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In these troubled times London needs a fellatio café more than ever

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Before this morning you might have thought that you'd only ever encounter the words 'fellatio' and 'cafe' next to each other in a police report about a foul disturbance by a sex-mad teen in a village teashop. You were naive, my friend, because this is the sordid land of London town, where owls boast their own smoothie bars and people bare their bollocks and tits in naked restaurants. (The owls bare their bollocks and tits as well, but they get away with it. Owls get away with everything but that's a different issue, not one we have time to explore right here, to be honest.)

If reports are to be believed, before long London may follow in the footsteps of Geneva, where in December a FELLATIO CAFE was unveiled by a man named Bradley Charvet. Mr Charvet - a man basking balls-out in his fifteen minutes of sunny fame - is eyeing up Praed Street as a prospective location for his FELLATIO CAFE because, if you've ever visited Praed Street, you'll know it has a very ''FELLATIO CAFE' vibe to it. Many a time I've stood on Praed Street and muttered to myself, "This is one of, if not the, most optimum location for a London cafe in which middle-aged men sip mochas while being pleasured orally."

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Brothels and brews - the marketing shot for the Fellatio Café

I spoke to Charvet via Twitter but, doubtlessly too busy being fellated, he responded only tersely to my questions. They are barely even worth reproducing here, I'll be honest with you. When you are encumbered with a genius like Charvet's, you don't have time to laboriously explain your radical vision to people like me. "It will be a café like others, plus two booths for shy people," he told The Independent. "Décor will be white, black and pink with some baroque-style chairs."

It may sound crude but the idea of a FELLATIO CAFE is an inspired one whose timing couldn't be more opportune. Brexit pierced this country in half and left an open wound that will take countless years and countless minds to heal. With the help of a FELLATIO CAFE, this reparation could be comparatively painless. For too long we have skirted and pussyfooted around the inarguable truth: people don't just want to get naked in restaurants, they want to have their bits licked all the while. They don't just want to sit stationary and nude while picking at a Danish, they want some downstairs entertainment all the while. The people want, nay, the people are screaming out for a FELLATIO CAFE.

What is the point of setting up a naked restaurant if you're not going to let people do the one thing they most enjoy doing while naked?

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London's recently opened naked restaurant wasn't enough, argues Ralph

Some boffins are harping on about the licensing problems the establishment will encounter. If I know Bradley Charvet, if I know the way his mind works, if I know him and his incomparable vision, I have no doubt he and his colleagues will leap over these petty hurdles. As he reassured me, "The company lawyer is working on it."

I asked Charvet whether someone could, theoretically, visit the cafe and receive a blowjob without buying a coffee. "No, the coffee is the point," he said. He's absolutely right. The point of the FELLATIO CAFE is indeed the coffee. But it's also the atmosphere. It's also the people. And also - in these troubled times; in the barren landscape of this fractious isle - it's also the ethos.

Oh and the FELLATIO.

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