strangers, but all night I’ve had eye contact with a cool looking motherfucker in the corner. Eventually he makes his way over to me, he doesn’t say anything he just grabs my hand and takes me outside into a cab.

The cab starts moving the minute I get in it and so does he, I’m naked straight away. There isn’t a part of my body that he isn’t pleasuring, and all at once. Fuck. Oh my god he is eating me out and licking my nipple at the same time. Is that possible how many people are in the car. Oh my. Is that a ferret? Praise be to… This has to be like 4 people, fucken hell that must be a vibrator, is the cab driver joining in. where am I, wow. Oh my, that is amazing, oh I’m cumming, seriously that is a ferret. Every orifice is full, how can that even be? Is that a frozen banana being held by a monkey? OW, ohhhh, cumming again. Oh and again. Shitting hell. That is a midget in the corner with a video camera? Oh that’s good, oh really good, oh who cares what is going on this is the best fuck I have ever….

And he’s gone.

Midway through an orgasm.

Prick.

The taxi has all the signs of sexual carnage in it you could imagine. The driver is gone, and I look out the window, I am only around the block from the club.

Is that right?

I would have sworn we had gone for much longer.

I think that was great, I’m just not sure what happened, or what to do with the rest of the night.

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How Antigua ruined romance

Nothing is better than a romantic test match.

Something tropical, laid back, with music, and Sulieman Benn.

And we had it.

But the Viv ground is a hopeless romantic.

It forgot the flowers.

Misplaced the present.

Didn’t know it was the 14th.

And pretty much ruined the most holy day of the year, valentines day.

Now on saturday night, when we should be watching the cricket with our little lady/little man/ little blow up doll/ little butt plug, we will be watching some post 911 rom com where Jennifer Aniston and Dermot Mulroney walk past the word trade centre and sigh, before breaking up, getting back together, breaking up, and then shagging on the American flag as a Phil Collins song plays.

Thanks Antigue, you have ruined my foreplay methods, like most men, I can’t get laid without showing the ladies a test match.

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when you know you’ve made it

In the past you knew you had made it when you made a test century, your teammates relied on you, the biggest paper in the country proclaimed you a superstar.

Those days are long gone.

Now you know you’ve made it when people start googling your name, with the words naked, nude, oiled up.

That is how we knew Tim Southee, Ishant Shamra, and JP Duminy had made it.

Now you can add one more name, Callum Ferguson.

I have had 3 searches come here for that, even though i have never talked about Callum nude, naked, or oiled up.

No offence Callum, I just don’t think of you that way.

Not yet.

But the ladies, and/or gay men, do.

That means you have made it.

Why anyone thinks a 24 year old cricketer who no one knew a fortnight ago would have naked photos up on the internet is anyone’s guess?

But they do, and he don’t.

Welcome to the big league Callum, where your naked form and whether you have a girlfriend is going to be typed into google everytime you are at the crease.

That’s way cooler than the old days, all they did was collect cricket cards, and the players were fully clothed.

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The problem with Prince Brendan

I love McCullum.

Not in a metrosexual “I wanna have his tattoos” kinda way.

Or in an “I wonder what his semen tastes like” kinda way.

But as a batsman, an entertainer and an artist, I love him.

I think I said

Watching him is like watching two people have sex in a car crash, there are so many ways it can go wrong, but somehow everyone walks away fine, and you can’t believe what you’ve seen.

But the problem with my McCullum love, is that when he goes out, I seem to lose all interest in New Zealand.

As a cricket team, a country, an Island and as a people.

They just fade away.

It’s like when there is a group of friends in a bar. At the time you are nice to all of them, but you only have your eye on one. Once that one gets sick of your piss and vinegar seduction style and tells you to trot off, you don’t move onto the next friend, you find a new group of friends to hit on, or go home and look up porn.

Or if you get lucky, you take that one home and forget about the friends, but secretly wish one of the friends would have come back so you could see what kind of partnership they would put on.

When McCullum is up and about, you could watch him bat with anyone, even Aaron Redmund, but once he is gone even Ross Taylor doesn’t get you excited.

And it’s a hard act to make Ross Taylor platonic.

When I still wrote off McCullum as an accumulator of 30 odds, Taylor was my favourite kiwi.

Now he fades into beige at the mere mention of McCullum.

I was also a big fan of the perfect boyfriend Jacob Oram.

I liked his lusty big hits, and even ignored his delicate bowling.

Now though, all I see in him is a dude who can’t play short pitch bowling and who falls apart like a piece of origami that’s been pissed on.

So with all that in mind, I am going to watch Battle Royale, as only Battle Royale can give me the sort of violent art that Prince Brendan robbed me of by nicking a wide.

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MacGill Monty Miriam Threesome

OK person who googled the title of this post four times to get to the site instead of KEEPING YOUR SICK FANTASIES TO YOURSELF, you win. Here is your post.
The answer to your googlequery is: that is one heck of a wierd threesome and I do NOT want in. In fact, I now need some, or possibly all, of the following to scrub from my brain the vision that you have implanted:
  • Soap
  • Lysol
  • Brillo pad
  • A refiner’s fire
  • 100 Hail Mary’s
  • Night out drinking Chumbawamba cocktails on an empty stomach
  • Concussion from Brett Lee or James Anderson
  • That flashy blinky thing from “Men In Black”
  • Lobotomy

If, however, IF I happened to be into the kind of thing that you, googler, are clearly into (and I’m saying nothing), and if you happened to google any of the following, the answer would be ohgodyesplease:

  • Vettori Oram Miriam Threesome (needs absolutely no explanation)
  • Dhoni Gony Miriam Threesome (oh the pretty ones)
  • Dirty Dirk Eyelids Miriam Threesome (I have a thing for the Vics in England, so sue me)
  • Ryder Chawla Miriam Threesome (I can’t begin to explain this even if I tried, and I probably shouldn’t).

Other wacky google searches from today:

why are some men so vain (because they are trying to compensate for something)

england v new zealand chasing inflatable jelly bean (oh, alright, it’s here)

and all of the following:

  1. cricketer’s sisters supermodels
  2. cricketer’s supermodel wives
  3. south african cricketer sister supermodel
  4. supermodel sister of famous cricketer
  5. supermodel wives to famous cricketers
  6. which cricketer has supermodel sister
  7. which cricketer sister and wife are supermodels?

(as you want to know so badly, your persistence is rewarded: you are probably looking for Cindy Nel, but (a) she’s no longer Jacques Kallis’ girlfriend, and (b) I’m not actually sure that she is Andre Nel’s sister. The other possibility I can think of is Neil McKenzie, whose sister Megan is a model. Honestly, I am way too good to you people).

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In bed with… jacques kallis

CAUTION: This blog contains satirically explicit sex scenes involving South Africans. If you are under 18, a prude, a religious type, or South African you should probably walk away now.

The guys over at sportsfreak pointed me towards Kallis’ extraordinary innings against the Bangladeshi Kittens.

39 off 120 balls with no boundaries.

This coming after the record opening partnership, which shall never be written about here.

This got me thinking about how Jacques likes to have sex.

I know it’s a disgusting thought, but try and hold your upchuck until the end.

Jacques comes home from a well constructed 120 off 332 balls against New Zealand, and he says I want to make love.

You know the drill.

Run him a bath. Not too hot, not too cold. You will play his favourite ocean sounds whilst in the bath.

In the bedroom the lighting must be just right, 18 candles, they all have their positions, and cannot be moved. The music is always Kenny G, preferably breathless, or the moment.

Following this is the maintenance session, you will thoroughly clean, wax and pluck every part of you. Jacques doesn’t like grass on the wicket.

Then you must quickly log onto the internet and check out his average.

You will then go into the bathroom and dry him off, all the while you will be telling him how sexy he is, how adored he is by the public, how every man wants to be him.

Topics that cannot be broached, his ever widening girth. The bald spot, or the fact that no one really likes him.

This shall be followed by a slow passionless kiss, the sort of kiss that makes your toes uncurl. This kiss should go for 20 minutes. No pauses are allowed.

Then the love making can proceed. You will disrobe privately and quickly enter under the covers and lay naked on the bed in what is known as the starfish pose.

Jacques will then enter the bed, still under the covers and position him self on top of you, being careful not to touch you in any erotic way.

He will then enter your vagina with his penis, because kiddies, that is how mummy and daddy have sex with their neighbours.

At this point, you will be reasonably happy. But unfortunately, Jacques then very slowly and deliberately moves in and out, without ever going to far in, or too far out, for the next 4 hours.

He never once changes angle, position, speed, technique, or depth. Just a slow and steady semi penetration until he is happy with the results, and he squeezes out a drop of Kallis juice.

Never more than a drop.

Afterwards you will be required to whisper ever so sweetly 57.54 into his ear. You shouldn’t be out of breath, so this should be easy to do.

Then you must get Jacques eye mask, his ear plugs, his scented candles and leave him alone in the master bedroom to get his beauty sleep.

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tait ahead (nice)

It’s been 16 years since Australia has taken 4 pace bowlers into a game in Australia.

And that didn’t really count because Mike Whitney played.

At the Waca there is no doubt Tait is going to come in for Hogg, the tongue may even be suspended.

The Waca’s groundsman was interviewed and he almost drooled at the thought of Tait.

Tait completely destroyed Victoria tonight in a 2020 game.

They were none for 24, and then 4 for 26, Tait picked up 3 of those wickets, two were bowled and one was LBW.

That is what the boy can do, he quite often looks ordinary for an over or two, sometimes even a spell. Suddenly when he gets it right he is unplayable.

I have broached the subject of using 4 fast bowlers before. I was against it at the time, for one, because South Africa do it, and two, because the Mcg has been the best pitch for spinners this year, the Waca is a completely different proposition.

I never told anyone this before, but I quite often wanted Warne dropped for the Waca tests.

There is something almost sexually exciting about 4 out and out quicks bowling extreme pace on a trampoline pitch.

It’s like watching a heavy weight fight, or a Jerry Springer episode, the pure thrill that something could go horribly wrong.

Ahktar gave it to you, Devon Malcolm gave it to you, and now we have Tait, the unpredictable out and out quick bowler.

However, he aint some travelling freak show, worlds fastest bowler, sort of guy.

He took 70 wickets in a season for South Australia once. Not many bowlers have ever taken that many wickets in a shield season.

Thems good numbers.

So let him loose, he if fails it may be just as exciting as if it comes off.

You know, like having $ex with a crazy chick, even if its bad, you will still have great stories to tell.

Like this girl i refer to as, “scorpion girl” she was pretty damn weird…

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Lord Megachief of Gold & the Imaginary Girlfriend Sex theory

One day I will write a really positive article on Shivnarine Chanderpaul, today is not that day.

Sometimes in life you need to do things for the Greater Good, the Greater Good.

It’s like if you have a girl friend, and you think all her friends are pretentious w@nkers, and she asks you to go to a party at one of their houses. By not going to said party, you may anger your girlfriend, and sex may be withheld from you.

So even though you don’t want to spend a minute with these people, you understand that a few hours with them will give between 1 and 2 minutes of pure dirty lust filled joy with her.

Shivnarine needs to understand this principle.

We know that he doesn’t want to captain the Windies, he quit that job to concentrate on his batting.

This has worked out quite nicely for him.

But with Gayle injured, Sarwan not available and Frank Worrell dead, surely Shiv would have said, look, I don’t want to do this, but I understand that for one game, and one game only, I am the man who should lead my country, you know for the Greater Good, the Greater Good.

I would have thought, however incorrectly, that this is a sure thing to happen.

Apparently not.

Instead Dwayne Bravo is going to be captain, sure he is vice captain, but that was chosen to give his game focus, and surely not because he was giving invaluable tips to Gayle.

In the field of the last 2 tests I have hardly seen Gayle chat to Bravo.

I think Bravo is a gun player, who probably needs stick and carrot type handling, but being that he is 24 and has played in one test victory and Chanderpaul is almost as old as Bryce McGain and has played in over 100 tests, for this occasion perhaps Shiv might have been the better option.

I hope I’m wrong, cause if I’m wrong, South Africa might lose the series, and I will dance for 12 minutes straight if that happens.

But I won’t be getting my dancing shoes out just yet, with Gayle out and Edwards doubtful, I can’t see the Windies winning.

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seasons greetings

Happy Chanukah, giant alien clam day, eid, santa’s birthday, cloning day, pagan sacrifice day, or insert relevant day after Happy.

Let’s be honest though, I’m an atheist and couldn’t give a flying rats @ss about any of them.

My religious holiday is boxing day, which if Mash is to be trusted, has something to do with letting the servants take over once a year.

To cricket lovers it means test matches, and to Melbourne cricket lovers, its like finding out the dixie chick’s are having an orgy and it only costs 35 bucks to get in.
This time it’s even better cause it may actually be a good match.

Sure the pitch has less life in it than an amish picnic, and the victorian drought has picked a sh1t time to break on us.

But this could be a good series, I’ve tried not to get excited up until now, but the thought of a Christmas dinner in a nursing home has forced me to look ahead to Boxing day.

Hayden, Gilly, Punter, Roy, Lee, Clarke, Sachin, Rahul, VVS, Anil, Dhoni and maybe even my current favourite player Yuvraj.

That my friend, is cricket viagra.

My underwear is literally bursting at the seams.

Eat up your turkey, prawns, curry and tofu mung beans lunch before thinking about what lies ahead.

Cricketers taking to the big stage, like wrestlers and gladiators before them.

Commentators looking for their cliché book to describe how great the G is.

Bogans drinking cheap lager out of plastic cups.

People paying $23.45 for a burnt pie that is too hot to eat anyway.

Indian security guards smiling as they pretend to really look in your bags.

The members full of the biggest tossers that money can buy.

Bikinied women being ogled by men that could never afford them.

Tony Greig being called a wanker.

Oh it shall be grand my friends.

And I your humble narrator blogging directly from the ground, the way Bill Ponsford would have wanted it.

If you weren’t sexually awakened before, you are now.

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improvements for 2020

Apparently cricket Australia, the Australian cricket team, the general public, Navjot Sidhu and I have not taken 2020 seriously.

Let me apologise now on behalf of all these factions, we have been short sighted.

And in the spirit of taking it seriously I have some suggested upgrades for 2020.

Not major overhauls, just some slight tweaking.

It should be played over five days. Each day 8 overs can be played. People always take cricket more seriously the longer it goes. This does rule Shane Bond out though.

Having music and cheerleaders is one thing, but I suggest Gangsta rap and strippers. If the target audience is adhd teenage boys and Americans, Jay Z and Jenny McCarthy could be flown out. I got 99 problems but the pitch ain’t one.

No one wants to see old dudes flailing the bat around like a drug addict swatting away imaginary rats. So lets make it an under 28 game, remember when cricket teams picked guys under 28?

Every team should have a chick, a gay dude and a nominated minority player. Let’s make this a rainbow coalition game for the fu©kwits who actually believe in that shit.

If you are given out lbw you can challenge the umpire to a caged wrestling match. Or a jelly match against one of the strippers.

Celebrity umpires would be cool, I’m thinking we could have theme nights. 80’s action stars. Van Damme at one end comparing his guns to Symonds, and Steven Segal at the other end explaining global warming to Daniel Vettori.

Mascots, every American sport has mascots. Lets get a giant emu and giant kiwi out on the field and the can have consenting grounded mascot $ex. Mascots are camp anyway, it’s the logical conclusion to their purpose in life.

And the final step to really get the Americans and the kiddies involved, lets have public executions of terrorists. We’ll dress up a hot bird like the chick from resident evil and giver her an ak47. At the change of innings she can chase around some guy who bought too much fertilizer.

Then I would take the game seriously.

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