Kiss Off!!!

I'm going to start a new campaign (now that my "Help The Aged - Felate an Over-40" drive seems to have run out of steam.

I want the Government health Nazis to stop masturbating themselves into a frenzy about smoking in public and turn their rabid ravings instead to calls for a string of softcore brothels to be established around the country.

These wouldn't be full-on, in-out-in-out-my-name-is-Chantelle brothels, you understand. No, jiggery pokery - and particularly pokery - would be against the rules of the house. The sole purpose of these places would not be to offer the chance of fluid exchange with someone better looking than ones spouse, and for a smaller fee, but to provide licensed premises where a user could indulge in the practice of "snogging", out of the sight of normal human beings.

Unlike existing places of ill-repute where ladies or gentlemen are provided by the management, clients of these softcore brothels would take along their own "snogee" for the occasion - a bit like having to take your own booze to an unlicensed Balti house. Said client and his or her fellow face-muncher could then pass the time trying to swap tongues and tonsils in private while sitting in front of one half of lager which would remain untouched throughout the combat.

These "facilities" would give these selfish, sicko perverts somewhere to go and so free fully evolved human beings from having to endure the sight of two abject wankers trying to chew each others fucking face off in the fucking pub!
God, I soddin' hate it when two tossers decide that every other bloody person in the boozer has got to share every purile, pathetic, physical detail of their juvenile, invariably doomed relationship. GO FUCKING HOME AND DO IT!!! SOD OFF AWAY FROM MY OXYGEN!!

I mean, there are times when my digestive system is not all it should be, right? Should I, as a result, be perfectly at liberty to drop my trousers in front of lovey-dovey couples in the pub, squat down and have a shit before their very eyes? No, I shouldn't - and I've been barred from a couple of places for having thought that I should! If my bladder reaches critical mass after about six pints, should I be able to sidle over to these people and say: "'Scuse me, hope you don't mind. Aaaah, that's a relief!" as I urinate all over them? Je ne pense pas! How about: "Soz you two but I haven't had sex for weeks and I'm feeling particularly fruity so I'm just going to knock a round off in front of you. I won't be long"? The bloody lino is sticky enough as it is!!

These public face-chewers invariably fall into one of four groups:
Firstly, there are the youngsters - often Asian and with religious parents - who are forbidden from even seeing the person they are with, let alone sitting around the house chewing their face off.
Secondly, there are the middle-aged adulterers. Like the kids, they can hardly give full vent to their passion at their respective homes and so they warm up in the pub before retiring to the car they came in and then park up near some deserted reservoir to mist up the windows and shag on the backseat.
Thirdly, there are those couples who hook up on internet sex sites. The last thing they want to do is actually talk to each other but at the same time they each want to make sure that the other is not an axe-wielding loony. As a result, they arrange to meet first in a pub. It takes about 30 seconds to weigh-up potential loonyism and so, once the all-clear has sounded, what better place to dispense with necessary juice-producing foreplay than in the pub?
Fourthly, there are people who have escaped from secure institutions or homes.

I had better make it clear here and now that I am not averse to all public shows of affection. The occasional hand on the waist of the lady you are with, a knowing and lingering smile of warmth across the room, a sly squeeze of the hand as you pass by. Those are subtle signals of AFFECTION - affection is NOT the word to describe the public antics more usually witnessed by others when wildlife programmes on the rutting season are screened on the telly!

I have to admit, however, that I am also against that seemingly harmless and mild show of affection which is "holding hands". Girlies always want to hold fucking hands. Jesus, they start doing it with each other when they are at school (I still don't understand that to this day) so by the time they start knocking around with boys their poor, hapless victims have no fucking chance!
It's not a matter of embarrassment. No, it's far more fundamental than that. It is a simple matter of practicality. Men have logical brains. Women, well those who have brains, do not have a single, logical neurone between them. They fail to see that if they hold the hand of their chosen gorilla in town, or anywhere else for that matter, they then form an impassable, rolling roadblock. No-one can get by you, you can't get by anyone else, while one of you walks on the pavement the other has to walk in the road and face certain death (guess who?), you can't pass lampposts or letterboxes and you can't enter any shops because the doors are not designed for Siamese twins. To combat these problems, men have learnt to break the hand-hold when obstacles approach but, like stubble on the chin in the mornings, the female hand returns and takes hold again. Seconds later the hold has to be broken if any progress is to be made but then the link is re-established almost immediately.

The only logical reason I have ever heard for holding hands was put forward by my mother. She and my late father always used to hold hands. Her explanation? "It keeps his hand out of my handbag!"

Phew, I think that's it! I feel better now.
People who snog in public can go to Grantham.