Wednesday, May 28, 2014
Austrian sausage
I wonder if Conchita Wurst has received any marriage proposals since winning the Eurovision song contest. I’m sure she’d make a good husband for some lucky woman. She obviously couldn’t be anyone’s wife with that beard on her face.
Bearded ladies were a popular sideshow attraction in the circus, but that was long before my performing days. They never thought to marry, because no man can tolerate strangers gawking at his wife’s beard. Conchita, however, is only pretending to be a bearded woman. She is actually a bearded man, so her facial hair shouldn’t deter eligible spinsters from popping the question.
Now it’s easy to dismiss a transvestite who grows a beard as a joker and a contrarian, but maybe Miss Wurst is making a serious point. A woman who dates a gay man to help him hide his gayness is commonly known as “a beard”, so maybe she’s telling the world that she doesn’t need a beard because she already has one. The manager of the safari camp pooh-poohed this theory when I explained it to him:
“If you look at her beard, it’s like pubic hair on her chin,” he said. “It’s her way of telling other gay men that her mouth is a sexual organ.”
“I think that’s taken as read, with or without a beard,” I remarked.
While most Europeans regard Conchita as a talented singer with an amusing demeanour, the Russians are highly disgruntled by her rise to fame. A politician called Vitaly Milonov has described her as a pervert who would turn Europe into a hotbed of sodomy. I would have thought that using phrases like “a hotbed of sodomy” is more likely to turn Europe into a hotbed of sodomy. Although I’m not quite sure what a hotbed is, it sounds like the perfect venue for crazy butt sex. I’ve got a feeling this Milonov character knows more than he’s letting on.
Now that Miss Wurst is famous, anecdotes about his childhood have started to surface. The pastor of the village he grew up in recalls how he longed to wear frilly dresses:
“He so badly wanted to dress like the girls and got upset when he wasn’t allowed," said Father Michael Unger.
His love of all things girly made him very popular with girls of his age, who would follow him around like groupies:
“Every day his girlfriends would go to his house to play,” recalls Stefanie Afornegger, a childhood friend. “We would dress up and sing and take photos of ourselves.”
“Boys envied him, mistaking his friendship with girls for romance,” added Max Schoff, his English teacher.
It’s often been observed that gay men find it easier to acquire girlfriends because of their greater empathy with the feminine. I’ve no doubt Conchita would be the perfect boyfriend, up until the point when his girlfriend stuck her tongue in his mouth. The men who have really got it made are the ones who can combine gayness with an honest love of poontang. It’s a form of hybrid vigour.
Labels: beards, Conchita Wurst, poontang, sodomy, transvestites
Wednesday, May 21, 2014
Cleaning up her act
So it seems that Lady Gaga is going to censor her show for a concert scheduled in Dubai. Apparently some of her on-stage antics are too shocking and vulgar for the shy and sensitive folk over there. If I were a Lady Gaga fan living in Dubai, I’d be pinching my nipples in outrage. Fortunately I’m not, so I’m scratching my armpits in amusement.
Call me a naïve ape, but I honestly didn’t know there was anything risqué in a Lady Gaga concert. Now that I do know, I’m determined to discover what the silly floozy gets up to. According to one source, she likes to display her bare buttocks to her fans. I’ve seen too many baboons to find that shocking, but humans have a complex relationship with their bottoms. An accidental exposure isn’t usually offensive, but someone bending over and shaking their buns in your face is normally regarded as an insult. In Lady Gaga’s case, the issue is complicated by her creative impulse. I don’t think anyone should complain if she wiggles her rump to a well-chosen musical accompaniment. If you don’t like the performance, get out of the theatre.
Another source indicates that she likes to bare her breasts on stage. In my neck of the jungle that would be perfectly acceptable – the local humans would see it as paying homage to their ancient traditions. However, different cultural norms apply to titties in a desert society. Exposing them to the dry climate would cause them to wither and dehydrate, depleting the assets of the local sheikh, who might then have to barter one of his camels. If you live in a realm of scarcity, conservation of the booby stock is essential. Let’s hope Lady Gaga is aware of these cultural nuances and doesn’t provoke a ghazi to unsheathe his sword.
Should female performers be allowed to jiggle their jahoobies as a form of artistic expression? Personally I’m against it. I remember that awful scene in the The Graduate where Dustin Hoffman takes poor Katherine Ross to a strip club, and she is humiliated by a busty stripper who twirls her tassels in her face. Aggressive flaunting of the bosom is a form of intimidation not to be tolerated in any genre of entertainment. There is nothing wrong with incidental agitation, of course. A woman having a jog is all the more engaging if her boobies are bouncing up and down.
The actress Jessica Alba could give Lady Gaga a lesson in modesty. Jessica recently explained why she refuses to appear topless in any of her roles:
"I don’t want my grandparents to see my boobs," she told Glamour magazine.
It’s quite possible her grandparents would be proud of her breasts, but it’s equally likely they would feel shame or envy on seeing them. Jessica is absolutely right to play it safe. Will she show us her boobs when her grandparents have passed away? That is a question that should never be asked but often be contemplated.
Labels: buttocks, cultural sensitivity, grandparents, jahoobies, Jessica Alba, Lady Gaga
Wednesday, May 14, 2014
Nose insult
Do the Japanese want to have bigger noses? It’s a question I’ve been wrestling with ever since I saw a controversial TV commercial for Air Nippon. You might think that a gorilla would trounce any question in a wrestling match, but that would be making the cardinal error of taking a metaphor literally. Some questions are doughtier than Hulk Hogan and retire from the ring as undefeated champions. Can you tell me why humans who feast on ugly critters like lobster and shrimp won’t touch insects or grubs? I thought not.
At the end of the above-mentioned advert, a Japanese man appears wearing a blond wig and an artificially elongated nose – his intention is to show how the Japanese could change their image in the eyes of the world. Air Nippon had to apologize and withdraw the commercial after it was deemed racist. I don’t know who did the deeming, but I would guess it was a member of the Barry Manilow fan club. The advert changed my image of the Japanese, because I never realised they were capable of such tomfoolery. But graver souls than I thought they were mocking the racial features of Europeans, in the same way that Europeans used to mock Africans by blackening their faces and wearing frizzy wigs.
Air Nippon said they meant no offence, claiming that blond hair and big noses were considered attractive in Japan. Blond hair I can believe. It’s well-known that Japanese businessmen will pay extra for blond escorts. But do they really find big noses attractive? I suppose seeing an enormous honker might be an amusing novelty if you live in a country of midget-nosed orientals, but that doesn’t mean you want one yourself. Having your nose affectionately pulled by curious children is bound to get tiresome after a while.
Another anecdote of Japanese society may shed some light on this mystery. There is a couturier in Japan that rents out ball gowns and wedding dresses. Nothing strange about that, except that many of its customers are men who want to be photographed in their glamorous costumes. The store has an arrangement with a neighbouring barber, who will shave, shampoo and powder-puff these gentlemen before their photo-shoots begin.
“We concluded that men want to feel like princesses too,” said Hitomi Iseki, the 42-year-old manager of the Marry Mairee.
There are doubtless different visions of what a beautiful princess should look like, but I’m as sure as eggs is eggs that a big nose doesn’t figure in any them. The princess is a delicate, fragrant, dainty-nosed creature, not an atrocious harridan with a great big snout in the middle of her face. (The latter may be an accurate description of many a real princess, but we’re talking about the fairy story ideal here).
So, to humans of European ancestry I say this: the Japanese are not envious of your nose – they may smile at it fondly (and toy with it if you’ll let them), but they don’t want one like it.
Labels: Air Nippon, Barry Manilow, big noses, insults, Japan
Wednesday, May 07, 2014
A ghostly experience
A married woman who claims she had sex with a ghost has appeared on British TV:
“I couldn't see anybody but I could feel the pressure, the energy, the warmth pushing in different directions,” said Natasha Blasick, a lissom young brunette. “The first time I was very confused by all of that but then I just decided to relax and it was really, really pleasurable.”
This confession was received with the utmost sympathy by the folks in TV-land, who never thought to inquire whether Natasha had felt any guilt over her adulterous liaison. Everyone seemed to assume that being with a ghost was an exceptional situation that entitled her to behave like a hoochie.
One has to pity her husband, of course. It’s unlikely that being cuckolded by a ghost is grounds for divorce, and he’s probably afraid of being haunted if he makes a fuss. He’s in a similar position to Uriah the Hittite after King David had his way with Bathsheba. May the Lord protect him in his tribulation and woe.
On the other hand, it’s quite possible that Natasha imagined the whole thing. I’ve heard stories about women getting sexually aroused by electromagnetic fields or fungal spores. In my view, her husband would be well within his rights to jump on top of her the next time she has one of her ghostly episodes. If a man can’t give his wife a good seeing to while she’s fantasising about being ravished by a spectre, he may as well shave his head and become a Buddhist monk.
Perhaps we should all be thankful that this ghost, if it exists, is just a horny rascal with a taste for hot brunettes. One that modelled itself on Jack the Ripper doesn’t bear thinking about. I’ll never forget how disturbed I was by the opening scene of Unforgiven, the Oscar-winning western starring Clint Eastwood (“He who befriended the orang-utan”, as he is known in the jungle). Those who have seen the movie will recall that a cowboy slashes a prostitute with a knife for giggling at his tiny todger. After watching the film, I immediately phoned my friend Smacker Ramrod to ask whether the cowboy’s grievance had any legitimacy.
“None whatsoever!” he declared emphatically. “Loads of women have chortled at my John-Thomas and it never bothered me in the slightest. When a woman laughs at something, she’s a hair’s breadth away from petting it like a poodle. I would often make self-deprecatory remarks about my dick to encourage a few titters. It’s when they react with horror or disgust that you’ve really got problems.”
“Oh Smacker!” I exclaimed. “You were the wisest of swingers and the noblest of rakes! When I hear you opine on the issues of the day, my affection for humanity grows bigger than a hippo’s arse!”
Perhaps Natasha Blasick should consider what would happen if she giggled at the appendage of the lecherous phantom that enjoyed her sexual favours. I wouldn’t be surprised if it blew her out of the window.
Labels: ghost, ghost sex, laughter, todger, Uriah the Hittite
