Tuesday, March 30

i love you lucy, but you don't make me cookies

see, lucy cleans my house.

for those of you who have not been to my home, i live like a teenage boy mostly. not so much in the dirt/cum stains department, but more in the mess department.

except, you know, lucy's zimbabwean and can't fly

mess is everywhere. i create mess. wherever i go i fill spaces with all my stuff. i always seem to have a lot of mess and mess in all the wrong places: crockery on the balcony, books in the bathroom, toiletries in the kitchen, underwear in the study (or outside in the foyer of my apartment block as happened the other day)....

so, actually not mess so much as just my STUFF lying around everywhere.

i don't know how it happens. it just does. it's one of those weird universal anomalies like wormholes and justin biebarf.

an explosion. justin beibarf. a wormhole = my house

it pains me to admit this in such a public arena, because i'm sure it's some big insight into how immature i am, but it's such a fundamental reason behind this next confession, that i needed to give you some background.

i wish, how i wish, for a 1950s housewife.

i love lucy because she vacuums and does my dishes and packs my closets, but she doesn't cook me food, bring me cocktails or run my bath.

how i long for someone to clean up after me and pay the bills and make me food so that i can spend more time on the important things in life like drinking wine with my friends, writing and fucking.

what does dot want for dinner tonight?

anyhoo. apart from drinking, writing and fucking, i have no other excuse for not updating the blog regularly.

oh, except freaking the fuck out, because sasha martinengo has it in his head that i should do a small spot on his show on thursdays called the dot spot. starts this thursday. as in two days away.

nerves? me? what. ever.

oao plums. will post more details later. this is going to rock hard. my granny always told me i'd amount to something some day. you know, maybe not a sex columnist, but ja, still...

Wednesday, March 24

The Boob Guy

Who's your mamma? Dorothy Black thinks all men should be put to the breast test

At the risk of oversimplification, I’m going to say that the whole of Mr Straight Mankind can be divided into two basic bedroom types – Boob Guy and Pussy Guy.
This is my experience and as I’m scientific that way, I’m going to stick to my theory. Let me explain. Read more...

when a guy knows what he's doing with the boob, it can be just the most wonderful, wonderful thing.

but if you're a Boob Guy or display Boob Guy tendencies and want to not to be or do so, go here for some useful advice on what to do with this most awesome of body parts.

The Boob Guy column was as a result of a dinner with the wiatches a week or so ago.

we were talking about tit wanks and breast size and how it all works and interesting things one can do with the boob, and it reminded me of a really horrifying moment i experienced with a boob guy once.

it followed a 'and then' moment.

you know:

well, he was so wonderful, and he said this fantastic yack yack yack and then he did this marvellous yack yack yack and it was going so well yack yack yack ... AND THEN ...

and you just know what follows is kak...


this one particular evening... we went out etc etc, he was so wonderful etc etc ... he was a great kisser etc etc ... we went to the bedroom etc etc ... he undressed me slowly etc etc... he lay me down etc etc...


he lay on my chest.
closed his eyes.
and sucked and sucked at my one nipple so that i thought i might actually start lactating.
and made weird clutchy hand movements along the side of my breast.


Boob Guys. Fuck. Or not, as the case my be...


i'm decided to use this platform for a little psa: just a little reminder in ode to the breast.

ladies don't forget to do your own breast tests. boob cancer aint no laughing matter.

i could've used one of those pretty soft focus pics of women's torsos as they cover their breasts with a soft focus arm.

but you've seen those a million times over not so? and some of you are still not going for regular gynae checkups - or have never been - have never had a pap smear and do not feel yourselves up to check for lumps...

don't be a moron. the best prevention is early detection.

oao plums. i've got some feeling up to do...

Monday, March 22

postsecret pic of the week

bad bad parent.

the world became a better place for me when i realised that sometimes parents are just crappy humans. this is one crappy human that is well on 'her' (presumably) way to cocking up her child.

make up a story if you fucking have to bitch. your kid's well being is more important than your power games.

Wednesday, March 17

my lovely gaga

dear gaga

i've been wanting to write this letter to you for so long now, but cunting youtube was giving me grief with getting your most awesome new telephone video feat her beyonceness.

but whining about the accessibility of new media and the totally futile and ridiculous age restriction proviso this stupid platform made me sign in for isn't your problem. neither is the fact that i couldn't sift through the 50 000 morons that have posted their meaningless drivel with your godlike tag, eventually forcing me to link through your website.

did you do that on purpose? are they your minions, herding the masses to your ubercool interwebs portfolio of awesomeness?

you are so smart.

which brings me back to this, my letter to you my lovely gaga.

i know i took my time in appreciating you. i'm sorry if i neglected to fully let in the wonder and magnitude of your creative edginess - produced just so wonderfully for the hoi polloi - i apologise. i blame queen.

since i was a child i hated that damned gaga song. that awful, flat, plebian radio gaga song that even today gets stuck in my head like a vile thing i saw on stileproject once.

visionary. but i still hate it.

but this is not you my lovely gaga. no. you are not like a vile thing at all. you are a very lovely thing.

i let loose association cloud my judgement. for this i apologise.

only, there is one little issue i have. it's seeing your face. i preferred it better when you were all hidden in drapes and funny hats and scarves and looked like something from the cell; something spawned by marilyn manson's production team and vivienne westwood.


this, boob/sex/popdiva cookie cutter thing...well, it's veering awfully close to britany/paris/rhianna ... you've already done GQ. that's right up there with jennifer aniston, guy. please. please for the love of god don't do cosmo next. or vogue.

just keep being your same lovely freaky self.

in the words of billy, 'don't go changing'.

i love you my lovely gaga, just as you are.

Tuesday, March 16

Dear Dot : Not getting any

so i've mentioned i get these letters sometimes. i'm posting an abbreviated one here cos this is a question i get a LOT.

(i should prolly add that i do send answers back that are a little more serious. but only a little more.)


what made you less inhibited ?
or is it just a persona you put on for the blog, and it's not who you really are ?

because my wife is VERY inhibited, and I'm curious to know if there is something I can do.

One option is to just get my kind of kinky/uninhibited sex somewhere else - it is I suppose the easy
option (If you for one moment ignore STD's), but it is not who I am.

Any ideas ?

not getting any


Dear NGA

i'll put this is point form cos i like points and making things bold and colourful.

(and because you're a dood and too many words might feel like multi-tasking ((*jokes*)) ((though, not actually really, because i've found when mailing men one needs to speak in one liners.)))

idea 1: i'm probably uninhibited because i didn't grow up with jesus sitting on my shoulder
idea 2: the dot black persona is me. it's just not the whole of me.
idea 3 (in subsections):
  1. My uncle always used to say, if you want a woman to act like whore you gotta treat her like a princess. (ok, he wasn't my uncle, but still. sentiment and all...).
  2. if your wife isn't putting out the way you would like her to, it might be because you haven't told her exactly what you want
  3. what a lot of men percieve as inhibition in their women is often just a matter of:
  • bad or no communication : if she doesn't feel like you're connecting emotionally she's not going to open up to you physically
  • bad body image : do you let her know how awesome her body is? if you don't, there's no reason she should trust you with it
  • not feeling like they can trust their partners enough : are you pulling your weight around the house... women who are married and/or have kids and find that their partners are unsupportive will start viewing their men as another child to look after. unless she's freaky that way, no woman likes to let herself go with a boy she's going to have persuade to clean up after himself
  • guilt : i haven't finished reading the god delusion but i'm pretty sure dawkins left out the most important reason we should run away from archiac concepts of a judgmental god : swathes, nay masses, of unhappy, inhibited men and women who are too scared of enjoying their sexuality because mommy told them their vaginas would sponateously combust in affinity with hell and their peens would rot off and become the food of beelzebub.
your peen is mine bitch

so there you have it. if you put out on an emo level she might put out on a sex level.

i might be all for NSA sex, but if you've decided to do the monogomy/marraige/relationship thing you'd be a fool to think life doesn't get involved in the bedroom.

of course, after all of that you might find that she's not into kink at all and you have very different ways of expressing yourself sexually. in which case, you might have to reconsider the relationship. cheating to get your rocks off will just lead to a lot of misery.

oao plums

Monday, March 15

post secret pic of the week and people i judge

i too try not be judgmental, but as happens so often without me wanting to, i am.

actually, i am very judgmental and i'm ok with that.

i judge the following people and will think they are stupid/rude/sad without much more evidence:
  1. people with fake tans
  2. people who drive very very very big cars
  3. people who tailgate with their very very very big cars
  4. people who get off on thinking they're smarter than everyone else
  5. dogs that poop on the beach and the stupid, thoughtless owners that let them
  7. people with botox lips
  8. women who wear too much makeup
  9. flagrant queens who don't have a stage to contextualise their drama
  10. people who are cruel to animals and old people
  11. parents who are mean and patronising to their children
  12. people who think they're all that because they have money/status/celebrity/a blog (at least until my blog and/or column brings me overwhelming riches and fame)
  13. (i had no idea i hated so many people)
  14. guinea fowls that don't shut the fuck up. ditto hadedas. fuck you.
  15. people who think they are too precious
  16. people who are belittling of humility, friendliness or success
  17. drunk 'car guards'. fuck off.
  18. people with peroxided hair.
  19. people who always use the argument that you're jealous of them when actually they're just cunts.
  20. people who can't laugh at themselves.
ah. that makes me smile.

oh and pigs. i don't like pigs.

Wednesday, March 10

In favour of fellatio

Sex columnist Dorothy Black thinks it’s important to give in order to receive.

There’s this really awesome (shallow and patronising) joke I absolutely love. It’s one of the few I remember, probably because I regard it as near fact. It goes like this:

Question: Why are men similar to floor tiles?

Answer: If you lay them properly once you can walk over them for the rest of your life.

Ha ha ha.


oh how i do like a lolly so

holy crap plums. i thought this would be one of the easiest columns to write, but hell. it was like birthing a whale. why? i know not. prolly cos of the hopper-esque mood and all.


i remember a few years back, b and i were talking about whether we spit or swallow. he'd just met this yummy and said something along the lines of how if you're really really into someone you just want to suck, fuck, swallow and take in as much of their bodies as possible.

he was so right. swallowing was never really my gig until i met someone just like b's yummy. then you just want everything.

in the initmatable words of lady gaga:

Ra Ra-ah-ah-ah Roma Roma-ma GaGa Oh la-la Want your bad romance I want your ugly I want your disease I want your everything As long as it's free

i guess when i was a kid - well, teenager at least - i kinda took my queue from what was hot in relationships from movies like wild at heart.

a symbol of mah individualitah

maybe taking one's idea from lynch and tarantino isn't so smart but well, there you have it.


there's a scene in wild at heart where sailor is explaining to lula about this woman he was going to shag but who refused to give him head:


We see what he talks about.

She just rolled over onto her stomach
and stuck her ass up in the air. I
slid my hand between her legs and
she closed her thighs on it.



You're excitin' me, honey. What'd
she do?

Her face was half-pushed into the
pillow, and she looked back over
her shoulder at me and said, 'I
won't suck you. Don't ask me to
suck you.'

Poor baby. She don't know what she
missed. What color hair she have?
i loved that they could talk like that.

i loved that they were so into each other that they knew they could talk about other fucking other people without feeling insecure, because they were, you know into EACH OTHER and knew it.

as my mom always says: communication, communication, communication.

and there it was right there. thanks lynch.

and then i LOVED how what she said about the other chicken missing out. at the time, i knew sweet zero about blow jobs and she made it sound like something awesome.

and she wasn't wrong.

thanks lynch.

anyway. oao plums. hope you liked the column and commented nicely.

(ps thanks 5fm jock and car dude sasha martinengo for his most fab 'salty milkshake' phrase. scares me a little. but only a little.)

hopper and xray blowjobs

i should be thrilled. things should be thrilling. but this feels like a hopperesque-almost-happy painting.


so much to blog. so little of importance to say. usually this doesn't curtail my literary aspirations via the noble medium of blogspot in the slightest.

except this week.


good news. i finally have a new column coming out and thanks to the witches and miss america (oh and sasha) it's funner than it was at first draft.

oh. and as a little aside. mr hardman rethought his position on being an idiot.

Saturday, March 6

hello mandrill says! hello! and ed hardy sucks!

so as i said beatty, here's your surprise:

the ed hardy plague has swept over big bay like the black death... striking without warning and dissapating almost as fast as it came with only a few bling encrusted pockmarks to testify to the uber douchosity that blighted this peaceful suburb... not one sighting today! >> sunday!

every now and then the great woo sends me messages through hello mandrill. it's troo. believe it. so whenever he does i'll be posting it here. mostly because he's funny.

Thursday, March 4

here we lark again

told you they'd be back. they're like the jack bauer of the SA music scene. every tour is the LAST tour.

they have a 'last tour' once a year.

which is ok with me, because i am smitten. something i've written about here, here, here, and here.

going to watch them on the 13th. whoohoo. i should be more enthusiastic, but it's slim pickings in the enthusiasm orchard this week.

i am surrounded by children and crazy people. (an aside: my fave quote at the moment is: boys will be boys, and so will a lot of middle-aged men. awesome neh? from a lass named kin hubbard.)

crazy person

any. way.

went to watch coal and the sleepers last night at the merc. coal was pretty cool with a very nippy track called 'train' that would easily make radio play. they're kind of goth girl, cranberries meets cocteau twins.

and then the sleepers. wow. i heard they were good but i didn't realise they were that freaking good. they did an unplugged set and i'm killin to know what they're going to let rip with when they plug in.

this is not them. but i couldn't find a pic.

i have a slight case of the fob. i won't lie. i just carent be bloggered.

ha. ha. made that up this week.

not funny?

oh well. i'm hoping my mojo will be back soonest.

oao plums.