Wednesday, 15 July 2009

Things you secretly dread

FHM's list page, coming at the end of each monthly mag, is often a treat of irreverant comment yet acutely perceptive insight into the male psyche. July's (labelled the August - I always wonder why magazines christen their publications a month ahead of when they come out) edition focused on masculine fears usually hidden in the relative comfort of our brains. I thought they missed a few and have decided to share these with you. Read on...

Ringing the takeaway to make an order
It’s a mystery why a straightforward phone call fills you up with such a sense of unease but you’d rather starve than converse with the stranger on the other end of the line. “I don’t mind doing it, it’s just that you’re better at it than me,” is a statement that echoes round the room as the decisive moment looms.

Negotiating bouncers on your own
A carousel of questions rotate in your mind: Will they make some sarcastic comment about my new belt? What if they remember my vomit exploits from last Saturday? If I have my hand poised on my wallet will they be more or less likely to ID me? Should I look at them in the eye? Slight nod? Say hello? Oh fuck it, I’ll just turn around and go home.

Playing football with a lone prepubescent
There’s always one on the field, a youngster stood alone doing kick-ups religiously in preparation for a career in the game. Shun his request to join your breezy kick-about and you’d be crushing his dream. 10 minutes later you’re wheezing like a whoopy cushion and trying to break his foot-long legs as he’s rounding you to score his double hat-trick.

Going to a fancy dress party
On the outside you’re saying: “Oh how crazy, so much fun!” On the inside you’re thinking: “Why the hell do people insist on adding a sense of foreboding to a perfectly good party by enforcing a themed dress-code?” You can only think of four things beginning with P, all of which mean constructing an impossibly elaborate costume that you have neither the time, money nor mental capacity to carry out. As everyone else shows off their peacocks, Pantheons and Peter Mandlesons the only thing you’re displaying is a woefully inadequate creative ability. By being dressed as a poo.

Watching porn with your girlfriend
The moment she agrees to your bravado-fuelled proposition to “get tips from the pros” you begin to shit yourself at the thought of the love of your life getting off seeing a more muscular, better looking, bigger-cocked stud screwing the brains out of some poor hillbilly blonde. “But darling, you don’t like it when it’s that rough… Do you?” Displaying too great a knowledge of certain starlets, accidentally revealing you picked up that trick with your tongue from some jock in College Whores 7, and letting slip your fondness for the ‘mature’ genre are also worries circling your mind like a hamster on speed.

1 comment:

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