Shagnasty's December 2001 "The POC"
Issue Twenty One (21)	Release Date: 1st December 2001		© PenisOwner.com 1996-2001
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A note from your Editor, Shagnasty:

Greetings once again my brothers and only friends, and hey-nonny-nonny it's Christmas. Well nearly anyway, I have resisted the obligatory "lets decorate the web page in a Crimbo theme" option and have instead placed a solitary picture of Santa further down the page. That'll do I think. So, a new month is upon us and new pages of silliness abound as normal. Welcome to new readers and hello again to the old faithful as well. I love you all, in a bloke's kind way of course. Enjoy...

Your regular contributors, as always are: -

Shagnasty	Demonic Dave	Tangent Man
Info DL Theme Tune 1.18Mb	Info DL Theme Tune 5.1Mb	Info

Enjoy!

Holiday Update: Bugger! Wrong again.

Shagnasty's Perfect Moment.: Another one! ...and in a flotation tank of all places. I must be the luckiest man alive.

"There are rules you know: Any self-respecting male knows that a complicated set of rules exists when taking a crap or leak - some however require education.

Classified Ads: A new service to my dear readers. For Sale, Wanted, Exchange, its all here.

It's tough being a man: A lady was "attempting" to tell me how hard it was being a woman - Hah! You don't know you're born I tell ya.

Demonic's Religious Comment: The subject of cloning tastefully discussed this month, in song. (Oh god what next?)

Penis File: Now it's a submission from the POC's resident spell checker this month. I can only wonder what she was searching for when she came up with this beauty. Penis art at its best.

Readers Submission: The Unpleasant Puppet is still here and still a nasty little git in my view. But hey, I'm only the bloody editor - what do I know.

Sponsors: Another name for advertisements people, well you can't blame me for trying can you?

Readers Feedback: Your comments in print.

Monthly thought: -

Funky-see, Funky-Do (I did!)

~USA Holiday Update - again!~

Holiday update

It's terrible news. Last month I reported that two Brits had supplied me with the answer burning in my head - why the hell had I heard of Tallassee prior to my getting stuck there. The answer they supplied, and I accepted, was because it featured in the song where "Billy Jo Macalister jumped off the Tallahassee bridge". Wrong! A Yank has pointed out that should read Tallahatchee Bridge. Bugger! Now I still don't know.

"Shagnasty's Perfect Moment"

As rare as Dodo shit though they are - another "Perfect Moment" has come my way. Now remember, we're not talking about reasonably good here, or quite nice - but bloody perfect. A moment that can't be recreated no matter how hard you try, they either happen, or they don't. Once again my friends, it did!

I’ll set the scene: -
A friend had managed to persuade me to try out a flotation tank, not an easy thing for him to do I have to tell you, "What! Those things are for hippy tree-hugging girlies or fat blokes who don't want to feel so fat for a while" I explained.
"Exactly Shag, you see my point, girlies surrounded by male competition that's quite out of shape"
So off I went……..

On arrival I'm greeted by a young lady wearing too much make-up and one of those doctor type gowns, the combination suggesting a slightly naughty but nevertheless clean personality. Generally a winner with me I have to confess. On this occasion however my usual brand of lurid smoothness was not noticed or she chose not to notice. How comments like "so, is there room in this thing for two" accompanied with frantic eye-brow wiggling can be ignored by any women defeats me but there you go. I'm lead to a rather space age looking giant plastic egg with an electrically operated lid to allow the prospective occupant to climb in. (See pictures, alas mine didn't come with naked girl - I guess that's extra), she explained the procedure thus: -

"Once you have removed your clothes…WAIT!... thank you…, once you have removed your clothes just climb in and relax. When you are ready press the button attached to the strap on your wrist and the lid will close. Shortly after that the lights will slowly dim and the music will fade away. All you need to do then is relax, I've set the timer to 40 minutes at which point the lights will slowly come back on and the music too. You open the lid using the button again shortly after."

Instructions issued and with the sight of me again reaching for my belt buckle she departed. Alone in a tiny room with something that looked like a Bond baddy escape pod full of dissolved Epsom salts. Nice!
OK, all trepidations aside and now fully SB naked I climb in. It's weird. Not in water, not in air, just bobbing about in a sort of half'n'half state. The lid closes and I try to relax but can't due to the fact that my right shoulder is touching the side, a gentle push away and I spend the next five minutes bouncing between the two sides. Eventually of course all movement stops.

Describing the experience is difficult as the overriding sensation is nothing - that's the point!

Once the light had fully departed and the frankly bloody awful music, which I think may have been the sound of a tree growing or something, had stopped there remained nothing - Nadda, zip, large amounts of nothingness and sweet bugger all in fact.

No feeling on the skin, no taste in the mouth, no smell in the nose, no sounds in the ears and nothing whatsoever in the mind. Whilst the empty mind is not a totally new sensation the rest were very alien. Time had no relevance, up, down, left and right ceased to be an issue, gravity had broken for lunch and my mind imploded as a result of the vacuum created by the normally present crazed images and thoughts that bash between the walls of my skull.

There I was floating in a total and absolute voidy, voidy numbness… Then I farted!

The nothingness was shattered by a fart worthy of a god, without warning and unrelenting in its magnitude. All senses being previously denied any input were allowed to concentrate totally and solely on the fart - nothing existed in the universe that was flotation tank number 4, but me and my fart. Normally I guess that like most blokes, because apparently women don't fart (yeah right!), I can tell that one is brewing, not this time my friends. The explosive appearance of this guff can only be compared with the eruption of Krakatoa, the impact of the dinosaur killing asteroid perhaps - nay, it must be on a par with the big bang, the dawn of creation itself.

Am I getting across the fact that this was a big, big fart? Voluminous and odorous.

Men are blessed with the ability to enjoy their farts and chaps I put it to you that you've never really enjoyed one like this, you really do have to deny yourself of all external sensory distractions to fully appreciate what the inside of your body smells like - perfect. Fucking perfect.

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Miss World Blast
16.11.2001
In these politically correct times we find that the once popular Miss World contest is no longer so. Often accused of devaluing women and being tacky it attracts protests and finds itself relegated to late night television.
I however can’t agree, I’ve just watched the “introducing the girls section” at 2am here in the UK and after seeing 30 women in bikinis on a beach jumping about in turn on a trampoline I see nothing wrong. However after the 30 when the presenter said “there are another 74 girls to see” I did find myself wondering if I could really manage any more self-abuse that night.
(Miss UK won by the way - Yes! - Oh and you can thank South Africa for hosting the event!)

Toilet Etiquette
We males exist in a complicated world of social rules that must be adhered to: - As always Shagnasty is here to help the socially lacking.

Part One

"The Work Shit"

We've all been there but don't like to admit it. We've all kicked back in our place of work and suddenly felt something brew down below. As much as we try to convince ourselves otherwise, the WORK SHIT is inevitable.
For those who hate shitting at work, here follows a Survival Guide for taking a dump at work. Memorise these definitions and shitting at work will become a pure pleasure, a delight even.

ESCAPEE. Definition: a fart that slips out while taking a leak at the urinal or forcing a shit in a cubical. This is usually accompanied by a sudden wave of panicked embarrassment. This is similar to the hot flush you receive when passing an unseen police car whilst speeding. If you release an escapee, do not acknowledge it. Pretend it did not happen. If you are standing next to the farter in the urinal, pretend you did not hear it. No one likes an escapee, it is uncomfortable for all involved. Making a joke or laughing makes both parties feel uneasy. Unless of course you are standing next to a good friend in which case uttering the phrase "get some of that me ol son" is acceptable.	JAILBREAK (Used in conjunction with ESCAPEE). Definition: When forcing shit, several farts slip out at a machine gun pace. This is usually a side effect of diarrhoea or a hangover. If this should happen, do not panic. Remain in the cubical until everyone has left the bathroom so as to spare everyone the awkwardness of what just occurred.
CAMO FLUSH. Definition: The act of flushing the toilet the instant the nose cone of the shit log hits the water and the shit is whisked away to an undisclosed location. This reduces the amount of airtime the shit has to stink up the bathroom. This can help you avoid being caught doing the WALK OF SHAME.	WALK OF SHAME. Definition: Walking from the cubical, to the sink, to the door after you have just stunk up the bathroom. This can be a very uncomfortable moment if someone walks in and busts you. As with all farts, it is best to pretend that the smell does not exist. Can be avoided with the use of the CAMO FLUSH.
OUT OF THE CLOSET SHITTER. Definition: A colleague who shits at work and is damn proud of it. You will often see an Out Of The Closet shitter enter the bog with a newspaper or magazine under their arm. Always look around the office for the Out Of The Closet shitter before entering the bathroom.	THE SHITTING FRIENDS NETWORK (SFN). Definition: A group of co-workers who band together to ensure emergency shitting goes off without incident. This group can help you to monitor the whereabouts of Out Of The Closet shitters, and identify SAFE HAVENS.
SAFE HAVENS. Definition: Seldom-used bathrooms somewhere in the building where you can least expect visitors. Try floors that are predominantly for the opposite sex. This will reduce the odds of a shitter of your sex entering the bathroom.	TURD BURGLAR. Definition: A shitter who does not realise that you are in the cubical and tries to force the door open. This is one of the most shocking and vulnerable moments that can occur when taking a dump at work. If this occurs, remain in the cubical until the Turd Burglar leaves. This way you will avoid all uncomfortable eye contact.
CAMO-COUGH. Definition: A phoney cough that alerts all new entrants into the bathroom that you are in a cubical. This can be used to cover-up a WATERMELON, or to alert potential Turd Burglars. Very effective when used in conjunction with an ASTAIRE.	ASTAIRE. Definition: A subtle toe-tap that is used to alert potential Turd Burglars that you are occupying a cubical. This will remove all doubt that it's occupied. If you hear an Astaire, leave the bathroom immediately so the shitter can shit in peace.
WATERMELON. Definition: A turd that creates a loud splash when hitting the toilet water. This is also an embarrassing incident. If you feel a Watermelon coming on, create a diversion. See CAMO-COUGH.	HAVANA OMELET. Definition: A load of diarrhoea that creates a series of loud splashes in the toilet water. Often accompanied by an Escapee. Try using a Camo-Cough combined with an Astaire.
UNCLE TED. Definition: A bathroom user who seems to linger around forever. Could spend extended lengths of time in front of the mirror or sitting on the porcelain horse. An Uncle Ted makes it difficult to relax while on the crapper, as you should always wait to drop your load when the bathroom is empty. This benefits you as well as the other bathroom attendees.	FLY BY. Definition: The act of scouting out a bathroom before shitting. Walk in and check for other shitters. If there are others in the bathroom, leave and come back again. Be careful not to become a FREQUENT FLYER. People may become suspicious if they catch you constantly going into the bathroom.
Next month - Crapping and pissing in a nightclub environment!

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Shark Poem Blast
17.11.2001

I'm a shark and I swim around looking for meat to eat. And when I gobble down food, I'm not always real neat.
So there's usually some scraps left over for another's treat. Now, there's a meal deal that's real hard to beat.

Classified Ads

Fellow POC Readers look no further for that bargain, its all here.

~For Sale~

Kittens
Free to a good home. 20 quid each to a bad one. Binky & Boopy, two adorable marmalade kittens aged eight weeks. One's male, one's pregnant, both very affectionate and playful, with keen interest in Russian literature and Feng Shui. Tel: Bethnal green 45612.

Adult Videos
Found them behind a hedge. Haven't looked at all of them, to be honest, but seems to be mostly Danish stuff, lots of lesbians, bit of animal and Carol Vordaman before she was famous. Need to get rid of them before the wife gets home. Tenner. Tel : Holminfirth 99761

Politician
Life-size papier-mâché replica of former Greek premier Andreas Papandreou. No use to me now, as I've just found out he died in 1996. Heart failure apparently. Makes you think, doesn't it? £200 ono. Tel : Tooting 33805.

Accessories
Complete set of multi-gauge Hambledon attachments in graphite with switchable crimpets, plus self-charging distributor flex, two dozen fully flushed crank units, three refractor pumps and a siddle. £140 the lot. Reason for sale: I haven't got a fucking clue what any of its for. Tel: Penrith 63440

Camp Nephew
Hardly Used. Ideal gift for repressed businessman with huge disposal income and frosty wife. Offers. Tel: Carlshalton 23812

~Wanted~

Human Hair & Toenails
Misanthropic voodoo practitioner needs fresh clippings. I don't care whose they are as long as I can make someone suffer. £10 for male, £20 for female. Tel: Aberdeen 78282

Celebrity Vests
Authentic undergarments worn by Winston Churchill, Theodore Roosevelt and Robbie Williams needed to complete collection. Best prices paid. Also Gerard Houllier's cumber band. Tel: Beverly Hills 90210

~Exchange~

Gloves
Beautiful hand-stitched black leather driving gloves. Only used once. Left hand very slightly torn and stained by, err, tomato sauce. Yes that's it, tomato sauce. Exchange for false passport and one-way ticket to Brazil Whitechapel Tel: 01888

Milk
About a pint and a half, semi-skimmed, should be ok for another week or so. Looking to trade for a Lotus Elise, T-Reg or later, in British Racing Green with leather seats, alloy wheels and full service history. Genuine callers only please. Tel: Wales 43485

Place your add here: -
Just call into the POC office carrying large amounts of cash or your drugged and attractive sister.

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Sung: - "Some times it's hard to be a woman..."
Like crap it is - You should try being a bloke - Now that's hard.
~ Episode One !! ~

We can't bring ourselves to orgasm without having to effect a clean up operation afterwards.	Once we have brought ourselves to orgasm, and cleaned up afterwards, we can't start again straight away.
It is not possible for us to masturbate discreetly or use small vibrating devices to give us pleasure as we go about our daily business. The only things that we have to assist us in our solitary pleasure are either inflatable dolls that look like drowning victims or false organs that look like a slab of uncooked liver.	It is also not possible for us to masturbate without being assailed by images of people who shouldn't be there, such as parents, male work colleagues or Rosanne Barr.
We don't have an excuse for being moody, irrational or psychopathically terse for 4 out of every 28 days, and for 5 years around our 40th birthday.	We don't have an excuse for letting ourselves go and getting all crinkly after the birth of our first child.
We do have an excuse for letting ourselves get flabby around our mid 30's, but this excuse ("I weighed everything up and decided that drinking beer is better than exercise) is apparently not acceptable.	When we get fat none of our sexual features get any larger and we have fewer places to keep things when naked.
And yet going on an unhealthy burgers-and-beer diet is the only way we can get ourselves two fun boobs to play with and tweak and lift to our lips for the nibbling thereof.	If we sit on a sofa for 10 hours watching rubbish films and eating chocolates we are called slobs and we do not have the option of "skirt or trousers?"
We are far less prone to getting helpful eating disorders to assist us when we have become fat enough to have two fun boobs to play with.	The only part of our body that we have to shave is the one that looks most silly if it goes bald.
If a woman punches us then we are absolutely not supposed to punch her back, even if she punches us in our special place. And if she does punch us in our special place, there really ought to be some law that comes into effect that allows us to, at the very least, twist her nipples. But we can't even do that!	It's much more difficult for us to get out of trouble at work by crying and if we did blub, our boss would alert every member of staff, who would then never again be able to make eye contact - unless it's to stare at the weirdo.
We can't get good shoes.	And we have to buy socks.
We don't have sexy underwear. The closest male equivalent is one's "good pants", of which a man may have three pairs, and which are quite simply the cleanest ones you have.	Furthermore it is impossible for a man to dress outwardly in a sexy and revealing way without looking gay.
And we can't actually be gay without it hurting and involving the placing of things in a really rather unpleasant place.	A man can't communicate to a woman the desire to put his thing in her really rather unpleasant (but much less unpleasant than a man's) place without her assuming he's a little bit gay.
Plus its nigh on impossible to find a woman who will respond favourably to such a suggestion, whereas if a woman wants it up there, she only has to ask.	You can't humiliate and distress a woman by making an off-hand comment about the size of her vagina.
Women live longer.	Apparently we're supposed to be able to cook and wash-up these days, it's a bloody racket I tell you.
It is much, much easier for women to get their foot in the door of the prostitution industry.	On the basis of the popular theory that there's someone for everyone, there must be one or more of us who has to, at some point, shag Rosanne Barr.
Men are statistically more likely to die from a heart attack - even though more women smoke.	When we get sexually aroused it can prove to be very embarrassing if in a swimming pool or on a beach.

We are more likely to earn more money and progress to positions of authority quicker, thereby increasing the likelihood that we will be kidnapped or assassinated.	And the industries where women earn more than men are always the best ones, like modelling and porno.
It is not considered to be an endearing quality in a male to be pig-shit-thick, Welsh retard that doesn't know that doves are birds.	It is however, if the result of the last Big Brother contest is to believed, an endearing quality to put on make-up and shriek a lot. Oh and listen!
If we are ugly there is nothing we can apply to ourselves to somehow make us less ugly.	If we are stupid we cannot simply balance out our stupidity by simply putting on a tight t-shirt.
If we are stupid AND ugly then we cannot win people over regardless by not knowing that doves are birds on national TV.	A tongue stud or a pierced nipple on a woman suggests a certain freedom of spirit or individuality, on us; it just makes us look like a wanker.
Our nipples serve no purpose other than to give our enemies something to twist.	Men get blamed for all wars, the thinking being that bullets and missiles are somehow substitute penises, whereas in reality is is cos if women were in charge of wars they'd be fucking rubbish.
There will come a point in our lives when we will be on a bicycle and will be forced into applying the brakes to prevent collision with something. Our body will continue on its forward trajectory and, due to some strange quirk in the dimensions of all bicycles, our testicles, and no other part of us but them will become pinioned, at speed, between the handlebars and the rest of our body. This will happen to each and every one of us at least once.	There will come a point in our lives when we are forced to acknowledge the fact that we share the same basic chromosomal structure as Pee-Wee Herman and Jimmy Hill. ...Jim Davidson.. there's another one.
We have to endure women trying to convince us that getting hit in the knackers is less painful than childbirth, when it is quite clearly the most painful thing that can happen to anything, ever.	Prison is far worse for men. There's none of the constant fear of violent buggery "Mrs Big" in women's chokey - just one long soft focus sexual awakening.
When the sun has got his hat on - women will smell all flowery and nice, we on the other hand, if not vigilant, will smell like a cage full of rotting monkeys.	It is not possible for men to look good in shorts. Worse still some of us don't even know it.
We have a harder time getting served in a busy bar (staffed by either sex) than a woman. And still they've got the cheek to make us go and get the drinks.	A woman's pre-wedding ritual involves all her friends turning up and making her look really nice. A man however is subjected to big'n'ugly strippers and active efforts to prevent him actually reaching the wedding.
Plus the bestman has to organise things, make a speech and be polite to people he's never seen before, the bridesmaids merely have to hold the hem of a skirt for twenty seconds.	Women get to concentrate all their emotional attachment on one target, whereas we have to affect a delicate, often impossible balancing act between girlfriend, wife and football club. There may even be a large record collection in there somewhere too.
A woman need only nip to the fridge for her traditional comfort food, we have to locate and travel to the local kebab house.	On the whole, we had to wait at least three years longer to purchase booze. And we had to watch as she cruised around in Disco Dave's XR3i whilst we were still on our pushbikes. Still, he's in prison now.
Men have to contend with the fact that women reach their sexual peak at precisely the age they start to go all mad and ugly.	Men have to come up with their own social categorisation i.e. "New Lad" whilst women just copy us by putting "-ette" on the end.
We also face scrotum / zip injuries, inexpert-fellatio trauma, stretched-banjo-string agony and overenthusiastic-sex-stroke-shaft-bend hell.	And there will come a point in our lives when we are forced to accompany a woman as she goes shopping for shoes.

Got more reasons of your own? I have. Tell me yours - here

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The Obligatory Picture of Santa, as it bloody Christmas.

Demonic Dave's Religious Comment.
DL Theme Tune
5.1Mb zipped MP3

"Cloning, it's a good thing, aw come on it is..."
Most religious leaders objecting to the idea of making human clones, I would suggest, haven't considered the possibilities it offers, no they just babble on about playing God. Lets take relationships for example, having trouble getting a date? Then why not clone yourself in female form.

Lets sing shall we... all together now...

Demonic operates outside of the control of the POC, he alone is responsible for his comments.

Sung to the tune of "Home on the Range"

O give me a clone of my own flesh and bone,
With its Y chromosome changed to X.
And when it is grown, then my own little clone
Will be of the opposite sex.

Chorus:
Clone, clone of my own,
With its Y chromosome changed to X
And when I'm alone with my own little clone
We'll both think of nothing but sex.

O give me a clone, hear my sorrowful moan,
Just a clone that is wholly my own.
And if it's an X of the feminine sex,
Oh what fun we will have when we're prone.

(Chorus)

My heart's not of stone, as I've frequently shown
When alone with my dear little X
And after we've dined, I am sure we will find
Better incest than Oedipus Rex.

(Chorus)

Why should such sex vex, or disturb or perplex.
Or induce a disparaging tone?
After all, don't you see, since we're both of us me.
When we're making love, I'm alone.

(Chorus)

And after I'm done, she will still have her fun,
For I'll clone myself twice ere I die.
And this time without fail, they'll be both of them male,
And they'll each ravish her by-and-by.

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Shagnasty's Penis File/Picture Of The Month

It's a submission from the resident POC spell-checker this month.
She found this, it's her sort of thing I guess, I don't care how much she says it isn't.

"Penis Arranging Master Class"
Warning! Whilst the files and images in this section are intended for amusement and cannot really be described as pornography, some contain, lets face it, a penis. If you think that you might be offended, “don’t look Ethel”. It’s that simple.
Previous Penis Files are here.

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The Unpleasant Puppet Comments once more!

Demonic Dave's Religious Comment. DL Theme Tune 5.1Mb zipped MP3

Demonic Dave's Religious Comment.
DL Theme Tune
5.1Mb zipped MP3