Turn-ons include discussing necrophilia in bed, apparently.

In the time my now ex-boyfriend and I were going out prior to me losing my virginity, he provided me with some 'bedroom entertainment' of other varieties. During one display of his talents he seemed rather appreciative of my chest, which led me to say "I'm glad you like my boobs. I hate my boobs." To which he responded "Boobs are boobs." Complete with shrug. Which led me to laugh in his face and compliment him on his innate ability to make a girl feel like the most special woman in the world.

I got thinking about this today, (Since essentially the past two and a half weeks has been more or less devoted to micro-analysing everything we ever said/did around the other. Although what actually got me on to this particular topic were the naked breasts of every woman over 40 in the changing rooms at the gym whilst the rest of us tried to stay under our towels throughout the drying and changing process.) and wondered what he could have said that wouldn't have made me laugh at him. 'Twin, rose-tipped peaks of desire' would have probably involved a far less lady-like guffaw than he received for his actual response. But I'd have accepted something that made me feel like the sexiest woman alive.

Which got me thinking about the phrase 'sexiest woman/man alive'. Does that mean they're less sexy than some corpses? I'd definitely want him to think me sexier than a corpse. So something like 'you're the sexiest woman alive or dead. Since, let's face it, even guys who are into anorexics have to draw the line somewhere. There's skin and bone and then there's just bone. Unless she was really, really fat when she died so there's still some flesh left to decompose. And you have a really, really good nose plug. Like one of those £4 Speedo ones.' would have been a more appropriate response. Apparently the Paul in my head knows that necrophiliacs have some sort of code of conduct that means that they can't shag the recently deceased and have to give their families some time to grieve before getting their rocks off. How he knows this I have no idea.

So essentially, I'd have been happier if in response to my dislike of my own breasts, he started a debate with me on the ethics of shagging the recently deceased verses those whose families have had time to grieve (whilst we lay naked next to each other in bed), rather than saying something that a completely normal person would say (which caused me to laugh in his face). I think I may have worked out why I'm single. And the fact that I kept laughing in his face whilst we lay in bed together. Like the time he accidentally punched me in the eye, yet again demonstrating his smoothness with the laydays. (The next night I was tempted to cover my eye in black eyeliner before meeting him for dinner. Then I realised that after 30 seconds the joke would be done and I'd be sat through the rest of dinner with eyeliner all over my face. See, I can pretend to be normal.)

We'll forget about the time I laughed at his sex face. That may have actually been a reason for him to break up with me.

This is the sort of thing that happens in my head. A debate on if it's best to have sex with someone who's recently dead so that the family can get all of their upset over and done with at once, or with an older corpse so that the family's come to terms with the death itself so only has the desecration of great-granny Murtle to deal with. Again, Darwin, you heard me last night, yes?

Edit - When I posted this, Blogger informed me that I could get paid for related ads. What kinds of products are suitable for a post on necrophilia? Air fresheners for coffins? One of those fold-up wheely things that you can put boxes on that's guaranteed not to have a squeaky wheel in case you want to take your date somewhere more private without drawing attention to yourself? I may have just invented a product that's marketable to necrophiliacs within about 30 seconds of thinking about it. This is how an undergraduate degree majoring in Business Studies with a focus on marketing does to an already sick, sick mind.

PS - I feel I achieved the ability to live within society when writing this post. After suffering a mental block on the word 'necrophilia' since my trip to the pool lunchtime, I started to Google 'fetish dead people'. Then realised what was about to happen before clicking search. I'm learning people!

Also - Blogger's spell check recognises neither Blogger nor Google. Not recognising your own brand may be the definition of a marketing fail.

People have imagined many uses for cloning in their love lives. Well, variations on one use that involve different numbers of people. But this one may be new.

Problem: A guy has a girlfriend (option A). He isn't sure whether the relationship will last because she hasn't told him how she feels about him. He has an ex-girlfriend (option B). Who he may still be in love with and who has recently told him still has feelings for him. He has also never been single long enough to get over over a relationship (option C).

So I propose an experiment. Clone him. Clone A stays with the girlfriend. Clone B gets back with the ex. Clone C gets single. At the end of the year the clones all get measured on Dave C's happiness scale, and he replaces whichever is happiest. The clones obviously get shot. And one or two girls get heartbroken. Or happy. Depends how it goes. Maybe if the relationship(s) go(es) really badly the girl(s) get(s) to shoot the clones.

Obviously they'd all have to live apart, otherwise the girls and everyone they know would get confused. And all existing friends would not be able to be contacted/or at least could not know about his relationship status. So there may be a few variables. Unless we can find a third place identical to both Swindon and Disneyland Paris. And the second paragraph may make it difficult to get this past an actual ethics committee. But I'm pretty sure shooting your own clone isn't illegal. They don't have birth certificates for clones so they probably can't have death certificates either. And without a death certificate I don't think anyone has legally died. So you could probably kill as many clones as you want. Which is probably why the good guys could wipe out an entire army in Star Wars and still be the good guys. They didn't technically kill anyone because it was an army made of clones. Murdering people not born of woman is fine. Just ask Macbeth. (Yes, we're assuming they're emerging fully-formed from a cloning machine and not made using eggs and grown in a womb. Because then we'd have to wait for them to age and this experiment would be useless and make no sense. Obviously.)


This reminds me of the response I'm working on for when my Gran starts the 'your mother had had you by the time she was your age', 'when are you going to make me a great-grandmother?', 'aren't you pregnant yet?' bit this Christmas. It started with "I can't remember to feed myself. And I am yet to have something really, really important that I haven't lost or at least misplaced for a significant period of time. I have literally never had an umbrella I haven't left somewhere. And killing a child through neglect is illegal, even if it's through sheer incompetence rather than intentional neglect. And I don't think I can finish my Masters if I'm in prison."

However this is where my argument falls down. Yes, I would be kicked off my current Masters course if I get sent to prison for accidentally causing my own child's death by losing it somewhere between my lectures and a pub. But then if I were in prison the government would probably fund another Masters course and a PhD. So really at the moment my best bet to get PhD funding might be to commit accidental infanticide. But then if I have a child because I know I'm incapable of keeping a plant alive for more than 6 weeks and have never managed to keep sea-monkeys for more than a week and therefore it's likely to die and provide me with a free PhD, then it's more intentional accidental infanticide. Which would make me even more of a bad person than the fact that this is actually something that I've properly thought through in my head, even if I'm too scared of having a human being come out of my vagina to actually go through with it. Plus it would completely put an end to my diet. And I want to sort my abs out before I get pregnant in the very, very distant future as it apparently makes it easier to get your figure back, since if you have a core as weak as mine at the start of pregnancy it's essentially going to mess up your muscles and you'll never get decent abs.

Yes, this is the problem with funding my PhD through infanticide; it would completely screw up my abs. I hope to Darwin there's no hell.