Whose fault is it you're not having any sex?

IF you’ve not had sex for ages it’s obviously not your fault. So who is to blame? And how can you stop them sabotaging the mind-blowing sex you’d be having otherwise?

Your boss

Does your manager make you work all the hours God sends, when other people are off having weird sexual entanglements with possibly-insane strangers from apps? If so, your boss is clearly the cock-blocker here. 

Solution: Find a new job, or start shagging someone at work, maybe your boss. You can trade sexual favours to get your workload reduced. That’s normal.

Your star sign

Only a couple of astrological signs (Leo and Scorpio) are super-sexy ones, and even then it relies on Venus being ascendant in the parallax of Coruscant, or some such bollocks. 

Solution: Definitely tell people your lack of sex is due to the Zodiac and the infinite mysteries of the cosmos. Hippy girls will think that’s perfectly normal and they’re noted goers.

Your parents

Your mum and dad meant well but their regime of clarinet lessons, taking an interest in your homework and walking holidays in the Lake District made you a dysfunctional spod unsuited to an adult life of seduction and pounding. Or there’s the time they rubbed each other’s backs when they thought you were not looking. It was weird and put you off intimacy for life. Either way, your bang-free existence is their fault. 

Solution: You’ve got to accept that your parents are sexual beings too. Oh God, now you’re thinking about the two wrinkly old coffin dodgers having a red hot sexathon. Sorry.

The Bank of England

All this uncertainty about interest rates and inflation and economic instability generally is interfering with your mojo. The fact that you say ‘mojo’ is likely a problem too. And telling people you’re celibate due to worrying about Britain’s GDP will definitely ensure you don’t get a shag.

Solution: Trust in the markets. Read the financial news closely and if we can keep dodging a recession maybe you’ll get your end away in the fourth quarter?

Your partner

In murders, the victim usually knows the killer. In exactly the same way, your partner is the prime suspect when it comes to your crap sex life. Who didn’t shag you last night? Was it the postman? Was it Leonardo DiCaprio? Was it the dog? No, it was your partner. (That’s rhetorical, by the way. You shouldn’t shag your dog.)

Solution: They need to ask themselves why they’re not trying to get their leg over at every opportunity with a looker like you. Repeatedly ask why they’re such a frigid cow or ‘only half a man’. That’s sure to make them pull their socks up.

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How to be disenfranchised by bullshit in today's local elections: A guide

TODAY local elections will be held around the country which, because of some Tory bollocks, you will not be able to vote in. Here’s how it will work:

At 12pm you visit your local primary school to punish whichever local candidate belongs to the national party you like least. An old lady informs you photographic ID is required.

Show the lady your polling card. She explains this is not photographic ID because it does not have a photograph on. Ask when this bullshit started. She explains the Conservatives brought it in because of unevidenced hypothetical voter fraud.

Show your work pass. She explains this is not valid and lists accepted ID which you have never in your life heard of, especially the PASS card and Voter Authority Certificate. You do not have a driving licence but do have a passport.

Head home. Look for your passport. Realise that you last had it for a family holiday in 2021 and it is at your mum’s house. Call mum to check. She confirms it is safe in the bureau.

Head back to polls with expired Oyster card from when you lived in London, dimly recalling that on the list. Your voting intention has changed in the last three hours to ‘whoever kicks these bastards out’.

Show the lady your Oyster card. She explains this is not valid ID because you are not over 60. Explain that is discriminatory against young people. She nods.

Furious, burn your polling card outside the polling station for a photographer from the local newspaper who does not get the shot because he is 85 and using a 30-year-old camera. He apologises then goes in to vote.

Go home. Sulk. Vow to get whatever is needed for the next election so you can fulfil your intentions re. the bastards, as above.