Thoggers And Thongers

I’m just one large blogging genital tonight, so I have to ask you to forgive me. It’s late, I’m typing this in the nude, and I just don’t see why I should go and slip on a thong after office hours. And if you’re in any way ashamed of my body, then look away now. I’m about to untangle myself and you might not think it a pretty sight.

There, that’s better… Now you can look again.

Not that I don’t find this a little off putting myself. I’m lying in bed with the laptop balanced on a pillow (I’ve seen the damage that can be done so I’m not risking PC / loin contact). The TV sits at the foot of the bed and is tuned to BBC News 24 from where Baroness Amos is currently gazing up between my thighs. I imagine this is what it will be like when the government introduce cavity searches but I can’t say I care for it all that much. It doesn’t matter how many I’ve got naked in front of a crowd, I don’t think I could ever get use to Baroness Amos peering up between my naked thighs. At the very least it takes my mind of what I’m doing and at the worst I’m sure it’s unconstitutional. Besides, I’ve seen the damage that can be done so I’m not risking Amos / loin contact either.

Anyway, the reason I’m working so late is that I’ve been nominated for a Thogger.

You might want to read that again.

When I got the call, I mistakenly thought it was a ‘Thonger’, which, as you probably know, is the highest accolade in world stripping. No UK stripper has yet won a Thonger, let along a chap from Wales. I thought my life was about to change for the better and I’d become the world ambassador to the world’s exhibitionists, gyrators, lap dancers, and thonglateers. You can imagine my disappointment when Gabby pointed out that it said Thogger, not Thonger.

That’s the problem with these Romanians. They’re so perceptive.

After I’d finished crying, I reread the citation and discovered that Trixy considers that I’m a blogger who makes her think. Think about what, you probably wonder? Well I think it’s probably not a good idea to ask. I try my best, of course, but I never seem to become anything more than a man in thong. I sometimes wonder if an education will come to nothing unless I mention my private parts every hundred words. If I gave you a choice between lots of observations about my wang or something insightful about Auden, I suspect the wang would win every time. Which is typical of the British mentality. I’m also sure Auden wrote a poem about it as he had a similar problem.

So, what does this Thogger award mean? It means that I get to nominate five lucky people to whom I send this mixed blessing. Earlier this evening, I put all the candidates into a hat – or actually an old pair of Y fronts with an abnormally large crotch – and these are the winners that came out smelling slightly of oil and unction.

1. Blockhead Magazine
2. Rilly Super
3. Mutterings and Meanderings
4. Arthur Clewley
5. Mr. Joe Blogs
5b. Baroque in Hackney

Congratulations, to all five of you. You really do make me think. And hard luck to the other nominees who also make me think but who didn't have the rub of the Y fronts this time. Your turn will surely come as the electoral Y fronts are remarkably roomy and fair in its selections.

Just Popping Out

I'm just back from the post office. It’s been a bit of a slow day today but I thought I’d show you the letter I’ve just despatched with a parcel. If it tells you anything it should tell you not to mess with The Chipster.

Psmerch, Psmerch,and Tiddle
Manufacturers of Erotic Lingerie
19-23 XXXXXXXXX XXXXXXXXX
XXXXXXXXXXXX
Margate
United Kingdom

Mr. Crispen Dale
11 XXXXX XXXXXX
BANGOR
WALES

Telephone: XXXXX XXXXXXX

Email: bigchipdale@yahoo.co.uk

Dear Mr. Psmerch,

Enclosed are twelve male thongs (extra large) I’m returning due to an evident manufacturing or design fault. Excuse me for being so crude about this but I believe that most men have two testicles. Your thongs are designed for men with only one. And contrary to all rumours, I am not an Austrian-born painter and decorator with a love of a certain young fraulein called Eva.

I bought these items in a discount erotica store here in Bangor and was intending to wear them during a high profile stripping convention that I’ll be attending in America next week. Your products would have been seen by thousands and would have become the talk of the stripping world. Instead, they will be stuck in a post box somewhere in Wales.

As a professional dancer who wears thongs every day both professionally and at leisure, I think I know a thing or two about their design. By providing room for only half of my manly items, you have exposed me to very great embarrassment on those occasions when I slipped out. I would like you to think about the following anecdote when you come to consider the amount of compensation you owe me.

Friday morning, I was vacuuming my flat when the doorbell rang. You should know that it’s my habit of doing the house work in only my thong, finding that it’s more comfortable that way, and easier to shower after I’ve finished doing all the dirty work. At the door, three members of the local Christian mission were collecting donations to send the local deaf children on holiday this summer. Of course, I always like to do my part and I went to get my wallet. When I returned, the Christians had gone without waiting for the ten pounds I’d promised them. Only when I looked down and realised that your garment had failed me yet again did I understand their reticence in taking my money. So, Mr. Psmerch, not only did you rob the deaf children of a holiday this year, but you exposed me to very great humiliation in the eyes of God and have probably consigned me to damnation. What price do you put on spending an eternity writhing in the seething cauldron of hell’s furnace?

I await your reply but please do not bother to send me any of your poor quality underwear. I won’t tell you what the very thought does to my lower regions.

I remain you humble servant,

Mr. Crispen ‘Chip’ Dale