Daze Reader

Weblog Archive: November 11, 2007 to Nov 17, 2007

Wednesday, November 14, 2007

http://www.dazereader.com/24001069.htm Norwegian sex shops are in trouble with regulators. Even erotic food has to follow the rules.

Norway's largest erotic chain store was forced to change the labeling on products such as penis pasta, candy cuffs and chocolate body painting, to comply with Norwegian food regulations.

The Norwegian food safety authority, whose goal it is to make sure consumers have healthy and safe food, conducted a surprise inspection at one of the chain's stores and found that several products violated food labeling regulations, top-selling tabloid VG reported on Tuesday.

"We were a bit surprised to have the food safety authority on inspection. Food is not really our core product," Kjersti Antonsen, a sexual adviser in the store, told VG.

"We have panties, bras, handcuffs and suspender belts made out of candy," Antonsen said, adding that the store will comply with the regulations and label all its food products.

This sounds more like a cheesy porn flick scenario. "I'm from the food safety authority, and I'm here to conduct a surprise inspection of your edible panties."


http://www.dazereader.com/24001068.htm Russell Brand is apparently famous in Britain, as the Guardian is running excerpts from his "shockingly frank autobiography". The first excerpt deals with "the sexual addiction that threatened to ruin his career", whatever that career might be. I'm guessing a children's entertainer of some sort, based on the memoir's title (My Booky Wook) and the fact that he refers to a fellow sex addict's penis as a "dinkle".

The word "orgy" is undeniably an evocative one. It conjures up sumptuous images of delicate muslin drapes being teased by a breeze, Turkish music playing everywhere (in fact my whole orgy scenario seems to have been lifted pretty much wholesale from a Turkish Delight advert), nubile Nubian women entwined about each other like a Henry Moore statue, people decadently devouring grapes. I thought there'd probably be a sort of Swiss bloke with no irises or pupils in his eyes as well, just kind of staring. But what I got in a tower block in Hackney was people who looked like they were made out of Ready Brek, swathed in clingfilm, waddling back and forth with towels about their waists. And everywhere there was this intangible sadness, as if the orgy was being directed by Mike Leigh. I remember this woman came bustling out of a doorway when I first got there - she reminded me of my mum, which didn't help - and said, "Just done my second . . . better go and rinse my mouth out." Then a washing-machine repair man turned up - not as a guest, but to repair the washing-machine.

The accounts of sex addiction rehab are equally depressing. Makes you wonder why anyone bothers having sex at all.