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All the Best with your endeavours and we hope you at least enjoyed our songs,
So it’s your first date, old chum. But you’ll be fine, God knows you’ve had a few. Some right fine minge I might add.
You’ve just put on your raddest cravat, washed your balls and unfolded your dragon kimono ready for slip-into-something-comfortable moments. Maybe you’ll have a spot of dinner and then head down to the happening discoteque to show the lucky lady your attractive moves on the floor, just to reinforce the fact that you’ll be powerful, limber and smooth in the sack later. It’s up to her really though, because you’re all about ladies first. You’re sensitive to these things but Christ, you’re no jessie either. She’ll see.
If you are lucky enough to go home with Gertrude and you’re having a glass of wine, chatting in the living room, your leg on the coffee table to show off your package in tight trousers (occasionally looking at it and then at her to remind her of said package), you should definitely play – which in my opinion is the sexiest song ever written – Lionel Ritchie’s All Night Long. It is not only written to make people feel sexy inside and make you want to suddenly jump out of your orange sofa and rhythmically pelvic thrust, it’s also perfect for a date as it sends the perfect messages to your first date/casual shag –
1. You’re a rad man.
2. You’re saying you are capable, willing and insistent to go All Night Long with her.
3. You don’t like no nancy-ass tunes.
Best, (I hate when people say ‘Best’, they sound like wankers.)
Today I’ve realised most things are about sex. Especially on TV and music.
My mate got me thinking when he said that all dancing actually is (Except for the wierd stuff where people are simulating being a glass of water and stuff) is foreplay. I partially agreed with this statement but at the same time wrote him off as a wierdo and a sex maniac.
But then I was watching a music video that had those two birds from B*Witched. But they were all grown up and in leotards and simulating through interpretive dance what can only be described as that thing where a fella is in the toilet and he makes a hole and waits and then puts his…Well you know what is.
Isn’t that sad? Those four innocent Irish lasses who were morris dancing round a tree and beating up a boy are now into cottaging or glory holing or whatever depraved act is now in fashion. Call me a prude but I think we can safely say we are up to our balls in cock….