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The last reason is good enough in itself.

As sent to me by Big Rab

Bent Shots?

I saw this photograph this afternoon on Who Ate All The Pies? when I should have been putting together some cutting edge market analysis.

First off, I don't care whether Zlatan Ibrahmiovic and Gerard Pique are the world's most high-profile gay footballers. What got me thinking is that if they are they're the ONLY gay footballers I'm aware of playing at the very top of the game.

In fact, the only other gay footballer I can remember is Justin Fashanu, who of course tragically committed suicide in 1998.

In the west, somewhere between two and thirteen per cent of the population is estimated to be gay. Say, for argument's sake, that the figure is ten per cent. Then, presume that each Premiership club has a 20-man squad. That's 40 gay men.

Even assuming that only two per cent of men are gay. That's eight gay Premiership footballers. Even suppose that the macho world of football has only half as many gay employees as society at large. That's four Premiership footballers.

It seems strange that, when football has largely managed to shake off the worst of its racist, misogynistic, xenophobic and bigoted bad days, no gay players have publicly come out.

Will Ibrahimovic and Pique be the first?

The Finest In African Journalism

And in bum sex scandals of course.

Breaking News

Groanin' Jock, bringing you all the important things in life - Scottish pussy (apparently), Montrose Football Club and pictures of John Terry.




(Click on the picture to bigify it if necessary.)

You Want To See WHAT?

I've posted fairly frequently in the past on the Google search terms that bring you strange denizens of the worldwide interweb to this far-flung outpost.

Two strange search queries directed punters this way earlier today (click on pictures to make them bigger):

First up, "sniffing sweaty jock cups". Beautiful. Just beautiful. Well man, whatever gets you off...
Then, perhaps even more disturbing:

Seriously, why would anyone want naked pictures of Ian Durrant? This search term has actually popped up here before.

You're a sick bunch....

Never Annoy A Pair Of Scouse Cage Fighters

I'm sure there are several morals to this tale, but I'm not entirely sure what they are. Follow the first link then watch this video.

Warning - the video is not suitable for work.

Groanin' Jock's Chinglish Adventures Volume III: Buried With The Died Wifeless Man

The third installment of the series that may never end takes us to the Chinese Sex Museum.

Yep, that's right, the Chinese Sex Museum. A collection of art, artefacts and hideous devices detailing the history of sex and sex culture in the world's oldest culture.

Included in the exhibition were countless phallic pieces of pottery, statues of men naked and erect and even an awful punishment device for cheating women that took the form of a saddle that you attached to a donkey that had a massive wooden penis attached to it - it's pretty much indescribable.....

Anyway, the image above is from a caption referring to a jade statue. And obviously it was used for buried with the died wifeless man.

Because every died wifeless man needs a jade statue of a woman to remind him that, not only did he not get any when he was alive, he's sure as hell not getting any now he's dead.

Word Association

Recently, I've been reading CS Lewis' Chronicles of Narnia, books I haven't read since I was around nine years old.

They've been a tad disappointing, if I'm honest, but I suppose I should have expected that, given that they were written for a young audience more than 50 years ago.

I've been reading a lot more since my transformation from car-bound commuting drone to train-bound commuting drone, and I now spend around an hour and a half each day immersed in a world of Fauns, Dufflepuds and Marshwiggles. (I think I should probably read War and Peace or something equally weighty once I've finished the Narnia series....)

Today, on my journey into Aberdeen, I reached chapter nine of The Silver Chair. And if any one passage summed up the differences in the use of language in literature from 50 years ago, it is the following excerpt detailing how a girl called Jane curried favour with the inhabitants of a household of giants:

"She made love to everyone - the grooms, the porters, the housemaids, the ladies-in-waiting and the elderly giant lords whose hunting days were past. She submitted to being kissed and pawed about by any number of giantesses."

Maybe it's my dirty mind, or maybe any other grown-up would think the same, but those two sentences sound more like the script for a Jenna Jameson* movie than a passage from one of the world's best-loved children's books.

Given that the books are a thinly-veiled allegory for Christian teachings, perhaps Clive Staples Lewis could have chosen his words slightly better.....

* Jenna Jameson is, I believe, the female star of many pornographic movies. Having never seen such a thing, I base this reference entirely on sources from the internet.

And that means Wikipedia, before any smart arses pipe up about my internet browsing habits.

Nuts

The picture above reminds me of a story a friend told me a few years back.

A guy in his 40s, who had been divorced for a while and hadn't enjoyed female company since, set off to Amsterdam on a stag weekend with a group of friends.

Feeling sorry for the guy, his friends told him that they had decided to club together and buy him a night of passion with one of Amsterdam's hookers. The only condition was that, as he got down to business, he called one of their mobile phones so that they could listen in on the action.

(Strange friends....)

The guy agreed and his mates set up the encounter as promised. And, also as promised, he dialled one of their mobile phones as he reached the business end of the evening.

All progressed as you would expect for a number of minutes, until shouting could be heard on the other end of the line.

For this portion of the tale, do your best to imagine a broad Fife accent shouting at the top of its voice: "Fucking poof. Get oot ma room ye fucking poof. Get oot or I'll batter ye."

For those who haven't yet guessed, the guy's 'friends' had clubbed together and hired a very convincing transsexual prostitute, and were at that point wetting themselves in uncontrollable laughter .

The moral of the story?

Your friends are probably a shower of bastards.

Scam Warning

I recently became the victim of a clever scam whilst out shopping at the Bon Accord Shopping Centre in Aberdeen, when simply going out to get some bits and pieces turned out to be quite traumatic. Don't be naive enough to think it couldn't happen to you.


Here's how the scam works: Two seriously good looking 18 or 19 year old girls come over to your car as you are loading your stuff into the boot. They both start wiping your windshield with a rag and Windolene with their cleavage almost falling out of their skimpy T-shirts. It is impossible not to look.


When you thank them and offer them a tip, they say "No" and instead ask you for a lift to Holburn Street. You agree and they get in the back seat.


On the way, they start having sex with each other. Then one of them climbs over into the front seat and perform oral sex on you, while the other one steals your wallet.


I had my wallet stolen on October 4th, 9th, 10th, twice on the 15th, 17th, 20th, three times just yesterday, and very likely again this upcoming weekend as soon as I can buy some more wallets.

Seek and You Shall Find

I'm all for sharing the love here in the Blogosphere - that's why there is a whole host of links down the right hand side of this humble outpost of the worldwide interweb, so that I can point you in the direction of some people with writing talent.

And occasionally, visitors to this site follow my advice and head out into uncharted territory in search of new horizons, having arrived here by chance in the first instance.

Last night, at around 1am Greenwich Mean Time, someone from the USA arrived here after searching on AOL for "Jocks & sex blogs". Whoever this person was, they didn't find what they were looking for, and headed off after just 48 seconds.

Where did they go? Well, if Groanin' Jock isn't going to help you get your rocks off, why not try a Straight White Guy.....

Voyager

Another interesting Google search term that brought someone in this direction: "Private sex voyage".

Sounds fulfilling.....

A Rose By Any Other Name

As seen over at Ramblings From A Blue Dot - what would my name be in different circumstances?

1. YOUR ROCK STAR NAME: (first pet & current car) Pepi Clio. Sounds more French house or gay disco than rock'n'roll, doesn't it?

2.YOUR GANGSTA NAME: (fave ice cream flavor, favorite cookie) Toffee Raspberry-White Chocolate. Doesn't that make me sound REALLY hard?

3. YOUR “FLY Guy/Girl” NAME: (first initial of first name, first three letters of your last name) M-RAE. Maybe G-JOC sounds better.

4. YOUR DETECTIVE NAME: (favorite color, favorite animal) Blue Dog. Not really up there with Poirot, Marple or Clouseau, is it?

5. YOUR SOAP OPERA NAME: (middle name, city where you were born) I don't have a middle name.... Surname would be Dundee though. So let's go with Mick Dundee. You can call me Crocodile.

6. YOUR STAR WARS NAME: (first 3 letters of your last name, first 2 letters of your first) Rae Ma. That's Darth Ma to you.

7. SUPERHERO NAME: (”The” + 2nd favorite color, favorite drink) The Black Cointreau. Could be worse I suppose, although I'd be named after an orange liqeur.

8. NASCAR NAME: (the first names of your grandfathers) George David. I've no idea what a NASCAR name would be used for (presumably something to do with NASCAR racing), but it sounds fine.

9. STRIPPER NAME: (the name of your favorite perfume/cologne/scent, favorite candy) Joop Lindor. Yeah, that'll bring in the punters.

10.WITNESS PROTECTION NAME: (mother’s & father’s middle names ) Atkin William. Or William Atkin. The second way is probably better for anonymity's sake.

11. TV WEATHER ANCHOR NAME: (Your 5th grade teacher’s last name, a major city that starts with the same letter) Guthrie Grenoble. I don't know why I thought of Grenoble before Glasgow, but I'm glad I did. "This is the Channel 5 weather with Guthrie Grenoble". I like the sound of that.

12. SPY NAME: (your favorite season/holiday, flower) Summer Snowdrop. That makes me sound like a My Little Pony.

13. CARTOON NAME: (favorite fruit, article of clothing you’re wearing right now + "ie" or "y") Strawberry Shirty. Sounds like a pretty crap cartoon.

14. HIPPY NAME: (What you ate for breakfast, your favorite tree) Cereal Chestnut. That's not great, man.

15. YOUR ROCKSTAR TOUR NAME: (”The” + Your fave hobby/craft, fave weather element + “Tour”) The Football Manager Lightning Tour. I'd get sued by Sega for that one.

To The Highest Bidder

Today, to pass a few idle web-based minutes, I dropped in on Ebay, the world's online car boot sale.

Ignoring my usual haunts of the CD, DVD, computers and sportwear sections, I threw caution to the wind and ventured into the uncharted territories of the "Other" section.

Considering that almost everything you can imagine fits neatly into one of Ebay's thousands of existing categories, for something to slip between the cracks is quite impressive. Or so you would have thought.

But there are hundreds of pages of miscellaneous rubbish being touted by the strange denizens of the worldwide interweb.

Amongst the tempting items on offer when I looked today were a bag of reindeer food (which, having read the listing, includes glitter - that must be what makes reindeer fly and shit silver stuff).

One inventive chap simply offered to sell you something worth the same amount of money you send him. Send him one single penny, and you get something worth a penny. Send him 30,000 pounds, you supposedly get something worth 30,000 pounds.

And another web-based emporium sold bondage ropes in a variety of colours and lengths, obviously intended for the more discerning pervert.

Unfortunately, I didn't come across anyone trying to sell their virginity, their wife or themselves. I say unfortunately, but to be honest, I'm not looking to acquire a virginity (I had a hard enough time shifting the first one I owned), a wife (the one I already have is costing quite enough on her own without an assistant) or another human being (unless they want to clean the bathroom and cut the grass).

But it's got me thinking - what could I sell to make some money? I reckon that I could sell the rights for any football team in the world to sign my first son. Admittedly, the complete lack of Jocklings means that I wouldn't be able to deliver my side of the bargain for a long time yet. But surely having first option on an UNBORN superstar would be worth a million or so to Barcelona, Manchester United or AC Milan?

I will discuss the idea with Mrs Wife and report back.

On The List

Today, to pass a slow afternoon at work, two colleagues and I engaged in a lively debate on Top Five Hottest Female Soap Stars of All Time. (This discourse was similar in structure to our semi-regular debates on the All-Time Best Football XI.)

Anyway, as an overview of the general standard of the discussion, my decision to leave Kylie Minogue and Kimberley Davies out of my list raised some eyebrows, and we stepped off on a lengthy tangent as we debated whether Baywatch was a soap opera or not.

Having exhausted our mental lists of soap actresses, we threw the game wide open and changed it into The Ten Hottest Women In The World Today.

I'll spare you the gory details of the inner mental workings of three bored men in their mid 20s, other than to say that Eva Longoria is one man's pocket-sized Latina sex goddess and another man's irritating midget clothes horse.

But eventually, we reached the defining question of our debate - Britney Spears: Yay or Nay?

Do you shut your eyes and remember the Slave For U years? Or are you mentally scarred at the prospect of making Buckasaurus (the mythical grunting beast with two backs) with a drink and drug-addled, tattooed skinhead thug who's recently had their children taken away?

If I remember the discussion correctly, Mrs Federline received a unanimous thumbs down from the panel. Which, considering she's 26 and should therefore still be at her peak, is a depressing indication of how far she's fallen from grace in the past five years.

And the whole "remember the glory years" debate truly reached its nadir shortly afterwards when, returning to the soap stars theme, one member of the party (who shall remain nameless) uttered the words (electronically at least) Barbara. Windsor. - basing his justification on Carry on Camping.

That, dear readers, is why you should never allow young men to get bored.

The Naked Footballer

You know that feeling you get when you see something you wished you hadn't, and long for the ability to unsee it or claw your own eyes out?

I've got a similar feeling at the moment - except, because I've been forced to think of something, I wish I could yank my own brain out through my nose or ear, so that I never have to think of it again.

Yesterday afternoon, someone arrived at this far-flung outpost of the worldwide interweb having searched on Google for "naked pictures of Ian Durrant Rangers".

Aaaaaaaaaggggggghhhhhhh! The pain - make it stop.

Publican Relations

Scotland, for one reason or another, always seems to be defined in one of two ways: as the tartan, shortbread, Highland cows and kilts stereotype or as the violent, drunk, socially-deprived slums as portrayed in Taggart, Trainspotting and most other television and movie dramas filmed in Scotland over the last couple of decades.

The latter depiction of Scotland always focuses on one of two cities: Glasgow (Taggart) or Trainspotting (Edinburgh). Which is a wee bit unfair. The rest of Scotland can be just as rough as the country's first and second cities.

Take Aberdeen for example. Per capita, probably Scotland's most salubrious city, thanks almost entirely to the money derived from North Sea oil. A city where young single men who have spent five weeks at sea arrive home with the best part of five thousand pounds in their bank accounts. A city full to the brim with seamen.

Sure, Aberdeen's wide, tree-lined, granite streets look very grand and refined. But venture down to the docks at night time, and you'll see man's base instincts rear their ugly heads in two forms. Drink and hookers.

For a first-hand account of a night in one of Aberdeen's seamier holes, check out this post over at The Misssy M Misssives. Or watch the video below. (Ignore the plummy-voiced twat from Front magazine who speaks at the start).

Sooty Super Stud

This article, sent to me by email by my friend Mike, seemed appropriate on Valentine's Day.

Sooty the guinea pig is clearly a super stud - having his wicked way with 24 women one after the other, producing 43 babies in the process.

My favourite part is the last paragraph: "He was absolutely shattered. We put him back in his cage and he slept for two days."

A man after my own heart!

Hole-ier than thou

I received an odd recommendation by email the other day from my Australian friend Alex.

Alex's email from China encouraged me to visit Sex In Christ, a site offering sexual guidance to Christians struggling to balance their animal instincts with their spiritual leanings.

(Warning: It's probably best that you DON'T open this page if you're at work. There are no pictures, but the site does deliver advice on sexual matters as they relate to the Bible's teachings)

Quite how my devoutly atheist friend came across (if you'll pardon the expression) a site which manages to cross-reference Christianity, the love that dare not speak its name and fisting, I'll never know. I don't think he has any problems with the nefarious activities mentioned on the site - and apparently God doesn't either.