afterthought.gubbins.crowth.net

So, okay it’s Valetine’s Day tomorrow, and it’s completely irrelevant for me and I said the same last year and I don’t really have anything to say about it that hasn’t already been said by my favourite columnists, but I’m going to say something anyway, just for shits and giggles. If you know anything about Charlie Brooker then you’ll probably have read his Unvalentine’s Day proposals in the Guardian, and if you’ve not, then what’s wrong with you? Please do so now. I suppose it is vaguely possible you might not have heard of Charlie Brooker. But there’s no excuse for that. You really aren’t qualified to read anything I have to say unless you have already read what Charlie Brooker has to say. It’s sort of like licking frogspawn instead of eating caviar. Please, if you haven’t sampled Charlie Brooker’s fine caviar, stopping licking my spawn right now and lap that shit up.

And they say innuendo is dead.

I must also confess, perhaps inviting ridicule in the process, that I’m a regular reader of another columnist, this one writing for the Independent. I really do enjoy reading Claudia Winkleman’s column. This has a lot to do with the fact that I simply adore her. I have been torn by the fact that I find the celebrity come vomiting show that she presents as intolerable as all the shows of that ilk. I’m not one for light entertainment. I like in-depth, umpteen part documentaries, the occasional one-off British drama, quality comedy, or the televisual perfection found in things like The Sopranos and Boston Legal; ninjas such has Alan Shore or Gregory House. I don’t like panels of judges, I like Judge Brown. I don’t like dancing, I like a good script. I don’t like studio audiences, I resent the masses. I don’t want pacifying, I want stimulating. But if Claudia Winkleman is presenting, I do find myself being quite stimulated. So I’m left both despising what I’m watching and yet finding myself compelled to keep watching. It’s not just that she’s rather very attractive, and consistently dresses in thoroughly approvable attire, it’s that she’s just so lovely, and validly so. She’s not vapid eye candy, like the Scottish (oops) Irish woman who presents The One Show with the bloke who used to be on Working Lunch and suddenly started branching out in multiple directions, Claudia is both lovely and interesting, satisfied not simply with her retro chic style and marvellous legs; she’s witty, affable, unassumingly awesome.

There might be an element of bias in my estimation of Claudia Winkleman, I admitt. I do want to have her babies. But really, she’s a jolly pleasant read (although it might be described as the light entertainment of the columnosphere) and her piece on Valentine’s Day was along the same lines of Charlie Brooker’s (minus the vitriol, obviously). So read that too. Don’t feel obliged to read all her stuff. I’m quite happy to keep her column for myself, and all the 20-something to 40-something women who no doubt comprise her readership. But, you know what? Claudia Winkleman is an educated woman. She graduated from Cambridge with a Masters in Art History. You see, she’s not just a pretty face, and not just an apparently intelligent face, she’s a qualified intelligence face. And I have every respect for Art Historians. I am, if you remember, a fan of Kenneth Clark. See how the fine thread of thoughtful consideration runs consistently through my otherwise obscene ramblings and imbalanced diatribes?

But it would be far better if Claudia had more opportunities to front more stimulating shows. She did do a reality show called Art School, which I didn’t see, and I’m sure it was a bit rubbish, I don’t do reality shows. Not even ones Alexa Chung might front. She’s very talented too. She has the sort of raw talent I want to eat directly out of her sphincter. It’s not the same sort of talent as Claudia Winkleman, but it’s valid in its own right. It’s good shit is what I’m saying. But I do like a little bit more substance, and really there’s no one better for alluringly educational broadcasting than Victoria Coren. You might have guessed, I read her column too. Victoria Coren shares that Oxbridge advantage with Winkleman. She did have a bit of an easy entry into the world of publication when daddy Coren (journalist and broadcaster, Giles) gave her a column in the Telegraph, aged 13. Normally I would resent that sort of nepotistic nudge often afforded the upper-middle classes, but I’m going to overlook it on this occasion. Again, there might be an element of bias involved.

Victoria Coren is a cock-on poker player too. Her tournament winnings exceed $1,000,000, apparently. Though I personally don’t care for card games. I’m always the one who has to say ‘okay, but you’ll have to show me how you play’ whenever anyone suggests any card game other than pontoon (blackjack, yanks). I can remember the rules to that, and snap, but no other games. ‘Do you know how to play poker?’ I’ll be asked. I’ll answer no. I’ll tell them that I really don’t know any card games, but they’ll still scroll through umpteens of surely imaginary games. ‘Egyptian ratscrew? Asshole? Screw Your Neighbour? Sneaky Pete? Bullshit? Steal the Old Man’s Pack? Shithead? Mother Fuck Fumble? Dead Testicles? Slap the Tranny in the Cock While Sucking Her Tits Rummy?’ No, no, no! I’d rather have circle jerk and pretend we’re playing One-Handed Solitaire.

But again, I’m not going to hold her poker playing against her. In this case it’s just more of a turn on. I have no idea why it’s a turn on, I just think it’s cool that she has kicked arse at something that gets romanticized in the movies on riverboats full of bourbon, cigars and sidearms. I must give her credit. For that and as a mark of such respect I’ll not tell any jokes relating to the audible misinterpretability of the word ‘poker’, or anything relating to such poker terms as going south (also known as ratholing), limp-reraise, or nut hand (also known as the nuts). And I’m certainly not going to say that I’d like to splash her pot, no. But I would like to ejaculate my semen all over her orifice.

And that’s mostly to do with what she’s currently known best for. Balderdash and Piffle, if you’ve not seen it, is a BBC show dedicated to exploring the origins of words and phrases, and attempting to get the people at the OED to supplement their current definitions with evidence of usage which pre-dates the existing entry. Now, if ever there was a way to my heart, it’s through word origins. I’m a sucker for etymology, I do love to know how words and phrases came about, it’s just interesting. And when Victoria Coren is telling me all about it, well, I’m just in such a state of contentment that I start to forget what a cunt I am. And really, that’s what I want in a woman, I want her to help me forget what a cunt I am. So far they’ve tended to remind me what a cunt I am and even illustrate to me ways in which I didn’t even realise I could be a cunt. While this is always an enlightening experience which I’m eager to learn from, I’d rather like to receive the comforting reassurance that I’m occasionally not a cunt. I feel this would be a sound foundation for a long and fulfilling relationship. So, there you go ladies, that’s the way to ensure my ejaculate adorns your orifices. Be assured I will give each application equal measures of thought, consideration, and should you include a photo, semen.

Next time on crowth.net, I hope to provide my own comment and analysis of the Rowan Williams media event that followed his speech on civil and religious law in England. It went something along the lines of him saying that he thinks we should have a more open minded discourse about the role of the state as opposed to other institutional bodies in the implementation of certain legal functions, followed by the media and just about everyone ever saying FUCK YOU ARCHBISHOP FUCK, YOU WANT TO STONE WOMEN IN THE STREET, DIE DIE DIE! I would have done that this week, but I have an essay due on secularization theory so I’ve not really had the time. Yes, if only I didn’t have to write essays on religion’s role in society I’d be able to write blogs on religion’s role in society. I hope that the analingual discussion of ejaculingual turn-ons has done as much to satisfy your blogospherical needs for the week as it has mine.