Thursday, 15 December 2011

A fine helping of festive filth!

Once again folks, it’s that time of the year. The days are getting shorter, the weather is getting colder, and the nation succumbs to another years’ commercialised festivities. Everywhere you turn, a shop is advertising ‘Christmas this,’ and ‘Festive that’. Starbucks have even changed the colour of their take away cups from the standard white, to a more festive red. Wine is no longer poured, it’s mulled, and fat, unemployed alcoholics get their yearly call from the job centre to let them know they have landed the gig of being Santa in your local shopping centre. The nation is swept by Christmas fever and we line our wallets with our hard earned cash and face the crowds to hunt out that festive jumper or pair of socks our nearest and dearest claim to love, yet secret away in that abyss at the back of your wardrobe never again to see the light of day.
Now I never was one to follow conventions, and when I picked this person’s name out of the work secret Santa draw, I saw the potential in present and I acted upon it.
“I’m having a bit of a dilemma,” I said to my most trusted colleague (a kindred spirit if you like), “Do I get her something nice, or do I go for something filthy?”
“Filthy,” she said without having to think. “She’ll love it. And knowing that something filthy came from you, will make her love it even more.”
Yet again, I have to question why people hold a torch to the image of me as some well-spoken, sophisticated individual, when I am clearly not! How long will it take them to finally realise that behind the refined exterior, is pure, unadulterated sin? And so following in this ilk, I returned home to peruse the website of a certain adult shop.
Where to start?
I’m guessing the chocolate body paint probably isn’t a good idea and that most likely means that the ‘strawberry dick lick’ is out of the question? After a brief flirtation with the idea of a phallic shaped shot glass and something suitably creamy (Eggnog maybe?) to accompany it, I return to consulting my colleague before proceeding any further.
Are edible nipple tassells too explicit for secret Santa?
Please say yes. Please say yes and spare me from the embarrassment of actually having to go into said adult shop and purchase this intimate gift. By this time I had already left it quite late and had missed out on the free postage, and even though the allure of an anonymised debit on my account, and ‘discreet packaging’ seemed an offer I would have otherwise been unable to turn down. One can’t be too discreet with these things!
Not at all!!! was the response.
Right, now for some strategic planning. It’s not that I’m particularly embarrassed about going into establishments of this nature (although I don’t make a habit of it I should point out!) but the prospect of having to contest with the smug couple types who go in there to buy their festive underwear in various sizes of debauched is enough to make me queasy. Never mind that slightly maniacal looking spinster type trying to smuggle the latest offspring of the legendary ‘rabbit’ to the tills without drawing too much attention to herself. Well we all know she’ll be having a merry old time this Christmas! But anyway, enough of that. I was on a mission; a quest if you like, to bring filth to the festivities. Unlike the wise men bringing the baby Jesus gifts of gold and spices, I would be bringing something of a less high brow nature!
I was foiled on my first attempt, as the edible nipple tassells has apparently proved popular and sold out, leaving the far less appealing edible ‘g’ string taking its place. It might just be that I’m starting to become a bit prudish, but is there really anything particularly erotic about eating candy that has been next to someone’s back passage? Yes? Really?! You surprise me! This however, was not my main concern; I was still present-less and I needed to act fast. Seeing the frantic looking woman still trying to act casually in the dildo section, I thought it wise to stay away from her. Without displaying any of the outward signs of panic that were starting to bubble up inside, I quickly glanced around the immediate vicinity and that was where I spotted...
Willy Racing! And with a tag line of, see who comes first, how could anyone fail to love this? Surely nothing says Christmas like seeing two wind-up willies having it off across your dining table?
On taking this to the tills the shop gave me an approving smile and asked if this was to be a gift.
“Yes,” I replied, feeling slightly relieved that she didn’t think that this was for my own personal use. Again she smiled.
“And would you like to take advantage of the offer we currently have going on? This clitoral stimulator is half price when you buy anything from the range and it can make a remarkably nice gift?”
“I think that could be taking work based secret Santa a little too far.”
“Well it depends on how well you know them!”
You’ve got to admire her sales pitch, but can you ever really know someone that well?

Thursday, 1 December 2011

Definitely not a dildo!

“What is that?” he said in his thick Brummie accent.
“What is that?” I repeated, with my now trademark eyebrow raise.
“Yea, what is it?” he said again raising the phallic shaped object in his hand as if to get a closer look.
For all of you still trying to guess, the answer is not a dildo, you filthy minded individuals! Who am I kidding? You’re in good company here!
That,” I said, “is a courgette.”
The man working on the till at Tesco looked at me bemused.
“Is that like a cucumber?” he asked.
Of course it isn’t you cretin. Surely to work at Tesco you should at least be able to identify your produce, shouldn’t you? Then I noticed the Trainee badge that he sported proudly on his nylon uniform.
“Yes,” I say, taking the easy way out and avoiding any further conversation. I even gave him the smile that I save for the terminally stupid. Now if that isn’t sympathetic then I don’t know what is?
“Innit?” he replied, nodding his head in approval before putting it into my bag. Goodness knows what he would make of the aubergine that was still to come!
Why is it that every time I go to this particular superstore that I end up having such ridiculous conversations?
I was chided by my work colleagues recently after a trip to Britain’s favourite supermarket where I had an altercation with the check out worker. On placing my Twilight DVD on the conveyor, the attendant examined it carefully.
“You like Twilight?” he said with a sneer.
Don’t. Even. Get. Me. Started.
And then before I realised what I was saying:
“You like working at Tesco?”
I know, that was a pretty low blow and he did look (quite deservedly) downcast. But hang on, this was one of those few occasions when I actually thought of a witty retort and managed to use it. Yet I still felt like a dick.
Oh God, then there was that awkward silence. That LONG and ever increasing silence. How do I escape this? Being vaguely aware of the fact that I was reddening through a combination of embarrassment and exhilaration (at the fact that I actually managed to say what I wanted to, when I wanted to, not some perverted excitement at terrorising Tesco’s uneducated employees!) I plumped for the customary glare. Never fails! Scared into a frantic exaggerated frenzy by the sharp tongued, glaring southerner, I would like to point out that following my outburst I did receive exemplary customer service! Silent! The best kind!
It’s not all one sided though. Oh no! After turning 25 a couple of weeks ago and revelling in the plethora of cards highlighting the fact that I am now officially old, or as one more sympathetic friend’s card denoted; dangerously close to being old, Tesco decided to kick me whilst I was down. On one of my standard trips to the local Express store near my apartment to buy the customary bottle of red after another gruelling day, the Caribbean lady working on the till asked to see my ID. Feeling almost smug as I look up to show her my driving licence she saw my face and responded;
“Oh no, definitely over 25,” she said in lilting Jamaican tones and waved my driving license aside.
Bitch!
Oh well. It’s still Jack: 2, Tesco: 1.