The "inner feminist weeps" cartoon

Frank Warren is the owner of PostSecret.com, and every week he gets over a thousand postcards from people who want to confess their sins to him. He takes the best twenty of so, scans them and then posts them to his site.

The postcard on the left arrived in April 2008 and earned its place on the site. Matters may have ended there but the Times was looking for an easy story that month to fill space so they ran a piece about Frank's site and illustrated it with the girl's cartoon.

Who she is we don't know, but she can certainly draw, and her comment struck a chord in the popular imagination, so much so that copies of her work are now all over the web.

Not bad going for a simple sketch and a brief confession.

This blog is booming!

"Some readers of this blog have contacted Google because they believe this blog's content is objectionable."

That's how the new warning message  that Google has stuck up on my blog starts, before going on to say that basically Google doesn't give a stuff about content, so click the button to enter the site.

It's the word objectionable that I find most appealing. It conjures up images of anal retentives who are offended and who want their sense of that which is offensive in their sight to be noted. Verily, it is duly noted and they are cordially invited to pull their foreskins over their heads and wank themselves to death.

For the rest of you the blog is clearly hopping because we are now averaging over 300 hits a day and I hope that the dominant fellows and their suitably compliant females who make up the bulk of those hitsters will continue returning to give a traditional, British, two-fingered salute to the dickless dwarfs who live in the shadows and who find us so frightfully objectionable!

Hack Attack!

I suppose that it had to happen sooner or later: an attempt was made a couple of hours ago to hack into the accounts that run this blog, leading Google to suspend both the e-mail and blog. To get both up and running again I had to send a valid mobile number to the Google system and then  the number rang and a disembodied voice gave me a six digit code to put into the access page. Once that was done everything suddenly started to work again. I suppose the only real problem came about because whilst in Mexico I am using the crappy, semi-official mobile provider and the code has still not arrived at that number several hours after it was requested. However my son has a Nextel phone and that company got the call through in seconds.

So who hates me enough to want to put the blog off-line? Take your pick from mouthy ex-lovers who don't know their place onwards. However, one thing is clear: the buggers failed!

Merry Christmas

A very merry Christmas to all my readers.

Calling all wannabes: here's how it's done!

I am often accused of both sexism and misogyny. The first I plead guilty to, but the second is a nonsense. I don't hate women, I just don't take most of the superficial little darlings all that seriously. However, what I have never done is to try and force any woman to do something that she really didn't want to do, and that point is important since there is a nasty internet rumour going around to the contrary. In fact so strong is this Facebook-based tale that Raven Red was actually warned by at least one person not to spend last month in my house as I do not respect the notion of consensual activity. She ignored the advice and will be back with me next July, but let's nail this load of old wank once and for all, shall we?

Fuck or fuck off has always been my attitude towards the fair sex. I do not go looking for submissive girls to spank, I just seek out females and then spank them. Or rather I wait until they do something particularly inane - it doesn't take long, we are talking about women after all - and then I warn them that a repeat performance will earn them a trip across my knee. At that point madam is more than at liberty to tell me that a smacked bottom is out of the question. In which case my fuck or fuck off rule comes into play and I either throw her out, if we are at my place, or put my coat on and leave if at hers. 

On the other hand, if madam decides that she wants to carry on seeing me, but doesn't fancy the idea of too many smacked bottoms then all she has to do is keep her innate female silliness under some sort of control and she need never find herself staring at a carpet as her knickers are taken down. I don't invent reasons to spank, and if truth be told what I really want is a quiet life.

Where did this nasty rumour about me come from? Probably from within the ranks of the hand shandyists who are only socially-conservative behind a computer monitor. At all other times they are pussy-whipped wannabes who find it hard to keep Mrs Hand and her five daughters in line, never mind a real live woman.

Vote for the Pink Report

It's that time of year when blog readers are asked to vote for their  favourite spanking read of 2010. Cuddly Uncle Nick has voted for The Pink Report over at the Spanking Spot's poll and hopes that you will follow the link and cast your vote for the lovely Miss Pink as well.

Advertising the old fashioned way

 

Rather an amusing American advert from the late 1930s. What interests me about it is the matter of fact way in which a wife is being disciplined by her husband. This is an advert for flour, but there is no suggestion that the audience of the day didn't understand the message which is that wives are under their husbands' authority.

Where did western society go wrong?

On caring for a tawse

Following on from Wednesday's posting, I decided that the tawse needed some care and attention, having been stuck in a drawer for two years, so I went and bought some saddle soap. It will probably be the middle of 2011 before it gets to teach Raven her lesson but it is never too soon to start bringing this delightful implement back to its full vigour.

Bringing a daughter to heel

George Thompson was a man who knew how to keep his daughter Loretta in line - even when she was 34 years old. She stayed out until midnight according to this  front page LA Times report of the 25 May 1938 and her bottom paid the price with Loretta across her daddy's knee. The matter was resolved with Loretta agreeing to be home by 10.00pm during the week and at midnight on weekends.

Looking ahead with pleasant anticipation

A posting over at Raven Red's place has put me even more out of sorts than I was owing to the effects of Monday's flight. Whilst I was in the air, suffering the pain that British Airways inflicts on its passengers,  Raven was getting her backside tawsed with an implement that I tracked down for her in England. 

She went back to South Africa last week, taking with her the cane and tawse pictured above. The cane was mine and was given to her as a gift for a certain HH, but the tawse had to be bought, an activity that took up rather more of my time than I wished to dedicate to it. Eventually I found one through my contacts which at least shut up the Raven's inane prattling on the subject.

The reason why all this has left me out of sorts is that although I welted her backside with the cane, I never got the opportunity to grease up the tawse across her bare rump before both rump and tawse left the country. Raven went to Coventry for a night and had the item in her bag. She claims that the bag fell open on the bed just as she was about to leave and that the tawse fell out unbeknownst to herself.

Yes, I know, she's a woman and therefore scatterbrained and quite capable of doing stupid things as a matter of course, but this is stretching my credulity just a little too far, especially since madam had been saying that the tawse might just get lost  in the English Midlands...

To make matters worse, yesterday Raven suggested that we go and buy another tawse just like the one that went to South Africa and that was when my nose really went out of joint. Few people ever get away with patronising me - few men I really should say and no fucking women at all at least if they know what is good for them!

So, here is what is going to happen. Back in 1990 I purchased the tawse that is pictured on the left. It is a ferocious implement, and one that was left here in Mexico when I returned to the UK in December of 2009.

As soon as I saw Raven's posting I called her on Skype, and just as soon as that little chat was over I went and recovered my trusty old tawse and took a photo of it to send to her. That photo is reproduced here. As you can see from the picture below, this tawse is not a toy and I absolutely fucking guarantee that Raven la Roja is going to be sleeping on her stomach and eating her meals standing up for a week  after it has been used on her.

On that happy note breakfast calls!

Blogging...

Blogging is going to be light until the middle of January as I will be in Mexico until then. I will do my best to produce a couple of updates a week, so stay tuned.

In the meantime Raven Red has produced her take on the well earned caning that I gave her the other day, so please take a trip over to her place and read her make a drama out of the few light taps that did little more than tickle her bottom.

Caveat Emptor

 

There are certain things that just tickle my funny bone and this cartoon in one of them. With thanks to The Pink Report.