So the party season is upon us once again and I can’t help but notice the sheer volume of yuletide paraphernalia thrust towards us screaming for us to spend, spend, spend. You’ve lost your job? Had your house repossessed and are living through the deepest recession the country has seen since World War 2? Excuses, excuses – £75 trees! £160 Christmas dinners! Play stations! Wii’s! Box sets! I phones! buy, buy, buy before your family abandon you, your children hate you, and you’re tarred, feathered and strung up naked in the middle of Kilburn High Road for all your neighbours to stand in their sparkly Nike trainers, Ralph Lauren jumpers and stone island jackets laughing at the you – the poor man.
You’ll notice I’m not a big fan of consumerism for the sake of it, or residents of Kilburn High Road.
This country does love a bit of stuff and a celebrity, better still a celebrity selling a bit of stuff and Christmas sees the birth, not only of an annual wave of unnecessary spending, but of a myriad of products to tempt the suburbs into debt. Beyonce body oil? Katie Price Tracksuits? Justine Beider perfume!? (For the record I would rather smell like the Swampy’s areshole after a 6 week field demo than Justin Beiber) TOWIE have an underwear range, every WAG born to earth has a clothing range for some cheap catalogue or other, Steven Seagal (the fat dude with the wig who likes little girls) has an energy drink, edible cosmetics by Jessica Simpson – which explains a lot. Even Alan Cumming, yes you read that right, Alan Cumming has an aftershave creatively named ‘Alan Cummings’ so chosen I would imagine as it conjures up images of devastating good looks, suave charm and sexual prowess. From memory his last film role was that of a ‘comedy’ baddie in Spykids II.. Anyway I digress.
My point being no sooner is George Michael on repeat on Heart FM than the Z-listers started whoring. Filthy little bunch that they are. Most shockingly however of all the bizarre and wondrous celebrity/product unions is that of the squeaky-clean boy band JLS and… condoms.
I can see the thinking behind it, some bright spark intern coming up with the genius plan of making safe sex cool. What next for heavens sake, Miley Ray Cyrus being the face of the rampant rabbit? Princess Andre pushing crotchless knickers (on second thoughts don’t even suggest it) Most charming still in the marketing of the product is that each band member has it’s own colour, Marvin on a blue packet, Jamaal on a red etc… I’m guessing there would have been disagreements aboard ship JLS if they were divided into sizes.
Sadly though my hunch is that even with these squeaky clean baby faces used to prompt latex contraceptive devises there will still be WKD infused shagging between Bethany and Wayne behind the bins on the estate. That even a long established and well respected group such as JLS will never make the condom cool.
I mean really, between us grown ups and of course I wouldn’t say it to those safety loving littleun’s but who the fuck likes a condom? Nothing will kill a moment of passion (or a hard on) like a rubbery little motherfucker being rolled down a bad boy ready to go. I appreciate that they are sadly somewhat of a necessity these days but man alive, they are ugly little bastards. And like they weren’t bad enough someone only came along and invented the Femidom, I ask you! a devise to my mind that looks more like something from a toddlers activity indoor playgroup than a form of contraceptive. Please I implore you – anyone that has ever stuck one of those things up their vagina leave a comment below, we want feedback! Are we missing something here, because God knows I’ve had some shit up my vang before but that has got to top it all.
I am guessing it is a way for women to take responsibility for their sexual health, that we are liberated females of the 21st century who don’t need to rely on a man to carry Johnny’s with him in order to get our rocks off at the end of the night. Utter claptrap of course we do! I would not sooner use a Femidom that expect my lover to start taking the male pill. In fact beyond that, I can’t think of anything that would turn me off a man more than him declaring half way through dinner that he has to nip home because he’s forgotten to take his Marvelon. There is a metro sexual man and there is an utter freak who secretly wishes he had a period and could breast-feed his own child.
No sadly it must be said the government can launch all the Christmas safe sex campaigns it wants to but contraception branding will never be cool. You can colour it, flavour it, rib it, add flashing lights to it and a shiny red nose to the sperm catcher at the top and a condom will still make a fabulous quickie over the kitchen table feel like a GCSE biology lesson.
Naturally given the choice of a johnny with a picture of an X factor winner on the front of the packet or lifelong reoccurring herpes I would choose the former but really kids, you want to have fun on Christmas Eve? Forget JLS and stick to blowjobs.