Monday, March 08, 2010

Miss Plastic 2010

I’ve received an invitation to be a judge at beauty contest. No sniggers please. The event is taking place in Hungary, a nation I’ve always admired for its fruity soups. An unusual feature of the pageant is that all the contestants will be women who have had cosmetic surgery. The subtext is that this surgery should have resulted in enhancement or reshaping of the bust.

It’s not all about titties though. There are also points for personality, which is where I come in. They’re looking for a judge who can evaluate a woman’s inner beauty without being distracted by the shallow attractions of her physical form (a task far beyond the grinning old lechers who customarily adjudicate such tournaments).

Appreciating inner beauty, you see, is one of my greatest talents. My penetrating eyes can see beyond the pouting and posing (to say nothing of the titting and bumming) and examine the soul within. In my circus days, no woman could hide her true character from the Bananas gaze. I recall the case of the knife-thrower’s assistant, whose blond hair and unusually large breasts caused everyone to judge her harshly.

“Doris is a stupid tart!” they cried.

I was the only one who dissented from this hasty indictment.

“You are all wrong,” I said. “When I look into her eyes I see a woman of intelligence and sensitivity.”

It later transpired that she was taking a correspondence course in cosmology and had a crush on Professor Stephen Hawking, the wheelchair-bound genius with a voice like a friendly Dalek. A bit kinky, perhaps, but not the kind of infatuation one would expect of a promiscuous airhead. Doris was enormously grateful when she heard how I had championed her cause.

“Think nothing of it, Doris,” I said, as she approached me in tears of gratitude. “A gorilla needs no courage to stand against the baying mob. You may scratch my back if you wish.”

But let’s get back to the beauty contest. I asked my friend Laszlo Paszlo, the Hungarian journalist, for his opinion on my participation.

“They’re using you as window dressing, Bananas,” he said. “The feminists are saying the whole thing is just an excuse for men to stare at the girls’ breasts. The organisers want to reply: ‘This is not true because one of the judges is a gorilla who has no interest in breasts.’”

I found this very surprising, as I never realised there were feminists in Hungary. It seems they found their voice after the Iron Curtain collapsed. There was no need for feminism under the Communist system because all citizens were equal by official decree of the State, and any woman who dared to deny it had her boobs tweaked by the secret police. Then came democracy, and women had to get organised to prevent men from looking at pornography and enjoying the new freedoms in other unfair ways.

Frankly, I don’t blame the organisers for wanting to placate the feminists. Never was a group of females more sorely in need of placation. I myself placated several of them in my circus days. Although telling them I have no interest in breasts would be a slight exaggeration, I do not object to the use of this argument to keep them at bay. Consider my flight to Budapest booked.

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At least in this era of equal opportunities we can have beauty contests for all. The next thing you know we'll be having them for handsome young men who like ladies. At which point I shall volunteer to be a judge.
Look but don’t touch. You could hurt your hand on one of those things. ;)
All those boobs to choose from - how will you ever decide?
Your line about feminism in Hungary is hysterical.
Have fun finding out which one has the best inner beauty. You'll have to post the results
Have you ever noticed that there are no drop-dead gorgeously beautiful feminists? Just saying...
How about the young Gloria Steinem? she was a playboy bunny
Nothing the Hungarians do surprises me any more: other than the East Germans, who don't count, they were always the most "Scandinavian" of the Eastern Bloc countries. Expect to lap cold soup out of their navels.
Cool blog!

Weird, but cool. I like it
P.S. Can I carry your bags?
Madame Defarge: In addition to being a judge, Madame Defarge, you should also be required to screen the contestants to ensure that they do indeed like ladies.

Beth: Thanks for your advice, Beth. I assure you that I'll look mainly at their eyes, with only occasional glances elsewhere.

Robyn: I will let others judge the boobs, Robyn. I have bigger fish to fry. Or more important ones, anyway.

Rebecca: I'll do my best, Rebecca. It would be much easier if they let me interview each candidate in private.

Robert: Well, Naomi Wolf is rather gorgeous for men who like a fuller figure. I wouldn't throw her out of my harem.

Nursemyra: Good point, Nursie, although she has a rather caustic tongue, so I hear.

Gadjo: These Hungarians sound very imaginative. I'd like to help them develop their tourism industry.

Ubergrumpy: Hello and welcome, Mr Grumpy. Very kind of you to offer to carry my bags, but I prefer to hire a fellow simians for such work. Think of it as affirmative action.
I hope you've prepared against the devious minx who has also surgically enhanced her buttocks.
Good luck with finding their inner beauty. And please, squeeze a boob or two for me. I've always wanted to know if the boobs are as hard as they look. Maybe it's a myth.
An unusual feature of the pageant is that all the contestants will be women who have had cosmetic surgery...

I thought that was a pre-requisite for all beauty pageants and movie stars?....
With you as a judge, the beauty contest will become an intellectual competition. That will surely placate the Hungarian feminists. :)))

Please, let us know about the results of Miss Plastic 2010 and don't forget to test the plastic!
How is you intend to find their "inner" beauty? I"m just saying.. with or without a banana?
Look into a gorilla’s eyes! No chance!! The winner will wait for the gorilla to look into hers – a true sign of inner beauty and junglewiseness. Although, I’m sure slapping a coupla bunches of bananas over her augmented breasticles; a fruit bowl on her head, and dancing the Macarena like a 21st century Carmen Miranda, wouldn’t hurt either. – I’m guessing.

Ps. never try to placate feminists – it just makes them angrier.
Kevin: Fake buttocks will never fool a gorilla, my friend. You can be sure that points will be deducted if I spot one.

Donut girl: Surely not hard, Ms Donut. Firmer than the real thing, perhaps, but surely not hard. I doubt I could squeeze them myself without compromising my impartiality.

Sabrina: That's a good point, Saby. I think they've actually got to prove they've got plastic to get into this one.

Leni: I hope it will placate them, Leni, but you can never tell with feminists. I'll be looking for sweet personalities rather than intellectual ability, which might be a little thin on the ground.

The Queen: It might be useful to watch them eat bananas. Can you eat one like a lady, Queenie?

Cheyelle: Avoiding direct eye-contact would be a sweet and shy thing to do, but the other stuff sounds a bit over the top. You are brimming with ideas as always, Cheyelle.
What an apt post, on International Women's Day! So we've gone from bra-burning to bra-bursting. Is this really progress? Germaine Greer would turn in her grave.
Here, here! When does the next flight leave?
Yes a friend of mine who is from E Germany when I asked her were any of her friend's mums housewives she said, no, they all worked. Communism is indeed the most feminist of political ideologies and yes perversely feminists don't seem to want to embrace this political philosophy! Personally while I embrace communism in theory I just feel I wouldn't be a good fit - it did not really allow much self expression -if you didn't want to wear the regulation uniform it was off with your head etc
Like most catchy phrases, "a correspondence course in cosmology" doesn't prove that the followers have anything else than air in their skulls.
Franciska Cser

Table dancer

Height: 178 cm

Weigth: 63 kg

Operated Body part: Face, Bust, Toe

Operation date: 2008

Plastic surgery for breasts is a waste. You take something natural and nice and stick some rubber polymer in there. It's like adding some extra clay to the end of Michelangelo's David's penis.
Lady Daphne: I never realised that Ms Greer had passed away, milady. I shall instruct my females to wear black thigh bands.

Static: You'd better get an invitation first. They won't allow any Tom or Dick to ogle the girls' boobs.

Emma: The shopping opportunities were a bit limited though, Emma. I can't believe any woman wants to live in a place were there are no decent shops.

Borah: Well it shows intellectual curiosity, Deb. How much do you know about dark matter and the Big Bang?

Kiki: The removal of an in-grown toenail, perhaps?

Chris: I prefer the natural look as well, but some women are very tit competitive.
I think you might need to curb your enthusiasm slightly. I am worried that, caught up in the exploration of their inner person, you start breast-thumping gorilla style. These poor girls might copy you out of sheer enthusiasm and end up popping their prize assets.
Fear not, dear Mermaid, I am used to restraining my zestful impulses in the present of women with surgically enhanced hooters. I am nevertheless touched by your concern for them.
I only know fragments of incredibly difficult theories, which I learned at school and which I occasionally use to fill conversations when you're supposed to be talking about romantic stuff (looking at the stars and you see one blinking, for example).

I know some stuff I don't understand, about time having started (??? starting is a temporal concept, for all I know, so how can it apply to time itself?) which is apparently impossible, according to the great epistomologists that tried to define knowledge (True, Justified Belief).

But I'm not the one suggesting that my skull is filled with stuff more interesting than air.
The answer, Deb, is that time and space are part of a continuum rather than being distinct. Thus, there is no such thing as a purely temporal concept - space and time are inseparable. (I took a correspondence course in physics when I was in the circus.)
Come on, Gorilla, how do you get close enough to look in their eyes?
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