After the boys explained to us girls exactly what it is we care about, but actually don’t, (that’s a mouthful - should we swallow?) Platform enlisted one of our sassiest writers to sit the male race down and explain a few things, slowly and calmly, making sure pantyline under jeans was visible as requested.  Spying knickers may be a present to you lads, but I’m pretty sure this isn’t Christmas.  I’m pretty sure this is War.



I don’t even want to think about how many poor boys out there spend 4 nights of every week, with their manhood stuffed tightly into their Jamaican-flag themed Bong, trying to suck air out of the other end as a kind of makeshift penis-pump. And, for the record, I’m honestly not just putting this out there to make you feel better about having a teeny-weenie.

Genuinely - most girls will laugh at your little push-pop in senior school, but love you when they come to the realization that you’ve worried so much that your member isn’t as large as Johnny McMuscles from the rugby team, that you’ve over compensated and accidentally mastered the art of being an exceptionally passionate and attentive all-round lover. In the same breath - just because you may have the human appendage equivalent of the Eiffel Tower attached to the bottom of your torso, doesn’t mean you should just pop your girl on top and leave her for 3 minutes riding up and down the lift. Why not make the effort to explore her own hometown first?  Don’t just go straight to the science museum – take a slow walk down the river and pop into the millennium dome first.




As much as our parents would love to be in en-suite 5 star accommodation for their ailing final years, this really isn’t the first thing that pops into a 17 year old girl’s head when she’s cruising the skate park for new meat, nor is it for a lady 10 years her senior. I hate to get all GCSE biology on your ass but when a girl falls in love with a boy the “neutral circuits” generally associated with being a “critical liddle bitch” fly right the window. You could probably reveal to her that you have to go home early to babysit your-own-child-who-you-accidentally-birthed-with-your-biological-sister- with-whom-you-still-share-a-bunk-bed and your new girlfriend would probably still bake you hash cakes and trolley them to the skate park. If galdem has fallen, she’s fallen hard. Then it’s just a matter of keeping up the ludicrous charade that you’re actually worth more than money when those circuits start connecting again a few years down the line. You can stretch this out by insinuating that lots of beautiful successful women are queuing to fill the void if she were to ever leave you, that an A&R man is desperate to sign your stoner-drone-rock band any day now, or that your father is actually an Earl and about to die leaving his entire fortune to you.



It’s a common misconception that boys who watch a lot of porn are sad losers who have resigned to the fact they will never get a girlfriend, and therefore spend their entire inheritance from their grandparents on premium rate internet porn, and sending 2 Girls 1 Cup to their mate via MSN messenger. However, most girls with half a brain will realize this is all part of the essential training which will make their partner better in bed, and is therefore, a very good thing. Not only will hours spent chugging over their crusty dell keyboard mean they’ll have learnt tricks far superior to position-of-the-week in More magazine, but they’ll also have drained themselves dry enough to refrain from prematurely finishing the job. It’s a win/win situation.

*I’d like to make it clear here, that I am referring solely to unmarried men and boys. If I caught my husband secretly banging one out to Womb Raider III then I’d be have the divorce papers going through faster than you can say bumwank.


No, no really, it makes absolute perfect sense. When you call a girl you’ve been ‘seeing’ your girlfriend you are instantly bound to a lifetime of her constant company, obliged to fertilize her seed with at least 2 children (one of each, please, or we keep trying till it happens) and rot with her in the afterlife in the depths of domestic hell.

NONE OF THAT IS TRUE. Girls like using the term boyfriend in the way a dog pisses on her territory - ownership is important. It’s a sign to every other dog in the pound that if they dare go near their postbox and try and relieve themselves on it, there will be some serious consequences. Other than that, the ‘commitment’ issue is something boys still bang on about to stroke their egos. Just because women have a biological clock doesn’t mean they’re going to pierce your condoms and trap you into being a young father who loses his inhibitions and constantly coos and blows raspberries all over his vomiting newborn. Dogs get bored of postboxes, forget they ever pissed on them, and move on to lamp posts. Get over it.