Wednesday, December 11, 2013
Flat tummy mummy
Congratulations to Caroline Berg Ericksen, the “fitness blogger” who recently became a mother. Four days after giving birth, she proudly displayed a picture of her belly on Instagram. Everyone marvelled at how quickly it had reverted to a perfectly-toned “six-pack” once the ballast in her womb had been ejected.
Remarkable though her achievement is, one has to wonder how the baby fared in such a tight enclosure. Those powerful abdominal muscles would have squeezed its little head like a lemon every time its mother did her sit-up exercises. That wouldn’t have helped the development of its brain, which was probably already destined to be short of grey matter for hereditary reasons. No mammalian baby should be treated like the prey of a boa constrictor before taking its first breath.
Caroline’s post-natal pose has attracted negative comments from a number of women, who see it as an attempt to humiliate mothers who retain a natural roly-poly appearance after gestation. I doubt that was her intention. She was surely just expressing the boundless love she feels for her own body. Maybe she was also hoping to solicit a present from her fans. I personally think she deserves two – a pacifier for the baby and a gemstone for her belly button.
The miraculous compression of Caroline’s abdomen has diverted attention from her stupendous breasts. Maybe it’s just as well, given that they appear to contain more silicone than milk. It is fortunate for the baby that she probably has no intention of suckling it. An infant shouldn’t acquire a taste for synthetic substances that early in life.
Another problem with breast implants is that they might prevent the new smart bra from functioning properly. Microsoft created this product to monitor a woman’s moods and rhythms with electronic sensors. Perhaps a simple, sunny character like Caroline won’t need a smart bra because she is always in a good mood. Life can be a pleasant experience for those who get plenty of exercise and refrain from straining their brains.
While we’re on the subject of breasts, I was dismayed to hear that a woman working as a topless barber is being prosecuted in Colorado. The police say her arrest was for “practising cosmetology without a license” and had nothing to do with the exposure of her jahoobies. It sounds pretty fishy to me. Wasn’t Al Capone arrested for income tax evasion? If the state of Colorado has a problem with bare-breasted hairdressers, it ought to come clean instead of hiding behind legal technicalities.
The service she was offering doesn’t make a lot of sense in any case. Wouldn’t she be standing behind the customer with her breasts out of view for most of the haircut? It saddens me to think that men would fork out 45 bucks for the mere proximity of a woman’s naked bosom.
For my own part, I have never been groomed, nursed or otherwise obliged by a topless woman. I’ve got better things to do than waste my time on such tomfoolery.
Wednesday, December 04, 2013
Does anyone know what happened to the Russian performance artist who nailed his scrotum to Red Square? I only became interested in his fate when the Russian authorities charged him with “hooliganism”. The injury to his nutsack is of no interest to me. When a man self-harms his genitalia, one has to assume that he’s weighed up the pros and cons. He’s no different, in principle, from Captain Dan, the circus dwarf who attached household appliances to his appendage.
I don’t know why the Russian government keeps over-reacting to these publicity stunts. I can’t think of a protest that would be easier to laugh off. Nor can I think of a crime that’s more obviously its own punishment. They should have hired a workman to extract the nail and sent the fellow a bill for labour and materials. No further action was required.
Some protests are no laughing matter, of course. I would never snigger at a woman who registered a complaint by taking off her clothes. Women are sensitive about their bodies and often have issues about being the wrong shape or size. If they choose to disrobe, for whatever reason, they should be ogled in respectful, sombre-faced silence. It is the height of bad manners to smirk at a naked woman.
An Egyptian maiden has caused a stir in her native land by baring her body in support of women’s rights. Alia al-Mahdi has mocked religious rituals by parodying them in the nude. The local turbans aren’t used to that sort of cheek and have reacted to her lampoons with outrage:
“This is pure heresy!” exclaimed Sheikh Nasser Radwan. “She should be tried for defaming religion and insulting the Divine Being!” he added.
Alia has wisely decamped to Stockholm, where she will be safe from the Divine Being and his vengeful minions. The colder climate has not discouraged her from further activism with her fellow feminudists in FEMEN. According to actress Amanda Banoub, she displays "genuine purity and modesty without a single layer of clothing". Having watched the video, I can almost see what she means.
The problem with stripping off, however, is that people might confuse your philosophy with exhibitionism. It’s an easy mistake for the unsophisticated to make. This explains why many humans prefer to blow a raspberry as a gesture of defiance. The aim is to imitate the noise of a fart, which can be highly unsettling if it catches you unawares. Oddly enough, a genuine fart is not considered to be an insult. However much it annoys the bystander, the farter is usually ashamed of the deed.
The good news for the flatulent is that a new type of underwear has been invented which filters out the pungent fart gases, so the discharge is completely odourless. It ought to be standard kit for humans of all races and creeds. I suppose a few sleazy types might miss smelling their own farts, but to hell with them. “Let them sniff cake,” as the Queen of France might have said.
Wednesday, November 27, 2013
Miley Cyrus is starting to impress me. I won’t say I’m her fan, because fans are silly toadies, but she’s beginning to earn my admiration. Note that I say “earn” and not “excite”. We gorillas don’t get excited by things we can’t smell.
Miley’s latest exploit was to let some fellow play the bongo drums on her butt cheeks. I don’t think he was anyone special – just an aspiring percussionist proficient in patting the posterior. The rich, meaty sounds he extracted from her behind were a revelation. The buttocks don’t make noises like that unless they’re prime quality rump-steak.
The other thing to admire was the way Miley reacted to the tapping of her tush. It was pure nonchalance – the attitude of a seasoned campaigner who rents out her arse to a rumba band. Not even baboons are that casual when they’re being spanked.
I wonder if Miley is interested in becoming a movie star. I hope she acts in French films, because she’s too unconventional for Hollywood. The French are kinky devils and would fully exploit her lack of inhibition and general lewdness. Whatever they came up with, I would expect to be surprised. It might be a scary surprise, like being hissed at by a snake, but I’m willing to take my chances.
Don’t be misled by my praise of Miley. I don’t think she’s a great human – not yet anyway. She’s got a long way to go to match Shirley Bassey, and I doubt she’ll ever attain the greatness of Bill Gates. We Africans can vouch for the good being done by Bill’s billions. Never has the mosquito met a more determined enemy. As a native of the Mother Continent, I look forward to the day when those pesky little insects have been annihilated by the Gates foundation. When that happens, I’ll hire a chimpanzee to carve a wooden statue of Bill in the jungle. All the gorillas will pass water on it as a sign of respect.
Another worthy cause that Bill is throwing his cash at is the promotion of safe sex. A lot of men are reluctant to wear condoms because they say it’s like paddling in Wellington boots and their dick gets frustrated. Consequently, a few randy reprobates are spreading their deadly jism with reckless disregard for the consequences. Rather than telling people to resist their urges (like the silly old Pope) Bill has given $100,000 to scientists trying to develop a wonder condom made of graphene. This is a substance so strong that you can make a sheet one atom thick without being able to punch a hole in it.
A graphene condom would hug the contours of a man’s appendage like a second foreskin (or a first one for the circumcised). It would be like paddling with a coat of watercolour paint on your feet. I just hope it gets developed in time for Bill to try out on the lovely Melinda. They don’t need to use condoms, of course, because they would never cheat on each other. But Bill would test it anyway just to make sure his money had been well spent. He’s that kind of guy.
Wednesday, November 20, 2013
Raunchy in Rio
Justin Bieber is getting naughtier and naughtier. The randy rapscallion was seen leaving a bawdy house in Rio with two courtesans in tow. His attempt to disguise himself by putting a sheet over his head was not successful. The paparazzi identified him by the tattoo on his wrist and the boner in his pants.
How will the Beliebers react to their idol’s latest escapade? I hope they forgive him. What Justin did was much better than having sex with a groupie, who might have tricked him into impregnating her. Something about Bieber tells me he’s not quite ready for fatherhood. The hair on his body isn’t quite bushy enough.
I’m not sure why he needed two escorts, though. When I asked the manager of the safari camp, he said:
“Bieber wants people to think he’s a real stud – a Texas Ranger who rides with a spare horse that he’ll jump on when the first one tires. He doesn’t fool me. I reckon he wanted the whores to treat him like a slave boy, stripping him naked and haggling over his body while they inspected it.”
Could this be true? It sounds like a service provided by prostitutes who’ve been to drama school, to say nothing of a stint in a livestock market. Who really knows what happened? We can speculate until the cows stop farting, but it isn’t even certain that deeds of a sexual nature occurred. Maybe Bieber just wanted to have a pillow fight with the girls because he thought they’d be easy to beat. I hope they went easy on him.
If you ask me, what Justin needs is a surrogate big sister – someone who’ll be his chaperone and only let him consort with harlots of good character. I can’t think of a better person for the job than Lady Gaga. Don’t be fooled by her brazen antics, which are only for show, to keep her in the limelight while upstaging her rivals and confounding her critics. If you want to make a name for yourself in show business, you’ve got to be outrageous and keep pushing the envelope. I did many extravagant things during my circus career, but does that make me a bounder? “Mais non!” as a Frenchman would say.
In a recent BBC interview, Lady Gaga said “I don’t find myself sexy”. It's an admirably modest statement, which proves she's unusually free of narcissism for a diva of popular music. It would also be the perfect riposte to anyone who told her to go and fuck herself. For this reason alone, it deserves to be added to the Book of Famous Quotations, if such a book exists.
You can see what Gaga is really like by the way she treats her poodle Fozzi. Never has a dog profited so much from the human mothering instinct. If Bieber were delivered into her custody, we’d see a very different young man emerge. One that was fully house-trained, like Fozzi, and wouldn’t visit whorehouses in front of the world’s press.
Wednesday, November 13, 2013
Dawkins honey trap
What happened was that Dicky attempted to board a flight with a pot of honey in his hand luggage. The pot was discovered in a search and confiscated on the grounds that it might have been used to make a bomb. This was obviously an overreaction. Dicky may be a scientist, but he knows next to nothing about explosives. If he tried to make a honey-bomb, he would struggle to get a fart noise out of it. Greatly cheesed off by the incident, he tweeted the following indignant message:
Bin Laden has won, in airports of the world every day. I had a little jar of honey, now thrown away by rule-bound dundridges. STUPID waste.
A lot of people then poured scorn on Dicky, pointing out that bin Laden was the instigator of more outrageous deeds than depriving an atheist of his honey. This loss, however regrettable, would not go down in the annals of jihad as a great victory over the infidel. Dicky attempted to justify himself in another truculent tweet, but no one was buying it. The stain of ignominy hung over his head like a purple toupee.
As an old friend of Dicky, I feel honour-bound to defend him. How would you like it if someone took your honey? Obtaining the heavenly syrup is no easy matter, because the bees who hoard it behave like maniacs if you nick some. The fear of being terrorised by those fanatical insects deters us gorillas from even trying to harvest wild honey. I get mine from a pot, like Dicky.
It follows that confiscating someone’s honey can be construed as a victory for bee terrorism. Bin Laden, to my knowledge, was never stung by a bee. He must have seen them as potential allies in his war against the West. I doubt any bees actually joined Al Qaeda, because most of them are female and would reject the idea of wearing a burka and playing second fiddle to the men. But tactical alliances between strange bedfellows can occur – never forget the Hitler-Stalin pact of 1939.
I don’t suppose my arguments will convince people who don’t like Dicky. A lot of his detractors will never forgive him for refuting their silly fairy tale about Adam and Eve. It’s clearly nonsense to suppose that the entire human race is descended from a pair of naked idiots who were deceived by a snake. Humans have inherited a natural wariness of those sly creatures from their ape ancestors, who never did anything on the advice of a serpent. Instead of sneering at Dicky for making an injudicious tweet, they should listen to his truthful words about the origins of humanity. And after doing that, they should grovel at his feet and sniff his toe-jam.
Wednesday, November 06, 2013
Britney rules the waves
The music of Britney Spears is being used by super tankers to scare off Somali pirates.
“These guys can’t stand Western culture or music,” explained Second Officer Rachel Owens. “As soon as the pirates get a blast of Britney they move on as quickly as they can.”
I wonder whether the pirates are terrified of Britney herself. How would they react to seeing her in person, performing one of her booty-titty dances? A superstitious bandit might think she was a succubus from Hell, trying to damn his soul by giving him a boner. Maybe he’d feel compelled to squirt lemon juice in his eyes, critically impairing his kidnapping ability.
Now the Somali pirates are not technically jihadists, but their reaction to Britney suggests she could be America’s secret weapon in the war against Al Qaeda. It isn’t over just because bin Laden sleeps with the fishes. Not by a long chalk. Anyone who’s seen The Godfather knows that killing the Don doesn’t finish it – you’ve still got any number of Sollozzo’s and Barzini’s to take care of.
When I said “secret weapon” I actually meant “public weapon”, because nothing Britney does is a secret. If the US Navy made her an admiral of the 6th Fleet, president Obama could order her to make a butt-nekkid “Eat me Abdul” video with plenty of twerking. The US Air Force could then scatter the DVDs over North Waziristan and all the other Al Qaeda strongholds.
In US military-speak, I think that would severely degrade their combat effectiveness. How could they even think of planning martyrdom operations if they were constantly horny and masturbating five times a day? They wouldn’t even be able to hold their weapons straight without firing off in random directions.
Some of you must be thinking “What’s so special about Britney? Why not choose someone really hot like Katy Perry who would make the jihadniks pull their dicks off?” My reply would be that Britney has an innocent quality that appeals to the hard-core Al Qaeda types. Even in that crazy phase she went through, when she shaved her head and exposed her cha-cha, there was something naïve and vulnerable about her.
Katy, on the other hand, is guilty of many impious deeds, like telling everyone that Mick Jagger made a pass at her when she was 18. Jagger has recently denied doing any such thing, which might cause you to infer that one of them is lying, but I put it down to a cultural misunderstanding. Men of all nationalities have noticed that American women think you’re asking them for sex when you pay them the slightest little compliment, so maybe Katy got the wrong idea.
Mick Jagger’s method of seduction was explained in a song he sang in the 1960s called Let’s Spend the Night Together. It seems to have worked quite well for him. There’s no need to beat around the bush if you’re a legend of rock music whose underpants are stuffed full of cash.
Wednesday, October 30, 2013
I’ve been studying a video clip of the pregnant woman who almost fainted during a speech of president Obama. She was standing right behind him, tottering like a skittle, before Obama sensed what was going on. Not wanting her to collapse at his feet like a devotee of Guru Baba Ramdev, he turned round and patted her. As every American knows, a pat from the president is like sniffing a bottle of smelling salts. She steadied on her feet and was led away to the White House gynaecology room.
The president’s detractors are now saying that the incident was a stage-managed hoax, to make Obama look like a messianic figure whose mere presence gives ladies the vapours. I personally doubt he would need to resort to such fakery. Women were always fainting on me in my circus days – something about being spoken to by a gorilla made them weak at the knees. Obama is no gorilla, but his voice is deep and the woman was pregnant. I can’t really blame her for feeling giddy in the circumstances.
The woman has since been interviewed and denied she was a stooge or shop dummy (as many have alleged). I hope this silences the president’s accusers, because the man has enough on his plate, what with Angela Merkel accusing him of listening in on her phonecalls. She’s making a big fuss about it, but you have to wonder whether she’s secretly flattered that Obama is so interested in her private affairs. He denied it when she called him, but maybe it would have been better for German-American relations if he’d confessed.
“Angela, I admit it all,” he might have said. “I just love hearing you chatter away in your sexy Oberschwester voice, especially when you use words like Wirtschaftlichen and Strumpfhosen. How about sending me a tape of you singing in the bath?”
I hope no one will say that Frau Merkel is incapable of such emotions because she’s German. For one thing, it would be an unpleasant example of national stereotyping. For another thing, a 24-year-old student called Niklaus Knecht has proved that Germans can be as romantic as Troy Tempest, the submariner who fell in love with a mute girl with gills.
What happened to young Knecht was this: Someone stole his mobile phone and sold it to a girl living in Morocco. This girl took pictures of herself with the phone, which somehow got sent to Knecht’s mailbox. The besotted boy then announced on his Facebook page that he’d let her keep the phone if she agreed to have a date with him. The girl has yet to respond to the offer and is no doubt weighing up her options as we speak.
If I were Angela Merkel, I would give Knecht an award for proving that Germans can be as goofy and love-struck as men from Moldova and Azerbaijan. I’ve just noticed that Knecht is Swiss rather than German. What of it? With a name like Knecht he must have German ancestry, right? Let’s not get hung up over nuances.