Around The World in 80 Babes
by Nigel Gohl
235pg. No publisher
It’s fair to assume that any book that begins with the line “Having brought my girlfriend to her third orgasm during an intense forty minute session” is not going to rapidly develop into one of the great pieces of feminist literature. It’s no surprise then that the following 233 pages of Around The World.. fail to amount to anything more than cheap pornographic thrills and misogynistic male sexual fantasy. Every woman is a toy to be used up, shot in, ticked off and moved down the conveyor belt to make room for the next trophy.
Far be it from me to question the deeds outlined in the book. Chances are they’re probably an accurate recollection of the trip in question - although I did wonder at one point whether the author was attempting some sort of “Did he or didn’t he?” trick a’la American Psycho - but I’m struggling to comprehend exactly how it became noteworthy enough to write an entire book on. Off the top of my head I can’t think of a target audience for an endless stream of sexual anecdotes that more often than not involve phrases like, and I quote, “I loved pounding her athletic body”. Not one that actually reads books anyway. This is more of an extended FHM article than a book.
The image painted within of the Australian male is one of a boorish, pig who will stop at nothing to plant one on any female he can find who is gulliable enough to fall for his allegedly “foolproof” pickup techniques. Probably represents a fair proportion of the population to be honest, but not many of them have decided to commit their shenanigans to paper in the hope that more people can Enter the Dragon and learn how to cultivate the same sleazy skills. This book could be the ultimate Xmas present if you’ve got a 13-year-old nephew who you’re trying to enforce a sexual obsession on.
The author subjects you to every excruciating detail of his life and philosophies on picking up women. The result of sitting down and reading it, or skimming heavily as the case may be, is something like being locked in a bucks party for three hours after the strippers have left and all that’s left behind is a room of testosterone fuelled sleazy males who would give their left testicle for a handjob. Women become the products of “systems” that decide whether or not she’s “worthy of Saturday night” or should be “placed in the mid-week selection”. It’s a painful read. Once you reach the girl who becomes known only as DSL because she has “dick sucking lips” you’ll want to slap somebody in the head. No surprises that his meeting of Ms. DSL ends in a sex scene worthy of the cheapest porn mag on the market and she is never heard of again. One day later he’s taking a girl he met three minutes before from behind in front of his mates for their amusement while they exchange high fives. He will later “spitroast” another girl with the same mates. In case you haven’t worked it out yet this is a sordid affair of the lowest order.
And that’s before he’s even left the country. By the time the pantsman roadshow hits Europe it’s enough to make you renounce your citizenship a’la Pixie Skase and just walk out of the country. There’s no doubting that most twentysomething males are more interested in rooting than anything else, but I’ve never come across one who was more boastfully proud of it. It reeks of somebody who got a few laughs when telling their story at the pub and decided that the entire world needed to know what a legend they were as well. The fact that the book is self-published almost confirms it. The category of “Voyages and Travels” listed inside the front cover needs further scrutiny as well - his review of a visit to Paris, the city of love lest we forget, consists entirely of “we visited the major attractions” before he turns his attention back to attempting to pork the female members of the tour. You don’t need me to tell you he’s successful - and you won’t be surprised to learn that again he brings a friend along to share the spoils. Are we supposed to rise to applaud this? I’m not quite sure, but if two men taking advantage of a clearly pissed off her face tourist is your scene then this book may be for you. If it is then ring him up. His mobile number is on the inside cover of the book should you want to book him for a television appearance or become another trophy in his endless line of five minute sexual servings.
There’s no point going into his further adventures. Suffice to say they’re all subpar erotic adventures with a revolving cast of foreign women that are roughly as interesting as staring at a brick wall for three weeks. I could tell that this was the worst book I’d ever read by the end of the first page, and I’ll freely admit that I couldn’t make it through the whole thing. It’s just too offensive. By the time he’s posing as a member of the Australian Water Polo team, in a specially constructed t-shirt for fuck’s sake, you’ll not only be questioning if any male can actually be this dedicated to sleaze but also whether there are enough women in the world stupid and vulnerable enough to fall for it. Sadly the answer appears to be a big fat yes and yes.
I leave you with the following quote,
“Was she hot?”
“Not only hot. She was black!”
Draw your own conclusions. If you make it to the bit about “pounding” a “divided pussy” from behind while an entire crowd of bar patrons rise to applaud you have my permission to throw the thing at a wall as hard as you can. If you’re still not in the mood to start castrating people how about an educational graph?
[The host of the graph image has sadly since collapsed]
0 stars. Thank christ it was free. For somebody who claims to have done so much shagging in one year it’s no surprise that the book about it ends up being a 230 page wank. Avoid like the plague.
UPDATE 1.0 - Ladies and Gentlemen, I present my new favourite Internet faction. Allow me to introduce you to the 126.96.36.199 Krew. A revolving cast of fake names employed by somebody who may or may not be connected to the author in order to stooge comments boxes talking the book up in the last 24hrs. The small matter of all of them coming from exactly the same IP address shouldn’t stop you from thinking that there are HUNDREDS of people out there ready to give their lives to defend this important male lifestyle and health manual. Maybe they’re all just spent the afternoon huddled around a computer in one house after a hastily convened private meeting? How should I know?
Thanks to Charles, Emma, Peter, Jennifer, Brad, Susan, Jane, Mick, Vince, John, Andrew, Isaac, Karl, Katie, Russell, Kicker, Gay Mike, Karen and Scotty for their contributions. I know it must have been hard to get to the keyboard with so many people baying for blood but you managed it and we’re all extremely proud of you. I mean imagine if it was just one sad prick sitting there posting under different names to try and give the impression that he was popular and successful? It doesn’t even deserve to be thought about.