Wednesday, March 25, 2015
Gaga gets hitched
So Lady Gaga is getting married. I don’t know anything about her fiancé, but I predict the marriage will fail if he possesses an iota of machismo. The merest morsel of manly pride must be crushed like a pomegranate seed if he’s going to succeed as Gaga’s official bed-warmer. That’s the way it has to be when the queen bee elopes with a drone. He should get into the habit of thinking and acting like a lesbian in a man’s body. If he does that, he might yet make a good fist of it.
Gaga herself is as happy as a lark, fluttering around the globe with a gooey smile on her face, like a fairy princess whose frog has just turned into a prince. When Taylor Swift tweeted a few wistful words about Gaga’s enviable predicament, the bride-to-be reassured her that “your prince charming will come”. She must be suffering from the giddy vapours to write such drivel.
Now I don’t deny there are real-life examples of a successful marriage between a show-business queen and a beta male. Some time ago I discussed the nuptials of Kate Winslet, who had pledged her troth to an oafish-looking swain called Ned Rocknroll. If anything he was an omega male, yet Kate recently praised him as the perfect husband:
“I have a wonderful man in my life who is so incredibly supportive that makes it possible for me to have those experiences,” she said.
The “experiences” she refers to were related to her movie career rather than any kind of kerfuffle in the marital bed. Be that as it may, the couple had their first child on 7th December 2013, a son whom they named “Bear Blaze”. No boy should have a father whose name is sillier than his own.
Maybe the secret of their blissful union is that everyone knows their place. Ned is so far down the pecking order that he doesn’t bother trying to compete with Kate, meekly accepting his role as concubine and comic sidekick. One can imagine him happily strumming his electric guitar in the playroom while Kate is in the lounge, discussing her next film with the moguls of Hollywood. It could actually be a similar type of relationship to the one Paris Hilton had with her pet chimpanzee.
Let’s hope Miley Cyrus learns from Kate’s experience. Her romance with Patrick Swarzenegger is currently on the rocks because he was photographed canoodling with a floozy. The blighter is now begging Miley to forgive him, but the episode should have taught her that he’ll never be a suitable consort. His famous name has given him the delusion that he’s someone of note, rather than a superficial young rake of no distinction whatever. He’ll constantly be trying to compete for the limelight if Miley accepts his suit.
Will another Ned Rocknroll come along to give Miley the unconditional service and succour she requires? If not, she may have to marry her butler.
Labels: giddy vapours, Kate Winslet, Lady Gaga, marriage, Miley Cyrus
Wednesday, March 18, 2015
Stolen Kiss
An on-line magazine has accused Madonna of “ruining everyone’s childhood” by publishing a cartoon of herself smooching Snow White. I’m just glad the seven dwarves didn’t get into the picture. Madonna should beat the rap on the legal technicality that it’s impossible to ruin the childhood of someone who is an adult. Once you have grown up, your childhood is either irretrievably spoiled or irreversibly coated in sugar candy. Short of getting into a time machine and chasing down your infant behind, Madonna is powerless to influence the matter.
She might have ruined the childhood of actual children, of course. But I suspect that most kids have other things on their mind, like inventing a text abbreviation for the word “bodacious”. Perhaps the Disney Corporation should interview Pinocchio to find out whether he’s developed a taste for crazy dyke action.
A potentially more serious charge about the cartoon kiss was made in the following tweet:
“Urgh Madonna! Snow White was supposed to be a 14 year old girl! Wrong just wrong!”
It’s a fair point, but wasn’t Snow White also kissed by a prince after the dwarves had exhibited her in a glass coffin? No one ever accused him of molesting an underage girl, even though she was in a coma and unable to resist his advances. Furthermore, the prince rubbed salt into the wound by marrying her shortly afterwards. There’s no point condemning Madonna for a peck on the lips if the girl is being ravished in a royal four-poster. In Snow White’s position I’d be grateful for the diversion.
It would interesting to carry out a survey of fathers with teenage daughters, asking them whether they’d prefer to have their child deflowered by Madonna or a moody young fellow with raging hormones. Madonna may like to present herself as daring and outrageous, but she’s pretty sentimental about girls of a similar age to her own daughter. My guess is that she’d execute the operation with extreme tenderness and sensitivity. Lesbian sex can be a beautiful thing if no one is trying to prove she can outdo a man.
You’ve got to be careful how you handle lesbians, though. The BBC has been accused of deliberately killing off female characters involved in same-sex relationships. I’ve not watched any of the TV shows in which this allegedly occurs, but I can understand the frustration of dedicated viewers. It’s like being told that oysters are off the menu just when you’ve acquired a taste for them.
The facts regarding the lesbian cull appear to be damning, but I’m not convinced that the BBC is responsible. Its culture has been lesbian-friendly ever since ladies’ tennis started to attract high ratings. It saddens me to say this, but I suspect that many young actresses do not want to be typecast as lesbian characters. They fear that once the public sees them in that way, they’ll never be offered a part where Zac Efron wraps his tail around their haunches. Isn’t that why Jodie Foster kept her Velcro in the closet until she was too old to play the love interest?
Labels: BBC, crazy dyke action, Jodie Foster, kissing, lesbian, Madonna, Snow White
Wednesday, March 11, 2015
He lived long and prospered
Silly Trekkies have been bleating and tweeting at William Shatner for not going to Leonard Nimoy’s funeral. Beam them up to the Bozo Asteroid. Mr Shatner had a previous engagement at a charity fundraiser and sent his daughters to the funeral instead. It was a logical decision that Spock would have approved of. I’ve not seen the Shatner girls, but I bet they’re a pair of lookers who are in far better shape than their pop. Had I been Leonard Nimoy, I would have given them permission to snort my ashes until they got high.
Now if Captain Kirk had not attended Spock’s funeral, it would have been an unforgiveable snub. I lost count of the number of times that Spock saved Kirk’s bacon by keeping a cool head when the captain was chasing alien totty. Furthermore, a party animal like Kirk could only have outlived a celibate Vulcan if the latter had fallen in the line of duty. “To fear death is not logical,” Spock would have said, before embarking on a suicide mission to save the Enterprise from being flushed down a wormhole into cosmic oblivion. He would still have worn a space diaper, because no bladder in the universe is controlled by logic.
We should not forget that Spock was half human, of course. Spock’s mother was a schoolteacher from Wichita Falls with a thing for pointy-eared dudes. His Vulcan genes must have been dominant, though, because he could do all of their tricks, including the telepathic face-palm and the knockout neck-pinch. He also possessed superhuman strength, because I clearly remember him kicking Kirk’s ass when they got into a scuffle. I thought he was an even-money bet to successfully defend his honour against a female gorilla.
Did Spock ever show his human half? The only time I can remember him doing so was during his verbal jousts with Doctor McCoy. I don’t believe a full-blooded Vulcan would have allowed himself to be goaded by the doctor’s obvious trolling. Spock’s desire to have the last word and show McCoy up as an irrational Earthman had a distinctly human tinge to it. They never quite got to the stage of exchanging “Yo Mama” insults, but the spirit and attitude were very much the same.
One last fact we should remember about Spock, which reflects well on the late Mr Nimoy, was that quite a few ladies found him attractive. Not all them, by any means – it was the bookish type of woman who seemed most likely to find his angular eyebrows bewitching. Here is a comment I got on an ancient post from a blogging author and mother:
“As a child, I watched Star Trek and privately worshipped Spock. His detached air and beautifully articulated sentences captured my nerdy imagination; his pointy ears, intelligent face and unconventional good looks didn't hurt a bit either.”
Her confession amused me and made me wonder whether Spock’s aloof style could be turned into a seduction technique. It’s got to be better than moaning with your mouth full.
Labels: Leonard Nimoy, seduction, Spock, Star Trek, William Shatner
Wednesday, March 04, 2015
Blunderbutt
I wonder what became of the British inventor who made a giant metallic bottom to fart in the direction of France. I purposely ignored him when he first unveiled his creation to avoid giving publicity to his unneighbourly stunt. But now I can’t help wondering how his career has progressed since blowing one off at the French. Is he still weaponizing buttocks or did he sell his expertise to the whoopee cushion industry? You never know what someone who commits a notoriously vulgar act will end up doing. I believe the Maori who mooned at the Queen later prospered in dry goods.
It goes without saying that his prank was the height of folly. The first rule of effrontery is not to cause yourself greater inconvenience than the target of your scorn. It must have taken him months to construct that enormous arse and equip it with an effective delivery system. A device like that cannot be tested without making a big hullaballoo and who knows whether the French were even aware of his hostile emission? It would have been much easier to visit Paris and put a freshly-baked croissant in his trousers.
Now, we gorillas patched up our quarrels with the French a long time ago. I can honestly say that there’s no bad blood between us, although we still refuse to utter a word of their language, which no ape can speak without sounding like a sissy. When I toured France as a circus performer, I never failed to bring the house down by miming to a Charles Aznavour song. Whatever you say about the French, they are second to none in their appreciation of culture.
Perhaps I sympathise with the French because we gorillas are routinely and gratuitously insulted. I was dismayed to hear of an “academic” at St. Andrews University who pranced around the campus in a “gorilla suit”. He claims it was part of a research project to examine how people react to sightings of mythical creatures like “Bigfoot”. I hope a few discerning souls reacted by telling him to take off his obnoxious costume and stop mincing about like a halfwit.
He responded defensively when a newspaper accused him of wasting resources on a foolhardy escapade:
“It’s a serious study of people reporting things,” he whined. “All my work gets published in proper scientific journals.”
Does it indeed? Well, there’s a scientific journal in the Congo that would certainly accept his paper. It’s called the The Annals of Arsing About and its editor is a baboon.
I should not end without offering words of support to Madonna, who recently took a tumble while performing one of her songs. I never had a pratfall in my circus career, but a clown once fell on top of me, which was no less mortifying. People who found her mishap amusing are ignoble yahoos with no understanding of slapstick humour. As Laurel and Hardy brilliantly demonstrated, such incidents are only funny with the appropriate build-up and ritual.
Labels: Bigfoot, farting, France, insults, Madonna
