THE Mail has assured its readers the Cotswolds is a hotbed of swinging, like in Jilly Cooper’s Rivals. Hardly not the only thing sexually frustrated Mail readers get off on:
Air hostess ‘secrets’
Air hostesses are traditionally sexy, but what really turns Mail readers on is when they divulge airline ‘secrets’, such as the black box actually being orange. Judging by the number of articles on this limited topic, Mail readers have a shuddering orgasm whenever a female Qantas employee explains how the turds go into a big tank.
The Cotswolds
The Mail has eagerly hopped on the Rivals bandwagon with pictures of Emily Atack naked and exposes of swinging in the Cotswolds ‘with lamb casserole bubbling away on the Aga’. It’s the combination of Englishness, aspiration and old people’s coach trip destination gets them off. Next: discussion of exactly when is polite to orgasm while eating a cream tea.
House prices
An obsession widely mocked, but beyond parody when they enviously report that a murder victim lived in a £575,000 house. Clearly it’s become a full-blown fetish. If you own an house with more than four bedrooms, check your doorbell camera to make sure Mail readers aren’t sneaking over at 3am to spam into your letterbox.
Helen Flanagan
The Mail has its favoured hotties, but Helen stands out from the herd. This minor celeb is followed with stalkerish devotion even though it’s 12 years since she left Coronation Street. Helen is admittedly tabloid-friendly, obligingly taking lingerie selfies and coming out wasted from awards parties, but it feels only a step from keeping her in a cage in the basement.
The MOAB
Men reading the Mail are often armchair generals, and the piece of kit that gets them hard is the Massive Ordnance Air Blast: a huge, phallic, 30-foot fuel bomb with a shockwave that squishes your internal organs. The US military should put one on display at Duxford Air Show for Mail readers. It would need hosing down daily.
Neighbour disputes
It could end in murder, or it could be squandering £60,000 in court over an eight-inch strip of land, but nothing brings the Mail’s readership closer to climax than a barney between neighbours. Especially if combined with high house prices and respectable occupations. If one took place in the Cotswolds you’d see the spunk fountaining from a mile away.
Piss-easy challenges
Simple logic puzzles? Spotting the cheetah in the photo? Foreplay for the Mail audience. There must be some warped gratification involved in finding a cartoon penguin hidden among 500 cats or they wouldn’t do it.
The confessions of Amanda Abbington
The Mail’s dogged pursuit of Amanda Abbington, clearly approved of by its readers, smacks of 15th century witch-hunts. Like Witchfinder Generals they demand Ms Abbington confess her allegations, six of which were upheld, are lies given flesh by the capering, evil spirits of wokeness. Then the ducking stool. Sexual experiences don’t get better than that.
