Good evening.
This is the Shocking Story News, with me, Huw Welshman, and we can reveal to PBC viewers the shocking story that people who go looking for sex online sometimes find that the sex they were looking for isn't quite like the sex they wind up having, isn't actually interesting and fulfilling with a caring, intelligent, dynamic attractive partner, mutually resectful with a partner fully cognisant of their expectations and rights but turns out to be vicious, painful, frightening and degrading. Or rape, to give it it's proper name.
Yes, this is the shocking news that lots of people who advertise themselves to complete strangers as lively and feisty and interesting with a gsoh and who agree to meet complete strangers can wind-up being gagged and beaten and raped.
Who'da thought it, eh?
23 comments:
When I was a student, back in the 70's, I remember that a lot of the good looking females seemed to hang out with obnoxious, ugly, long-haired, intimidating blokes.
More to this than meets the eye, methinks.
Somebody should do something about it, mr mike, put things in place, I mean, people shouldn't have to be sensible. It's a woman's right, innit, to put herself in harm's way. And a bloke's. Because it doesn't just happen to women. Men, too, have rights. To be completey fucking stupid. Somebody should do something.
You remember mrs woar, talking about the systematic grooming of the nation? These stupid women are grooming themselves. I'd put them in jail, for wasting police time, setting a bad example, acting in a lewd way, outraging public decency, living recklessly, without due care and attention; living whilst under the influence of lust.
I blame the parents, me, luvem2bits they do, doennyfin4em. Yeah, go on, darlin', you go and get yourself raped by some online psycho, cos you know what, at the endatheday, you're worf it.
Have you ever made your own polish, Mr Smith? I cooked some carnauba wax with camellia oil, and now wonder what but beeswax to plasticise it with. It is relevant to the topic, even if the nexus is deep.
Sorry, mr tdg, as a retailer, I was always happy to spend money on good products mainly for their unchanging consistency and colour
but also for the fetish of exploring their properties and applications, I simply needed too much, too often, to be able to prepare my own. I did know old boys, in workshop coats who would mix mustard and vinegar, turps and lemon juice to make a furniture cleaner, whereas I would just reach for a bottle of Liberon reviver; they would concoct all sorts of odourous and astringent stuff to age a brass handle or escutcheon, I would just drop them in tourmaline for a few seconds. I am sorry I cannot advise. If your desired product is for a furniture project there is no-one more knowledgeable, no better writer than Thomas Moser, cabinet maker, of Maine, not taciturn but precise while lyrical. Moser is worth reading just for his language. He does recommend oiling prior to or instead of waxing and I did know someone who achieved a fabulous, hard shine by barely dipping his muslin application pad first into boiled linseed oil and then into Black Bison.
I am sorry not to be of help but there are scores of old boy websites discussing the ingredienrs which you mentio. Moser's Covenant with Wood is worth reading if you trip over it.
Mr Ishmael, I recall you mentioned a writer cabinet maker back down the road. Would that be Thomas? I can only find Artistry in Wood, which is more autobiography. I think the one I’m thinking about here had tips. Illustrations and what not…plus eloquency in the writing.
I’m looking for a gift for my wife and she has a fondness for reading and carpentry. We have a house full of rescued furniture that really needs to have something done about it.
Any suggestions greatly appreciated.
The book proper, mr doug, How To Build Shaker Furniture, by Thomas Moser is available on Amazon, and as an ebook. As the title implies it is not a general how-to book, half of it consisting of drawn plans of Skaker pieces, not everyone's design cup of tea but largely of British inspiration, although made from then abundant native North American hardwoods. The first half of the book, though, is an expert's introduction to the tools, processes, materials and the spirit of the cabinet maker's craft, ot is as much talisman and touchstone as manual. Enriched by Moser's own drawings, I would recommend it to anyone interested in Doing Things, I have had mine for twenty short years and my life would have been very different had I found it earlier.
I will see what I have on more general restoration tips and techniques and come back to you. In the meantime, if you email some 'photos of your wife's intended projects nmkc2@icloud.com i might be able to tender more specific advice. I am neither carpenter nor joiner but I can make things work and shine.
Just as a good read, though, and as inspiration, I am sure you wife would enjoy Moser's book.
mr mongoose does wood, maybe he has an idea or two; mr mike, too.
HTBSF ISBN: 0-8069-8392-2
Thank you Mr Ishmael. I will email you some photos in due course. We are, at this particular moment in time searching for a new home, with a possible purchase in the offing right now.
Most of the furniture is in storage with a few usable pieces in my house and some smaller stuff in my loft. And more than likely some still at the auctions and 2nd hand shops.
It's hard to catch a rat with a new trap, they're neophobic. Why are these women (and men, presumably) so bereft of a principle grasped by a rodent?
Plunging it in - romance, I mean - is a serious matter. It took long and stealthy approach, antennae waving with microscopical caution, before I was certain that a girlfriend-to-be wasn't a biohazard or nut-case. Interaction with friends and family, if positive, allowed me to relax a fraction. If I was female I'd be even more cautious. Caution is the watchword because a psychopath can imitate with perfection the appearance of the soul-mate of his/her intended victim then utterly ruin their lives.
The unfortunate but foolish lady wouldn't have eaten an unidentified fungus in the hope it was a tasty mushroom and the same principle should be applied to potential partners and friends; think back to Hansel and Gretel and Little Red riding Hood, stories in which children were carefully and specifically taught that what you see isn't always what you get and for good reason. By contrast nowadays girls are told that "we must teach men not to be rapists" as if a rapist gives a fuck about anyone's rights. He doesn't and can't. That's why he is one.
Why not leave your house unlocked when you go on holidays and "teach men not to be burglars?" Because it's fucking daft. Ask your insurance company.
Girls going out on the piss? Designate a STOGHOK (see-the-others-get-home-ok ie. a non-drinking member of the party); don't wander off alone or with someone you've just met; arrange pick-up taxi/lift home before you go out; don't get absolutely rat-arsed. That's what I would advise a daughter if I had one. Yes, it's always the criminal's fault if bad things happen but if he doesn't have the chance to strike - which IS largely up to you - then he won't.
-richard
PS I see Jerry Hall has just made my point.
If the judges really cared about preventing rape, instead of just punishing it, they would add such a speech, mr richard, to their sentencing remarks; might say that there is no system of lawnforcement which can protect you from your own stupidity, they might also remind people -especially MP Brummy Jess Tits - that alcohol-amplified hormones in young men will not be pacified by strictures from fuckwits like herself, on Question Time but might not be so strident had her colleague, Tess Jowell, not introduced twenty-four hour drinking to our streets and if young women didn't stagger about three-quarters naked. Neither Tess nor Jess, however, give a flying fuck about women being groped and assaulted, gives them something to preach about, seeing as how they know fuck all else. I have, incidentally, Milleniumed in that very same Broad Street, regularly attended concerts in Symphony Hall, flew down to Birmingham to attend one, just recently and although the young people on the street are irritating and raucous, to compare them to the Cologne refugee maulers is outrageous. Better fot Jess to ree-surch the behaviours if some of her own right honourable elder statesmen, filth like Jack Straw and John Reid, before calling her constituents rapists, cheeky fucking bastard.
How so, mr mike?
She just married the dirty digger. You can't get more repulsive than that.
Mr tdg: After cleaning, preferably sanding, we use tung oil, followed by a coat of Feast Wastson wax on our floors. Produces a hard natural shine and brings out the grain of the old red ironbark nicely. I haven't tried it on furniture, but I expect it would work a treat.
OK, mr doug. Bit of advice, don't buy anything made after the First German War, designs materials and techniques went downhill from then on, plywoods, cheap veneers, shoddy fittings and many of the tradesmen were composted in the trenches, although school furniture and fittings up until the 'forties were well-made and durable - cupboards, shelves, doors, mouldings, sinks, lab benches. There is still a lot of what's called Edwardian inlaid mahogany furniture around, it's just, really, late Victorian, as well as much proper Victorian, in native ash and elm, North American pines and walnuts, Baltic oaks and Empire mahoganies, that's the stuff to buy, handle, revive amd enjoy.
Yeah, waytogo, she was always a gold digger, Jerry. It's Sir Mick I feel for. I hope she kills the digger, in the marital bed. You gotta laugh, doncha?
I did enjoy that.
Have you made sausages?
Swiss
Isn't there some vintage howtakeepyaman quote from Jerry Hall about, ahem, voluntary irrumation? Gallons of mindbleach required...vats...lakefuls...
...and if it was a bit pissed the Ishmaelite cryptic crossword might cryptically observe that "randy old jam retch purer hurl."
v.//
Sahsages, I'm a vegetarian, mr swiss bob, not that I make a fuss about it. I don't mind others eating sausages, although I expect that where you live they come with holes in them, perhaps served with triangles of Toblerone chocolate.
You'll be pleased to learn that Santa brought be a big, fuck-off Swiss Army Knife, my previous model having been damaged by novitiate handypersonds, who broke the knife blades. The Champ, as it's called, doesn't get as much use as its predecessor because I now have so many proper hand- and power-tools, close to hand, but it is, strangely, powerfully comforting to have near me. I would keep it in my pocket, like the last one, if only I did not fly so much; our security militiamen, at the airport, would surely confiscate my knife in a heartbeat were I to inadvertently have it on my citizen-suspect person, when travelling, and so it resides on a mantel piece; a small price to pay, in order to deflect the Mohamedan murderer, not being able to keep a pocket knife in one's pocket. For similar reasons, my Zippo lighter, used for lighting the Rayburn, the coalfires and bonfires around the grounds, is barred from my person. Still, there's always, as you remind us, sausages.
I was just looking at their likenesses in the Daily Mail, mr verge, y'know, in finger-flick close-up, and Fuck Me, Jesus, but they look more like reptiles than reptiles do.
Just seen 'em in the Filthograph Mr I & Mr V, the Saurian pair, fuck 'em - they deserve one another...
No use, I am afraid, looking to me for finishing and staining stuff. Build it, maybe scrape it a bit, sand it, sand it again, and then leave it alone. (Sometimes followed by burn the bastard on the fire.) Though there is tung oil on the big kitchen table that gets redone every year or so, and I forget the name non-slip wax stuff, out of a can, on the stairs. That's it. I have a whole wall of bare oak-too book-shelving. Just the timber and the books, rectilinear, vertical, like a phantom put it there, across a floor like a crown green that laughs at me.
The Murdoch-Hall thing, that is a wicked comedy. Stay off the acid for a few days though.
I wonder if Sir Bryan Ferry is sat, all melancholic, in his estate, staring at himself in a gilded mirror, singing I'm Just A Jealous Guy, what a bunch of filth is showbusiness. He'll probably go out and kill a hunt saboteur if he can find one, to help ease his grief, Good job we have Ruth Boy Davidson to cheer us all up, her and HamFace planning to retake Scotland for the Tories, for England and the EU, Side-splitting stuff all round, mr sg. Elderly lizard nuptials in London and lesbian and Etonian pigfucker in Scottish revival meeting. Who needs satire?
Ronuk Traffic, innit, that hall stuff, I used it before-before on a Minton tiled hallway, had a big industrial polishing machine for buffing it. Victorian houses, they are the dogs bollocks, 1880-1890, alright, the Arts and Crafts homes were lighter, brighter and more modern but they were only for then Islingtonites, and the odd fortunate band of workers, as in Bournville; this old Georgian house, it's like keeping an ageing, expensive and insatiable mistress, not that I would know.
There's a great Quest show, Building Alaska, where crazy, beardy old bastards build log cabins in the arse-end of cold, I've mentioned it before, and they build these things with green timber, the windows set into iron frames, so they won't be crushed as the building dries, shrinks and contracts by four to six inches over three years. Worth a look, for folks like us.
It's the only thing I can do exceeding well, mr mongoose, staining and polishing, it is a lustrous meditation.
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