Wednesday, October 15, 2014
Facebook fiasco
Facebook has been forced to apologise to the drag queens it mindlessly evicted from its community. The networking site recently adopted a policy of banning users with “assumed names”, causing it to delete the accounts of artistes such as Paula Pantyhose and Selina Sugartits. The wronged ladies were reinstated after they formed a pressure group to protest against this blatant persecution. You can’t get away with tranny-bashing in this day and age.
Some of you must be wondering whether I have a Facebook account which fell foul of this odious regulation. Yes and yes. Fortunately, I managed to confuse their Gestapo-like detection software by changing the spelling of my noble name. A gorilla who knows how to evade deadly snakes isn’t going to be outwitted by a soulless computer robot. I am nevertheless livid about being forced into this undignified subterfuge. That snot-nosed boy Zuckerberg may think he’s a clever dick, but I’ll make him regret the day he tangled with a jungle ape. The House of Bananas will avenge this insult.
I’d better return to the subject of drag queens before I start thumping my chest. They’ve been popular in Europe for many decades, but most Americans don’t see the point of them. Was there ever a famous drag queen from the USA? My memory may be faulty, but I can’t think of a single one. Perhaps the American public would view them more favourably if they understood their role in society. Their mission, as I see it, is to encourage men to explore their feminine side by putting on make-up, wearing pretty dresses and seducing lesbians. Gay men who become drag queens, like Conchita Wurst, grow beards to avoid attracting lesbians.
When I put this theory to the manager of the safari camp, he predictably attempted to refute it.
“Why would a man want to look like an ugly woman?” he asked. “It doesn’t make sense. If I were a woman, I’d want to resemble that redhead in Mad Men. A beauty with big boobs.”
“It is considered good manners to learn the name of an actress before praising her physical attributes,” I remarked. “Otherwise, you sound like a farmer inspecting a cow.”
“Don’t farmers name their cows?” asked the manager with a smirk.
I sucked my teeth pensively and nodded:
“My mistake,” I replied. “I should have compared you to a bull in a paddock.”
The manager snorted and stomped his hoof in an attempt at irony.
I later identified the actress in question as Christina Hendricks. Her photo is displayed below for readers whose memories require jogging. Obviously, no drag queen could hope to look like her without extensive surgery and hormone therapy. I don’t believe they’re trying to compete with her, in any case. The manager is a very confused man if thinks that being a transvestite means you want to grow big boobs and have your todger chopped off. He needs to get out more and observe the human animal in all its diversity, as I have done.
Labels: big boobs, Christina Hendricks, Conchita Wurst, Drag queens, Facebook, transvestites
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
