I want to be a sexist!

God, this image is evil. God, this image is BORING! Even criticising it is boring. What's the point? We've been there, throwing Farbbomben at such crap with 14, giving up on it with 18 (after all, colours and air balloons are expensive, and everybody agrees adverts are shit anyway). Still. This motive is plastered all over London, and whenever I cycle past it, my brain hurts. So: I want to have some fun now, I want to be a sexist now, hand me the coke that keeps me going! Saying sexist, thinking breasts. What are the breasts of men, then, how shall I replace the cups? About men - I like good hair. Good taste in shoes, that's hard to find, too. Heads and toes, and you can pretty much forget everything else inbetween. Please bear with me now while we hold a minute of silence.

Ok, we're back, and I think I got it all wrong! Men, you've got a point - women are much nicer to look at, and nobody would wish for partly dressed men distributed widely in public. It's not the breasts that have to disappear from the posters - it's the products!

Think about it - when would you ever drink a cup of Nescafe? I can think of only one possible scenario. You're camping, with your Young Love partner, of course. Everything is dirty smelly, and the tent is tiny, so sex has been really bad recently. You didn't get enough sleep as a bunch of nazis were driving their four wheel tank around your tent, partying to some straight edge hardcore sound all night. You've been woken up by the sound of rain - actual buckets of water, travelling straight from heaven to hell, with your tent marking the way. Now that's when Nescafe kicks in. How can you prove you can take it? You could drink a cup of Nescafe. You're tougher than this.

NB. My 13.5 good male friends, please feel excluded from my sexism. a.

Beautiful.

I've got a girlfriend in Asia. She's tiny. Should she be made taller? Longer Legs by Operation aren't only hip and happening. According to my girlfriend, they have become an entrance requirement for a career in Hong Kong (and I don't mean: a marriage scenario...). 'What's your height? Sorry, tall calls only, please...'

1 out of 45 flatmates was studying to become a priest. He was good fun, he was homophobic, he was conservative to the bone. He had these bones broken in hospital - twice - as he was born with x-shaped legs. Without straight legs, he believed, he wouldn't find the woman to love. I've always regretted moving away from Hamburg, I never found out: did he meet her? Maybe in hospital, two believers having their legs broken in neighbouring beds, coming together finally? What could he possibly preach at his parish, somewhere up there towards Kiel? I cannot imagine, it's all odd.

14.09.2005, page 3 of a recently redesigned magazine: Special Report.
40% of page in total: sexy close-up of woman's mouth, syringe.
20% of text in total: everything you ever wanted to know about collagen. The Guardian thinks you're thinking about it - are you? "The beauty products from the skin of executed Chinese prisoners." - don't be fooled, that's only a headline, not a title... Shoot me, should I ever buy the Guardian again.