In a new installment that shall happen once a week, as determined by the title, I answer the huge amount of 1 email who asked me about the contents of my wank bank.

We all have a wank bank.

Women may deny they have one, but they have one.  Men update theirs more frequently than they care to mention.  In fact, the concept of Top of the Pops on the BBC years ago was born from the charting of a man’s wank bank.  It was more commercially viable as a music chart, plus with the full bush culture of the 70′s, the wank banks needed to be trimmed a bit.  Leaving it again to the music of popular culture to put a top 40 together.

Now as I understand it from my research, women’s wank banks consist of completely unattainable and mythical phenomena such as romance, feelings and clitoriseseses.  It doesn’t matter what the man looks like as long as he has a sense of humour, according to Cosmopolitan.

This explains why Frankie Boyle is fighting off the calendar models with a shitty leper and Colin Farrell settled down in a 3 bed semi and the good woman complete with 2.4 children.

I don’t buy it, so I’m going to be honest and give a weekly account of which loverly ladies are inspiring me to batter my sausage.

I’m not even going to be predictable and go with Isla Fisher, Alyson Hannigan or Charlotte Church.  You’d be expecting that.

No, for the first week I have to go with a woman who is so undeniably bonerific it hurts.  It hurts even more that no matter how much I could rub my sense of humour up against her lovely lady lumps, she’d never be into it.  She’s one of them lesbians we hear so much about.

Portia De Rossi

Ain’t she enough to make a tripod out of ye?

Of course she’s married to Ellen De Generes, and a charming person he is too, and a comedian with his own chat show.

I suppose there must be some truth to the sense of humour thing.  Ellen gets to rub her stiffy inside Portia’s sausage wallet any time she wants.

I wish I was funny.  And a lesbian.  And Ellen De Generes.

I had a dream last night, it was a weird one.  They usually are.

It started off with me going for a simple walk in the country.  I live in the country, so there’s nothing strange in that.

I turned down a small country road with fields either side of it and as I walked I just took in the scenery.  The various birds chirped and fluttered about the trees.  Bees bounced from flower to flower.  The smell of cow shit hung in the air and offensively filled my lungs.

Grass sprouted up from between the cracked road and patches of dirt told the stories of road tax poorly spent.  Blackberry bushes poked out among the old and forgotten wooden fences making me wonder which had been there first.

A rusted old tractor seemed to spark some romantic farming memories that surely belonged to someone else as a pheasant casually sauntered across the lane.

I walked a little further and noticed a field that had a scarecrow in the middle.  This seemed strange to me because I can’t recall a single time in my life where I’ve ever seen one.

It was what you might imagine it would look like.  Perched on a makeshift crucifix of branches in the middle of a freshly ploughed field.  Dressed crudely to look like a man in an old three piece suit and a tatty hat, he just stood there.  He just watched as the crows and blackbirds helped themselves to the newly planted seeds, utterly failing in his only task in life.

I fixed his hat that had shifted in the cool breeze and turned to get back on track when the silence of the scene was broken with two words:

“Thank you”

I turned around and the scarecrow smiled back at me

“I do like to look my best, even if I don’t do what I’m supposed to very well.  The wind can really play havoc with ones appearance”

“Oh right, no problem”

“Hope I didn’t startle you, but I’m quite happy to have a chance visitor”

“Well it was a bit unexpected alright.  You must get pretty bored out here”

“Oh, it’s not that bad”

His expression changed and I knew he wasn’t being entirely honest.

“Really?”

“Well, it does have it’s drawbacks”

“I’ll bet it does”

“Yes, muscle cramps from being tied to this post for a start.  The birds taking the piss out of me and the loneliness”

Oh here we go.

“I miss being touched.  I wasn’t always a scarecrow y’know.  I started off in a field just like this one.  Then when I was cut and bailed I was used as bedding and food for the animals.  They’d spend their day lying on me or nibbling me.  It was a great way to sate the urges.”

Right even though this was a dream, and my dream this was all taking a turn for the worst.

“Cool, well I better be making a move”

“Will you just, if it’s not too much to ask”

“What?”

“Well, you see my fly is open so if you could be a mate and just stuff the straw back inside and zip me up, that’d be great.”

“I dunno man, if you hadn’t just come alive and started talking about urges I might have done”

“Please, it’ll be one less thing for those bastard crows to laugh at me for”

“Fine”

So I grabbed a handful of his open fly overflow and stuffed it back inside, well I tried to.  It was already so tightly packed in there that I had to shove and wrestle with it a fair bit to try and get it all in.  Then I thought fuck this for a game of scarecrows and tried yanking some of it out instead.

That’s when my newly animated friend started to get into it.

“Oh, fuck man keep going that’s the stuff.  Oh I haven’t been treated this rough since the combine harvester, keep it up, just give me another minute”

I stood there wanking off a scarecrow in the middle of my field of dreams, and before I could make the pun of “If you build it they will come” I woke up leaving me without a punchline for this entire piece.

I’d have been plucking at straws anyway.

In work today and someone needed a little first aid.

The hotel is surrounded by loose pebbles and stones instead of paved walkways so when some cunt nugget in flip flops decides to go for a leisurely sprint with no other purpose than to try to get a laugh from her cunt nugget mates, they get cut.

Some of those stones are sharp, sharp enough to have Chuck Norris tip toeing like a bitch on hot sand, even in the testosteroniest lumberjack boots.

Bad idea – Sprint in flip flops on the sharp stones to get a laugh.

Good idea – Cry like an impotent man at a peep show when you get cut and look around for attention from mates who are laughing at and not with you.

Cunt.

I had to administer some properly serious first aid to stop her from forever staining our lovely stones with her blood that was leaking from her gash.  Wait, that’s knacker even for me.  She had gashed her foot and it was bleeding.  I don’t actually know if she was leaking from her gash, the conversation didn’t get that far.

Now as most of you will know I have a bit of a thing for feet.  The sight of a loverly pair of tootsies all dolled up will give me a horn I could concuss a rhino with.

So with me spending the afternoon looking after a foot in need of attention, this should have been a time for all safari game to steer clear, but no.

This woman had feet that can only, politely, be described as hoofs.  Or hooves, whichever takes your fancy.

She had blisters, corns, bunions and what I’m pretty sure were at least 2 toenails who were on a quest to becoming so far in grown, you’d get splinters on your middle finger by the third date.

They actually made me gag.

I’m a very squeemish person when it comes to blood and there was a lot of it.  I didn’t have to worry, her feet not only took my mind off the blood but had me reaching for rosary beads and chanting an Our Father.

Her friends stopped laughing long enough to leave her with me and head to the bar to get drunk and probably laugh at her some more.

“I’m so silly, I’m always doing things like this.  They call me the mad one of the group”

I’m sure they do love, but not in the kind jovial way you hope they do.

However, as I fixed her up she kept talking and it became clear that she was just an insecure person.  By her own admission she does things like this to try and stay in the group.  She reckoned that if she made them laugh, they’d keep her around.  She told me stories of how her older sisters never liked her and would bully her in an evil older sister panto kind of way.

This was all getting a bit much for me as the friendly neighbourhood bar man because she was getting a little teary eyed while recounting her life story.

I advised her to see her doctor as she’d probably need a stitch or two and perhaps a tetanus, she cleared her throat and thanked me before limping into the bar.

I wondered how she could continue with the act despite admitting everything to a complete stranger, maybe she just needed a little release before undermining herself again.  I knew when she had reached the bar as the jeering could be heard through out the hotel when she arrived.

It was at that moment that I realised I shouldn’t judge people by their appearances alone, especially over something as trivial as her feet and toes.

If it was another time and another life, I would have like to have known her.  The real her, and maybe I could tell her that she doesn’t have to act this way to be accepted, she could be herself and others could take it or leave it.

I knew if I could say this to her, I’d be a better man myself.

Especially if I could say it to her without gawping at her magnificent tits and dribbling like an in patient.

My feed reader is getting very light these days.

Blogs that were once so prolific are now posting once in a blue moon.  Blogs that started with great promise disappeared without trace and others just gave up.

Plus I’ve become very comfortable in my little routine of checking the same blogs each morning.

But there seems to be something happening in blog world.  People are either running dry on what to write about or just finding that they’ve no interest in it anymore.  I can’t complain as it’s free entertainment and you can’t really demand it.  Plus, I’ve hardly churned out grade A quality shit over the years, but still.

I need some new blogs.

Spread the love, tell me what blogs you read.  Tell me what sites you waste time on when you need cheering up.  Where never fails to give you a giggle when you’re down?

The internet is such a massive resource for great entertainment, and there must be thousands of sites and blogs that I don’t know about.

So help a guy out with his boredom and share the link love.

Leave a link in the comments and let me, and the rest of us know.

Feed me your reader.

I loved Michael Jackson when I was growing up.

Love him or hate him, he dominated the music and entertainment business for most of his career.

Thriller scared the holy b’jesus out of me and made me want to be a performer just to learn that massive dance number.

For years I obsessed over him, collecting singles, albums, posters anything I could get my hands on.  When he played Cork way back when I was gutted the I couldn’t go an account of being probably too young and there being no tickets any where.

Moonwalker was an adventure in the cinema for me and the Smooth Criminal dance replaced the Thriller one in magnificence, for me any way.

I remember seeing a concert of his on the tv when he was in the middle of his BAD tour and thinking that I missed out on one of the greatest moments of live entertainment by not being in Cork that night.

Then he announced the gigs in Wembley and I was all over those tickets like flies on shite.  I got two and couldn’t believe that I was going to get to see the man that I had missed all those years ago.  Sure he’ll be older than he was and maybe he’ll tone down the movements, but still.  I’ll be able to say that I was at a Michael Jackson gig.

I can’t wait, it going to be great.

Oh, hang on……

Ah balls.

*Rummages around for tickets and receipt*

Well, that’s pretty sad news and no doubt the jokes will be flying around the net and by tomorrow night in the pub, there’ll be nothing else to talk about.

I’m a little sad and I feel nothing but sympathy for his kids, they’ve lost their Father and say what you will, that’s a part of life that none of us look forward to.

Maybe they’ll have an open casket and get to see their Father stiff just one last time.

In the meantime, I’m going to get a refund on the tickets and get ready for my big break.  I got a part in a little independent movie set in London, and I leave on Monday.  It’s a small movie with a tiny budget, but there’s already a lot of hype around it.

It’s about a has been actress who can’t get any more work so she coaches a young actor.

I’m the young actor, and I get to act along side Farrah Fawcett.  I can’t believe it.

Oh, hang on….

Ah balls.

*Rummages around for plane ticket and receipt*

She died of anal cancer?

Fuck sake, never mind ruining my plans, that’s just fucking rectum.

RIP.