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
Monday, June 01, 2009
Honest corruption
A Croatian mayoral candidate has won a landslide victory by being honest with the voters.
“I will honestly fleece you like sheep!” he declared in a landmark campaign speech. “By God, I’ll raid the public purse like a highwayman and live off the fat of the land!”
The voters loved him for it. For once, a politician was being truthful about his intentions. As most of the electorate would do the same in his position, they immediately recognised him as a man of the people. Who really wants to be governed by a pious goody-goody who doesn’t know how to pamper himself at someone else’s expense? Those of a generous nature derive pleasure from seeing others enjoy the high life.
This story is particularly apposite in the light of news from England, where members of parliament are being tarred and feathered for making frivolous expense claims. British MPs have shamelessly reimbursed themselves for hairdryers, toothbrushes, dildos and countless other trinkets. There is only one word for such behaviour: cheap. I’m not sure what the price of a dildo is, but I should imagine it’s less than the cost of the paperwork to claim it back. The voters are naturally furious that so many of their elected officials are penny-pinching parvenus who won’t even pay for their own sex aids.
With any luck, the next British parliament will be packed with rich celebrities who can afford their own dildos. Richard Branson has a collection big enough for the entire House of Commons. Esther Rantzen, Delia Smith and Lulu have their own custom-made devices. Tom Jones is essentially a walking dildo. Not having to worry about such trifling expenses, they will devote their energies to the service of their constituents, many of whom would love to be probed by a famous dildo. The only way of restoring faith in the system is for politicians to get closer to the people they represent.
Dr Whipsnade tells me that times are tough in England. Not for the good doctor, of course, who is a multimillionaire. Yet being a man of conscience, he is not blind to the deprivation around him. His many acts of philanthropy include tipping waiters generously and feeding the fallen women of the Kings Cross area. The latter is accomplished by instructing his chauffeur to distribute tins of corned beef to the prostitutes while he waits in the car.
“Hallo Beefy, got some more beef for us!” they cry at the scowling underling as he carries the box of victuals towards them.
But don’t feel sorry for the chauffeur: that impudent rascal deserves all the lip he gets.
Things are no better in the provincial settlements outside London. A village in Cornwall cannot find a single nubile woman to be its carnival queen. The reason is that economic hardship has forced these young ladies to sell their bodies, hence they are too ashamed to parade before a crowd including their clients, who might grin, wink and point indecently. In their desperation, the village has decided to advertise the position to transvestites. Although many of these men are also prostitutes, the boot would be on the other foot, as it is they who would grin, wink and point at their shamefaced punters. I must send one of my evil henchmen to witness the event and take pictures.
Labels: corrupt politicians, dildos, Drag queens, MP's expenses
