Top Ten Tips for Offensive Bloggers

Would you like to write a truly offensive blog but find it hard to type more than a couple of words before your brain hurts and you have to have a lie down and a wank? Would you like to feel like a bit of a hardcore renegade with no respect for society's rules but your mum won't let you go on the computer after 8pm? Fear not, my top ten tips for would-be Offensive Bloggers are guaranteed to help you achieve your goal!

1. Be adolescent. In actuality or mind only, as long as you have that insecure, inexperienced inner teen you'll be in with the dim crowd, able to convince yourselves that you're trailblazers, doing something cutting edge and original.
2. Check out your nearest playground. Look for the kids pushing smaller kids off swings, the ones throwing rocks at the child who seems a bit different to the rest or the kids pulling the wings off flies. These are your ideas people and target audience. You will do well to keep them in mind as you blog.
3. Always go for the obvious. Remember - you are an Offensive Blogger not an intelligent one. Stick to topics like "This person is fat" or "This person is ugly" or even, for the more advanced Offensive Blogger, "This person is fat and ugly". Anything more complex, like "This person has objectionable political views" will only confuse your readership. Like the kids in the playground, they just want to know when and where to throw the rocks.
4. Do not over-exert yourself by reading the blogs of those you wish to be offensive about. All you need to do is look at the pictures and decide whether to call them fat, ugly, or fat and ugly. This kind of comedy gold will make your readers howl like hyenas.
5. Upsetting someone through offensive blogging is your ultimate aim and when you succeed you will forget all about your solitary existence, wanking into socks and worrying you have abnormal genitals. For a brief moment you will feel like you're swimming in the deep end of the gene pool! Savour it, treasure it - it's the only trophy you are ever likely to own.
6. Ignorance is your strength. Do not be ashamed when you don't understand the counter-arguments to your offensive posts from more intelligent bloggers. Be proud of your ability to offend and be sure to slip in a few fat or ugly insults wherever you can should you choose to respond. This will impress your readers who will hoot and throw rocks.
7. Never post a picture of yourself. Someone may point and laugh at it.
8. Remember, no subject is out of bounds if you want to be a truly Offensive Blogger. Except current affairs, environmental issues, philosophy, the arts or relationships. These are beyond you. But any other subject is fair game, especially if you can post a picture of someone fat or ugly to illustrate.
9. Post several pictures of people who would point and laugh at your abnormal genitals if they could see them and claim that you would not have sex with them. Because they are fat. Or ugly.
10. Do not worry that people may see through your renegade rebel "I'll say anything, I'm that offensive" persona to the insecure adolescent who really sits behind the keyboard. Only the more intelligent bloggers can tell and as your readers are a bit thick they'll still think being a cunt is cool.

Those Burger Places Are Always Hiring

I like reading blogs. Well, certain blogs; good, well-written blogs. I like reading them and I particularly like reading them at no personal cost to myself. Call me tight, call me mean, but I like to come to the end of a post and find I am still as well-off as when I started. Sadly, perusing blogs lately has become the online equivalent of navigating the chuggers on the High Street. They all want your cash and are not afraid to annoy you to get it.

"Buy my book," they cry. "Go on. Well at least take a look at my Amazon wishlist and buy me something."

"Click on my links! Go on. It'll take you to some sponsored site that is suspect in the extreme but I get a fiver each time some twat falls for it! Go on, click it!"

"Subscribe to hear me read my posts! Yes, all you sad, lonely wankers without real friends can pay to hear someone you sort of know reading poorly written sex scenes and saying the word 'pussy' on your very own laptop! I've got a paypal account and everything."

"Sponsor me. Sponsor my friends. Support the work of the Domestic Dildo Divas, bringing silicone dongs to underprivileged housewives the world over. Send us a tenner. Go on!"

"Donate! Hit the button! Pay my bills, pay my lawyers, pay my way!"

It all boils down to the same thing: Give us your money!

Fucking hell, you think, I only wanted a browse. And unlike the High Street chuggers there's not even a handy face to punch.

Now, I do understand that some bloggers are hard up and are trying to supplement their income through blogging. Some are trying to launch a career. Others are just out for what they can get. Whatever the reason this constant wheedling for cash is a pain in the arse.

I have no advertising on my blog, no paypal account and no begging bowl to pass around so have no idea if blogging really is a lucrative source of income. I can't imagine it brings in that much, especially for the crappier writers, and imagine they'd make more money actually begging outside M&S, sitting on a frayed blanket, with a dog on a string, bearing a piece of cardboard with "Will Blog 4 Food" crayonned on it rather than virtually doing so. It would entail getting off their arse and leaving the house though, which is just as much effort as getting a job, hence the appeal of the blog beg.

Poor hard-up bloggers. I can hear the howls of protest, the reasons, the justifications now. I am unmoved. I am not exactly frolicking in piles of cash and lighting cigars with fivers myself. Money a bit tight? You could save on the leccy bill and go offline for a bit, that should do it.

21

It has been a celebratory week in the Boudoir. I am a Good Mother. I have successfully raised my offspring to adulthood, hale, hearty and whole.

There has been champagne, cake, balloons, cards, presents and parties. There has also been much reflection upon times past, the transition from 1989 to 2010, the differences between who we were then and the people we are now.

For the past 21 years I have been largely, sometimes wholly, focused on my daughter. She is the magnetic north to which my internal compass always swings. While I will always need to know that she is OK before I can be I know that the next 21 years will inevitably bring a distancing. She will have her own home, her own priorities, her own magnetic north. I will no longer know every little detail of her life from what she had for tea to whether she is still in the bath. This is right and natural and means I have done my job. I have not raised a social inadequate, hurrah!

I would be lying, though, if I said I didn't feel a nostalgic pang or two when I look at those gappy-toothed smiles in school photos past. When did this little girl become the confident, funny, beautiful young woman who strides through life in what looks suspiciously like my shoes? My work here is done. What next?

e[lust] #6 - your Wank Week Woundup

Frankly, you can stop reading now, as I'm not in the top three this week. I would do the "read more" cut thing to save you from having to over exert yourself scrolling to the bottom, but I can't be arsed to figure it out.

Proper post coming right up, I promise.

~ This Week’s Top Three Posts ~

Exposing My Self to Airport Security - I stared right at her until she looked away and called for assistance for a pat-down search. I gaped, chin dropped: holy shit, they're gonna give me a pat down cuz I'm packing a silicon cock.

Prefect’s Prerogative - When I neglect this duty, or don't perform it to his satisfaction, he makes me light a fire in his room, and stand in front of it in just my school shirt and white socks.

Attention Women: There is Something Wrong With Your Vagina - Yes, that’s what your vagina needs: a breath mint. Because, just like vagina shouldn’t smell like vagina, it also shouldn’t taste like vagina.

~ e[lust] Editress ~

The Perfect Fat – Why do clothes designers assume that if you're plus-sized you're 1. over 5?9? and 2. over the age of 45 or “matronly and modest”? At the age of 32 I am not yet ready to dress like my grandmother.

~ Featured Post (Lilly’s Pick) ~

Zipless- “I have some Scotch in my room—maybe you’d join me? You know, in the interest of not drinking alone…” She smiled. Perhaps she could yet salvage the day’s ending.

See also: Pleasurists #61 for all your sex toy review needs.
Also in recent sex news, check out the coverage of the Adult Entertainment Expo that happened in Las Vegas a couple weeks ago. You’ll see videos and articles from our fellow sex-bloggers on fun things like a rodeo penis and new sex toys not even on the market yet!

Sex News, Interviews, Politics & Humor

Arousal is not consent
Psychosexual: Does the G spot exist? Do I care?
Reputable Help for Haiti
Squicked
That'll be 151 Nickels
The Case of the Mysteriously Vanishing G-spot
Transtastic: Joking About Being Trans
Vegas – Day One – Diva’s Quick Recap
Vegas – Day One – Tess’s Thoughts
Why Don’t They Just LEAVE?

Kink & Fetish

Anatomy of a Mindfuck
Bad Submissive
Claiming: Go Pantiless After
Dating Refresher
Electric fuck
Fetishes and me
Kinky With Class
Laziness never pays off
Piercing reversal
Resolution
Titty Fuck
The Coffee Date, Part 2
The Job Interview
Without Reason

Thoughts & Advice on Sex & Relationships

BDSM Relationship Advice for Newbies
Greedy For The Verse
Hang Ups and Hand Jobs
Ivy Madden
If she had just been a better wife…
Insomnia
Swinging
The Sexiness Beneath
Weightlessness

Erotic Writing

42DD
A Different Kind of Fuck
Across the Room
All in a Play Party’s Night
Amazing Night
Bedtime Story
Behind You
Breathe and Let Go
Done by a Clown
Evening Home
Glow
Lick You As Long As You Like
Moments of Clarity
Naughty Neighbor
Saturday Night’s Alright (For Swapping)
Sex and Video Games
Slip sliding away
The Slut Chronicles #11 ~ The Dinner Party
Thursdays
Tyler
Visitors in my Bedroom
Wicked Wednesday: Altitude
When you Talk About Maelee

Low Status

There have always been those who suffer from moments of utter bleakness, those who can't see a way forward. Some go on to believe the world would be a better place without them, or, in the case of one acquaintance, that this life is just a stepping stone to the next level, and opt out of the game altogether. That acquaintance of mine gave no hint of what was on her mind, she just took a bottle of pills, locked herself in her car, in a sealed garage, and left the engine running. A real belt and braces job. She had set her outbox to send the explanatory emails long after she had left this world and joined the queue for the reincarnation she firmly believed in. She had no intention of being prevented from leaving.

In comparison there have always been those who threaten to kill themselves who actually just want some love and attention. From the mascara-streaked girls sobbing hysterically outside bad parties to the distraught young man shouting through the letterbox of his ex-girlfriend's house, we've all heard those cries of "I'll do it! I'll throw myself under the next bus!"

Recently I have noticed a new, technologically-enhanced slant to this. People who would, in the past, ruin a perfectly pleasant night out by getting drunk and faux-suicidal or pestering you with late-night anguished phone calls are now embracing the immediacy and audience of social networking sites and posting status updates along the lines of "Life is so dark. Eveything is shit. Tell me why I should go on living?"

I am a compassionate woman. If I thought for one moment they had any intention of doing themselves harm I would be on my way quicker than you can say razor blades. But I know that if they were seriously thinking of checking out they'd be unlikely to pop into Facebook first, to do a quick status update, let alone stick around to read and reply to all the comments.

As for arousing my concern the whole procedure is counterproductive. I read such updates and am instantly annoyed. I ignore them until they stop being attention-seeking twats. Their life may well suck right now. Mine isn't always a ride on rainbows to the sweet shop but I still consider it far too valuable to waste on talking people out of doing something they have no intention of doing in the first place.

I know what they really want is a hug. They know what they really want is a hug. I really wish they would just fucking ask for a hug. I'd give it, gladly.

Space Hopper Sex Scandal Exclusive

International Top Sex Blogger Luka, 37, has been spotted cavorting in disreputable nightspots with the new playmate in her life, a large orange space hopper.

Our reporter caught up with bouncy Barbed Wire Boudoir babe Luka as she rode up to the bar for another pint of Pinot.

"I've never been happier," asserted Luka as she wobbled gently on her oversized rubber ball.

"Unlike some over-inflated egos I've bounced around with in my time, Spacey is smooth, fun and uncomplicated.

He also has ridged horns and a smile like mine.

What's not to love?

Mind you, he's crap at holding his drink."

Could it be Magic?

Today I keep thinking about people who have hurt me. The bastards.

Forgiveness is a fine thing. Bitterness only corrodes the vessel containing it. It is best to learn from such things and move on.

Yet still I find myself making vegetable voodoo dolls and visiting arse grapes upon them.

"Hemorrhoids, hemorrhoids, hemorrhoids," I incant, cackling madly to myself and affixing a bunch of seedless red to the parsnip doll's derriere.

Of course the whole thing is merely an exercise in venting emotion and can in no way cause actual harm. Or can it? If you've ever upset me and now can't sit down without wincing and reaching for your inflatable rubber ring do let me know!