5 Top Tips To GUARANTEE You’ll Have Loads of Sex, And I Mean Fucking Loads (FOR MEN!)

After many nights observing the British male in his natural habitat, lurking in the dark corners of dancefloors in London, Birmingham, Manchester and beyond, I have complied the five steps to ensure you mate.


This is a British male. Beautiful isn’t he?

Follow these rules and you will be guaranteed some copulation with the prey.


The hunt is on.


This is the arguably the most important step in our honourable quest. Girls, from my experience, absolutely love being leered at by large groups of males. If they didn’t, then large groups of males wouldn’t insist on doing it? Right?

But anyway, a good leer is a form of art. None of this ‘bedroom eyes’, ‘love at first sight’ bullshit; you need to undress the lucky lady with your eyes. Make her feel the objectification. Make her imagine the soft touch of your clammy hand clumsily trying to take her bra off (otherwise known as The Enemy). A well administered leer will set you well on your way to entrance into Sexland. I want to see those eyes googling, mouth hanging open and tongue lolling out. This is of paramount importance.

Shower her in compliments

This is a very subtle step. Once you have identified your Cinderalla then you need to shuffle awkwardly towards her on the dancefloor (top tip: have a fellow predator with you). Then stand within earshot and say any of the following (if you have a friend say it to him, if not, say it to yourself very loudly. It still works):

“Mate she’d get it” (romantic)

“Look at the tits on ‘er” (observational)

“Cor” (animalistic)

“Phwoar” (cultured)

Once she’s overheard you saying these, then she’ll know you’re interested. And she will be too.

Grab her tits and/or arse

This goes hand in hand with #2. Having hovered in her general vicinity showering her in compliments, or doing your mating cry, you then have to augment this with a measured and skilled thrust of your hand.

Girls are a complex creature and they like to pretend they don’t like being touched, but they love it really. Trust me on this one. So, thrust your hand out and get any piece of flesh you can get your grubby, sticky mitts on. If you can’t reach the Dynamic Duo (tits and arse. Cor!) then simply grab her wrist. A careful, precise yank will be needed though. I’m sure you can manage that though.

.He knows

He knows.

Repeat “The Mantra”

This step is vital. It is the assist before the goal. The exquisitely threaded through ball that splits the defence in two, for the onrushing striker to slot home (football metaphor; MAN!). This, my friends (or subjects, it’s up to you) is The Mantra.

As you may know, the representative of all men, Robin Thicke, produced an amazing song called Blurred Lines recently. In this song there is the following refrain repeated:

I know you want it
I know you want it
I know you want it

So, as you’re preparing to go in for the kill whisper softly under your breath ‘I know she wants it, I know she wants it, I KNOW SHE WANTS IT, SHE MUST WANT IT’ until you get yourself into an absolutely manic frenzy. I want to see you frothing at the mouth, eyes rolled back into your head, screaming at the top of your voice. This will get you psyched up ready for the final move. You have to be like this bloke in order to succeed:

uruk hai

He’s moving in.

The Final Approach

This is very simple. Go and talk; by now she’s got nowhere to run. I’ll give you a past example of a successful endeavour of my own.

Me: “Hello”

Fit Bird (phwoar!): “Hello”

Me: “Um, right, yes, I just thought I’d let you know that you’d get it”

Fit Bird: “Sorry, but get what exactly?”

Me: “Well, my penis”

Fit Bird: “I don’t understand…”

Me: “I’m giving you my penis. It’s a treat.”

Fit Bird: “Oh I see now, well, that’s a very kind offer”

Me: “So how about it?”

Fit Bird: “Hmm, to be honest I didn’t really fancy you, but you have such an exquisite way with words that I’m going to take you up on the kind offer”

Me: “Excellent”

Fit Bird: “Where would you like to give it to me then? I’m quite impatient. You are so sexy, I love the way you stand too close to me and stare really intensely at my breasts when I’m talking. I just want to have sex now”

Me: “Shall we? This dancefloor is very romantic, and I shan’t be long”

And then we copulated. True story people. Follow my golden rules and you’ll be having many experiences like my own.

You’re welcome.

Bernard’s Watch(ing you), Episode 2

(You can find Part 1 here)

‘Hello motherfuckers’ said Bernard. All three of them turned to him. Tia Maria’s expression was unreadable but it conveyed at best bewilderment, and at worse burning resentment; Xi Wan was smiling manically like a squirrel on a gram of MDMA and Charlotte giggled nervously touching her luxurious straw-like hair as she did so. Oh my Christ oh lord, screamed Bernard internally, why did I just say that? I don’t even believe any of them has had intercourse with their mothers; he didn’t get a waft of Oedipus from any of them, so why had he addressed them in such a way?!

Bernard tittered awkwardly and pushed his shaggy mop out of his eyes. “I’m sorry about that” he began to say when the door to reception crashed open behind him. Karl strode in with the glitter of intelligence burning in his eyes. “Hello dear friends, so we are all going to this tedious tour of campus” Karl announced with a thespian flourish.

“We sure are Karl!” said Charlotte enthusiastically. She’s never that enthusiastic with me, Bernard thought desolately.

“Shall we set off then” Karl asked as he strode towards the door not waiting for a reply. He had craftily disguised it as a question but it wasn’t, it was a command. He set off along High Holborn at a rather unforgiving pace. Oh my, Bernard thought queasily, it should be me leading this band of merry-men.

The five of them arrived outside the Waterstone’s knowing they had suffered an absolute ordeal. Karl had yapped on non-stop about his take on the political institutions of Europe and how Britain was simply miles behind when it came to levels of democracy. When he took a break from his litany, the others had literally nothing to say to one another. Bernard had tried to extract a conversation from Tia Maria about his hopes and dreams but he had simply shrugged and said ‘I don’t know mate, the only hope I currently have is that this fucking hangover pisses off’. Bernard didn’t know how to respond to that but noted mentally that the thing happening to his body was a ‘hangover’. Bernard decide he should just laugh but he did so a shade too loudly, and Tia Maria just stared blankly at him. ‘Yeah same mate, I mean, what a bloody pain in the arse hey!’ Bernard had responded. Swearing had never come easy to Bernard and it was twice today that he had sworn for literally no conceivable reason. The words were like acid in his mouth; not the drug though, the corrosive substance. Bernard had overhead a stilted conversation between Xi Wan and Charlotte about male circumcision. I wonder how that came about Bernard thought to himself.

The tour had been similarly painful. Bernard was aware that he had nothing to say to these people. They were his only ‘friends’ so far, but there was only so many times you could ask someone “So, what course do you do?” and it not just become rude. Even now, he couldn’t for the life of him remember what they all did, despite asking them individually, soberly, what they did at least 5 times. He thought Tia Maria did Geography, Xi Wan Accounting and Finance, Charlotte Government but he couldn’t be entirely sure. He didn’t dare ask again, he couldn’t take the raised eyebrows anymore. Of course, he remembered what Karl did. He broadcast it to all and sundry. He had to do Politics and Philosophy, Bernard thought, he’s a certain rival for a First.

He had overheard the others talking about some sort of ‘Welcome Party’ at a mysterious, exotic place they called the ‘Tuns’. I suppose I should go Bernard thought; it could be fun. I certainly won’t be drinking though, I don’t want to embarrass myself any further, he concluded.

It was around 12pm and Bernard was in hell. This exotic ‘Tuns’ place was exotic only in the sense that it was an urban rainforest of death, desolation and dickheads. The humidity of the place was breath-taking. Sweet was dropping down the walls, ponderously tumbling down the walls like wax and the foul stench of beer hung in the air. The lighting had a strange blue hue, like the innards of the main protagonist in the video for that musical classic ‘Blue (Da Be Dee)’. Bernard was confused; he had seen 3 boys with their shirts off swinging them over their veined heads with a look of ecstasy on their face. Bernard had slurred to Charlotte “why are they doing that” but it accidentally came out as “buy me some hats”; Bernard had been drinking again. When he had earlier told Tia Maria of his intention to not drink he had looked aghast. He had called him a pussycat minus the cat and thrust a can of Stella Artois into his hand. Then he had gathered the others and started chanting forcefully “down it, down it, down it”. The others joined in, a fervent enthusiasm burning in their eyes. Bernard felt compelled to ‘down it’; he felt like he had just wandered into an extract from Lord of the Flies – he didn’t want to end up like Piggy. After ‘downing’ the first can Bernard felt like a regal prince; a glorious lion amongst a flock of seagulls. So he went down to Sainsbury’s and bought six more.

Here he was, in a room as muggy as a reptile room. He was dancing in a peculiar way, watching Karl and Charlotte gyrate as he did so. His knees were crouched and his entire upper body was violently vibrating and shaking, as if he was having a stroke. His back was stooped forward and his right arm was placed across his chest as if he was going to be blessed by a priest in a purple velvet robe. He looked like a drunken, malfunctioning robot. It was an odd sight to behold. It was an odd, but endearing sight.

At around 2am ‘The Gang’ had decided to leave the ‘Tuns’ and stagger home. Tia Maria was missing; he had been sighted with a human of the female variety. Xi Wan informed Bernard of this and the interesting titbit that she had seen his hand resting on her bottom. I wonder where he is, Bernard thought. Is he sexing with her?

Bernard clambered into bed in his Bart Simpson pyjama’s safe in the knowledge that he had had on the whole a fun night. University is strange, Bernard thought to himself as he lovingly stroked his wiry pubic hair, but I think I’m going to enjoy. So far, so good.