Wednesday, July 27, 2016
Boob joke
Why is it that celebrity lawsuits take so long to settle? The gossip rags report that someone famous is being sued and you don’t hear a thing about it for months. I’m still waiting to discover the outcome of Elton John’s dispute with the bodyguard he allegedly groped. The wheels of human justice grind more slowly than a lap-dancing snail.
The latest legal battle currently in stasis involves Ellen Degeneres and a 35-year-old woman called Titi Pierce. In this case no groping occurred, although it might still happen if they meet in a dark cubicle. Titi is upset because she was referred to as “Titty” in Ellen’s TV show. Apparently, the correct pronunciation of her name is “Tee Tee”, and those who confuse it with a vulgar term for the breast are guilty of malicious hate speech. Her lawyer issued the following statement on her behalf:
“In all her 35 years of life, no one has ever referred to Ms Pierce as ‘Titty’ until the Defendant did so on February 22, 2016 on national television. Prior to the Defendent’s misdeeds, Ms Pierce has been called only by her name ‘Titi’, which as grammar dictates, is pronounced ‘TEE TEE’”
As a result of this appalling insult, his client “suffered stress, emotional distress, embarrassment, humiliation, anger, and other mental pain and suffering”. She might also have acquired a nervous tick and a zit on her butt. Yet no one can deny that making fun of an exotic name is a coarse form of humour employed by the lowliest wags. Ellen should hang her head in shame and make fun of her own breasts as a penance. She should also offer to pay compensation of not less than forty-six US dollars.
Nevertheless, I do find it amazing that no one had ever mispronounced Titi’s name before. Maybe she lives in a church-going community whose residents would never say the word “Titty”, not even if they saw a topless dancer shaking her jahoobies in their direction. However, Ms Pierce is a realtor, so she must have encountered people from all walks of life, including those who snigger at boob jokes. I suspect that many of her clients were suppressing their chuckles and calling her “Titty” behind her back.
Some women, of course, have more suggestive names than “Titi”. Fanny Cradock was a pioneering British TV chef, admired as much for her domineering personality as her recipes. Yet there is no evidence that anyone ever made fun of her name. Some might have been too scared to do so, but jokes of that kind would have fallen flat in any case. Having a humorous name is a minor distraction if you’re a ballsy woman who can stuff a turkey and mash potatoes at the same time.
The lesson for Ms Pierce is clear enough: People will only mock your name if they have nothing else to say about you. To put yourself beyond such foolish quips, you’ve got to raise your public profile and get a reputation for being a hard-ass uppity bitch.
Labels: Boob joke, Ellen Degeneres, Fanny Cradock, jahoobies
Wednesday, November 12, 2014
A spicy confession
Mel B, the Scary Spice Girl, has said she is no longer a lesbian:
“I was one of those for a few years but that was years ago,” she confessed on a chat show.
Call me an innocent ape, but I never knew she was ever “one of those”. Now that I do know, I don’t approve of her dismissing it as a bad habit she managed to kick. Being a lesbian is not like a fad for wearing Velcro underwear – there are serious issues to be pondered and important commitments to be made. The good lesbian is a pillar of her community, test-driving motorbikes and organising ladies’ bowling nights. If she is a famous diva, she should sing audacious songs to gee up the rank-and-file. The lesbian who only feathers her own nest is a freeloader at the party – the girl who eats all the cupcakes without helping to wash the dishes.
The ironic aspect of Miss Scary’s renunciation is that she was, by all accounts, a virtuoso in the Sapphic arts. Her debaucheries were astounding in their impudence and opportunism. A former playboy model called Luann Lee recalls how Mel followed her into a disabled toilet:
“I went into the handicapped stall because it’s bigger and I wanted to put my purse down and she just popped in with me. She said, ‘Do you mind?’ and came right in. She was a good kisser. Her lips are very soft and full and she has a tender touch. It was maybe a five-minute kiss and after that she started going for other areas.”
Would it be wrong to conclude from this that Miss Scary is a natural-born lesbian? I don’t claim to be an expert on such matters, but I can’t imagine a more flattering testimony.
The most startling revelation of all is that Miss Scary may have fondled her fellow Spice Girls. The precise nature of these intimacies has not been disclosed, although where lesbian acts are concerned, a little touching goes a long way. She did nevertheless claim to have kissed all four of them:
“Back in the day I had fun,” she told a goggle-eyed Howerd Stern. “I got my tongue pierced and I wanted to try out my tongue piercing and so I kissed them all.”
She did not say which of her bandmates was affected most deeply by her erotic advances. I would like to think she had the strongest designs on Miss Ginger, who would have surely reciprocated warmly. The thought of her dark limbs enwrapping Miss Ginger’s fleshy white body is a pleasing conjecture for primates of all species.
All in all, the record shows that Miss Scary was an enthusiastic dabbler in lesbian pursuits and took many positives from the experience. She should not have brushed off this important episode in her life as a youthful indiscretion. I would urge her to book an appointment with Ellen Degeneres to apologise and do penance. Even an ex-lesbian should sometimes be willing to eat humble pie.
Labels: Ellen Degeneres, Ginger Spice, lesbian, Scary Spice, tongue stud
Wednesday, June 05, 2013
Blue is the bluest colour
The manager of the safari camp can’t wait to see the epic French lesbian film that won the Palme d’Or at Cannes.
“I had to sit through Brokeback Mountain with my buttocks clenched because my wife wanted to see it,” he said. “At last there’s a gay picture for the whole family!”
“That all depends on who’s in the family,” I observed. “I doubt it would have much appeal for the dowager aunt or the pet poodle.”
According to Variety magazine, the film has “the most explosively graphic lesbian sex scenes in recent memory”. I hope that doesn’t mean there’s fisting in it. I’ve never liked the practice myself. My old friend Smacker Ramrod, the circus vet, says it reminds him of what he did to help mares give birth. We traditionalists believe that lesbians should stick to good old-fashioned carpet-munching and leave the more invasive procedures to the gynaecologist. Imagine having to call emergency services if someone’s hand got stuck in your birth canal. It’s not the sort of condition on which ambulance crews receive in-depth training.
A lot of women can’t fathom why men enjoy watching lesbian sex scenes, given that there’s no obvious role for them in the action. It’s a question that’s puzzled me too. Perhaps they imagine themselves doing a similar job to the referee in a boxing match, shouting out instructions, keeping score and breaking up clinches. I should imagine it would be easier than refereeing a real fight, where the contestants must abide by the Queensbury rules. There’s no need to penalise low blows in a Sapphic encounter.
No post about lesbians would be complete without discussing the latest exploits of Ellen Degeneres, who has recently acquired a $26.5 million mansion with her wife Portia di Rossi. Have you noticed how Ellen always wears men’s clothes when the couple appear in public? And that Portia is always referred to as her wife (and never vice versa)? This is Ellen’s way of telling us that she is the nominal husband in the relationship, which avoids the linguistic anomaly of having two wives in a marriage.
Maybe the opposition to gay marriage would be less strident if all gay couples adopted this convention, so that marriage remained a union between a husband and a wife. This would be easy to achieve for two men, when it’s normally pretty obvious who the wife is (e.g. Elton John in his marriage with David Furnish). Unfortunately, matters are rarely so clear-cut in a lesbian relationship. I really have no idea how they decide who wears the trousers.
Before you accuse me of being a nosey ape, I fully acknowledge that it’s none of my business how lesbians sort out their titular arrangements. That doesn’t stop me from wanting to know, of course. If any lesbian would like to let me in on the secret, she should send me a discreet email, which I would treat in the strictest confidence. Gorilla Bananas can be trusted not to spill the beans.
Labels: Ellen Degeneres, Elton John, fisting, gay marriage, lesbian
Monday, February 06, 2012
Push-up contest
I have just received a sumptuous basket of exotic fruit from the manager of the safari camp. You might suppose the gift is a token of his esteem for my services to the safari industry, or for my numerous diplomatic efforts on his behalf, both with business associates and his wife. Richly deserved though such awards would be, they were not bestowed with the basket of fruit. He was actually settling a bet we had made on the outcome of a contest between Ellen Degeneres and Michelle Obama.
The president’s wife had appeared on Ellen’s TV show, where she accepted a challenge from her host to see who could do the most push-ups in front of the studio audience. The manager reacted with consternation to Mrs Obama’s willingness to participate in such a spectacle.
“Is she crazy?!” he exclaimed. “Doesn’t she know that butch lesbians work out like men and have all the male hormones? She’s going to embarrass her husband by getting publicly ass-whipped by a white woman! That girl’s got too much attitude for her own good!”
“I beg to differ!” I declared. “Having studied the arms of both women closely, I am firmly of the opinion that the said whipping will be inflicted upon Ellen’s scrawny white bottom. Would you care for a wager?”
“Damn right I would!” replied the manager.
The two women got down to it and started humping the floor. Ellen’s arms gave way after 20 pushes, while Michelle progressed smoothly to 25, where she stopped to avoid humiliating her opponent. The manager accepted his defeat meekly:
“This is a sad day for butch lesbians,” he said. “Any black woman will now think she can push them aside and steal their pretty girlfriends.”
It’s a pity that Mrs Obama can’t use her strong arms in the service of her country, being too old for the Marines and too attractive for the postal service. Perhaps she should travel around America punching rap singers in the mouth instead. It’s about time someone punished them for their surly behaviour and disrespectful attitude. A gimmick like that might appeal to millions of redneck women, winning her husband vital swing votes in November’s election.
Not everyone is a fan of strong-armed women, of course. Back in my circus days, the female acrobats fretted about what potential boyfriends would think of the quite modest muscular development on their upper arms.
“Ladies,” I said to them, “there’s no point covering up your arms to hide those little bumps. If a man you like notices them, flaunt them with pride and tell him they’re your arm-boobs. In my experience, men are always more favourably disposed to objects they associate with bosom flesh.”
My advice served the girls well, but only because their biceps were moderately bulging. Women who take things to extremes in the body-building endeavour are bound to appear freakish and unappealing. Having arms like Popeye the Sailor Man may scare off the gropers and bum-pinchers, but it won’t make your boyfriend jizz in his pants.
Labels: body-building, Ellen Degeneres, lesbian, Michelle Obama, push-up
Friday, June 10, 2011
Cat noises
An Australian senator has been forced to apologise for meowing at the country’s lesbian finance minister. It’s not clear whether he was mocking her gender or her sexual orientation. Whichever is true, there’s no reason for women to get huffy about being likened to cats, which are rather attractive creatures in spite of their airs and general moodiness. It’s better to be an animal that people stroke than one which they ride or milk.
I wouldn’t like to be in the minister’s shoes now that she’s revealed the chink in her armour. Australia is a nation renowned for its uncouth and vulgar jesters. If any of these pranksters see her in a restaurant, they won’t hesitate to put a saucer of milk on her table. Whenever she appears in public, she’ll have to listen to larrikins making pussy-pussy noises or telling her to lick her whiskers. She may as well wear a Catwoman costume to pre-empt all the jibes she’s going to face.
I used to laugh my head off when people tried to make animal noises in the circus. Most humans are only any good at mimicking dogs and pigs. The English aristocracy are not too bad at horses. Only men with very deep voices are capable of sounding like a gorilla. Tom Jones is one, and Davy Attenborough managed to imitate some of our grunts after soaking his scrotum in rum. I remember a pie-faced fellow trying to impress me with “Ook! Ook!” noises after watching me perform in the ring. He was hopeless.
“You sound like a castrated baboon!” I jeered. “You’d better get some hormones injected if you want to impress a female gorilla!”
In spite of rubbishing his performance, I didn’t mind the fellow having a go.
Humans are perfectly entitled to express their inner ape in front of a real one. They might not get the approval they yearn for, but there’s no harm in trying.
When all is said and done, I salute Australia for putting a carpet-munching Sheila in charge of its financial affairs. Where are the gay women in high offices of state in America? Conspicuous by their absence if the rumours about Hilldog are false, which I certainly believe them to be.
The most eminent lesbian in America is Ellen Degeneres, who recently invited a beefy black man onto her show. It seems he became a pin-up for American women after exposing his hunky torso on an aftershave commercial. To please her mainly female audience, Ellen encouraged him to remove his shirt to wild acclaim.
If President Obama is re-elected next year, he ought to consider appointing Ms Degeneres to his cabinet. A woman of her populist instincts could keep him in touch with the voters and give him sound advice on when to bare his chest. She could also accompany Mrs Clinton on her overseas trips, ironing her panty girdle and licking her into shape before her encounters with foreign statesmen. Any tomcat who dares to meow at Hilldog will be paying a visit to the vet.
Labels: Ellen Degeneres, Hilldog, lesbian, meowing
