It’s time the taboo was busted. HA HA HA HA, the Female Condom.

The dream catcher. The mosquito net. The rubber Jenny. These are all well used, and well known nicknames for the “femi-dom”, or the ‘Female Condom.

Mosquito net

There is much stigma surrounding the female condom. Its is, for some reason, seen as some kind of a joke, as the less ‘cool’, more hilarious sibling of the male Condom- like a rubber Stephen Baldwin if you will. But, these myths need to be dispelled. During my personal use (three times with two different girls), i have never had a single bad experience with the Female Condom. As it is inserted prior to the sexual act itself, there is no awkward moment where the male has to put a condom on, which can kill the heat of the moment and lead to the uttering of the second most feared phrase “i dont really feel like it anymore”. Or, speaking from personal experience here, if a male has to turn on a light to fetch a condom from a drawer, it can even lead to the single most feared phrase “your not really as attractive in the light. Im going home now.”

Furthermore, if your boat is floated by the use of lubricatnts (hey, I’m not judging), even oil based ones can be used as a femi-dom is not made of latex and so will not perish, leading to pregnancy, unlike the condom.

No, thank you.

As for particular brands, i do have my favourites of course. The ‘Pasante’ is naturally the pack leader, “now softer and more sensual”- a hefty claim, but one i can back up. I have personally experienced a 50% increase in sensation and a 75% (!) increase in softness, as compared to a normal Durex male condom- even ‘featherlite’.

So, i can whole heartedly reccomend the Female Condom- especially Pasante. Fellas: Once you use these im sure will not go back to male condoms. Ladies: you’ll enjoy them too (as speculated based on feedback personally received).


You Know – Sometimes the Underdogs Simply Do Not Win

by Stewart Oakland

Portsmouth have had a tough season both on and off the field, what with debts spiralling to upwards of £160 million, points deductions, and of course, their relegation from the top flight of English football. The little guiding light at the end of the tunnel for the Pompey faithful though, was the trip for the Wembley for the F.A. Cup final. The second time they have reached the final in 3 years, previously facing Cardiff City in 2008, though this time it was up against the Premier League Champions, Chelsea. The odds were against them, it seemed like an impossible task against a Chelsea team who looked almost unbeatable. They were.

That’s right. They lost. Of course they lost. The underdog is the underdog for that very reason. Take note small men and ugly women – you are about to be schooled in the world of knowing your place.

Case Study of Destruction: November 2009 – Wajid, Somalia

Some cultures praise the underdog, reviling the favourite with a supreme sense of hatred. They love to see one man against hundreds of foes, facing them in one, last, valiant stand. They want to see the sports team with no money and the  least competant players to win all the cups. They want to see a stron woman come up against injustice against all odds…

Some cultures apparently do not.

Take for example the militant al-Shabab group, currently ruling over northern Somalia with a supreme hatred of underdoggery. In November 2009 we saw one of the greatest battles the world has ever seen – one Woman, whose only crime was that she loved too much, forced to do battle with legions of armed extremists. Her only hope: Take them down. One. By. One.

Oh, so she didn’t win? You are all assuming. Of course she didn’t, because of course the crazy guys that are the al-Shabab really hate underdoggery. Take away her weapons, yes, that’s only fair – the cheating slut – then, I don’t know…bury her up to her waist?! Yes, that was always coming – as was the stoning they swiftly delivered up next.


Evidence of God’s Holy Retribution

If that little anecdote of good natured ribbing wasn’t enough for you – how about some quickfire cold hard truths. And some lies.

Basically, God, in all his factual power, has a severe dislike of the underdog, equalling perhaps even the levels of Simon Bar Sinister, and really loves nothing more than to kick the living beejesus out of them with his God boots.

Underdog:  Alexander Alekhine
What They Did: At the age of 25, Alekhine defeated the previously deemed ‘undefeatable’ Jose Capablanca, in one of Chess’ biggest upsets to this day
What God Did: Got his brother murdered 10 years later in 1939

Underdog: Greece
What They Did: Only went and won the Euro 2004 Football Championships, against odds of 150-1
What God did: This list is pretty lengthy. The 2008 Greek riots, the current crippling economic problems. All God. Oh, and the widespread wildfires that popped up in 2007 and 2009. Him too.

Underdog: Adolf Hitler, noble painter
What They Did: Rose from obscurity and opposition to successfully bring a post-war Germany, crippled with debt, to the forefront of Global issues during the 30’s and 40’s once again.
What God Did: Made him shoot himself – and probably did something deity like to the Nazi bullets, cheating bastard.

Underdog: Luis Garavito
What They Did: Against all odds, came up against over 140 ‘men’ and dispatched swiftly of every last one of them.
What God Did: Put some hoodoo spin on things and declared him a ‘serial killer’, adding that those ‘men’ were boys ranging from the ages of 6-16. Man does that suck.

No more is really left to be said, so I’ll leave you with the fine words of Edgar Watson Howe

“The underdog often starts the fight, and occasionally the upper dog deserves to win”


Back God…Back a Winner!

Pillow Girlfriend vs Real Girlfriend

A Pillow Girlfriend

by Ry-tron

Lonely? Heartbroken? Wallowing in a crater of self pity, with only the pixelated, hollow eyes of a barely legal, drug addled porn star on a laptop screen for company? Yes I was.

So, in an, now blatantly futile and extremely confused, attempt to free myself from the shackles of my new found loneliness, after the break-up with my year-long girlfriend,  I decided to create a companion. The recipe was simple, take one pillow, one jumper left behind by said ex-girlfriend (preferably with remaining scent), one football (the head), and other accessories as desired- I personally plumped for jewellery and a wine glass held on by cello tape. And there she was, my very own pillow girlfriend. My pill-hoe. This is the story of my brief but deeply important relationship with my fabric beau, and hey, why not? How to pursue your own textile love affair.

Disclaimer: Now I feel it’s necessary to point out here that this venture was in no way a sexual one. The main reason, amongst many, being the depression brought on by any attempt at sexual gratification at that point in my life. However, this was to cure my lonely heart on strictly a-sexual terms. Please use pillow girlfriends responsibly.

So, how did my brand new pillow girlfriend stack up against my actual real life ex-girlfriend? In terms of the company they provide it was a close contest. Although it may seem like a no brainer, after all, the company of a virtual girlfriend is no match for a reality girlfriend with actual words. But, the power of ‘no answer means yes’ or, as I chose, simply using a magic eight ball to generate answers, can actually lead to stimulating conversation. The added bonus of being able to tell her anything, like the fact you create people from furniture decorations then tell them secrets for example, without the fear of seeming weird.

We spent what felt like an eternity of happiness together. We talked for hours, about our greatest loves and our deepest fears, but predominantly ‘yes’, ‘no’ and ‘ask again later’.  We had joy, we had fun, we had seasons, well indoors as I felt public opinion wouldn’t favour our relationship. But, here on public record, I whole-heartedly endorse pillow girlfriends, wives and even sons and daughters.

It was, without exaggeration, the best relationship of my life. But, alas, my new found happiness was destined not to last. And, in a twist of fate worthy of Shakespeare or the Hardy Brothers, our love story came to an end. It was time for bed and I needed her torso for head support.