Wednesday, May 27, 2015
Bathroom babe
It's been a long time since I wrote anything about Pamela Anderson, which should not be interpreted as a sign of neglect or indifference. To paraphrase Mr Willie Nelson, she was always on my mind, she was always on my mind. The good news is that Pamela has been parading her prodigious gifts in a more visible place than my cryptic yet imaginative brain. The picture above, which you have my permission to gawk at, shows her re-enacting the infamous “shower scene” of the horrendous movie Psycho.
The purpose of this action shot, if indeed a purpose be required, was to publicise a campaign sponsored by PETA. Pamela’s petrified pose is intended to remind people that rearing livestock wastes torrents of fresh water that could otherwise be used to bathe the nubile skin of innumerable comely wenches. As Pamela herself said:
"Producing one pound of beef uses as much water as about six months of showers.”
Cows, you see, are incredibly thirsty creatures. You would be too if you had to plod around in a field all day, chewing continually like a hipster with a piece of gum in his mouth. No less thirsty are the assassins who butcher the beasts and carve them into steaks for your barbecue. As Private Tommy Atkins said while stationed with his regiment in the Northwest Frontier:
But when it comes to slaughter
You will do your work on water,
An’ you’ll lick the bloomin’ boots of ’im that’s got it.
Water is a precious resource that the victims and villains of the meat industry are guzzling extravagantly. That’s why Pamela is both a vegetarian (like us gorillas) and a pacifist (like us gorillas unless we are needlessly provoked). It gives her the moral right to relax in her Jacuzzi for hours, toning up her supple skin with a hand shower.
Now, some of you might have noticed that I exaggerated when I said that Pamela had re-enacted the Psycho scene. Posing for a picture is not quite the same thing as simulating a gruesome murder. Perhaps she was worried that unkind critics would compare her acting skills with those of Janet Leigh. However, let’s not forget that Miss Leigh never appeared in Baywatch – I don’t even remember seeing her legs in the spine-tingling shower scene, which is pretty ridiculous when you consider she was as naked as a cuttlefish. No amount of acting technique can make up for a glaring situational anomaly.
In truth, Psycho is not a movie I greatly admire. It stretches credulity that a crazed serial killer like Normal Bates is never shown quenching his thirst after committing one of his appalling crimes. Nor did I approve of Hitchcock’s decision to make him a transvestite, which unfairly stigmatises men with a cross-dressing fetish. I ended up feeling sorry for the blighter in spite of all the mayhem he created. I wish Pamela had depicted a scene from Lust in the Dust instead, an epic movie full of thirsty villains and a transvestite who is as pure as the driven slush.
Labels: eating meat, Lust in the Dust, Pamela Anderson, PETA, Psycho, water conservation
Wednesday, May 20, 2015
Having it both ways
After getting jilted by the vile Schwarzenegger sprog, Miley Cyrus is now hinting that she’s bisexual:
“I never want to label myself,” she declared. “I am ready to love anyone that loves me. I am open!”
If I were Miley’s pater familias, I would advise her against being too open. The world is full of cunning opportunists looking for tempting openings to infiltrate and exploit. I’m not saying she should keep herself closed, but it’s possible to compromise by being slightly ajar. A girl must be ready to batten down the hatches if anything untoward tries to poke its head in.
Now, bisexuality is common in Nature. It works best in creatures like snakes, which can mate without getting into fixed positions where one is on top of the other. Whether humans can achieve this is debatable – I should imagine it’s possible on a friction-free surface with plenty of lubricants. A nimble waif like Miley should be more capable than most, but that doesn’t mean she should rush into any sort of wriggly manoeuvre. Recovering from a broken heart is not the best time for willy-nilly experimentation.
It’s good to see that the temporary lull in her private life isn’t stopping her from pushing the artistic envelope. Consider her recent appearance at the “Adult Swim Upfront Party” in New York City. Miley arrived at the event in an innovative butterfly costume, her small but shapely breasts covered with attractive nipple plasters. Before singing a bawdy song, she had the good manners to banter with the guests:
“Are you guys drunk yet? Are you guys high yet?” she asked. “No?! You’re going to be at a show where I’m dressed as a fucking butterfly and not be high? I’m down to share.”
I’m not sure what the last sentence meant, but the tone of her remarks is positive.
Returning to the subject of bisexuality, I wouldn’t be surprised if most powerful women were endowed with such inclinations. You don’t get to be a powerful woman without being competitive, and why would a competitive woman deny herself something a man can have? If we look at the contemporary political scene, our eyes are inevitably drawn to Mrs Clinton, who is more than capable of returning our stares. I don’t know whether Hilldog has said she’s running for president, but I’m happy to endorse her in advance of the announcement.
The question no one has thought of is this: If Mrs Clinton becomes president, who will be the first lady? It can’t be Hillary herself, because that would give her two roles. Bill is probably hoping to have the job, but the thought of him hosting official functions in an evening dress is too horrible to contemplate. The only solution I can think of is for Hillary’s mistress to move into the White House, putting her nose to the grindstone for the good of the nation. But how can this happen until we know who the blessed woman is? The ball, I believe, is in Mrs Clinton’s court.
Labels: bisexual women, Hillary Clinton, Hilldog, Miley Cyrus
Wednesday, May 13, 2015
Sexual misconduct
Disturbing news arrives from France about a naughty old man who tricked women into sleeping with him. How did he pull off this dastardly trick? By sending them a photo of a 37-year-old male model that he said was of himself. The women then agreed to a “sex in the dark” encounter, which is supposedly one of the thrilling events that occurred in 50 Shades of Grey. I say “supposedly” because I have no idea what went on in that silly film. Whatever happened in the dark shall remain in the dark for me.
His subterfuge was reported to the police by a couple of women who found out what he looked like after he had ravished them.
“He didn't correspond at all to the photo,” said Sylvie. “I felt total disgust.”
“I ended up seeing his silhouette in the dark,” said Leila. He was old, pot-bellied with a big nose.”
It’s fascinating that she complained about his big nose, because some women find this feature attractive in a man. I suppose it must have been round and bulbous rather than long and pointy. Hairy nostrils are another potential issue.
The French police have charged the 68-year-old man with a crime called “rape by surprise”. It is indeed surprising that such an offence exists. Of no surprise at all were the man’s protestations of innocence:
"For me, when she entered the bedroom naked, she was consenting,” he insisted. “At that moment, she couldn't care less what I looked like.”
He seems to be saying that the flesh can’t crawl at what the eye can’t see. But why did he use the photo of the male model if looks had nothing to do with it? According to my friend Ernesto Bongodrum, graduate of the Congo Law School, the man is guilty of fraud rather than rape. He told a huge whopper to get his fingers inside the honey pot. As for the women, they are guilty of being stupid hoochies.
More worthy of sympathy than Monsieur Le Big Nose’s victims are the female lifeguards in China who were groped by men pretending to be drowning. This is a case of human skulduggery at its worst – not merely crying wolf, but crying wolf and acting octopus. My ancestor Bo’sun Bananas would have flogged the guilty men with an electric eel for such a grievous breach of maritime etiquette.
The Chinese authorities hope to discourage future outrages by fitting a camera on each girl’s swimsuit. I don’t blame them for opting for a technological solution. Bum-pinchers and boob-feeler-uppers are too cunning to get caught unless you record their insidious acts on film.
“The cameras will help to root out uncivilised behaviour, or at least help to decrease the number of incidents,” said a spokesman for the local tourist board.
I’m sure they are right, but I would advise them to devise an appropriate punishment as a further deterrent. How about making the miscreants re-enact their crime with a female walrus in oestrus?
Labels: Blindfold sex, France, groping, rape by surprise, Walrus
Wednesday, May 06, 2015
Feminist boobs and butts
I don’t know whether Miss Piggy deserves the award she recently won for being a feminist trailblazer. Although I’m not quite sure what feminism is, I assume it means more than making shrill noises in an emotional voice. Or does it? The award will be presented by Gloria Steinem, the feminist agitator turned dowager. Is she so different from Miss Piggy when you strip away all the posturing and pontificating? I’ve never met a human who didn’t have an inner muppet struggling to get out.
My friend Kola Boof used to be a feminist, but quit the movement after she was censured for gratuitously exposing her breasts. She now calls herself a “womanist”, which is basically a feminist who thinks that naked breasts are a good thing. Kola is a prolific writer whose books have earned 5-star reviews on the Amazon site. Many have been inspired by her tales of bare-breasted African women who triumph against all the odds. It’s the kind of bedtime reading that has a big effect on your dreams.
Now, snooty critics don’t take Kola seriously because of her exotic name. I find such attitudes unconscionable (a word I recently learned from an American tourist). The mockery of unusual names is a deplorable human habit that has bedevilled talented artists throughout the ages. A recent victim of this insolent behaviour is Ophelia Lovibond, a nubile young actress who has acquired nicknames such as “Ophelia Lovelybum”. She says she doesn’t mind, but it’s obviously not something a feminist would condone. How can you appreciate a woman’s acting skills if you’re constantly thinking about her posterior?
Another actress with an unusual name is Blake Lively, although maybe it’s seen as commonplace in the rarefied circles of Hollywood. Miss Lively recently claimed that her breasts vary in size during the day, requiring her to make frequent changes in apparel. I initially thought this was an apocryphal story to deflect attention from her name by giving people something else to make fun of. But then I realised she might not be joking because she’s currently nursing a baby. All the same, there must be a simpler solution than continually changing clothes to match the transformations of her bust. Aren’t women allowed to pad their bras in this age of feminist emancipation?
Labels: Breasts, buttocks, feminism, feminists, Kola Boof, Miss Piggy
