Thursday 27 October 2016

Adultery has been going on forever - but we live in the internet age now

Published 27/07/2015 | 02:30

'The hackers are supposed to have a list of the runners and riders. It could be the hackers are fundamentalists whose sole intention is to out sinners'
'The hackers are supposed to have a list of the runners and riders. It could be the hackers are fundamentalists whose sole intention is to out sinners'

These opened-up days of revelations and surveillance will wreck marriages and ruin relationships.

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There's no doubt that there will be many who will say, "good enough for dem that get caught."

"Dirty", you will say, and dirt must be cleansed. Unlicensed sex is evil and the wrath of God will fall down on all sinners.

That's not me saying that last line. It's from those who cherish the institution of marriage. Personally, I couldn't care less if some of you get up to illicit boorearee in your spare time but I would warn you of "the consequence of coincidence", which is a term used by me, the eminent pseudo-psychologist, to describe chance encounters of the most intimate kind.

Boorearee has being going down for years. It's pronounced "boo-ree-a-ree", which sounds like a mating call from Birdwatch Ireland's greatest hits. Boorearee is even common in countries where adultery is punished by death. Especially if you are a woman and it's your husband who was having the affair.

I have heard stories of punishment by Facebook. The hurt spouse goes on Facebook and lashes the cheating partner.

I think the approach of a man from our town might make it easier on all sides.

There he was, the man whose wife was having an affair and he was drinking a pint up at a bar counter, not too far from here.

There are horrible types everywhere. Said the horrible type, in a horrible mocking voice, to the man whose wife was playing away from home.

"What do you think of your missus going with X?"

The bar went silent. If it was a cowboy film, the piano player would have stopped playing and the sheriff would have been sent for. The low type asked again. "What do you think of your missus getting up to an oul' bit of boorearee with that oul' X?"

The cuckolded husband spoke without so much as the faintest emotion that would be picked up by the most sensitive of lie detector tests.

Here are his words: "Sure, isn't it one less job for me to do." He was philosophical, but more might care more.

Last week, the website Ashley Madison was broken into and burgled of sensitive information. Ashely Madison is a dating site where married people just show up and have sex. It's not for most people, but there are takers.

The hackers are supposed to have a list of the runners and riders. It could be the hackers are fundamentalists whose sole intention is to out sinners.

Or maybe the ID thieves are just trying to get a list of randy people, or possibly there could be blackmail involved and it might just be the case that the Ashley Madison security was brought down by a person who was trying to catch out a cheating partner.

As we said earlier, this sort of carry on has been going on forever.

I was gifted with exceptional hearing and could hear through the thin walls of our house upstairs if there wasn't too much roaring and shouting going on in the bar down below. The parents were talking about this game that was played in a nearby town. The gamers threw their car keys in to a bowl and there was a draw for sexual partners. The mother thought it was fierce bad form by all concerned and the oul' fella was trying to figure how he could make a play out of it.

Wouldn't it be great gas, I was thinking, if a husband and wife finished up with each other, after all their trouble going to the orgy and maybe buying a posh car all the better for to get improved suspension.

There were these two, years ago, who were very fond of drinking pina colada in the rain, and someone made a song out of their meeting up.

Pina colada is a sickly cocktail that tastes like a mix of cheap perfume and carpet freshener and, sure, the only people who drink in the rain are the low types with scars who are barred out of the pubs. Anyway, the lad in the song sang that "I was tired of my lady, we'd been together too long".

And he wrote to the local paper looking for a girl who was fond of drinking cocktails in the rain. Who should answer but the wife and, you'd never guess, didn't they live happy ever after? The song ends there but I'd be pretty sure they finished up with the flu and diabetes. It could well be that the song is a plea for tolerance and that there should be another chance given to those who break their marriage vows.

But wouldn't it be gas, though, if this lad was going to Dublin for the All Ireland and he was rightly bored with the wife of so many years who bore him children and worked as his skivvy cleaning, hoovering and changing the water in his foot spa and getting new, reinforced nails stuck on for picking his blackheads.

Sad, isn't it, and maddening too. The wife is picking blackheads so himself would look his best for some trollop he met on Ashley Madison. But whoa up now a minute. What if the wife was as sick of duct-tape and blindfolds as her husband was, and she too decided to join up?

Wouldn't it make for an excellent movie when the two meet up in a two-star hotel? They wouldn't be able to order a room-service pina colada. There's no room service in two-star hotels.

I haven't decided on the ending yet but it could be that they might realise that they both wanted the same fling and would go on to live happier ever after - or until the next time they got bored of boorearee.

Irish Independent

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