Tuesday, March 31, 2009

It's not you, it's me

Oh Gill, Gill. I can't believe it's come to this. I didn't mean to hurt you. When I took a job at Blockbusters I didn't set out to break your heart. But the fickle hand of fate intervened and I met Amber.
Sometimes it takes a change of perspective to make you realise that you've changed.

I don't mean to say you've changed. I mean one has changed. My exciting career as a Citizen Journalist is in its infancy, I'm going off in new directions, I'm exploring myself.

You're an HR manager for a string of estate agents in South London.

We've grown apart.

A few days ago on this very blog, I turned to my loyal readership to decide whether or not we should be together. As I write these words, there are 12 hours left in the voting, and it would take a massive swing in your favour to persuade me that we have a future.

50% of voters said that we should split, 33 per cent suggested that I cheat on you, while the remainder said we should stay together. It's pretty conclusive.

I was going to wait until the voting had finished, however, having read your comments on my previous post, I know that you've been reading the blog!

So, I suppose it's over. I never wanted it to end this way, I probably would have called, or perhaps sent a private text. But since you've read the blog and know how I feel about Amber, then I suppose the best thing to do is terminate the relationship here on the blog.

It's not you, it's me. We've grown apart, I hope we can still be friends after all this?

I won't say goodbye, that's too final, I'll say bon voyage.

I love you as a friend, you're more like a sister.

Got to go now, I've got a Frey Bentos in the oven and I quite fancy finishing the latest season on Pro Evo.

Yours

Bazzler :-(

ps. if you could post me my Coldplay album sometime this week that would great.

pps. can I keep the kettle, I know your mum bought it us, but you've got one and to be honest, I don't really think you need two kettles

Monday, March 30, 2009

Business models, new in town


A few weeks ago, on the tenth birthday of London's premier free newspaper - the Metro - I came up with a new paradigm in business publishing. The Oyster - the world's first adult entertainment commuter freesheet.

I've been working on a presentation that I plan to take to prospective advertisers. What to take a sneak preview?

Of course you do:

THE OYSTER

Good morning/afternoon ladies and gentlemen. My name is Barry Newsdesk. For ten years I worked in media sales. I single hendedly witnessed the downfall of print media. But during that time, one publication bucked the trend, one publication grew where others whithered on the vine.

I'm talking about the Metro, of course.

WAIT!! I know what you're thinking. You're thinking I'm here to simply peddle out yet another freesheet wannabe immitator - like the London Paper or the London Lite.

But I'm not. It's true I've been inspired by the unlikely success of the Metro, but I'm going to bring you a whole new concept. And it's not just a concept, it's backed up with cold hard facts.

A few weeks ago, on the tenth birthday of London's premier free newspaper - the Metro - I came up with a new paradigm in business publishing. The Oyster - the world's first adult entertainment commuter freesheet.

Based on the Metro's groundbreaking business model of repurposing material and placing advertisements against it, the Metro revolutionised how the commuters of the world consume news.

Now I'm proposing to revolutionise how the commuters of the world consume bongo.

That's right, you heard me, I said bongo.

Grumble. Smut. Porn. Jazz mags!!

Forget the Internet, with all its fancy widgets and functionality, the Metro almost single-hendedly changed the landscape of the world beyond recognition. And besides, you can't get a signal on the underground, so mobile phones and laptops don't work, which is almost certainly probably half the reason no one reads adult literature while traveling to and from work.

Think about it.

Just for a second.

Sex sells, that much is obvious, you've only got step into your nearest newsagent to buy a four pack of Cobra and some Monster Munch the shelves are stacked with the stuff, or take a walk around Soho and you'll see it literally for sale all over the place. Or just nip into a phone box to make a call becasue the battery on your mobile is dead, you'll be greeted by genuine photos of busty blondes new in town who love their jobs.

Now, imagine a FREE newspaper packed to the rafters with smut. You wouldn't even need to hire people in luminous jackets to hand out the papers at stations, commuters would be literally clamouring for it.

But don't take my word for it. I carried out extensive research, asking a potential audience of millions of Internet users (many of whom almost certainly use the World Wide Web to satisfy their desire for grumble), whether the world was reading for a free adult entertainment newspaper. A resounding 60 per cent of voters agreed that, yes, the world is reading for a free adult entertainment newspaper.

I know what you're thinking. You're thinking where on earth is Barry going to find enough filfth to fill the pages of a London freesheet five days a week, 52 weeks a years?

Well, that's easy. The Internet. It's completely riddled with the stuff. I don't have time to catalogue the sheer volume and variety here, but don't take my word for it. Go home and type something insanely filthy into Google. You can bet your bottom dollar that someone has not only already thought of it, but they've taken a video of it and uploaded it onto the Internet.

Trust me, The Oyster won't struggle for content. It won't struggle for readers. And now, I know, having sold you the concept, it won't struggle for advertisers!

What do you think readers? It's not bad is it? I thought I'd probably charge £1000 per quarter page. My friend Dave, the roofer, knows one of the blokes involved with CFCUK, Chelsea supporters' fanzine, and he reckons he'll be able to get some reasonable printing fees. I'd take care of repurposing all the material and all the journalism, so my overheads would be nominal.

I spent today going around the phone boxes of London collecting prostitutes' calling cards, I'll give them a ring later and see if they want to hear the pitch. After that, I think I'll probably go and see some of the strip clubs dotted around town, and then the sex shops of Soho. All in the name of research and new business leads, of course.

I wonder if I'll bump into Jacqui Smith's husband. The dirty tinker. ;-)

Who knows, if things are a success in London, maybe I'll take the idea into Europe, Amsterdam first I dare say, then Paris.

Friday, March 27, 2009

The chosen people


The Jews are a talented bunch. Think about it: Some of the world’s funniest people are Jewish, such as Woody Allen. Some of the world’s cleverest people are or have been Jewish, such as Albert Einstein (although he didn’t actually believe in the God of organised religion, and he was pretty bright, so maybe there’s something to take notice of right there). Some of the finest singers are Jewish, like Barbara Streisand. And some of the people you least expect to be Jewish are Jewish, like Bob Dylan. The world of cinema is packed to the rafters with wonderful Jewish actors, directors and – probably, who knows? – costume makers and key grips. As religious groups go, the Jews are probably the high achievers. Amazingly, less than 0.3% of the world’s population are Jewish, yet they’ve quite an impact on the world stage, a bit like the Irish and their theme pubs.

But who was the most famous Jew of them all? Well, would you believe me if I told you that it was Jesus? Because it was.

Judaism is the forerunner of Christianity in many ways. The older Christian stuff tallies fairly closely with the teachings of Judaism. It is also believed to have influenced a good deal of the Islamic faith. For example, you wouldn’t get a ham sandwich in the canteen at a Synagogue (the Jewish religious building) or at a Mosque. The reason is that both religions forbid the eating of pigs because they think they are unclean animals. Actually, and I don’t want to get in anyone’s face here, or naysay anyone’s beliefs, but that’s quite wrong. Pigs are basically very clean. They’re easily as clean as dogs, and dogs mouths are actually cleaner than our own! Not that I’d eat a dog, like they do in some countries.

Anyway, you’ve got to figure that, as far as eating goes, the Christians got off pretty lightly by not adopting the no-pig rule. I have to say, that’s enough on its own to keep me out of Judaism. I COULD NOT give up my bacon sandwiches/baby back ribs/pork belly/chorizo. I’m getting hungry just thinking about it. But, no pigmeat for the Jewish. That’s a hell of a cross to bear. I wonder if they can eat Frazzles?

One thing that’s different about Judaism is that the Sabbath is on a Saturday. Well, actually, it starts on a Friday night and goes through til Saturday night. So it kind of stuffs up your weekend because you have to stay at home on Friday night. It must be tough on the kids.

Sadly, because of man’s inhumanity to man, people of the Jewish faith have suffered hugely throughout the years, and been persecuted by lots of other races, not least by the Germans. Certainly, perhaps because it was so recent, the actions of the Germans are felt to be especially bad and are still known to rankle with Jewish people. Everyone knows about the holocaust from films such as Schindler’s List, the Dirty Dozen and the Dambusters, so we don’t need to go into that here. But suffice to say, the people of Judea have had a pretty rough time of it.

There’s nothing you can say to justify this kind of behaviour, but perhaps it stems in part from the fact that Judaism teaches that the Jews are the chosen people and that they are here to set an example to everyone else, which is a bit jumped up. That doesn’t make persecution right, though, of course. It’s disgusting and it makes me ashamed to be a gentile (the Jewish word for infidel). I’m just trying to understand these things.

It was still an issue when I was a kid, with Jewish people, like the Scotch, having a reputation for being stingy with money. I want to go on the record right here and say that I’ve got Jewish friends, I’ve been to their houses and, while I didn’t get any bacon, they were very generous and lovely. So that stuff about being tight is a load of old nonsense. A lot of it is down to Shakespeare who wrote a character called Shylock who was a nasty hook-nosed money lender and created a stereotype that was adopted down the years. He was used as the basis for the character Watto in the first Star Wars prequel. Anyway, like I pointed out, it’s a cruel stereotype.

That said, when I was a kid I had a Jewish guitar teacher called Mr Bloomstein. He was short, with a big nose and, not to put too fine a point on it, he was a bit thrifty. BUT, here’s the thing: the guitar teacher I had before him was called Mr Adams. He was also short, he also had a big nose, and he was also a bit thrifty. Was he Jewish? No he was not. He was, as far as I could tell, altogether without religion. This just goes to show that stereotypes are dangerous things. For example, you would be foolish to draw the conclusion, based on my evidence, that all guitar teachers are short, big-nosed tightwads.

The important thing when discussing Judaism is that we separate the Jews from Israel. Not physically, of course. To physically separate the people from their country would get them in a right old state (a Palestinian state, as it were!). Israel is, after all, their Promised Land. Although, it has to be said, if you don’t believe in their God, you can’t really take that promise too seriously. For example, I could invent a religion of my own and say that my God promised me Penelope Cruz. But if I flew over to Hollywood to claim my right, I’d probably get put in prison. And rightly so—Penelope is a beautiful woman, for sure, but that doesn’t give anyone the right to sexually harass her. And that goes for all beautiful women, not just Penelope.

No, what I mean is that Israel and Israelis aren’t representative of all Jews, like Catholics aren’t representative of all Christians, if you like, or the Taliban of all Muslims. So we must make sure we separate them in a discursive sense.

Israel, I think it’s fair to say, can be a bit bolshy. Like a spoiled little girl. Certainly it likes to have things its own way. For example, it is unarguably situated in the Middle East. However, it manages to get itself in to European competitions, such as the Eurovision Song Contest and the European Championship football tournament. This is politics at work, people, using populist events to generate solidarity between nations on grounds that simply don’t exist. There’s something not quite right about it, not unlike Israel’s 1998 Eurovision winner Dana, a woman who, it was later revealed, had a penis.

That penis, incidentally, was probably a roundhead and not a cavalier. This is because part of the Jewish religion is that all boys must be circumcised. Personally I find this a bit offensive. I’m happy to say it: I have not been circumcised. I own a foreskin and I don’t see what’s so bad about it that someone should decree that an entire race be forced to live without it. How can they make the decision if they don’t know what it’s like to have one, eh? And aren’t they insulting my foreskin by saying that they don’t think anyone should have one?

After all, if you’re religious, you believe that God made you. And on one of those days when He was making everything, perhaps in a quiet moment after He’d done the face, the finger and the foot (assuming He did it all alphabetically) He’d have thought to Himself:

“I know what that needs, it needs an extra piece of skin, just… there. Oh, now, I have to say, I’m rather pleased with that. I hope they don’t decide to cut it off!”

Still, Judaism, like a lot of religions, is basically run by a load of old men who think they know what’s good for everybody else. And, if what they think is that I can’t go out on a Friday, can’t have any bacon and they want to lop the end of my willy off, I think I’ll pass.

Wednesday, March 25, 2009

Decision time


Life is all about making tough decisions. Sometimes you have to be brave, sometimes you make the wrong decisions, but if you sit around never making decisions, you only have yourself to blame when things go wrong.

As regular readers will know, I've been getting quite close to a colleague of mine for some time. Amber. The thing is, I've already got a girlfriend.

It's an age old dilemma. When King Henry VIII was faced with the same problem he changed his religion and chopped the current incumbent's head off. I'm not proposing for a second that I do the same. As a practicing Buddhist I cannot condone violence. Particularly against the weaker sex. Even, and I want to make this perfectly clear, even if they have let themselves go a bit.

Last night at Blockbusters Amber admitted to me that she has been stealing out of the shop's til, even though she knows that I am store manager Rochard's eyes and ears on the ground, she feels wracked with guilt that Leigh got sacked, and is threatening to resign and tell Richard the truth.

The thing is, she needs the cash, there's a credit crunch and dance lessons don't come cheap. But more than that readers, in telling me, she's shown me that there's more to our relationship than a workmate crush. I think we've really got something.

I admitted to Amber that it was I, Barry Newsdesk, that informed Richard of Leigh's misbehaviour. We've formed a pact. "It'll be our little secret," she told me, and winked!!!

Well, I've not slept a wink all night because of it.

My mind is in turmoil. The reader poll has been such a success in measuring the weight of public opinion (incidentally, 60 per cent of voters voted in favour of free porn for London commuters, a statistic I shall build into The Oyster's media pack to take to prospective advertisers), I've decided to let you, the inhabitants of the blogosphere, decide whether or not I should leave Gill for Amber!

It's a world first, it's like Girlfriend Idol - only on my blog and featuring opportunity to be my girlfriend.

I already know the bookies' favourite, and I wouldn't want to swing opinion in either direction, but I'd say one of the contestants has got the X-Factor all right!!!

VOTE NOW....!

Sunday, March 22, 2009

Amber


I think I might be in LOVE!!

I feel like jumping up and down on the sofa like Tom Cruise did when he announced his marriage to that girl out of Dawson's Creek on the Oprah Winfrey show. Fair play, she's a lovely looking girl, (the one out of Dawson's Creek, not Oprah Winfrey), although I personally thought she was a little on the young side for Tom.

I've just had a pub lunch with Amber. We both had nutroast. I must admit when I saw someone at the next table tucking into the beef, I was a little bit jealous. But then, as Amber says, meat is murder.

I asked Amber out last night at the end of our shift at Blockbusters. She'd been a bit down all evening as Richard sacked Leigh on Friday. She couldn't work out why. I said that I thought Richard was a racialist, she agreed. So I said I'd take her out today to try and cheer her up.

She's such a lovely thoughtful girl, just like Mum. She didn't stop fretting about Leigh throughout lunch. To be totally honest, I was getting a bit bored of it, I did try and steer the conversation around to Buddhism or judo - she was way impressed that I'm a black belt (in judo, not Buddhism). Although, less impressed when I demonstrated a pressure point move on her causing her to knock her red wine over. I got a replacement, natch, even though technically it wasn't really my fault.

The thing with Leigh, though, is he was taking the piss at Blockbusters, you can't expect to smoke drugs in the storeroom and get away with it, not in today's troubled economic climate, which is exactly the reason I let Richard know what was going on.

I joked to Amber that there's no smoke without being fired, but she was in no mood for my witticisms. So I steered the conversation around to Richard again. Amber really seems to enjoy slagging off Richard. I let her know that Richard takes me seriously. I won't be pushed around by the jumped up little Hitler. I let Amber know that Richard even asked me to keep an eye on things in his absence. Sometimes girls appreciate a man of power. Though she didn't seem that impressed. She just wanted to talk about Leigh all the time.

Leigh's a lovely guy, I said, but he's hanging with a bad crowd. I mentioned that he seemed to have a lot of friends who came to the shop, and that the M&M stockpile was going down, even though no one ever seemed to buy them. Richard might be a wanker, but he's not stupid. Perhaps not surprisingly, this observation didn't go down too well!! You can't win em all, but I think it's important for Amber to see Leigh for what he potentially really is. I'd hate for her to throw her life and career at Blockbusters away over some wannabe gangsta rapper from Thornton Heath.

She perked up when I asked about her about her dancing. I mentioned that Flashdance was one of my fav movies, but she'd never heard of it. It's the one about a beautiful spot-welder who, against all the odds, becomes a dancer. I said it was similar to Billie Elliot, she'd heard of that, so at least I showed her that I'm not completely dance ignorant.

Amber looks a bit like a cross between a young Bonnie Tyler and that Diana Vickers out of the last series of X-Factor. I bet Amber would be great singing Total Eclipse of the Heart at karaoke. I suggested as much, but Amber just looked at me blankly.

I let it drop. Sometimes it's best not to labour a point. I'll bear it in mind though, should Amber's dancing career falter (you've got to be realistic readers, dancing is harder than it looks, and even if you're really good at it, it's difficult to really make any money out of it, look at Wayne Sleep), with Amber's talents she could probably sign up for X-Factor or perhaps become a Bonnie Taylor/Diana Vickers imitator.

They say imitation is the most sincere form of flattery. I've never understood that one. Surely flattery is the most sincere form of flattery. If I rocked up to my Mum's place in Lincoln wearing a floral dress and started banging on about Lionel Richie's latest album she'd probably think I'd turned gay. But if I rocked up and told her that she's the loveliest woman on the planet, the person whom I admire most, she'd be very flattered. See what I mean, readers, sometimes even well established sayings can be misleading.

I'm making it sound like the date was a disaster, but it wasn't, we had a good long chat about my Mum and about Amber's family. Like me, she's an only child. They say only children are spoiled, self-centred, egotists. But that's certainly not something that could be leveled at either Amber or me.

Clearly, though, we had a lot in common, we're both independent, creative individuals. We both like Coldplay. We're both vegetarians. I really think we were covering some ground, although like a lot of younger people today, she was constantly texting on her phone. I think it would have annoyed a lot of people, but I'm totally chilled, it's a generational thing, I know it's not offensive to multi-task your social networks. I'm on Twitter for heaven's sake.

There's nothing I like more than Twittering away. My friend Dave, the roofer, calls it Twatter, which just goes to show I'm much more in tune with the younger generation than with Dave's - even though Dave is actually two years younger than me!! The thing is, unlike Dave, the roofer, I'm down with the digital generation, I'm totally plugged-in to the Internet. Age is irrelevant on the Internet. Age has become totally democratised. Unless you're grooming children in chat rooms of course. Which is a whole separate issue.

Amber seemed to enjoy that we could speak the same language (I don't mean that we spoke English, I mean that we were on the same page culturally). In fact, I was about to ask Amber if she wanted to come back to my flat for a herbal tea and a look at my Mac iBook, but then Leigh arrived out of the blue, driving what can best be described as a Pimpmobile. You could hear the bass booming from the stereo as he pulled in the car park. "How the hell does afford a car like that on the salary at Blockbusters? Maybe there really is no smoke without fire." I said. Amber just shook her head, I think she was embarrassed for Leigh.

Leigh didn't even say hello to me when he came into the pub, he just said: "Come on then," to Amber, taking her by the had and almost literally dragging her out. So I didn't even get a kiss at the end of the date! :-(

Still, Rome wasn't built in a day.

I paid the bill and left, that red wine was pricey, the total came to over £30, I think I might be running into overdraft territory, I don't like to go into the red too much, neither a borrower nor a lender be. Perhaps I'll give Mum a ring and get her to transfer some into my online bank. It's either that or dip into the savings!!

Before that though I think I'll crack into a couple of Cobra and make myself a sausage butty, I'm bloody starving.

Newsdesk Out

Saturday, March 21, 2009

Mothering Sunday


It's Mothering Sunday tomorrow readers, or Mothers' Day as our American cousins call it, although interestingly it's not Mothers' Day in America tomorrow. In fact, you might be surprised to find out that Mothers' Day or Mothering Sunday (as we rightly call it) is on a different day of the year all over the place.

Some people call it a Hallmark Holiday, in reference to the firm called Hallmark that makes greetings cards. Cynics have suggested that the reason we have different dates in different places for celebrating our Mums is so that Hallmark can sell cards all year around, rather than lumping all their revenue on one date.

I think that's a terrible viewpoint. That said, I totally forgot it was Mothering Sunday until this morning when I looked at the calendar and so now I've missed the post. So Hallmark won't be making any money out of me anyway.

I can't believe, in this day and age, that the Royal Mail still refuses to deliver letters on a Sunday. You can bet your bottom dollar it's not because the postmen are all in church. They're more likely to be down the bookies. Is it any wonder that the Royal Mail is going out of business?

Speaking of the Royal Mail, in the week, I read about a postmaster in Nottingham who was refusing to serve customers who cannot speak English. It sounds like out and out racism, yet amazingly, the postmaster in question was born in Sri Lanka. You would think he'd be sympathetic towards immigrants. He claims that he cannot serve them, because he cannot understand them.

I wonder if he still serves his mute customers?

Anyway, I thought I'd post on the blog today, because tomorrow I was thinking of going up to Lincoln to visit my Mum. Whom I love more than words.

I was going to nip down to the High Street and buy Mum Lionel Richie's latest album. He was on Jonathan Ross last night promoting it. My Mum loves Lionel. Though, I'm not sure she'd be too pleased that he appeared on Ross's show. After the furore with Russell Brand and the granddaughter of Manuel out of Fawlty Towers.

She was not too pleased that Ross and Russ got their jobs back, especially in the current economic climate. There are plenty of talented presenters out there, like Michael Parkinson, who wouldn't dream of phoning up national treasures and taunting them about the sexual habits of their family.

It's a disgwace. As Ross would probably say.

Lionel Richie wrote a song about his Mum (Mrs Richie, not Mrs Ross). You've probably heard of it. Three times a lady. It's a beautiful tune with a lovely sentiment.

Thanks for the times
That you've given me
The memories are all in my mind
And now that we've come
To the end of our rainbow
There's something
I must say out loud
You're once, twice
Three times a lady
Yes you're once twice
Three times a lady
And I love you

When we are together
The moments I cherish
With every beat of my heart
To touch you to hold you
To feel you to need you
There's nothing to keep us apart
You're once twice
Three times a lady
And I love you
I love you

Now I love my Mum readers, as you know, but that second verse is a bit dodge. Makes you wonder what went on in the Richie household. You hear about these child stars and sometimes it's not all sunshine and light.

They say that there's no smoke without fire. You've only got to look at how Lionel's own daughter, Nicole, has turned out. She's forever tumbling out of some bar or club with Paris Hilton. And we all know what she's like.

I'm pretty sure Mum wouldn't approve if I took up with Paris Hilton or Nicole Richie. I'd be much better off with someone like Amber. We're on at Blockbusters later today, maybe I'll see if she fancies going for lunch tomorrow. I can always give Mum a ring or something. She's probably forgotten it's Mothering Sunday anyway.

Thursday, March 19, 2009

PORN!!!


OMG!

OMG!

You won't believe what I've discovered!

Two days ago I announced my new concept: The Oyster - London's first free commuter pornographic magazine.

I was inspired by the ten-year success of my fav newspaper, the Metro. It seems such a simple concept, handing out a free newspaper to commuters in the mornings, where the content had already appeared in the London Evening Standard the night before, and selling advertising space against it.

It's yesterday's news tomorrow.

It's bloody genius really, so much so that The London Lite, The London Paper, City AM, Sport and Shortlist have all ripped off the business model and attempted to undercut the Metro's advertising spend by offering the commuters of London an alternative version of the paper they love.

Essentially, though, it's reinventing the wheel. It's diluting the advertising cordial. There must be another way?!@?

Two days ago, I spotted a gap in the market based on the success of newspapers such as The Sun, The Star, the Sunday Sport and Razzle.

Boobs.

I dreamed up with the concept of The Oyster - London's premier adult entertainment freesheet.

Sex sell readers!!

In order to build a business model, I decided that I'd need to carry out some research.

The success of the freesheets is based around repurposing material. That's literally copying something and selling it as something new. For The Oyster, I'd need to repurpose adult entertainment.

But where the hell was I going to find an almost limitless supply of filth?

I decided to research content for The Oyster online.

It didn't take much work. Try it for yourself, just type 'porn' into Google. You'll be amazed.

Although, I would add that if you work in an organisation that has IT support or Systems Administration in place, you should probably wait until you get home.

I know someone who was accused of looking at porn at work and he was totally innocent. The management called him aside and asked him about his "surfing habits", they said "maybe there are sites you shouldn't look at". He definitely wasn't looking at sites with material that was unacceptable to company policy, he suggested that it was probably one of the cleaners who was accessing his computer when everyone had left. In the end the management decided that they'd get a new cleaning contract.

Problem solved!

Frankly, I've found stuff on the Internet that would make a prostitute blush. Honestly readers, the Internet is literally riddled with filth.

Try it for yourself, go to Google and type in something soul-destroyingly obscene. I bet you a million pounds whatever you can think of, however depraved, already exists on the Internet.

I spent all evening looking at a wide variety of pornographic websites, of every possible persuasion, purely, I might add, for research purposes, and I can reveal that I can think of nothing that is not on the Internet.

A MONKEY WANKING A HORSE!!!!!

Jeesh, who gets a kick out of that?

There's so much porn on the Internet that I can't even begin to catalogue it all here. What I will say is that there is enough material freely available that The Oyster is never going to struggle for content.

All I need to do now is line up a few advertisers. I can almost certainly change the landscape of publishing forever. Who would've believed that sex sells on the internet?

The mind boggles.