Friday Fluffer - With Starch or Without, Sir?

The Fluffer is pleased to report that men are taking responsibility - at last - for any aging skin they might have.

Ladies, of course, spend mucho time and beaucoup pesos on products and services that keep them looking as ageless and wrinkle-free as a newly skinned drum. Thesedays, men are catching the same snare.

And what better place to start than between a man's legs? I present to you the aptly named "Tighten the Tackle" service, the highlight of which is something called "ball ironing", provided by the luscious Nurse Jamie.

Delicately describing the $575 non-surgical treatment, the blonde beautician says it involves using lasers to remove hair, erase wrinkles and correct discoloration on the scrotum.

Like women, she explains, her male clients are keen to 'keep their garden kept' and it's purely for aesthetic reasons.

I'm as relieved as you to know that this is a simple vanity service. Lord knows we don't need to be worrying about dying from overly-wrinkled nuts.

Read more about Nurse Jamie in the Mail Online here.



Bottoms Up, And This Won't Hurt A Bit.

Dead Rubber

It would end much of the fluff filling celebrity newspapers and gossip websites, but if men took charge of their potency, their lives would be more in their control.

The only guaranteed male contraceptive is the vasectomy. In case you forgot your basic male reproductive anatomy, this procedure cuts and seals the vas deferentia, the tubes that carry sperm from the testicles into the seminal stream.

Sidebar: There appears to be, in my discussions with women about this, misunderstanding of how jism is made. Semen is the overarching term for the complete ejaculate. Semen Cocktail is formed during the process of ejaculation, when sperm passes through the vas and mixes with other fluids from the prostate and elsewhere. In short, the actual reproductive material, the love-taddies or sperm, comprise only around 10% of the ejaculate. That's what is stopped by the vasectomy. The rest is a mix of fructose, enzymes, citric acid and lipids designed to protect and lubricate the sperm on the way to the eggs.

End sidebar.

Interestingly, the vagina is chemically hostile to sperm. The mix of fluids comprising male orgasmic fireworks is mostly a tank battalion designed to storm the castle of the lady's gooey defences. The only difference between the vasectomized and the unvasectomized man is the potential pregnancy. Everything else is exactly the same, including, I am reliably informed, the taste.

So. Once a man has an heir, a spare, and perhaps one or two more for luck, he'd be smart to take charge of his shit, and get the big V. I've heard that, later in life, women find a potent but infertile man irresistible.





Bottoms Up, Ejaculators!

My Penis is an Idiot

My penis is an idiot.

I can say this without fear of contradiction, because no-one will vouch for him in a moral or social sense, least of all me. Together, he and his two lurking buddies, The Testicles, took control of me at around age seventeen, and have yet to relinquish their power.

His epitaph will read:

Upright fellow, lacked judgment.

And that really tells you all you need to know. After all, every penis is a hydraulic accumulator, nothing more, nothing less. I guess he has an integrated fluid delivery system as well, but that only works when he's rigid. If the hydraulics fail, there's only one thing penises do.

Which makes me think about my penis as a kind of two-stunt circus animal. One trick is urination. Boring. The other trick is to grow exponentially in size and deliver one half of a baby. Put like that he sounds way more complex than I'd thought, but closer investigation reveals the truth. My baby half consists of wriggling love-tadpoles swimming around in their very own protein-matrix, all explosively delivered in a spurty bundle after four martinis, a fumble in the car and a few minutes of thrusting. Not exactly Harvard material now, is he?

Which is why I'm convinced he's just the pitch-man for The Testicles. Think of him as Ed McMahon to The Testicles' Johnny Carson. Dumb, one-note and easily duped, that's my penis.

So it's the Balls who hang around in the background manipulating their big fleshy friend. They're the ones who convince him to approach unobtainable women in the hope of hooking up, and they're the ones who laugh behind his back when he fails. It's in their interest to see him succeed, but he lacks the critical function of being able to say:

No, Balls, this is not the way into her pants. I need some time and a little subtlety, and it might happen, but for now, stop egging me on.

He can't think on his feet, so to speak, and finds it impossible to say no. He's a big ole lug, who likes to please his owner, his balls, and any passing woman.

He's an idiot.




Bottoms up!


Edited.

Funky Cold Medina

She was in bartending school, so it was only fair that I helped with cocktail memorization. Rifling through the index cards, I'd find the most obscure drink recipe and quiz her:

Okay, give me a caipirinha, I'd ask.

2 tsp granulated sugar
8 lime wedges
2 1/2 oz Sagatiba Pura (cachaca)

Muddle the sugar into the lime wedges in an old-fashioned glass. Fill the glass with ice cubes. Pour the cachaca into the glass. Stir well.

Alright, how about a Long Island Iced Tea?

1 part vodka
1 part 1800® Tequila
1 part rum
1 part gin
1 part triple sec
1 1/2 parts sweet and sour mix
1 splash Coca-Cola®
1 oz Absolut® vodka
1 oz Southern Comfort® peach liqueur
1 oz Blue Curacao liqueur
top with cranberry juice
ice

Pour over ice and top off with cranberry juice.

Mix ingredients together over ice in a glass. Pour into a shaker and give one brisk shake. Pour back into the glass and make sure there is a touch of fizz at the top. Garnish with lemon.

Hmmm. Good. How about a Funky Cold Medina? I asked, with one arched eyebrow.

There's no such drink! She said, implying I was being underhanded.

Sure there is. Her cue-cards didn't contain the recipe for a Funky Cold Medina, which is how we ended up using the internet to research cocktail recipes. That naturally led to us discovering the Pink Squirrel.

Not the drink.

Prize goes to Miss T-Shirt for guessing correctly.

Pink Squirrel (definition one.) [Link]