Wednesday, August 20, 2014
Good news for Hef
Does anyone know how Hef is keeping? I’ve written a few scornful posts about him in the past, but I’m reluctant to mention him now in case he’s about to pop off. I don’t want people denouncing me as a heartless ape when the playmates are in mourning and the porn community are hailing him as a giant of the industry. Hef may currently be a ridiculous old ghoul, but I’m pretty sure he was admired as a great innovator in his day. No one can deny his many achievements, such as making it socially acceptable for lecherous men to stare at pictures of tits and ass.
The reason I’m talking about Hef is that I’ve got some good news for him. Christina Aguilera has announced that she wants to pose nude in Playboy. Having recently had her second child, she’s eager to show the world that her body is as elastic as a rubber band:
“This is something she wanted to do even before she got pregnant,” a close friend revealed. “Christina's always loved her body.”
I wonder what her fiancé thinks about her unabashed narcissism. If he kept her waiting in bed, she’d probably start without him. Personally, I don’t see why she doesn’t publish the photos on twitter. If you’re fishing for compliments, it’s better to choose a medium where your flunkies can give you instant admiration.
It’s actually a miracle that Playboy is still in business with all the free pictures of female flesh in cyberspace. There’s a blog with the strange name of Zyzzyz (adults only) that I recently became aware of. It is a journal of few words and many pictures, mostly of happy smiling ladies in various states of undress. I discovered this blog because The Japing Ape is one of several it links to. I view this as a compliment, even though the other linked blogs have a nudity or sex theme. A man can take only so much naked flesh before his brain hungers for the prose of a literate gorilla.
Returning to the subject of Hef, I’ll venture a guess that we’ll never see his like again. I’m not trying to kiss his butt here, because no one in his right mind would want to kiss that leathery old pumpkin. The point I’m trying to make is that there isn’t a young man-about-town you can point to say “He’s the new Hef”. What we have instead is fellows like Mischa Badasyan, a 26-year-old German “performance artist” who is planning to have sex with a different person on each day of the year.
“I hope my project entitled ‘Save the Date’ will challenge ideas of sexuality and homosexuality in the time of Tinder, Scruff and Grindr,” he explained.
He may call it art, but I call it a recipe for confusion, because he won’t remember most of the people he’s slept with. Tinder, Scruff and Grindr could sabotage his project by ravishing him in April and buggering him again in November.
Labels: Christina Aguilera, Hugh Heffner, nudity, Performance art
Sunday, December 19, 2010
Scrabble subterfuge
Humans often remark upon my extraordinary vocabulary. “What’s your secret?” they ask. The answer is that I used to play Scrabble in my circus days. Initially with the clowns, who taught me only dirty words, but later with my mentor Dr Whipsnade, who exposed me to a broader lexicon. I do not play much in the jungles of the Congo, where word games are viewed as a sissy pastime, but in a few days time I shall be visiting London for the holiday season. It is there that I am scheduled to play a friendly game with the world champion.
Some of you may not be aware that Scrabble has a world champion. The current holder of the title is a transvestite called Mikki Nicholson, who wears a pink wig. I do not expect to win, even though I am an accomplished player who could beat the pants off most humans. A gorilla’s pride can bear defeat to a world champion.
I asked Dr Whipsnade to arrange the game as a means of enlisting Mikki in a noble cause. I hope to persuade her to apply for a job as a Playboy Bunny at the club that will open in London next year. My sources tell me that Mikki has all the required skills for the job, being attractive, polite, friendly and able to balance drinks on a tray. If they turn her down for the position (as we expect), we will sue Hef for unlawful discrimination. Our intention is to win punitive damages that will substantially lighten the silk-lined elephant scrotum that Hef uses for a money pouch.
Please don’t think that I’ve hatched this plot because I’ve got it in for Hef. On the contrary, I have his best interests at heart. Hef, you see, is a man who has grown accustomed to making a gigantic anus of himself. The older he gets, the more anus-like he becomes. If he continues on his current path, he will be all anus and no cheeks. This will make him the terrestrial equivalent of a black hole, sucking passing bodies into his vortex and transporting them to the parallel universe inside The Playboy Mansion. Only by draining the anus of its cash supply will it be sapped of its lethal power, allowing Hef to live out his final years in dignity and peace.
To prove that I’m not motivated by malice, I am sending Hef a Christmas present he will surely appreciate. It is a new version of the Kama Sutra without the famous drawings of sex positions. As Hef is only capable of getting into those positions with the aid of a harness, it should not diminish the practical value of the gift. He will be able to absorb its timeless wisdom without constantly revisiting the dirty pictures like a randy old goat.
Let us never forget that the Kama Sutra was originally intended to provide “advice for a courtly gentleman on how to live a well-rounded life”. As Hef will shortly learn, there’s more to being well-rounded than imitating an anus.
Labels: anus, Hugh Heffner, Playboy bunnies, Scrabble
Wednesday, November 14, 2007
The French Disconnection
I don’t often defend the good name of a woman I have never met, but felt compelled to do so when a tourist referred to Cécilia Sarkozy as a “snooty bitch”. The fellow was miffed that she was divorcing the French president rather than rejoicing in the role of first lady. I expressed my dissent in forceful terms:
“Sir, I disagree! It is greatly to the lady's credit that her heart is not swayed by such shallow temptations! A virtuous woman cannot be seduced by the trinkets of high office or the baubles of unmerited acclaim!”
The man assumed the demeanour of one whose nipples had just been tweaked by a sumo wrestler and trotted off silently, picking his teeth with a pencil.
I do hope Cécilia won’t betray my faith in her by speaking ill of Sarko. It must be very tempting for a recently divorced woman to dish the dirt on her ex. Even sweet-faced Nicole Kidman said she was looking forward to wearing high heels after splitting with Cruisey. I am sure that many unscrupulous publishers would pay Cécilia a fortune to reveal Sarko’s bedroom secrets – of how his nostrils flared like a racehorse when he saw her in satin underwear; of how he gnashed his teeth like a basset hound when he climaxed. Such a memoir would doubtless sell well, but at what cost to her dignity, to say nothing of the dignity and grandeur of France?
Being French, she won’t have to worry about the gutter press poking its warty nose into her post-Sarko dalliances. For all we know, some enterprising young beau might already be squiring her. Whatever you say about the French, give them credit for their mature attitude to sex. You can learn a lot from the love scenes in their movies. Unlike in Anglophone films, the music never starts playing when the couple are horizontal – instead, you get a full range of naturalistic sound effects along with fascinating snippets of dialogue. One could easily write a book titled “Interesting things said by the French during coitus”.
The sad thing about the break-up is its effect on Sarko, who’s been looking rather glum, even for a Frenchman. Just when he should be triumphantly bestriding the globe like a modern-day Asterix the Gaul, TV interviewers are rubbing salt into his wounds by asking him about his marriage. Perhaps the King of Swaziland might be persuaded to loan him a couple of his own wives to warm-up the king-size bed in the Élysée Palace. Sarko could certainly afford to entertain them in style, and their presence might inspire Hugh Hefner to send him a free collection of adult toys from the Playboy Mansion. Such are the perks of being president of France – a lavish salary, a rent-free palace and an unlimited supply of gratuities from foreign potentates.
My ape intuition tells me that we won’t see Sarko on top form until he’s done some serious arse-kicking. Top of the list of gadflies to be swatted are the disgustingly carnivorous farmers of France, notorious for belligerently asserting their right to butcher anything that moves in the countryside. The next time these horse-eating villains obstruct the highways with their tractors, Sarko should be waiting for them with bulldozers, helicopters and vats of putrid offal to drop on their stubborn heads. A great cheer will resound through Europe when these ill-mannered bumpkins are laid waste by the force de frappe, allowing Sarko to claim his rightful position at the continent’s Action Man.
“Sir, I disagree! It is greatly to the lady's credit that her heart is not swayed by such shallow temptations! A virtuous woman cannot be seduced by the trinkets of high office or the baubles of unmerited acclaim!”
The man assumed the demeanour of one whose nipples had just been tweaked by a sumo wrestler and trotted off silently, picking his teeth with a pencil.
I do hope Cécilia won’t betray my faith in her by speaking ill of Sarko. It must be very tempting for a recently divorced woman to dish the dirt on her ex. Even sweet-faced Nicole Kidman said she was looking forward to wearing high heels after splitting with Cruisey. I am sure that many unscrupulous publishers would pay Cécilia a fortune to reveal Sarko’s bedroom secrets – of how his nostrils flared like a racehorse when he saw her in satin underwear; of how he gnashed his teeth like a basset hound when he climaxed. Such a memoir would doubtless sell well, but at what cost to her dignity, to say nothing of the dignity and grandeur of France?
Being French, she won’t have to worry about the gutter press poking its warty nose into her post-Sarko dalliances. For all we know, some enterprising young beau might already be squiring her. Whatever you say about the French, give them credit for their mature attitude to sex. You can learn a lot from the love scenes in their movies. Unlike in Anglophone films, the music never starts playing when the couple are horizontal – instead, you get a full range of naturalistic sound effects along with fascinating snippets of dialogue. One could easily write a book titled “Interesting things said by the French during coitus”.
The sad thing about the break-up is its effect on Sarko, who’s been looking rather glum, even for a Frenchman. Just when he should be triumphantly bestriding the globe like a modern-day Asterix the Gaul, TV interviewers are rubbing salt into his wounds by asking him about his marriage. Perhaps the King of Swaziland might be persuaded to loan him a couple of his own wives to warm-up the king-size bed in the Élysée Palace. Sarko could certainly afford to entertain them in style, and their presence might inspire Hugh Hefner to send him a free collection of adult toys from the Playboy Mansion. Such are the perks of being president of France – a lavish salary, a rent-free palace and an unlimited supply of gratuities from foreign potentates.
My ape intuition tells me that we won’t see Sarko on top form until he’s done some serious arse-kicking. Top of the list of gadflies to be swatted are the disgustingly carnivorous farmers of France, notorious for belligerently asserting their right to butcher anything that moves in the countryside. The next time these horse-eating villains obstruct the highways with their tractors, Sarko should be waiting for them with bulldozers, helicopters and vats of putrid offal to drop on their stubborn heads. A great cheer will resound through Europe when these ill-mannered bumpkins are laid waste by the force de frappe, allowing Sarko to claim his rightful position at the continent’s Action Man.
Labels: force de frappe, Hugh Heffner, Sarkozy
