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Filthy, disturbing images

[NB If you are a PERVERT, will you ever put that thing away RIGHT NOW, and go and play some hockey or take up smoking or something. The post will REFER to filthy, disturbing images ONLY. No filthy, disturbing images will be reproduced on this site.]

When I am home, I often supervise my parents’ adventures into the wild, untamed electronic savannah. They think of me as a kind of safety valve. An internal fuse, if you will. My presence gives them a measure of (frequently false) confidence that they won’t accidentally delete the Minutes of the Autumn Girl Guides & Brownies Meeting 1984, or disappear into a quickfile, or get savaged by a tribe of head-shrinking phishers.

My father’s computer literacy has progressed to the extent that he is now able to change the view panes in Windows Explorer – when he can locate it – and compress images for email. One afternoon, Dad and I embarked on a daring mission to discover how to compress/email multiple images.

I was of limited use, because when I modify photos for my blog, I tend to crop/reduce specific images individually. It was Dad who hunted down the option in Windows Explorer.

I was proud of my protégé.

“Well done, you!” I said, and left him clicking happily away.

Five minutes later, I was in the sitting room, when Dad called. I knew something was up by the way he broke my name into two distinct syllables; with an equal, urgent stress on both.

“Can you come here a moment, please?” he said, and I could hear him admirably striving for nonchalance.

“Yes?” I said, going into his office.

“Right. Well. Now, you know that option to compress multiple images and email them?”


“Ok. So, I went to the folder – like you told me to!” he said, defensively. “And I clicked on the images. And I went to the pane – here – and clicked on ‘Compress and email’. Right?”

“Ok . . .”

“And the email popped up, and I sent it. So now I go to my Sent Folder, right? And here is the email I sent to Gillian.”


“Now, I open the file attachment.”

My father double clicked on the JPG.

A rather lovely picture of my parents opened in Microsoft Picture Editor, standing next to the Houses of Parliament in London.

“That’s nice,” I said.



“But see here, on the bottom of the screen.”


“This little arrow.”

“Ok . . .”

“When I click it . . .”

I can’t tell you how much I regret that he did. The image that loaded was framed in livid pink, entitled ‘JUICYGIRLS’. Two girls with pigtails pulled up their skimpy t-shirts to reveal their choice of underwear (none). The one on the left merely displayed her ample charms, but the one on the right demonstrated a wide variety of skills: she nibbled a dildo balanced between her norks, whilst massaging her nips.

“Dad, I’ve got to tell you how disturbed I am to be looking at this with you,” I said when I finished laughing hysterically.

“Now, where did that come from?” he said, worrying his beard.

“I don’t know.”

“I never took that photo.”

“I believe you.”

“Juicygirls,” he said conversationally.


“That girl on the right – is she-”


“Do you- do you think,” he coughed delicately. “Do you think I might have sent this?”

While Dad agonized whether he should call Gillian to alert her to the potential presence of largely naked women, or not tell her and hope she didn’t notice, I checked out the email. When opening an image from the mail client with Microsoft Picture Editor, it appears to offer a library of all recently sent/received images including pornspam. In other words, it appears to be a feature of my parents’ software and how it accesses temporary internet files.

I’m not sure this appeased Dad, who still wonders whether Gillian received a picture of him and Mum outside the Houses of Parliament, and Juicygirls, and is judging him


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