Wednesday, May 18, 2016
Tales from the Orient
I’m feeling rather conflicted about the Chinese government’s decision to forbid nubile young women from seductively eating bananas on live video streams. On the one hand, the banana is a noble fruit that should never be used as a substitute for the human phallus. To treat a soft sweet delicacy like a piece of meat is an act of culinary barbarism. On the other hand, it’s nice to see Chinese girls behaving coquettishly and exploring their naughty side. Such frivolity is a breath of fresh air after decades of Communist orthodoxy, when they got a reputation for wearing pigtails and repelling cheeky boys with a chopstick in the eye.
The aim of the ban is to stop the practice from “harming social morality”, but the debate it has provoked on Chinese social media indicates it may not be effective:
“They will all start eating cucumbers, and if that's no good, yams,” wrote one sceptical observer.
This is a very good point. A woman’s mouth is capable of hosting an endless variety of foodstuffs. If you ban the sausage she will chew on the carrot; if you ban the chocolate finger, she will suck on the lollipop. The items don’t even have to be edible if she only intends to toy with them. She could suck on a pen or a didgeridoo. It’s a waste of time trying to control what goes in a woman’s mouth. The Chinese authorities would know that if they had more experience in regulating harmless vices.
I suspect they took this action because they fear that such displays will turn those who view them into sex-crazed satyrs. Swarms of horny young men are a threat to any authoritarian regime. The sexually frustrated are reckless and insolent, quite capable of reacting to repressive measures by running amok and defacing statues of Chairman Mao. If you want to control the human masses, you’ve got to numb their cravings and keep them docile.
The Japanese, of course, are far more sexually liberated than the Chinese. Their erotic websites are full of women eating bananas, often while wearing school uniforms. Penile objects are everywhere. The vagina, however, is still taboo.
Many moons ago, I wrote a post in support of Megumi Igarashi, the Japanese artist who makes artefacts modelled on her vagina. The good news is that Ms Igarashi was recently acquitted of the charge of making a kayak that looks like her vagina. The judge ruled that you can’t be sure it’s a coochie because of the psychedelic paintwork. The bad news is that she was still fined $3,700 for sharing data from a 3D scan of her lady parts. I will look for a website where people of conscience can make a contribution to her expenses.
The conclusion I draw from these stories is that human obscenity laws usually involve banning women from doing stuff rather than men. It’s a blatant example of sexism that must be squashed like a cockroach. Women should be allowed to do whatever they want.
Labels: China, eating bananas, Japan, vaginal art
Wednesday, July 08, 2015
Sexy beasts
I got an email from a blog lurker asking me what I thought of Shebani, the silverback who lives in Japan. Never having met the ape, I’m in no position to comment on his dinner conversation or grooming technique. I would hazard a guess, nevertheless, that he is not in Japan by choice. Gorillas generally avoid places prone to earthquakes, particularly if the fire exits are too narrow for their backsides.
Shebani has recently been in the news because Japanese women apparently find him more attractive than George Clooney (see comparison above). This is not as ridiculous as it sounds. In a country full of small hairless men, the women might well have unnatural hankerings for a big hairy beast. As for Clooney, he’s neither one thing nor the other. To the dainty oriental woman, he is different without being remarkable, like teriyaki turkey or goose.
I hope George doesn’t take his demotion in the primate hierarchy to heart. I know for a fact that there are female gorillas who would prefer him to Shebani. For all his smouldering good looks, the gorilla is remarkably inactive, spending most of the day glaring at people from a sedentary position. You could never say that about George. He’s always been a very mobile man, which appeals to lady gorillas who enjoy the thrill of the chase. If George ever found himself scurrying through the Congo rainforests, they’d be jumping on him from all angles.
As a newly married man, Clooney shouldn’t be concerned about this anyway. The only female he needs to attract now is his wife, and she seems more than happy with the millions he’s lavishing on their new home in the Thames Valley. The neighbours are none too pleased with all the construction work going on, but the typical English householder is renowned for being a grumpy old fart. I would advise George to attach a piece of hard cheese to the seat of his pants and invite his neighbours to kiss it whenever they complain about the nuisance he’s causing.
Whatever Japanese women think of him, Clooney can take comfort from the fact that his fellow thespians still hold him in high regard. The actress Eva Longoria recently declared that she wanted to be “the female George Clooney”. She should ask George to dress up in drag so she knows exactly what she’s aiming for.
I actually think a woman would have been more convincing in a lot of Clooney’s film roles. In Three Kings, he played a special forces major who memorably saved a comrade whose testicles were being electrocuted by an Iraqi villain. Clearly, it would have been much easier for a woman to keep a cool head in such a situation. She could have watched the man’s balls being barbecued without feeling sympathetic pangs in her own gonads, enabling her to execute the rescue plan with due care and deliberation.
When will Hollywood realise that women are often more credible in scenes involving sadism and torture?
Labels: Eva Longoria, female gorillas, George Clooney, gorilla, Japan
Wednesday, December 10, 2014
Persecution of an artist
I’m planning a raid on the Japanese embassy in Kinshasa to protest against the arrest of Megumi Igarashi, the artist who makes objects resembling her lady parts. We’re going to unfurl a banner on the roof of the embassy showing a photo-shopped image of the Emperor Hirohito giving birth to a sumo dwarf. The international media will be alerted before the embassy staff can take it down, resulting in profuse humiliation and disgrace. A journalist sympathetic to our cause will then ask the Japanese ambassador pointed questions about Miss Igarashi, adding to their ignominy. There is no better time to kick a man’s arse than when his pants are down.
Miss Igarashi’s most famous work is a kayak said to resemble her vagina. I cannot say whether it is a good likeness, because I don’t know what her vagina looks like and have no particular wish to find out. I am nevertheless certain that the kayak’s aesthetic qualities are immeasurably finer than much of the utter balderdash that passes for art these days. Censorship of this or any other effigy of the Igarashi coochie is an outrage that must be resisted.
Miss Igarashi has made a powerful statement defending her art and exposing the rampant pussyphobia of patriarchal Japanese society:
“Why did I start making these kind of art pieces? It’s because I had never seen the vagina of others and was too self-conscious of mine. I did not know what a vagina should look like, so I thought mine was abnormal. Manko and vagina have been such a taboo in Japanese society. Penis, on the other hand, has been used in illustrations and has become a part of pop culture.”
She makes an excellent point. The Maypole is well-known to be phallic symbol, yet no one is arrested for attaching ribbons to it or dancing around it like a ninny. And what about skyscrapers? Dr Whipsnade’s chauffeur once tried to rile me by saying that King Kong was suffering from penis envy when he climbed the Empire State Building. I quickly put the upstart in his place, but it irked me to have to defend an entirely fictitious ape who acted in ways that would have caused a real gorilla to die of shame. Miss Igarashi deserves the blessings of the celestial beaver for increasing the profile of the female genitalia, thereby helping to counteract all the cock and bull that’s trampling over the landscape.
My one criticism of Miss Iagarashi is her choice of the kayak as a motif for her lady-part art. I don’t think it’s a good way of making the vagina familiar, because paddling down a river is not an everyday event unless you happen to be a platypus. My preferred utensil for vaginal objets d’arts would be the condiment dish. Nothing would be more felicitous, in the opinion of this humble ape, than associating the female organ with food and the delicious sauces used to flavour it. You could learn a lot about a woman from the taste of her condiment dish.
Labels: celestial beaver, condiment dish, Japan, kayak, phallic symbol, pussyphobia
Wednesday, May 14, 2014
Nose insult
Do the Japanese want to have bigger noses? It’s a question I’ve been wrestling with ever since I saw a controversial TV commercial for Air Nippon. You might think that a gorilla would trounce any question in a wrestling match, but that would be making the cardinal error of taking a metaphor literally. Some questions are doughtier than Hulk Hogan and retire from the ring as undefeated champions. Can you tell me why humans who feast on ugly critters like lobster and shrimp won’t touch insects or grubs? I thought not.
At the end of the above-mentioned advert, a Japanese man appears wearing a blond wig and an artificially elongated nose – his intention is to show how the Japanese could change their image in the eyes of the world. Air Nippon had to apologize and withdraw the commercial after it was deemed racist. I don’t know who did the deeming, but I would guess it was a member of the Barry Manilow fan club. The advert changed my image of the Japanese, because I never realised they were capable of such tomfoolery. But graver souls than I thought they were mocking the racial features of Europeans, in the same way that Europeans used to mock Africans by blackening their faces and wearing frizzy wigs.
Air Nippon said they meant no offence, claiming that blond hair and big noses were considered attractive in Japan. Blond hair I can believe. It’s well-known that Japanese businessmen will pay extra for blond escorts. But do they really find big noses attractive? I suppose seeing an enormous honker might be an amusing novelty if you live in a country of midget-nosed orientals, but that doesn’t mean you want one yourself. Having your nose affectionately pulled by curious children is bound to get tiresome after a while.
Another anecdote of Japanese society may shed some light on this mystery. There is a couturier in Japan that rents out ball gowns and wedding dresses. Nothing strange about that, except that many of its customers are men who want to be photographed in their glamorous costumes. The store has an arrangement with a neighbouring barber, who will shave, shampoo and powder-puff these gentlemen before their photo-shoots begin.
“We concluded that men want to feel like princesses too,” said Hitomi Iseki, the 42-year-old manager of the Marry Mairee.
There are doubtless different visions of what a beautiful princess should look like, but I’m as sure as eggs is eggs that a big nose doesn’t figure in any them. The princess is a delicate, fragrant, dainty-nosed creature, not an atrocious harridan with a great big snout in the middle of her face. (The latter may be an accurate description of many a real princess, but we’re talking about the fairy story ideal here).
So, to humans of European ancestry I say this: the Japanese are not envious of your nose – they may smile at it fondly (and toy with it if you’ll let them), but they don’t want one like it.
Labels: Air Nippon, Barry Manilow, big noses, insults, Japan
Friday, March 04, 2011
The Great Condom Robbery
The Japanese are furious about the theft of a shipment of 700,000 condoms from Malaysia. Apparently, they were an extra thin variety, designed for heightened sensitivity in the oriental todger. I don’t blame them for being upset. You can’t deprive Japanese men of their battle helmets without causing them to howl savagely and unsheathe their ceremonial swords. The perpetrators, if caught, should be publicly sat on by sumo wrestlers until their flesh resembles sushi. You’ve got to make an example of such rogues to deter future outrages.
I wonder what the thieves intend to do with the stolen merchandise. 700,000 seems too many for private use, even if the gang were all Brazilian. But attempting to sell them on the black market would play into the hands of undercover policemen, who spend entire careers waiting for such opportunities. They must have devised a clever use for them that no one has thought of before. Never underestimate the ingenuity of condom bandits.
The silliest alternative use for condoms was suggested to me by a tourist from Birmingham, a city in England renowned for inhabitants who talk mildly amusing twaddle. He said they’d be a vital accessory in a naturist resort.
“Let’s say I’m in a nudist colony,” he explained. “It’s only a matter of time before I see an attractive woman who gives me a stiffy, which would be pretty embarrassing when I‘m naked. Putting a rubber on it would protect me from staring eyes.”
“It’s not exactly an effective disguise, though, is it?” I replied. “Everyone would know what was inside.”
“That’s beside the point,” he insisted. “When a woman does aerobics you can see the shape of her body inside the leotard, but it’s not the same as watching her doing it with her tits hanging out.”
“You have a very sharp mind,” I said, ignoring the obvious flaw in his argument. “I hope you’re putting it to good use in Birmingham.”
I listened politely as he told me about his job as an electronic organ salesman.
If you don’t want to use them as balloons or face masks, the next best thing to do with surplus condoms is recycle them. My friend Smacker Ramrod, the circus vet, said the rubber in them should be used to make the gloves women wear when washing dishes. (Men wash dishes too, but few of them are gay enough to wear gloves while doing it.) Rather than hiding their origin, he said they should be marketed as ‘made from recycled condoms’.
“Do you really think that would be an attractive selling point?” I asked.
“For most women, no,” replied Smacker. “But there’d definitely be a niche market among the sexually-liberated ball-breaker demographic. They’d buy the gloves just to differentiate themselves from prissy women who think it’s dirty to touch anything that’s been in contact with a man’s dick.”
It’s a pity his idea wouldn’t work for the stolen Japanese condoms, which have never been in contact with a man’s dick.
Labels: condoms, Japan, sumo wrestler, washing gloves
