The June 2010 Stupid Girl of the Month is, in a surprisingly narrow vote, jealously-fueled firebug Agnes Bermudez. With 145 votes in, she eased past whinging cheater Gabriela Nagy with 52 percent of the vote. I was honestly expecting another blow-out, but I guess, as some people noted, that Bermudez was too crazy to run away with this one.

July 2010 SGOTM Award candidate(s) number one was submitted by W Krebs. It’s a truly pathetic article from the Daily Mail on how Arab men pump, dump and swindle middle-aged white English divorcees vacationing in the Middle East, and the contortions of logic the writer goes through to deny the cold, stark reality of these relationships. Fortunately, they now have Father Ferdinand, Low Priest of the Self-Ruled Hard Truths Church Archdiocese of North America (Diocese of New York, Vermont, and Quebec), to bitchslap them back to Earth:

Knocking on my tour guide’s door, brochure and notebook in hand, I was keen to ask him a question about our itinerary. But, as I opened my mouth to speak, he pulled me inside and tried to kiss me.

The scene was laughable, really – me, a retired estate agent from Sussex and him a young Syrian tour guide tasked with the job of escorting our group on an eight-day tour of his homeland.

I must have misread the signals,’ he said calmly, as though I had in some way suggested I was interested in him. I rolled my eyes in despair. The truth is, there were no signals – apart from me being a divorced Western woman holidaying alone in the Middle East.

Verily, you are right. The explanation as to why an Arab tour guide would be so forward with a flabby old white woman is twofold. First, the culture of feminism that so thoroughly gelds Western men is absent in misogynistic backwaters like the Middle East. This is something that Western women usually take for granted with typically deadly results, as chronicled in previous installments of this series. Second, most third-world men regard white Western women as whores who’ll put out for less than the price of an actual whore – which is true. Of course, even entitled old Limey slags expect a tiny amount of effort from their suitors, so you can’t just try to force your tongue into their mouth straightaway. Not that that stopped Abdul-Wadud here from getting his U.K. flag, as we read on.

The next morning, before I had a chance to relate my experience to the others on the tour, a lady I will call Sonia divulged that she too had visited Samir’s room with a question about the tour the night before.

From the breathless excitement with which she spoke about the experience, it became clear that this time Samir’s attentions had been met with a far more welcoming reception.

Indeed, by the end of the tour Sonia was hooked, returning to the UK on cloud nine believing that she had found her perfect match. But, when she returned a few months on, consumed by love, she found Samir indifferent to the point of actually ignoring her.

Sane man spurns slut – full report at 11.

Having spent ten years living and travelling in the Middle East, this is a scene I’ve witnessed time and time again. Sonia’s story is one of many such quixotic romances that I know of.

I’ve lost count of the seemingly sensible and middle-class British women I’ve met who have fallen for no more than a pair of flashing, dark eyes, a mouthful of white teeth and an endless stream of compliments.

Also known as game. Broken girls from broken homes are easy prey for silver-tongued devils. Toss in the allure of the exotic and the absence of any sense of self-preservation and these “quixotic romances” are impossible to avoid.

My friends and I have even coined the phrase: ‘My Mohammed is different’, which illustrates the delusion with which each woman believes that her man won’t hurt her and their love is genuine.

Each time another of our contemporaries falls for a young tour guide or waiter, we smile knowingly at each other and say: ‘It’s another case of MMD’, knowing it’s just a matter of time until another heart is broken.

Not All Mohammeds Are Like That.

But this story gets even better, as as it turns out our writer Daphne was the victim of one of these swarthy seducers.

I hold my hands up – I’ve been guilty, too. I speak from bitter experience.

I fell for an exotic, dark, handsome man from Jordan on a trip to see the historic architecture of Petra that I had taken myself on to cheer myself up after my divorce.

In what now seems like a terrible cliché, Ali was my tour guide. An archaeologist, with an irresistible moodiness and aura of intelligence, he pursued me throughout the four-day tour.

Given his film star looks, it was hard to resist. Ali was from a high-class Bedouin family and was the son of a sheikh.

He made me feel special and important and I was completely taken in. We were both divorced and Ali, at 48, was only five years younger than me. I flattered myself that this was a relationship of equals.

And then he pressed her up against the bedroom wall, parting her lips with his tongue in precise circular movements. Overcome with lust, she began ripping at the buttons on his shirt, pawing at his rock-hard abs underneath. Pants, blouses, panties, and briefs fell to the ground like leaves from a tree caught in the wind. Then she was on the bed, lying powerless to stop the rhythmic pounding between her hips. Clutching his dark, muscular thighs, her eyes rolled upwards as she writhed in helpless ecstasy. From her few, fleeting glimpses of him, he seemed no longer a mere man, but a Babylonian god risen from the grave to take her to a world where anything would be possible. As she gasped for breath in orgasmic moans, he bent down to whisper in her ear:

“This is where you fall in love.”

The above passage is excerpted from my upcoming novel, Kiss Me with the Kisses of Your Mouth. Copyright © 2012 Ferdinand Bardamu. All rights reserved.

Still, aware that the cultural differences between us were bound to impact on our relationship, I resolved to be as pragmatic as possible about our future. I was determined not to push things and so settled for a grown-up – but exclusive relationship – where we maintained our own lives, only seeing each other for a two-week spell three times a year.

We were together in this way for the next nine years. My three children were all in their 20s at the time. While the eldest two – though sceptical at first, came to like Ali, my youngest daughter refused to meet him, which, of course, caused family tension.

But as we read on, trouble was brewing in Paradise:

Nevertheless, this was the most passionate romance of my whole life. I hoped we’d be together for the rest of our lives. This was not to be. In October 2009, an American woman tracked me down via Facebook and revealed that Ali was a womaniser.

The lady, a former wife of one of his nephews, used the word ‘player’ to sum up the love of my life and urged me not to believe anything that he had told me. While part of me had always wondered whether Ali was faithful given that we saw each other so infrequently, having it broken to me in such a way was devastating.

You don’t get to be a ladykiller of this sort and not have had some practice. Remember this, ladies – to that sexy, hot dude you’re crushing on, you are in all likelihood Hole #59.

Desperate for reassurance, I emailed Ali and the cruelty of his response still stings.

‘I’m very fed up and don’t want a relationship with anyone at all,’ was his stark one-line reply. After nine years, I’d been thrown away like a sweet wrapper. I was forced to accept that I had simply not been as important to him as I had thought.

Of course you didn’t. You thought you were unique, a special little snowflake to light up this foreigner’s life. What you didn’t know was that the last Limey bag he bagged thought that as well. And the one before that too. “The love of your life” has hordes of fat old white skanks throwing themselves at his swarthy three-inch cock and you thought you could be the one for him? A divorced old sow with loose skin and a vagina with the consistency of sandpaper? Folly, thy name is white woman.

But we haven’t reached the bottom of this abyss, no sir. Even more sordid tales of slagsploitation await your gags of disbelief.

My confidence was shattered by my experience, but I was determined not to be put off from travelling in the Middle East. In January this year – a year after that email – I sold my house to travel throughout the region. It was then that I started to meet women like myself, many with tales far worse than my own.

In Syria, I met Sonia, 52, whose rash romance and ultimate rejection I described earlier. Sonia failed to learn from her heartbreak and went on to fall in love with another tour guide.

This one, unbeknownst to Sonia at the time, was married with two children – a mere detail he had neglected to mention.

Preselection – it makes the ‘gina tingle, even if the gina isn’t aware at the time.

A lady called Angela that I met in Egypt handed over £8,000 to her Arab lover of just two weeks to buy her a car. When he disappeared, she was confronted by the true owner of the vehicle who asked her for overdue rental on it. The papers she had were in Arabic, so she didn’t understand them. Her lover had just rented the car for a couple of weeks, taking the £8,000 for himself.

At the present exchange rate, £8,000 is $12,576.80 U.S. This chick gave the equivalent of thirteen grand rounded up to a guy she knew for only two weeks, which he promptly ran off with. I hereby dub this Scam Game, where you charm the panties off of girls for the sole purpose of robbing them blind. Variants include Gigolo Game, where you pimp yourself out to middle-aged white women (only works if you’re black and from the Caribbean), and Inheritance Game (also known as Anna Nicole Smith Game), where you seduce a lonely old wealthy widow, marry her, and wait for her to croak so you can get her money. They’re all about exploiting the same demographic – old white women with Advanced Dick Deprivation and more cash than brains. Yeah, you have to put up with frictionless sex with wrinkled old crones, but surely that’s worth all the bennies you can swipe?

Seriously, I don’t blame this guy for taking the broad’s money and running. If you’re at that age and you’re so stupid as to hand a sum of that size to a guy you barely know, you deserve to get swindled. I’ll bet he does this with all the Limey ladies he meets.

This is where the story arrives at the Roche limit of female foolishness. Brace for impact.

Another lady who I met, called Pat, went on holiday to Egypt with her 16-year-old daughter and three days later agreed to marry the restaurant manager at their hotel.

Most couples date for years before the man deigns to pop the question. Three days for this girl? Dude’s got mad personality.

Such behaviour was, by all accounts, wildly out of character.

Far from being a silly woman, Pat, 40, was a successful businesswoman in the UK and genuinely thought he was in love with her.

Pussy juice – it’s the sillymaker.

Like Samir and Ali, her holiday romance was dark, handsome and charming. Shortly afterwards, she sold her home and emigrated to Egypt to be with him, taking her daughter with her.

This is where you should break out your barf bag. I am not kidding. This is your last warning. I am not responsible for any electronic equipment you ruin while spitting your morning coffee all over your work monitor.

The marriage, which took place in a car showroom, crumbled after just a year when her husband decided to return to his Arab wife and four children.

The first rule of dealing with non-Europeans is The Tribe Always Comes First. Don’t you get it, you stupid bitch? You were just his plaything, the field where he sowed his wild oats, the freaky-deaky day trip before he went back home to the real deal. That’s all you white girls are to these sly brown devils – a convenient way to get their rocks off with minimal effort. You think he’s going to choose you, an overweight old used-up foreign slut, over his compliant virgin bride countrywoman? You think he’s dumb enough to take that offer? Wake up and smell the semen.

By then, Pat’s fortune had dwindled. Her 16-year-old daughter had fallen pregnant by a local, and, unable to afford to return to the UK, their future looked decidedly uncertain.

If there’s something wrong with the bitch, there’s something wrong with the pup.

Two years on and she and her daughter are still living in Egypt and raising the baby.

I am this close to putting my fist through my computer screen. I am THIS fucking close. I just…I want…she’s a…RAGE!!!

Fuck you you fucking cunt. Fuck you and your stupid fucking hosebag of a daughter. Fuck you sideways, up and down with a twelve-inch dick with a three-inch diameter. You expect me to fucking feel sorry for you? To give you my fucking sympathy? No. You fucking deserve this and more. I hope you live in poverty for the rest of your fucking life, that hairy sleazy Egyptian men use you as a fucking cum dumpster, that your dumbass daughter has to sell herself to a whorehouse to keep her bastard broodling from fucking starving to death. The white race needs a fucking enema, and you’re the shit to be squeezed out.

There, I said it. Now that the rage demon has been exorcised, we can continue. I promise I’ll be in a better mood for the rest of this post.

And I mustn’t forget Fiona, whose Egyptian boyfriend – 30 years her junior – convinced her he wanted to marry her while constantly asking, in his smattering of English, for money to help his sick mother.

He was last seen visiting a Russian prostitute in the town of Sharm el Sheikh, while Fiona returned back home broken-hearted.

Sick Mother Game. This is like the desperate betas who go to Russian mail order bride services and get roped into sending checks to wily girls who know how to exploit sexually starved, street-stupid men (WARNING: do not click on that link if you are prone to nausea or vomiting). Anastasia from Vladivostok and Kahil from Alexandria are running the same shtick. You can’t beat Spengler’s Universal Law of Gender Parity, folks. You just can’t.

Given the preponderance of such sad stories, it’s not surprising that my friends and I have grown weary of hearing of women like us whose forlorn hopes and dreams have been dashed all too predictably to the ground.

I have come to believe that such romances between Western women and young Arabian men working in tourist resorts have insurmountable differences to conquer.

Please, be kind to the rationalization hamster today. He’s tired from all that running you make him do.

To begin with, in Muslim culture women behave with a deep modesty, so to the men who work in the tourist trade the sight of scantily clad Western women, with purses full of money, is not only alien, but too tempting to resist.

Read: when women dress like sluts, men treat them like sluts.

It’s important to remember that many of these men earn a pittance and have families they are trying to support.

Don’t forget that they have centuries of pent-up rage at the white man’s imperialism that never happened, too!

As for the women involved, like me, they may be intelligent, middle class and respectable – but many haven’t felt the first flutter of romance in their chests for decades.

Read: they haven’t slavishly followed their pussies into danger for decades.

Being lavished with so much attention by someone young and good-looking sends them into a hopeless lovelorn spin.

Ignorance is bliss. Then the bills come due.

But the fault doesn’t only lie on one side.

Oh my God, you’re BLAMING THE VICTIM?! Heretic! Stone her!

Time and time again I have been amazed at the behaviour of women towards men they have known for only a few days. I have observed with horror English women cosying up to market sellers and allowing them to nuzzle at their necks in a way which would scandalise a respectable Muslim woman.

See tramp walk. See tramp sidle up. See tramp be low-class.

I doubt they would behave in the same way with the stallholders of Petticoat Lane.

Oh, they’re doing much more than that, if our next story is to be believed. (Spoiler alert: it gets worse!)

The exotic pull of the Middle East and the handsome men seems to impair the judgement of Western women desperate to escape their humdrum lives.

Thinking with your little head is never a recipe for success.

But to a worker in a seaside resort in a country like Egypt or Turkey, the endless stream of half-dressed, unchaperoned women appears like nothing more than a never-ending carousel of rich prostitutes, just there to be exploited.

Wha wha wha WHAAAAAAT? You just called these white women what they are – WHORES? Misogynist! Burn her at the stake!

In my own case, mine and Ali’s relationship lasted longer than the average fling and I was astute enough never to give him any money (and to his credit he never asked for any), but the cold way he ended things was deeply hurtful and I have been trying to make sense of it ever since.

You were just a cheap hole for him to masturbate into. That’s all he thought of you. Sense made. Move on.

The simple fact is that I was never the one in control. The whole relationship was on his terms and I feel annoyed with myself for believing it could have ever been any different.

He who has the power makes the rules. A young man beats a middle-aged woman out for sexual market value, and thus power. Keep that in mind, cougars.

The Middle East is a fascinating place. The people have such warmth, culture and kindness – but when a middle-aged woman takes up with a young tour guide or waiter, questions have to be asked.

Like where her common sense went.

The truth is that the number of women happily married to the man they met on holiday are sadly outnumbered by those who have been tossed to one side with a broken heart.

THIS.

…

July 2010 candidate number two was submitted by Bloomers. She’s an English rose who had a dream – to sleep with a thousand men in ten years. Louise Grant better watch her ass, ’cause she’s got some competition:

JUST like the characters in her favourite TV show, posh Christina Saunders knows good sex. And so she should, after seducing 1,000 MEN.

I first learned of ultra-skank Christina Saunders when frequent commenter Mike T wrote her up on his blog last week. I’ll let him have the floor for a moment:

It would be sad, if it were not for the fact that this woman lived like she was taking this blog post by Mr Bardamu as a template for how to live her life. Who will play the role of the sad little man who becomes man 1,001 in her Greek cum NYC tragedy? Stay tuned, I bet Ryan Seacrest is already preparing a reality TV show for her? “Who wants a woman fucked by a million heirs?”

Preach it, bro!

Oh, and I take umbrage with the reporter’s use of “seducing”. The term “seduction” implies class and skill. A poor girl from the slums charms a rich man into marrying her? That’s seduction. Spreading your legs for a slum’s worth of men? That is NOT seduction. It’s not classy, and it involves no skill. Insert remark about the shoddy state of journalism here.

The university-educated brunette longed to be as confident in bed as Sex And The City maneater Samantha.

Insert remark about the shoddy state of higher education here.

So she set herself a 10-year challenge – to get a thousand notches on her bedpost.

She said: “Sam went from one man to the next and was proud of it. I wanted to be confident like her. I got hooked on the buzz of one-night-stands.”

As I remarked at Mike’s blog, Samantha Jones is the character from Sex and the City who’s in her fifties and slagging it up. I’ve never been able to watch more than ten minutes of that show (which is why I don’t talk about it), so I’ll defer to Sofia’s review of Sex and the City 2 for a description of the sheer pitifulness of Sam:

Samantha comes across as especially desperate, as a 52 year old slut spreading her legs for every other man who dares to shoot her a glance. Her hyper-sexualized come ons seem desperate and unappealing, and I can’t help but think of her dehydrated cunt, artificially lubricated, being stretched out by the next passing cock.

A woman modeling her life after a “52 year old slut” is like a man modeling his life after Anthony Michael Hall in The Breakfast Club. “I’m not a virgin! I have a girlfriend in Canada, the Niagara Falls area. You wouldn’t know her!”

She slept with at least one stranger a week, travelled the world hunting for men to bed, and took part in threesomes.

One, two, three o’clock, four o’clock cock,
Five, six, seven o’clock, eight o’clock cock.
Nine, ten, eleven o’clock, twelve o’clock cock,
We’re gonna fuck around the clock tonight!

Put your kneepads on and join me hon’,
We’ll suck some cock when the clock strikes one!

We’re gonna fuck around the clock tonight,
We’re gonna fuck, fuck, fuck, ’till broad daylight,
We’re gonna fuck around the clock tonight.

When the clock strikes two, three and four,
If the cock slows down we’ll yell for more!

But now Christina, 30, admits: “All I want is a man to love me – not one who just wants me for sex.”

Read: I’m gonna start charging for what I previously gave away for free. That biological clock won’t stop ticking on it’s own, you know!

Attractive Christina grew up in a five-bedroom house in Hertfordshire where she enjoyed riding her pony and visiting Ascot races and Henley regatta every year. Her parents, who she describes as “very middle class”, had no idea of her secret life. She sighed: “They would be devastated if they knew what I was up to.”

Now that you’ve been interviewed by a major newspaper, they probably do. Good going, you bloody moron.

Christina decided to copy Sam, played by Kim Cattrall, 53, during a bout of flu at university in Bristol.

Until then she hadn’t been that interested in men, saying her first sexual encounter – with a friend while she was at secondary school – was “a disaster”.

But when she fell ill in 2000, aged 20, a pal gave her the first series of Sex And The City to watch. Christina said: “The thought of four women gloating about sleeping their way around New York hadn’t appealed to me but I had nothing better to do so I watched it.

Some sluts are born. Others are made. This girl’s life is pure tragicomedy. And because I’m a prick, I’m going to stick to the comedy part.

“Samantha was sexy, confident and proud. She had a male attitude of sleeping around and it fascinated me.”

One, Kim Cattrall is about as sexy as a cactus. It takes a shit ton of airbrushing and makeup to make the women on that show look presentable. Two, it appears the eternal solipsism of the female mind has reared its ugly head again. Women like men who are confident, so they assume that men like women who are confident. FAIL! Men are attracted to cute faces, large, firm boobs, taut, curvy asses, and girly personalities. The most “confidence” we care about you having is enough so that you don’t go psycho and start stalking us when we don’t answer your ten bajillion phone calls in the past three hours. “Confident” women are good for a shag but little else. Three, you think you’re supposed to emulate a “male attitude” towards sex? There’s a reason why sleeping around is a “male attitude,” and it’s not because TEH EVAL RETCHED PATRIARKY is trying to keep the sisterhood down.

Soon Christina was on the prowl in Sam-style slinky dresses. Her first conquest was in the Students’ Union. She said: “I targeted a lad called Mike because he was a charmer. We had a drink and then I said I was tired and going to bed – and asked if he wanted to join me. I was terrified but he took control and it was brilliant. I was hooked.”

When girls do the gaming, game is unnecessary. Thank you, Christina, for making it easier for the blokes of the world to get a root. We wouldn’t marry you – or treat you as anything more than an animated Fleshlight – but we salute you nonetheless.

By the time she left uni with a 2:2 degree in English and sociology in 2003 she’d slept with nearly 300 men.

Slut tell: English major. The women who go into that field are depraved. Among the humanities majors, only Journalism students are worse.

“I didn’t feel dirty, just empowered,” said Christina. “I was addicted.”

Insert remark about the eternal solipsism of the female mind here.

A year later she moved to Clapham, South-West London, and started working for a PR firm.

Slut tell: works for a PR firm. Any girl whose job involves copious amounts of lying is suspect. This includes lawyers, journalists, and civil service employees.

She’d pick up men in bars and go on 18-30 holidays to up her tally – once sleeping with 15 men in a week in Ibiza.

Slut tell: frequently goes on vacation alone. But you knew that already.

Christina found she too enjoyed a Cosmopolitan – not the cocktail loved by the SATC girls, just men from around the world. She met Russian Sasha, in his 50s, in Puerto Banus, Spain, in 2005 and had sex on his boat. She said: “It was mad and frantic. He shouted instructions – in Russian.”

Insert lament about the coming collapse of Western civilization here.

Girls weren’t off bounds either – Christina had a lesbian fling after meeting Katia at a swingers’ club in East London in 2007. “She led me into one of the private booths and started to strip me. It was the most seductive thing and the best orgasm I have ever had.”

Rug munching doesn’t count. Next!

Christina would keep a tally of her men in a notebook by her bed, rating each out of ten.

Oh, THIS should be good.

Chris, from uni, wanted a threesome but didn’t get it. “The sex was average”, she said. 5/10

Given that sluts, being incapable of discernment, don’t know good sex from bad, we’re free to not take your ratings seriously.

She met student Stan at a party… and they soon left. “He was putty in my hands but I can’t remember the sex.” 1/10

Insert complaint about the increasing classlessness of women here.

David was much better. They met in a club in Ibiza. “We were desperate to have sex so we did it in the toilets.” 9/10

Ah, logistics.

Then there was Mike in Ayia Napa. “I used him for sex and it was amazing. He still texts me now.” 8/10

Silly skank, using people for sex is for men! The way women use men is to keep them perpetually strung out in the friend zone while using their shoulder to cry on after their badboy lovers thrash them around the house. You may leave a man in the morning after a one-night stand but so long as he fucked you he’s gotten what he wanted. Though if this guy is still texting our cockoholic friend, he might as well have the Scarlet Letter ‘B’ embroidered on all his shirts. You sap.

Ben, from Brighton, wasn’t her type so she downed Tequila before kissing him. But the sex was “surprisingly good”. 7/10

Ah, low impulse control.

Nick in Spain wasn’t exactly an el of a lover – he liked cuddles more than sex. 3/10

Do we have any spare letter ‘Bs’ to embroider?

And Christina was convinced Sergio, 12 years her junior, was a virgin when they romped in a New York hotel. “The sex was terrible.” 4/10

Physical evidence of the double standard that no feminist wants to complain about. A chick is a virgin, she’s a prize worth claiming. A guy is a virgin, he’s a loser to be pilloried at every opportunity.

If she couldn’t remember their names she’d just describe their performance. Like the unknown from a London night out. “I was so drunk I didn’t care what his name was.” 2/10

Rephrase lament about the coming collapse of Western civilization here.

Last month she bedded her Mr 1,000th at a friend’s party. “He was gorgeous, blond and fantastic in bed.”

But…was it worth it?

Now the challenge is over Christina does have regrets. “Good friends stuck by me but others accused me of being a slut. I took things too far. Now all I want to do is settle down. I just hope I haven’t put men off.”

Hahahahahaha…she had a thousand dicks in her pussy…hahahahahaha…and she told the world about it…hahahahahahaha…and she wants to settle down…hahahahahahahaha…and she hopes she hasn’t put men OFF!

HAHAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAAHAHAHAHAH

HHAAHAHHAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAH

HAHAHAAHAHAHAHAAHHAHAHAH!!!!!!!!!!!

…okay, I think I’m good. I’ll let Mike have the last word on this one:

The best ostracism, the best punishment for her won’t be a scarlet letter, stoning or what have you. It’ll be being stuck with the sort of man who, knowing all about her past, can look her dead in the eye and feel like he’s the luckiest son of a bitch on Earth.

Oh, now that’s COLD.

Tagged as: Christina Saunders, Mike T, Sex and the City, Sofia