Nothing compares to sex.

Sinead O´Connor, la chica rapada que en llanto comedido recordaba al idiota que, a todas vistas falto de criterio, la había tan líricamente abandonado alboreando los noventa (por mucho que la canción la escribiera mi entonces adorado y llamado Prince iusexymoderfaquer), parece que veinte años después se ha pasado al ocho que ochenta y, siendo las comparaciones (to you) del género odioso, sobre todo si anda el Clooney de turno de por medio, ofrece su níveo cuerpo a aquel que tenga a bien saber y querer disfrutarlo. Eso sí, bajo las condiciones abajo relacionadas.

Os copio y pego directamente de su web la entrada que escribió a este respecto hace unos días, desde la certeza de que me quedará algún lector que este verano no haya tenido suerte con las suecas y con la ilusión propia de ejercer de Cupido a lo binario. Hay mujeres, y canciones, que bien merecen una visita a la Pérfida Albión. Suerte.


The man who runs my site will protectively suggest I may want to visit the bathroom for a few intimate moments and a subsequent cold shower before deciding to post this on the site but I will of course ignore him as it's too late now and the her-moans are having the best of me.
I recently read of a woman in America who married and regularly humps her truck. I don't yet own a truck but I'm beginning to understand her head space. And am worried I too may be so desperate for sex that within days I might run up the road and hump Bray Cab's whole fleet in one hour. Forty quid clear-up afterward. Can't say fairer than that. Except maybe a photo for their web-site. Which would be fine.
My shit-uation sexually/affectionately speaking is so dire that inanimate objects are starting to look good as are inappropriate and/or unavailable men and/or inappropriate and/or unavailable fruits and vegetables. I tell you yams are looking like the winners. I actually do know a woman who is a performance artist from America. I have a photo of her being escorted arm in arm by two uk police man onto a plane back home cuz she humped a yam in the middle of her show. I just know that's going to happen to me if I don't take drastic action.
Needless to say what I do for a living makes it hard for me to find men that only want me cuz they like my (legendary) arse. Yet I am in the peak of my sexual prime and way too lovely to be living like a nun. and it's VERY depressing.
So I've been pondering on whether or not I should join some Irish dating agencies. Of course if I did it would end up in papers so I may as well save myself the registration fees. Besides which a friend of mine uses dating agencies and half the men actually have wives.
Am in desperate need of a very sweet sex-starved man.
He must be no younger than 44.
Must be living in Ireland but I don't care if he is from the planet Zog.
Must not be named Brian or Nigel.
Must be blind enough to think I'm gorgeous.
Has to be employed. Am not fussy in what capacity generally but vehicle clampers need not apply.
Leather trouser- wearing gardai, fire-men, rugby players, and Robert Downey-Junior will be given special consideration. As will literally anyone who applies.
I like me a hairy man so buffed and/or waxed need not apply.
No hair gel.
No hair dryer use.
No hair dye
Stubble is a non-negotiable must. Any removal of stubble would be upsetting for me.
No after shave.
Must be very 'snuggly'. Not just wham-bam.
Must be wham-bam.
Has to like his mother.
Has to like his ex and or mother/s of his children.
Has to live in own place.
I must end now as I have a hot date with a banana
Applicants can apply through my secretary at