Wednesday, January 18, 2017
Political favours
I’m trying to get in touch will Paola Saulino, an Italian actress currently traversing her country on a prize-giving tour. Ms Saulino (pictured above), promised to perform oral sex on any man who voted “no” in a recent national referendum. This is what she wrote on her Facebook page:
“I will practice oral sex with due and careful craftsmanship, thus fulfilling my duty, without losing even a drop of your essence, strictly looking at you in the eye. All this to those who will vote no in the referendum.”
The referendum was held to approve reforms the Italian prime minister said were essential, which convinced most voters they were as essential as tits on a bull. When the no-vote prevailed, Ms Saulino felt obliged to honour her promise to millions of Italian men who defiantly rejected the demands of their government in the hope of getting a blowjob. She is giving updates on her progress as she travels from city to city:
“First step of pompatour is gone, “ she wrote after leaving Rome. “A little bit tired but everything is ok.”
Who can blame her? Although only 51 men claimed their reward in Rome, that’s more pro-bono work than most lawyers do in a year. I hope she’s getting advice from a competent throat specialist on the best kind of mouthwash to use.
Maybe she’ll recoup her expenses by writing a book about the pompatour when it’s over. It isn’t everyday that a woman tastes the semen of so many different men. There could be interesting regional differences between the southern coastal cities and the industrial centres of Milan and Turin. We might finally get some hard data on how garlic and olive oil affect the virile juices.
She should also acquire a broad knowledge of the ejaculatory exclamations uttered by her countrymen. I’ve often wondered whether Kevin Kline’s cross-eyed groan in A Fish Called Wanda was based on anything real. The character he played, Otto, was an American of Italian ancestry, so the nature-versus-nurture debate may be relevant. He also worked for the CIA. Who knows how that would affect a man’s climax?
So you must be wondering why I want to communicate with Ms Saulino at this delicate stage of her mission. It’s because the manager of the safari camp, contemptible villain that he is, has whispered his intention to visit Italy for the ignoble purpose you can guess. He’s been practising his Italian using an on-line tutorial so he can pass himself off as a naturalised citizen. Paola would be a fool to fall for such a trick, but he might get lucky, and that offends my sense of fair play. I want to give her a warning so she can send the manager packing with his bodily fluids un-siphoned.
My legal sources tell me that “soliciting oral sex through deception” is not actually a criminal offence in any known jurisdiction. Pretty incredible, don’t you think? I guess too many powerful men benefit from this legal loophole.
Labels: Italy, oral sex, pompatour
Wednesday, December 24, 2014
Face-sitting protest
Yesterday I got a phone call from Smacker Ramrod, my old circus buddy. After expressing the usual Christmas greetings, he asked me why I hadn’t written a post in support of the face-sitting protest that took place in London on the twelfth of this month.
“Your moral support would have meant so much to them,” he said.
“Did you go to the event yourself?” I asked.
“God no!” he exclaimed. “What if someone had sat on my face? The climate at home would have turned distinctly frigid if my wife had found out. She might never have sat on my face again!”
“A calamity you were wise to avoid risking,” I remarked.
The protest in London was against a new censorship law which bans various practices from being depicted in pornography produced in the UK. After biting my lip to steel my nerves I reviewed the list myself, and concluded that while some of the proscribed acts were unimaginably vile, others were merely the kind of horseplay you would see on any visit to a baboon camp. One of the forbidden deeds, as you might have guessed, was a woman resting her nether regions on the face of a compliant partner.
It seems that many of the women protesting in London were porn stars. I find it difficult not to sympathise with them. After enduring gruelling hours getting pounded from all angles, sitting on someone’s face must feel like a perk of the job. Furthermore, it is sexist and discriminatory to outlaw acts aimed specifically at giving women pleasure, while allowing men to indulge in all their favourite vices. When I told my females about it, they vowed to sit on the face of any man who refused to let a woman sit on his face. Don’t say you haven’t been warned.
I'm glad to hear that an Italian politician is taking the issue of sexism seriously. Matteo Salvini, leader of the Northern League party, deplores the disrespectful ogling of scantily-clad women by so many of his shameless countrymen. To atone for this grievous sin, he has started distributing semi-naked pictures of himself to share the pain of Italian women. It’s too early to judge whether his gimmick will appeal to disaffected female voters, but someone must be looking at all the pictures he’s been circulating.
Why are statesmen like Signor Salvini never seen in American politics? Sex only becomes an issue in the US when some wretched scandal occurs, like the distinguished gentleman from New York texting photos of his distinguished dick. President Clinton has a lot to answer for in my view. The worst thing about his episode with Miss Lewinsky was that everything was done for his own pleasure, with no regard for Monica’s needs as a fresh young hoochie. If she'd been sitting on his face during most of their intimate moments, it would have put a completely different complexion on the affair. I have not the slightest doubt that America would now be a happier and healthier country.
Labels: censorship, Face-sitting, Italy, Monica Lewinsky, porn actresses
Wednesday, December 03, 2014
Cut-price cups
An Italian lingerie chain is celebrating its 50th birthday by offering discounts on its bras. No milk-nourished mammal could object to this news, but what should we think of their policy of giving bigger discounts on bigger-sized bras? Before denouncing the practice as discriminatory, let us ponder the words of first-officer Spock:
The needs of the many outweigh the needs of the few.
Although busty ladies are not more numerous than their moderately stacked sisters, no one can deny that their bosom flesh outweighs anything Spock beamed onto the Enterprise. Being in greater need of support, the universal law of compassion dictates that their jahoobies should be catered for at economy rates. Some might even favour giving them free bras as part of a public chest-health program.
This generous promotion resulted in a particularly dense throng of customers at the shop in Padua. The store manager made the following statement to the press:
“Fortunately for us, many women in Padua are curvy. So this also benefited the buxom women economically, and not those who are as thin as toothpicks.”
The manager did not mention that many of the shoppers were men, an anomaly puzzling enough to make me scratch my chin with my toes. Let us analyse their possible motives logically, as Spock would do.
1) They were bra-hunting on behalf of their busty girlfriends.
2) They were hoping to find a busty girlfriend.
3) They wanted to ogle busty women and possibly cop a feel in the melee.
Option 1 can be dismissed on the grounds that there is no point shopping for bras if the breasts they are intended for are not at hand to try them on. It’s simply not possible to make such measurements by eye.
Option 2 is improbable because women looking for bras are in no mood to be propositioned or otherwise flirted with. You can’t mix business with pleasure where the boobies are concerned.
This leaves us with Option 3, which is a slur on Italian men that would make the noble Garibaldi pluck out his whiskers in disgust. On the other hand, Garibaldi is dead while Berlusconi still lives. Why should Italian men be less louche than a recent prime minister of the republic? Let us not be hasty in our judgements - the buxom ladies of Padua are invited to submit their evidence.
I give the last word to the actress Naomi Watts, still beautiful (if small-breasted) at the age of 46. In her latest movie she plays a Russian stripper who entertains Bill Murray, a role she admitted had stretched her talents:
“I just worked on my moves and my accent and my underwear,” she explained.
There is an important lesson here for women looking for bargains in a lingerie shop. However attractive the prices are, you won’t achieve anything unless you work on your underwear like Naomi. I wouldn’t go so far as to say this was a worthy parable for the Christmas season, because it obviously isn’t. But I hope it will generate goodwill between bosoms all of sizes.
Labels: Berlusconi, Bras, discounts, Italy, jahoobies, Naomi Watts
Monday, June 06, 2011
Italian meatballs
My old circus chum Mario the Bum-pincher sent me a couple of news stories from his native Italy.
The first one is about a college student whose mother wouldn’t leave him alone. It seems she was ringing him a hundred times a day and visiting his lodgings without warning. He got her off his back by using the anti-stalking laws to persuade the courts to issue an order against her. She can now only phone him once a day and isn’t allowed to visit without permission.
I must say I don’t have much sympathy for the lad, who seems like a bit of a sissy. Pursuing litigation because your mother is harassing you is like scratching an itch with a pineapple. He could have easily put Mama in her place by letting her catch him in bed with a girl. When a mollycoddling mother finds a naked woman in her son’s bedroom, she knows the game is up. It doesn’t matter how tasty her ravioli is, she can’t compete with poontang.
The second story is about a crook who begged to be sent back to prison after serving a term for fraud. He told the police he would rather spend the rest of his days in gaol than live with his nagging wife.
You don’t have to be a baboon to smell the buffalo crap in that one. No man chooses to stay in prison because his wife is vexatious. Italy is a big country, with many places for the henpecked husband to obtain refuge. My guess is that the fellow was on chummy terms with the prison governor, visiting his mansion every day to help with the household chores, and shagging his trophy wife on the quiet. Men have done stranger things than incarcerate themselves for totty.
Anyway, the reason Mario sent me these news reports was to demonstrate that Italian men are frequently tormented by the women in their lives, which places them under abnormal stress. They should therefore be viewed sympathetically, he argued, if they let off steam by groping the buttocks of strange women. When I later phoned him to dissent from this squalid suggestion, he forcefully reiterated his point:
“Supposing your females bugged you every minute of the day?” he asked pointedly. “You wouldn’t go out and squeeze some nice-looking ass?”
“Mario,” I said gravely, “my females could pester me until the parrots stopped squawking and I still wouldn’t go around pinching bottoms without permission. People do such things because they are dissolute and incorrigible, not because they are driven to it by events in their lives.”
“Hey, whaddya judging me for?” asked Mario indignantly. “Are you a priest now?”
I told Mario that although I had not taken the holy orders, many rank-and-file Catholics wished they had a pastor like me.
"They know a gorilla is supremely qualified to scare off the kiddy-fiddlers and kick the Devil’s arse," I explained.
“Haha!” laughed Mario. “Why doncha pinch the Devil’s ass instead?”
“Because I’m not Italian, Mario,” I replied.
That shut him up.
Labels: bottom pincher, Italy, nagging wife, stalking mother
