Friday, April 09, 2010

Peaches and Face Cream

Poor little Peachy Geldof! The sharp-tongued denizens of New York City have been calling her “tranny” and other unpleasant names. This discourtesy has been provoked by Peachy appearing in public with several layers of foundation on her face. For some mysterious reason she acquired a queer fancy to mimic Boy George, the hermaphrodite singer of the 1980s. This aptly illustrates the danger of fame at too young an age – lacking a sense of decorum, one is tempted to indulge in grotesque displays. Young female baboons often smack their own bottoms to make them appear more swollen and red. It never impresses the males.

If I were Peachy’s guardian, I would send her to a convent until the age of 27. Mother Superior would be given strict instructions not to tolerate her conceits and caprices. She would be permitted to read classics of English literature such as Pride and Prejudice and Little Women, and expected to give a seminar on each book. Any inane opinions would be ruthlessly censured and derided by the nuns. She would only be allowed to leave the convent in the company of four strong-willed sisters, armed with coshes and mace sprays. By such means, she would be prevented from engaging in frivolous behaviour that might otherwise haunt her to her dying day. In the fullness of time, she would appreciate what I had done for her:

“My dear Uncle Bananas!” she might say to me on her wedding day. “What a headstrong filly I was, and how I needed to be restrained for my own good! What chance that I would have wed the honourable Chad Cadwalader without my corrective sojourn in a convent? I owe my good fortune to your timely intervention.”

Let me emphasize, in passing, that I have no issue with humans wearing make-up. If one habitually exposes one’s bare skin to the elements, there is much to be said for a little plastering and varnishing to fill in the cracks and cover the blemishes. As a former circus ape, I fully appreciate its decorative function as well. Fellow performers of both genders used cosmetics to beautify themselves before appearing in the ring. It made the women look like dolls and the men look like Freddie Mercury. I never needed to wear the stuff myself, of course – a gorilla’s noble countenance needs no decoration.

"What about clowns?" I hear you ask. They are a special case. The purpose of their face paint is to make them look like clowns, which it never fails to do. It amuses me that some humans actually find them frightening. It seems they are scared of the mask-like quality of the make-up, which allows the clown to hide its true emotions from the observer. Beneath the painted-on goofy expression, they fear that the clown may be glaring at them malevolently and planning to assault them in their beds.

I must say such thoughts never entered my head. My job was simply to kick the clowns in the arse, which I did repeatedly with considerable zest. We gorillas never over-analyse the intentions of a potential adversary. Ignore the attitude but watch the movements, as we say in the jungle.

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I don't even know who that girl is, but she looks young enough to die of a heroine overdose in a few years. OR commit suicide in about 10 because the world is no longer following her anymore.
I'm always delighted whenever we get any Peaches Geldof news because it's always amusing, ridiculous and makes you feel instantly better about yourself because you're not her. I know i should probably feel bad for her but she's a spoiled, rich, thoughtless, plain, talentless, drug addicted, attention whore who doesn't deserve it. Maybe daddy was too busy for her when she was little.
Excuse my ignorance, I presumed she had something to do with Bob Geldof and wikipedia gave me all the information i needed to follow.

Make-up is like everything: if you use it moderately, you'll look great. Use too much and you'll look like a clown.

Btw, I'm one of those who think clowns are scary, including Krusty, Bozo and Ronald McDonald. They call it coulrophobia.
Ah Peaches... so much face, so little time to slather it with chemicals.

Your handsome visage certainly no decoration. Why, I believe Jane Austin herself would have adored you enough to create a fictionalized version in any number of fine books.
Little Women, no make-up, no frivolity, convent schooling – and yet look how I turned out!
Wild. Absolutely wild.

just kidding – no convent schooling... ;)
Uh.. these are REAL people, right??
A stripper I befriended wore heavy make-up like that. I believe she believed it would hide her identifity--more realistically, it would hide the sores on her face from her meth habit.
Clowns = scary.

Hi GB!

Rebecca: You could be right, Rebecca. Let's hope someones takes her in hand soon.

Vegetable Assassin: Haha! I think you might be the big sister she needs!

Leni: Ronald McDonald is such a ninny, he can't even speak. I don't know why children like him. Wouldn't you like to whack him with a broom handle, Leni?

Zaedah: Why thank you, Zaedah. I wouldn't want to be the romantic lead, though. The parson in Mansfield Park would have been a suitable role for me.

Beth: There's nothing wrong with authentic wildness, Beth. Most of my best friends are wild.

Robert: Peaches is "real" only in the literal sense of not being fictional, more's the pity.

Saintly Nick: Poor woman! I hope you tried to persuade her to follow a more virtuous path.

Trish: Hello Trish! I hope you've been keeping well. I could probably cure you of your phobia.
Poor Peaches - that outfit isn't doing her any favours. It must be so difficult to grow up in the limelight and with a mother who appeared to be quite unstable.

I'd like Bob Geldof for a father though, and hopefully Peaches will come through ok in the end
There has to be SOMETHING with which you decorate your noble countenance with once in a while... hmm? Oh come on GB... you're holding out on me=)

That poor girl needs your intervention badly... perhaps you should write her... or better yet, pound your chest and throw her over your shoulder. She could use a good bum paddling. I'll provide the spatula!
Peaches has too much money and too much time to try everything.

I want to like her. Mostly because no one else does and it isn't her fault she has that awful name. I just need to find a redeeming quality.
She doesn't look nearly as attractive as Boy George.
What about her Mum, Paula Yates? I would have defo slipped her one. Not Peaches though. I suppose the girl just wants some love.
She's a sort of female Lady Gaga.
Lots of people would want your former job: kicking clowns in the ass. Sounds incredibly therapeutic.
If she's anything like Gaga, she'll love being called a "Tranny." Apparently, Trannyism™ is all the rage on the Lower West Side (NYC).
Nursemyra: I hope so too, Nursie. Losing her mum at a young age must have been tough.

Auri: Maybe I'll let you decorate me, Auri, I'm sure I can trust you not to deface my face. As for Peaches, I'm ready to assist in any way I can.

Donut girl: She could do with a mentor like you, Ms Donut. Someone who knows what she likes and likes what she knows.

Hoodchick: Hello there, Hoodchick! Would you consider yourself to be a fag hag?

Mark S: Paula was coquettishly cute but highly unstable. Did you know her dad was Hughie Green?

Mr Boyo: High praise indeed. Let's hope La Gaga's achievements inspire her.

Robyn: My kicks were indeed cathartic, but always delivered with affection.

Cheyelle: Yes, I suppose you could argue they have the best of both worlds. Maybe Peaches should become a tranny impersonator.
I must say that your convent solution sounds appealing. I believe my teenage sister could benefit from such an arrangement. I must be getting old. Ugh.

People that are afraid of clowns amuse me too.
Alternative, NY-scene influenced headline: Moldy Peaches. Thanks to that misspelling further back up the comments, I will now forever mix England's finest female author with brash, crude oil men: Jane Austin, Texas.
Ms OWO: You could always play Mother Superior yourself. The sight of you in a habit might be just what your sister needs.

Indie Pop: Would you be interested in scraping the mould off Peaches? She needs a kindly uncle, preferable of her own species.
Boy George was a fine looking transvestite back in the day. If I was on that riverboat and Boy George approached me to talk about his bizarre dream colors, I won't like; I may have been tempted. It depends how many cocktails I had and if those can-can girls were busy.

However, have you seen the chap now? Boy George kind of looks like an ugly tranny Peter Boyle.
her dad played Pink in The Wall, right? i can tell.
I meant to write "I won't lie"
The possibilities are endless! I'll start collecting supplies right away!!
Well I guess if I had, like Peaches and Tory Leader David Cameron, a face that looked like it had been painted onto a deflating balloon, I'd wear copious amounts of make-up.
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