A rage for Mother Nature

Going on vacation to get pregnant seems to be the latest rage in England for fertility of flocks to be resolved.
This makes my brain go so wild again! Surely this can’t be true? Is it going to Thailand on vacation for the sex still not enough? Apparently not, because multiply-holidays seem to became in America and Great Britain a real rage, as I have read.
The various travel agencies and hotels have even reacted to the hype and made accommodations for it.

How low can you go? Well... I ask myself the same thing.
Curiously it is.
Surely if you already know that statistics have shown that sex for the British is the least favorite activity in the bedroom. I assume that the travelagencies do not allow sex in the wilderness because that is punishable in many countries.

Although I have heard someone say that it’s allowed to fish in ponds where weed grows around. They already talk about the beaches for nudists enough, not to mention the dick-shaped straws in the cocktails.

Other texts, based on an American study which I have read, claim that men who clean the house have more sex. Ah …. Something else. I surely do not take the vacuum-cleaner out of the basement on my vacations. To have any form of sexual intercourse, I should take something else at hand, as far as I know.
I leave the vacuuming and dusting neatly to the housekeeper of the complex where I am staying at that time. Don’t get me started about vacuum-cleaners because I can write whole stories about that, it tickles my brain and imagination capacity already quite enough in this case. I believe that masturbating man have already been challenged enough and had to bend their bodies in to strange positions a like snake-man to get their unspecified ‘thing’ free and out of an ice cold rod or flexible hose.

Yeh.. sure.. I already begin to wonder myself, what kind of magazines or literature I read and whether it’s the truth they tell. I may assume statistics and studies have some kind of truth.

In a few years you get from a nice good and hard ‘game’ like sex some kind of rare forgotten disease called “sexakov” and sex queen Jenna Jameson will not write an autobiography because she forgot all about it. Sex will be used as a punishment for sex addicts and the impartial judge will say: “I condemn you for 6 weeks of daily sex with your own partner, Mr. Anal-Knight.” I can already hear him say.
Or do we prefer to argue the other way, sex is healthy and: “You’ve won a sex-weekend in the Belgian Ardennes. All attributes included are for free.”

How far do these strange studies go? How much is true? Can we assume that what they tell us is the truth? I have really no idea.
I despise each anus-veteran that puts this type of articles under my eyes and who tickles my sensitive brain. My retina is still filled with erections of male parts that go by like a movie and so I can’t sleep at night no more. I still hope for a miracle and try every night to put myself back to sleep with other thoughts.

I really prefer counting money than sheep or dicks.

Things of life, things in daily life

Well, it’s been a while since I’ve let myself heard here, the reason is a pretty unpleasant one. Those who know me a bit are aware of the medical situation of my dad and know that his health is very bad at the moment.
There no longer are any possible treatments for his stomach and rectal cancer.
I can’t help forcing myself to ignore thought shooting through my head. I can’t do anything about it, it just happens…

Yes, easily and quickly I’ve brought up a very serious issue. A chapter not much read and in my case not easily discussed in the coffee corner.

Yet I can deal with it at work and in the presence of family and friends much easier than when I’m home alone.
Things like old-fashionably no more answering one of my three phones, leave msn wisely off and things like that, make it possible to ensure to keep my shaky head above the ice cold water. Trying not to drown in my in my thoughts and freaking out.
Sometimes, at the most weird moments of the day an hysterical and out of proportions rain of tears pours down my cheeks. I oversleep often, which is not surprising after a lousy 5 or 6 days with no more than 2 or 3 mini hours of sleep a night. I jump out of bed within the hour without any trouble or without neglecting the dog, jump in my red car and then my laugh disappears almost immediately.

It was not much better at work. With a low frequency I tried to put my head in the quicksand in an effort to establish to keep my chin above the stormy water.
Occasionally I succeed but it doesn’t go very well. My make-up usually is already cried off in my car and my haircut is not recognizable anymore as a haircut after smoking my first cigarette on my break at work.
Once again it’s a beautiful image to see. If I was not sad I would surely become it then.

Everything and nothing shoots through my brain..
Yet so much to tell, to cuddle, so much to do together.