I read this a little while ago and could not help but to agree with the writer. While I have less vim in love with the supposedly better sex, I do keep my faith in love… for myself. Oh I am so in love with myself I could just kiss my own you know what.
I couldn’t care less what other people are doing with their genitalia, but it seems that the only subject people want to discuss these days when they’re out having drinks is Tiger Woods’ infidelity.
Now, when the news of Tiger’s multiple affairs first hit the press, I was shocked. That is to say, I was “shocked” in the Casablancian sense of, “I’m shocked, shocked to find out that gambling is going on in here!”
Of course someone like Tiger Woods would be ****ing around like an over-sexed rabbit.
There are a lot of commonly-held beliefs that I simply can’t subscribe to. Global Warming, for instance (that’s the biggest scam ever perpetrated on the human race). Or that OJ Simpson killed his wife. But most importantly, I don’t believe in monogamy.
When I say I don’t believe in monogamy, I mean: I don’t believe it is natural; I don’t believe it is possible; I don’t believe it exists; and I don’t believe it is a good idea. I believe that the very idea of monogamy is anti-life, anti-pleasure and anti-human. After all, only 3 per cent of the Earth’s 4,000 mammal species are monogamous (and homo sapien isn’t, according to the anthropologists, one of them.)
There is no doubt in my mind that the only people who manage fidelity are those who are too plain, too uninteresting or too fat to have any other option. I reckon it’s pretty easy to be faithful if no one ever wants to give you an opportunity to be otherwise. Just like it’s pretty easy for us not to fly around the skies, since we don’t have wings and hollow bones and the like. But if we did have those handy accoutrements, I believe we’d be flying about all the time.
Women desire him, so, yes of course someone like Tiger Woods would be ****ing around like an over-sexed rabbit.
Because he can. Like yummy Bill Clinton could. And delicious JFK could. And – oh my – all those gorgeous footballers! And Angelina!
And anyone who can and doesn’t, is a damn fool in my opinion. Because it is the plain, uninteresting and fat ones who created the stupid Monogamy Rule in the first place, so the rest of us couldn’t have more fun than they were having. Therefore, it’s clearly an absurd idea to follow their jealousy-motivated rule. I say: let’s have a lot more fun than them – let’s take all the fun life can give us.
Pamela Druckerman, who went on a round-the-world tour of cheating for her book Lust in Translation, found Russians to be some of the world’s worst cheaters. She couldn’t find anyone in Russia who had been faithful. Good on us, I say. And yet another excellent reason to live in Moscow.
Personally, I’ve always been a serial non-monogamist. I’ve “cheated” (the word “cheat” says it all. Listen to the teary sullenness of the accusation through your remembered eight-year-old ears: “You’re cheating!” But you weren’t, were you? You were simply better) countless times on every single boyfriend and husband I’ve had. I’m not a one-man job and Tiger’s obviously not a one-woman job.
But now poor Tiger has been forced to enter a sex rehab clinic.
Apparently he’s doing yoga for about three hours a day in order to learn how to suppress his sexual urges.
But I doubt yoga can turn him into a tiny anglerfish (the only true monogamous creature on this planet). Hence I say: Good luck with all that, Woods.
I used to be like Tiger. I used to feel guilty, hate myself and regret my passionate wet/hard nights stolen on the sly. But, having realised a long ago that regret is a waste of time, the only thing I regret now is regret.
No. That’s a lie. I regret one other thing.
I’m having my publicist send this column to Tiger Woods c/o of the Sex Addicts Clinic where he’s been admitted.
I regret not having Tiger’s big, black … Well, figure it out yourself.
Thus: Mr. Woods is cordially invited to spend some time in Moscow. We can take care of him and show him a good time, can’t we? I mean, we’ve got: Faberge eggs. Cafe Pushkin. Snow. Vodka and Soviet Champagne. Me. And all the beautiful Russian women a man could want. And you know, we’ve got golf too.
*** rehab – and everything else you can. Tiger: come to Moscow.
xxoo
DD
Deidre Dare
Moscow News
I need sleep.
Questa è Enida 