The Quality of Mercy ...

I'm one of those recently branded a "Jantan Sundalese".

For those who are puzzling over the term, bear with me and all will be revealed.

Er, figuratively that is.

I'm not going to do a Ljungberg and flash my boxers on this blog.

At least not yet anyway.

For years I have been an honorary member of a discreet international fraternity that dispenses comfort (lovingly wrapped in packets of varying sizes) to countless needy people worldwide.

Various wrapping materials for members

We serve all, and in most cases, we serve them more than once.

We may not (all) be big, but we are certainly big-hearted.

We may not be perfect, but we do try harder.

We are the Bastion for the bashed-up-heart,

the Refuge for the raped-out-soul,
the Tart-Hugger for the no-one-wants-me-anymore-still-singles,
the loyal Dog for the tong-sampah-in-skirts.

We are, er, ... members of the Ancient Order of the Mercy Shag.


aka Bonkers without Borders,

aka Shaggers sans Frontieres.

Pic : The preserved sceptre of our Beloved Founder, Gregori Yefemovich Rasputin of Russia. Now you know why Tsaritsa Alexandra and other Russian court ladies loved him so much. (Click on caption to find out more about him)

For years we have operated within the dark shadows (pubs, clubs and various vehicles) with nary a whisper - saving souls by the sweat of our brows and the pride of our prows;

but this morning we have been found out, rumbled. Out-ed.




By who else but that Intrepid Blog-Goddess of the Blogosphere ... aka Lily the Poo. And you can read it here.



Pic: Bitch-Goddess Lily the Poo with one of her kekarman in attendance.








It's not being out-ed that is distressing actually.

After all, er, members of the Order have been er, exposed or rather caught with their pants down in the past.

Literally.

Like Hugh - frotted to a halt at Sunset Boulevard by Divine;

like George kena kencing while er, hanging around a Beverly Hills public toilet;

and like Boris - swept to notoriety while attending to a needy London waitress in a restaurant's broom closet.

No, no - it's not the out-ing that gets our boxers in a twist.

It's actually the Jantan Sundalese label.

It sounds so Indon pecah rumah.

No, no, we're way classier than that.

And more importantly, we deserve better if only through the sincerity of our continuous efforts throughout the ages.

So dear, dearest Lily of the Poo Bitch-Pitch ... could you then, in future, kindly refer to us as Comfort Men instead?

That's a luv.

Yours truly,

Sir Cipan Nougat-Tenuk, Chevalier
Keeper of Records,
Shaggers sans Frontieres

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Item of interest - Pic 1: Reusable condoms being hung to dry. These are usually customised for fit and extra features. I had thought the art (craft?) had died out ever since condoms are mass-produced.