A Bob a Bob a dildo

I believe in magic.

Rib me if you like about ‘six impossible things before breakfast’ , but I really do think that there’s very likely an occasionally kind, often cruel and frequently puckish providence – perhaps some kind of Fate or Wyrd - that effects our daily life.

I’m a big-time Judeo-Hellenic civilization groupie in case you haven’t noticed; but not a Christian believer despite the clear and present good that our civilization has derived from that faith and its abrahamic predecessor.
Yesterday however, Pan and Loki were having their day of glory. They put three gems in front of me that produced a nice, Right-wing sort of sequence.

I thought I’d take a look at The Independent for a change: that national bastion of all the Left-liberalism that isn’t already in the Guardian or on the BBC for a spot of - and I’ll be frank here - internet-assisted pleasure. What were those gems?

A dildo.

Now, call me old-fashioned. Please.

The first link that I noticed was one to an old page entitled ‘The Ten Best Sex Toys.’ Quite why an article dated September 2008 should appear on the front page in March 2009 on was not clear but I’m a growing lad and prurient enough and in good health and I wondered what the Great and the Good are doing to each other and what they’re doing it with. Being saddled with a bicameral brain of two hemispheres (be careful not to sit down on them too quickly, gentlemen) I decided to take a look.

The first item was a scarf which was being used to tie up the attractive hands of, I guess, a professional model. Bonny lass from what I could see; but a device that means a chap has to do all the work? Not with my back. Next there was a padded bat for spanking and then a ring that…Well, whatever. Later on there was a set of joined up cushions for support in the act or acts, and even some massage gear that would be pleasant even outside the marital bedroom. Later still there was some fairly chaste-looking lingerie and a pillow book which - let’s face it - in a world containing the Internet would be no surprise if not necessarily no great shakes.

The clincher for my social conservative ambitions, however, was the porcelain dildo.
Correction; the Hot and Cold Ceramic Dildo - £109. If you must, if you really must, then look for it from the link here.

There are uglier objects in the world; just look wherever British tourists go to seek the sun and tell me differently. Hey ho.

I’m not actually a prude as far as I can tell though I’m by no means the social libertarian I was back in the days before my back went and my daughter was born, and so the pleasures of the marital bedroom aren’t something that I think the Right, in any of its configurations, has much business in regulating.
There are caveats, of course, and ‘I don't mind where people make love, so long as they don't do it in the street and frighten the horses’ is not quite sufficient. I think there’s still a good reason why number of legal participants is kept down to two at most (and fewer still for Greens and Keynesians) and it involves the potential for violence and larger numbers ganging up to rape individuals in the most vulnerable and compromising situations imaginable. Crying ‘rape’ at an orgy? You’d get more police attention if you cried ‘racist.’

I recognise that the issue is so knotty and intrusive that even the severest social conservative (at least of the sort unwilling to employ a scimitar or piano wire) might have consistent reasons not to pursue or to legislate further. Sex amongst consenting adults may be the social Right’s Dardanelles.

So we live in a world of risk where sometimes the cure of law may be worse for the body politic than the disease of general uneasiness and the potential for even more broken marriages. As if the Money Conversation wasn’t enough for that.

But the thing is. The thing is. The thing is that this is a page in a great national newspaper: new by the standards of the other three but still a high value news and comment outlet. And it’s carrying advertisements for sex toys.
Is it the end of the world? Is it a Daily Mail-style-virtue holocaust of bad taste and permissiveness which will lead who-knows-where?

Well, no. That was the Nineteen-Sixties, and they’ve led us here.

I have little doubt that British society was excessively uptight about some things in the 1950s and 60s and change can be for the better. Effective contraception and cures for venereal disease have put the commonplace practice of teenage incarceration in mental hospitals for unmarried motherhood and the scourge of tertiary syphilis into the history books. Mostly. Cohabitation is an effective way of testing commitment and compatibility before marriage, and on the whole I agree with it. Not that cohabitation prevented me marrying into an unhappy relationship for all concerned despite some degree of forewarning, mind you, but still, it’s probably a plus. So a bit more freedom and a lot less shame and some things are better, or potentially so.

So this is where we start, because this is where the 1960’s ended. Why is it such a mess?

I think it’s because the very notion of right and wrong has been so subverted that those who sack off instead of shacking up, and those who shack up instead of cohabiting, and those who cohabit instead of marrying only see degrees of grey and no black and white.
So we get the serial bastardy and the dole that finances it and the land whales and meat people carriers of our charming underclass ghettos, and the ’needing space’ for the middle-class with its tax credits and the officialdom that sees little need for fathers except for their account numbers and sort codes for BACS transactions.

Speaking of…When I was trying to hold my previous life together; wife, daughter, mortgage, car, after serial redundancies I took the first job offered to me; Norman Tebbit style. Delivering fast food at night. One delivery I made was to some housing association flats on the edge of Castle City’s worst council estate and the shaven-headed vest-and trackie bottoms body-builder type who answered the door had music on full blast. I handed over the food and wished both customer and his ‘partner’ bon appétit, Northwest style. I had delivered food to them several Friday nights in a row. Partner was absent and I looked around as he started checking the food bag to see if I’d brought the right items.
‘She’s in the spare bedroom, sleeping,’ he explained at my puzzlement. ’She’s got an early shift tomorrow.’
‘I’m surprised she stands for that music,’ I said, thinking that the Mark One Mrs. Northwester would give me hell if I woke her up at four when I got home.
‘Don’t matter mate,’ he smiled casually. ‘If she squawks, chuck her out and get another one.’
And he meant it. Next time I delivered a new girl answered the front door as if it was her own. She lasted a few months.

It’s that easy.
You abandon absolute morality, or at least very strong customs with some degree of flexibility, and in forty years you get a ‘man’ who’s prepared to throw someone who shares his bed and (usually) his fast food onto the pavement at the slightest hint that she thinks he’s not perfect. And I am far from perfect, as you’ve noticed. I don’t think he’d have avoided a visit from her brothers and uncles and father if he’d tried such a thing when I was a kid.

But you never know. The times, they are a changing.


Bob One.

Bob Dylan; scourge of the Establishment of Two Continents, (excluding eastern Europe and Russia, oddly); troubadour of the anti-American Vietnam ‘peace movement’, authentic voice of the Sixties drugs culture and the musical herald of the Permissive Society with all its drop-outs and love-ins and let it all hang out, hasn’t cleaned out a portaloo on his Malibu estate and his security guards won’t let public health officials in when neighbours complain about the smell.

Quick! Which is true: Ageing Hippy Hypocritical Potty Packer, or Lone Libertarian Stands Against Forces Of Oppression In The Land Of The Free? You choose.

What’s he playing at having a private security force at his age? Admittedly, there are probably a lot of spaced-out, burnt-out, and outright ravingly insane druggies and whack-job conspiracy theorists on the loose in California these days for some reason. I wonder if the man who composed and performed the score to the dismantling of the Anglo-Saxon world’s moral structures knows why?

And that’s all that’s important in Dylan’s life right now, so move along my gentle fellow gentiles and ignore the screeching of aggrieved neighbours and the howling of the American underclass Los Angeles style, and move on to our last Indy treat of the day.



I always preferred the Welshman and the rabbit anyway.

Bob Two.

He is non sequitur made flesh. He is the master of the factoid and the throwaway evasion. His surname is a byword for the debunking of propaganda which masquerades as objective reporting.
He is Robert Fisk.

And here he is.

I’m only going to refer to a couple of points as he’s aways such an easy target.

“Why Avigdor Lieberman is the worst thing that could happen to the Middle East.”

Let’s think about that for a moment, shall we? The worst thing? The very worst?

Iranian mullahs get the Bomb and nuke Tel Aviv?
Nah.

Hamas fulfills its charter and destroys the State of Israel by conventional warfare and the Jews go where, exactly? On foot, given a conventional war’s implied air cover? Big yawn.

Hezbollah gets dirty bomb, and martyrdom operators cleanse the Muslim Holy city of Jerusalem of all multicellular life. Whatever.

Iraq descends into three-way civil war with Turkey, Saudi Arabia and Iran coming in as ‘peacekeepers’. Actual - rather than imaginary - hundreds of thousands killed during first week in vaguely accurate bombardment of anything that moves bigger than a gerbil.
Snoozeroo, daddy-O. You ain’t hep to the beat.


No siree Bob; that ol’ Zionist right-winger Lieberman wants an oath of loyalty from all the inhabitants of a beleaguered and universally cursed neighbour. He also thinks that the population of two self-made ghettos whose leaders just can’t decide between them whether embezzling all those billions of dollars of aid on the one hand or spending it on rocketry and talking mice whose deaths at the hands of Zionists children’s’ television delights in is the better investment on the other might not come up with a smaller and equally peaceful version of all the other peaceful and just Islamic states, such as, oh, you know, the one with all the big hotels and…Leicester, maybe.

I mention is passing that Lieberman believes that the war from ‘Palestine’ is not about land or human rights but about ideology, ie, Islamic anti-Semitism, but the Koran does not exist for Fisk and his dhimmi pals.

Hamas’ genocidal charter does not exist for him, and so it cannot be wicked.

Their leaders’ bloodthirsty comments that all Jews everywhere, including the children, are fair play for assassination, and so can’t be evil.

And then this:

The Iraqis produced the hateful Saddam, the Iranians created the crackpot Ahmadinejad – for reasons of sanity, I leave out the weird ruler of Libya – and now the Israelis have exalted a man, Avigdor Lieberman, who out-Sharons even Ariel Sharon.

And so…what, Bob?

The ‘hateful Saddam’, huh? Say - does anyone know what happened to him? He still around being ‘hateful’?
And the ‘crackpot Ahmadinejad’ ; what does his crack pottery contain? Anything to do with the Bomb and death to Israel? Any ideas at all?
The weird ruler of Libya – would he be the guy who gave up his nuclear ambitions some time after, oh, around 2003, wasn’t it, when something Bob decided was an illegal war happened in Iraq.

None of them is evill in morally-fluid Fiskland.

I’m not saying that sexual permissiveness and hippy drugs culture necessarily directly lead to a so-called journalist who is willfully ignorant of the genocidal hatred contained in mainstream, orthodox Islam worldwide, but it is probable that moral blindness is a continuum and once you turn on, tune in and drop out then the constantly-threatened conventional and nuclear genocide of the Middle East’s Jewish population becomes a bit too much hassle to think about.

Which is why I’m grateful right now for the benevolent - or at least the twisty - intervention of Pan and Loki.

I was trying to think of some way quick of conveying what I feel about Fisk and his dhimmi genocide-supporters.


Which brought me, quite handily, back to the first topic of this post.

And it also gave me the title.

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