Anthony Weiner Reveals His Poor Taste On Twitter

I always scoff at public scandal stories, especially those as limp as the tale of Anthony Weiner’s Twitter exploits.

I know very little of the Weiner in question. Only that he’s a New York congressman who is presumably walking around, this very second, with his palms superglued to his face. But what I do find amusing is the magnitude of his fuck-up.

For those who haven’t heard the story, Weiner has managed to cover himself in poor taste by sending photos of his crotch – adorned in grey underpants – to a female user on Twitter. Instead of privately messaging the picture, he managed to send it publicly using the “@” tag.

By fucking up to this extent, anybody with such little enjoyment in his life that he would be browsing Weiner’s page miscellaneously, will have copped a flabbergasting view of the congressman’s junk.

I would pay many pesos to capture the moment in time when he realised his mistake, but realise it he did. A few moments later, the tweet was deleted and a false claim that the account had been hacked arrived in a late bid to save his bacon.

Obviously it didn’t work, as Weiner is now spilling beans about his exchanging of images with multiple women, and how very sorry he is for the sleaze.

To be honest, I couldn’t care less about the political implications. For one, I’m not from New York. And secondly, I personally think there are much greater sins to hold a politician accountable for than the accidental unveiling of his junk.

But I do see two very clear examples of poor taste in this whole charade.

1. Grey underpants? Seriously…grey underpants? What age do I have to turn before this kind of garment suddenly feels stylish? I’m definitely not feeling it yet.

2. Is Twitter really the best place to find woman to exchange photos with? The majority of female users on my Twitter account are robots disguised in marketable cleavage avatars. And even if you do stumble upon a real woman, how are you going to move from “Hello” to “Want to see my crotch?” in 140 characters or less?

Poor taste Weiner. Very poor taste indeed.

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Ryan Giggs Shagged Imogen Thomas

Is it legal to say that now?

I can’t say I give a damn about his private life, but fair play to Ryan Giggs.

It takes balls to tear a good scandal away from the British media’s inking machine. But to then throw lawsuits at Twitter in a bid to keep your sordid business private, that’s just dedication to the cause. The man is hellbent on changing history.

The Ryan Giggs and Imogen Thomas affair

Forgetting that Giggsy is a love rat (Loved the “You’re Not Secret Anymore!” terrace chants, by the way), can anybody tell me why a Super Injuction was required in the first place?

Let me guess. Imogen wanted to sell her story to a newspaper?

I don’t know how the story came to be, but I’m assuming this is how it happened. And if that’s really the case, I can’t say I have much sympathy for the journalist argument that the story was in the public’s interests.

And I have zero sympathy for Imogen if she was intending to sell her side of the story. Somehow she’s managed to paint herself as the wronged, betrayed victim. She says she had no idea Ryan was a married man. I call insta-bullshit on this argument.

If you’re about to sink your claws in to one of the world’s most famous football players – and one close to turning 40 at that – wouldn’t you stop to check his Wikipedia page for signs of wives and kids first? Of course not. These women chase trouble and trouble finds them. Boo fucking hoo. The only people who deserve sympathy in this whole dire mess are Ryan’s wife and children.

On the bright side for the Manchester United dressing room, at least Wayne Rooney can stop reading about his hooker exploits for five minutes.

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Obama Caught Staring At Titty

Is Pressa Obama in the dog house?

Looks like the big man has some explaining to do!

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Nice Guys Finish Last… Yeah, And You’re An Asshole

“Nice guys finish last” is a phrase that I’d like to grab by the neck and jam down the throat of any guy who dares to use it. We all like to find excuses for our own ineptitude in love. But to say that our failings are ever the result of being too nice is a screaming alarm bell that you’re overlooking the real problem.

Besides the cliche, my biggest problem with “nice guys finish last” is that you’d have to be a complete and utter moron to think that somebody is more likely to fall for your charms based on what YOU see in your bathroom mirror.

In fact, it’s usually the case that the self-righteous nice guys are the biggest pricks of all. If you have to resort to assumptions that you’re a good person and deserve to be loved, you haven’t grasped the point of the damn feeling. So instead of blaming singledom on an entire gender’s failure to appreciate your niceties, it’s time to start questioning where you’re really going wrong.

Do girls like bad boys? Is that really what it is?

Do I have to put my cap on backwards, grab a leather jacket and slap her in the face before I ask for a date?

No, you don’t. You just have to act like a NORMAL respectable guy with enough wit and self-awareness to let her feelings take their own course. And here’s the catch. More often than not, those feelings will fail to materialize in to unbridled passion for your loins. If you assume that as a nice guy you’re entitled to her affection, your once supreme confidence is going to resemble the ruins of Rome by the time she’s through with you.

“Nice guys finish last” is a myth created to make losers feel better about themselves. Or to find meaning where there truly is none. Let’s face it, if you were actually a nice guy, you wouldn’t be so bitter in the face of rejection.

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Are You Feeling The Valentines Day Heat?

I found an odd parcel in my mailbox yesterday. It was addressed to my girlfriend and it was marked on customs as “Valentines gift”.

I would remember if I’d shipped something in for her internationally so my first instinct was “Eh? Who’s this from?”.

She took one look at the parcel and sighed with a combination of embarrassment and presumably regret that it wasn’t from me. Hey, it’s the 13th of February and I still haven’t bought her anything. I’m pretty sure regret will make way for a fist in the balls if I don’t get my game together sharpish.

Alas, she eventually opened the parcel. But not before turning a slight shade of pink, muttering “It’s from my mum” and trying to divert the attention to the contents of the highly uninteresting HSBC statement in my hand.

Fuck up Valentines Day at your peril, gentleman.

I’m sorry, but there’s no way I was going to let this go. A Valentines Day gift from your MOTHER…at 21 years old? What the hell is this? The confusion clouded over to such a point that I was starting to feel reminiscent of the high school love life I never had.

It was news to me, but apparently in America, receiving a Valentines Day gift from your parents isn’t such a big deal. In fact, it’s practically to be expected.

I noticed one of my female friends tweeting last week that her mum had bought her lingerie as a Valentines gift. It seems a little bit crazy to me. What does she expect her daughter to do with that lingerie? Get laid faster and bring home a grandchild? Okay, over-exaggerating there, but surely lingerie is something the boyfriend should be splashing out on before Mother opens her purse?

She doesn’t even have a boyfriend, which makes the gift seem all the more bizarre. I know, I know. A girl doesn’t need a boyfriend to enjoy lingerie. Feminists need not bombard my email with spiteful scorn! The appeal of feeling sexy is liberating enough without needing a love interest to justify it. I get that. But on Valentines Day, the connotations of buying your daughter lingerie scream a little morbid to my…well, admittedly morbid way of looking at life.

To be honest, I’m just resentful that my girlfriend’s mum chose to send a heart shaped box of chocolates instead of a bunch of bras and shit. And also that I now have to track down a present – at the final hour no less – just to avoid being the boyfriend who put less thought in to the big V-Day than his lover’s own parents.

Jesus Christ, who needs pressure like this? It sucks to be a man on the 14th of February.

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