Sex.
Its commonly assumed that the real location of a man's brain is below his belt. So that glazed expression of the man on the bus means only one thing, he's thinking about sex. (Men can launch into a full-blown fantasy just by glancing at a pencil sharpener). Not surprisingly, surveys show men are less adventurous towards sex than their fantasies might at first suggest. They see kindness as a top priority when looking for a partner. A survey by a male psychologist showed men think about sex every 7 minutes, a female psychologist revealed it to be every 20 minutes.Now, which do you believe?
Football. The male-bonding ritual that's thought about, talked about, fought about. For men who normally hold their emotions back, its the perfect outlet: they cry, hug, kiss (both supporters and players) with a passion rarely seen outside the football ground. Sleepless nights are often endured thinking about the form of his team's centre-forward. The staunch allegience to the game can be put neatly into perspective: men spend more on football compared to their partners. Its not a matter of life or death. Its much more important than that.
Cars.
To get your partner excited, whispre these words in his ear. "Chrome hub caps. Front and rear matching spoilers. 16 valve engine, or this, "sleek wheels, v-8 engine with 500 horsepower,300km/hr". This form of arousal is further demonstrated in a recent survey. It revealed that most men would prefer a new motor to a date with Beyonce. John, a friend and psychology student at Makerere explained this as "they lock away feelings and are more comfortable getting emotional with cars than women". So if you spot your partner tenderly kissing the dashboard of his car, dont worry. Its perfectly healthy. Their loving attachment does, however, have its downsides. Apparently, the severe drop in the male sperm count is partly due to lengthy periods spent driving. One final trip to take with you down lie's motorway: avoid men with personalised number plates that read, "STUD".
Monday, March 31, 2008
Thursday, March 27, 2008
BOYS BITS
Where to start. I could start with the story of my life which my friends think is dramatic. Right! If only they knew the half of it. But no, i think today i will talk about something that baffles some of us females, and probably has for the last couple of hundred centuries. Boys bits. Then again, i have just broken up with someone, so i feel im justified.
Sometime back i chanced on this guy sitting at the roadside, wearing a pair of blue shorts and a white shirt and jerking off - you know, masturbating. He's one of those old breed of men who never wear underwear, that we thought had died out, and i was thinking - what's the world coming to if people can do that infront of passers-by?
Well, you ever seen one of those squashed out of a pair of shorts? It looked more like something I'd remove from a chicken before i roasted it. The whole arrangement is very poultry - like, you know, the main thing looking like a chicken's neck, the accompaniments kind of goose - bumpy... makes you understand, really, why they call it a cock, doesnt it?
But honestly, did God make boys' bits on a bad hangover or what? He must have really exhausted his creative powers one day on butterflies, sunset and sand beaches, watermelons, horses, then dog-tired, gone out for a few dozen relaxing bloody marys before, the next day, tackling eels, prickly cactus and male genitals. You have worked on a hangover before, you know what its like.
First of all, why did he put them outside their bodies? As a design fault? It can only have been so that irritated women could knee the men in the balls, useful though this might be. What do you do with your testicles when you're riding a bike? Scaling (or worse, failing to scale) the fence? Doing the splits? This external arrangement is nothing less than incredibly inconvenient.
Its also aesthetically questionable. If there's one thing we reallylove about men, its their lean, sinewy, hard edges. So what's all that floppy stuff doing there in the middle suddenly? Its like finding a jelly-tot in your favourite chocolate (another spectacular boo-boo, no doubt perpetrated by someone with a hangover).
Oh sure, bits of it get lean, sinewy and hard, now and again. And sure, most of us like that, now and again - but you know what they say about a time and a place? (If you dont, ask your dad. No, ask your mum). How is it, I sometimes have to wonder, that men can take themselves seriously at all? They may be closing million shilling deals, but all the time, we know that they have, attached to their own bodies, an element that's completely out of their control.
And the really outrageous thing is that they have the nerve to have this obsession with our bodies.I think its high time we turned the tables - get you to wear low-cut shorts and see how you feel, when a chill blows and your balls shrivel and your "cock" turns into a peanut, and we girls nudge each other and go, "check that out!" And passing you in the taxi park or in the office, see how you handle it when we "inadvertently" rub ourselves up against your rounded protruberances, and you get an erection (because its a physical reaction, right?) but still feel somehow insulted.
Dont get too offended, though, boys. While there's absolutely no denying that the joke's on you, its not as if we dont like your soft bits. They look funny, and they do strange and unexpected things, but then again, so do many of our friends. And we still invite them back.
Sometime back i chanced on this guy sitting at the roadside, wearing a pair of blue shorts and a white shirt and jerking off - you know, masturbating. He's one of those old breed of men who never wear underwear, that we thought had died out, and i was thinking - what's the world coming to if people can do that infront of passers-by?
Well, you ever seen one of those squashed out of a pair of shorts? It looked more like something I'd remove from a chicken before i roasted it. The whole arrangement is very poultry - like, you know, the main thing looking like a chicken's neck, the accompaniments kind of goose - bumpy... makes you understand, really, why they call it a cock, doesnt it?
But honestly, did God make boys' bits on a bad hangover or what? He must have really exhausted his creative powers one day on butterflies, sunset and sand beaches, watermelons, horses, then dog-tired, gone out for a few dozen relaxing bloody marys before, the next day, tackling eels, prickly cactus and male genitals. You have worked on a hangover before, you know what its like.
First of all, why did he put them outside their bodies? As a design fault? It can only have been so that irritated women could knee the men in the balls, useful though this might be. What do you do with your testicles when you're riding a bike? Scaling (or worse, failing to scale) the fence? Doing the splits? This external arrangement is nothing less than incredibly inconvenient.
Its also aesthetically questionable. If there's one thing we reallylove about men, its their lean, sinewy, hard edges. So what's all that floppy stuff doing there in the middle suddenly? Its like finding a jelly-tot in your favourite chocolate (another spectacular boo-boo, no doubt perpetrated by someone with a hangover).
Oh sure, bits of it get lean, sinewy and hard, now and again. And sure, most of us like that, now and again - but you know what they say about a time and a place? (If you dont, ask your dad. No, ask your mum). How is it, I sometimes have to wonder, that men can take themselves seriously at all? They may be closing million shilling deals, but all the time, we know that they have, attached to their own bodies, an element that's completely out of their control.
And the really outrageous thing is that they have the nerve to have this obsession with our bodies.I think its high time we turned the tables - get you to wear low-cut shorts and see how you feel, when a chill blows and your balls shrivel and your "cock" turns into a peanut, and we girls nudge each other and go, "check that out!" And passing you in the taxi park or in the office, see how you handle it when we "inadvertently" rub ourselves up against your rounded protruberances, and you get an erection (because its a physical reaction, right?) but still feel somehow insulted.
Dont get too offended, though, boys. While there's absolutely no denying that the joke's on you, its not as if we dont like your soft bits. They look funny, and they do strange and unexpected things, but then again, so do many of our friends. And we still invite them back.
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