Wednesday, June 19, 2013
Food fights
Sergio Garcia has apologized to Tiger Woods for offering to serve him fried chicken for dinner. When Tiger said he found this “hurtful” I thought he must belong to the Chicken Liberation Front, but apparently Garcia’s remark was a racial slur. Was Tiger offended by the idea that all black men like fried chicken? Or did he resent the implication that he himself was a black man? You never quite know what Tiger is thinking behind that sulky cogitating face of his.
I don’t believe that black men in America are fonder of fried chicken than anyone else. Let’s not forget that Colonel Sanders was white, and a southern white too, whose grandpappy fought in the Confederate army. Why would such a man have invented a new recipe for the black man’s favourite dish? One might speculate he was guilty about slavery and hoped to make amends by selling fried chicken to the coloured folk. But if so, why wasn’t he at civil rights events, singing Negro spirituals and handing out KFC buckets?
I suspect that all humans who aren’t vegetarian are partial to fried chicken. If American blacks want to claim a special affinity for it, they ought to make their own brand of bird meat. I reckon Uncle Remus would have been a fine chicken icon. He had a better singing voice than Colonel Sanders and could have taught him a thing or two about old-fashioned southern hospitality. Does anyone doubt that the Uncle knew how to rustle up a mean pan of southern-fried poultry? I think we can take that as read.
Another recent victim of a food-related lampoon is Julia Gillard, the redhead prime minister of Australia. At a fundraising dinner for the opposition party, the following spoof item appeared on the menu:
Julia Gillard Kentucky Fried Quail - Small Breasts, Huge Thighs and a Big Red Box
I wouldn’t say it’s demeaning to link her name to quail, which many chefs consider to be a tastier bird than chicken. A little harder to pluck, maybe, but the effort is worthwhile when you get to the gamey flesh.
As for small breasts and huge thighs, they’re not necessarily unattractive in a woman who’s risen to high office. Most female athletes have similar attributes, and it furthers their capacity for high-level performance.
However the “Big Red Box” remark is a scurrilous allegation. The dimensions and colour of Ms Gillard’s box are a closely guarded secret which her political opponents are not privy to. Spreading spurious information about such a sensitive topic might make people think she was playing fast and loose with the nation’s defences. If I were an Australian, my patriotic bosom would seethe with indignation.
Most food insults are quite harmless, though. A few years ago, a gossip sheet claimed that Britney Spears was a hillbilly who ate squirrels and possums. Look at her now – career back on track and dating brainless bozos like the Britney of old. You can’t keep a dogged diva down by making apocryphal statements about her diet.
Labels: Big Red Box, Britney Spears, Food insults, Julia Gillard, Tiger Woods
Wednesday, March 27, 2013
Tiger's latest birdie
So Tiger Woods has announced he is “dating” Lindsey Vonn, the all-American skiing champion. Is it my imagination, or does she resemble every other woman Tiger has charmed with his swishing club shaft? If I were Tiger’s agent, I would have urged him to go out with a transitional brunette just to prove he isn’t colour-prejudiced. I wouldn’t have advised him to date a black woman, of course – a suggestion so outlandish might have caused him to choke on his tongue, which wouldn’t have helped his accuracy with the driver.
As a gorilla, I don’t see why men find blond women so alluring. Admittedly they do look the part in Scandinavia, where they blend into the Nordic landscape like artic foxes. But I always find it damnably difficult to tell their faces apart when they congregate in large numbers. I wonder if Hef has name badges for the playmates in the mansion, so he can keep track of whose turn it is to knead his leathery buttocks. Maybe he doesn’t particularly care and lets the girls draw straws.
Now a few blond women do stand out from the crowd. Scarlett Johansson is one and Angela Merkel is another. They complement their strengths and weaknesses so perfectly that they ought to be a double-act. As the gene for human blondness is a relatively recent mutation, they must have a common prehistoric ancestor who was the Mother of all blondes (Moab). The alpha males of that epoch must have fought for the privilege of mating with her, while the alpha females no doubt pulled her hair and made bitchy remarks about peroxide. Being the first of a new strain is never easy.
Yet in truth, I find red-haired humans more interesting than blondes. The genetic mutation that gave rise to their condition is a very ancient one, shared by our orang-utan cousins. It is said to be associated with extrovert behaviour and a healthy libido, which is why you should always expect the unexpected from a redhead.
Take Cynthia Nixon, the actress who portrayed Miranda in Sex and the City. There she was playing happy families with her husband and two children, when quite out-of-the-blue she ran off with another woman and joined the tuppence-licking sorority. Her conduct reminded me of Clyde, the mercurial orang-utan in Every Which Way But Loose, who would stick out his arm without warning to punch people in the face.
Who is the world’s leading redhead? I would give the title to Julia Gillard, the prime minister of Australia. A lot of people find her accent unbearable, but I think it makes her sound like a school mistress addressing the roughnecks and bushwhackers in their own barbarous dialect. There is no doubt that millions of men have sexual fantasies about her, and are frustratedly searching for pornographic images to indulge their obsession. If she retired from politics today, she could easily earn $500 an hour as an escort, which is a more honourable way of making a living than giving paid speeches to assemblies of toadies.
Labels: Angela Merkel, blondes, Cynthia Nixon, Julia Gillard, Scarlett Johansson, Tiger Woods, tuppence-licking
Friday, November 25, 2011
Sealed with a kiss
An Italian fashion house has launched an advertising campaign promoting the idea that enemies should kiss and make-up. A huge picture of President Obama and Hugo Chavez pressing lips recently appeared on a billboard outside the Brazzaville YMCA. Everyone knows the photo is a fake, so it generated very little excitement, even among the residents of the YMCA.
It’s just as well that Obama is secure enough in his sexuality not to blast the poster to kingdom come with a Cruise missile. He’s recently been proving his heterosexual credentials by canoodling with Julia Gillard, the raunchy redhead who rules the roost in Australia. After greeting Ms Gillard with a moist-looking peck on the cheek, he patted her receptive tush right into the White House. I hope Michelle was mature enough not to give him hell afterwards – there’s no such thing as cheating when you’re making political alliances.
The only person complaining about the poster campaign is Pope Benedict, who was depicted smooching an Egyptian holy man. A Vatican spokesman denounced it as a violation of the Holy Father’s chastity, but I suspect what really upset Benny was the lack of passion in the kiss. No one ever got to be Pope without sticking his tongue down a few throats. The fashion house withdrew the Papal poster under threat of legal action, but there must be a few thousand stashed away in a warehouse. They'll become a collector’s item after Benny has his sex-change operation.
The most puzzling poster is the one of Sarkozy kissing Frau Merkel. The couple were bosom allies the last time I checked, so why show them kissing? Could Sarko have bribed the fashion house to do it because he wanted to make his wife jealous? A new mother is often so infatuated with her baby that she neglects her husband’s needs. Maybe the poster will prompt Carla to accelerate her programme of coochie exercises so she can wrap her luscious thighs around Sarko the next time he ventures into the marital bed. If he keeps on fantasizing about getting into Frau Merkel's pants it might damage the French national interest. She doesn’t look like the sort of woman who’ll give it away for nothing.
Now, this advertising campaign is a clever gimmick, but its premise looks flawed to me. There is no evidence from human history that kissing is a reliable indicator of benign intentions. Delilah kissed Sampson; Judas kissed Jesus; J Edgar Hoover kissed Dillinger and a dozen other gangsters. It’s the oldest trick in the book to butter up your victim with a smooch before giving him the big shaft. As Shirley Bassey said, it’s the kiss of death from Mr Goldfinger.
Instead of kissing, humans who want to make peace should do what we gorillas do: bring about a controlled collision between their rumps. It takes real courage to turn your back on a rival and stick out your behind, trusting that he will do the same rather than kicking your arse or attempting some other unspeakable act. If President Obama started booty-bumping all the hostile characters who show up in the UN building, the Age of Universal Love might finally dawn.
Labels: Angela Merkel, Barack Obama, booty-bumping, Julia Gillard, kissy-face, Pope Benedict, Sarkozy
Friday, September 30, 2011
Hungry for power
The manager of the safari camp refuses to believe that Sarah Palin had a fetish for black men in her carefree days as a nubile college nymph.
“There’s no way a white woman would marry a Caucasian after sleeping with black men,” he declared. “When they’ve had black, there’s no going back.”
“Perhaps it was a case of ‘too much of a good thing’,” I suggested. “I’ve heard of humans going off chocolate after binging on those dark chunky slabs they sell in the supermarket.”
“Fish-paste!” scoffed the manager. “A woman doesn’t go off men for being too chunky. Not unless they make her do kinky stuff, like biting their buttocks while the dog is watching. Black men aren’t into such vices.”
“I humbly bow to your superior knowledge,” I replied. “Your scholarship in this field is clearly second to none.”
Unfortunately for Sarah, the rumour will damage her politically whether or not it’s true. Many white men will deeply resent the idea that black college athletes enjoyed the flower of her womanhood at its freshest, while her hapless husband had to make do with the stale leftovers. I don’t see how the Republican Party could nominate her now, given that she’d have to take part in live TV debates with President Obama. All that Barry would have to do is flex his forearms and throw her a wink to make her go weak at the knees.
The unwritten rule for a woman with political ambitions is to get elected before embarking upon a sex scandal. Consider the case of Julia Gillard, the raunchy redhead who governs Australia in the name of the Queen. Before becoming prime minister, she fooled people into thinking she was a frigid schoolmistress who changed her knickers every time the wind blew up her skirt. When I say “people” I mean “humans”, of course. We gorillas knew she was an insatiable vixen from the minute she entered politics. You don’t deny yourself the carnal delights if you’ve got the orang-utan gene.
Now that her hands are on the levers of power, a show has appeared on Australian TV depicting an alleged kerfuffle on the floor of her office, in which she and her fancy man canoodle nakedly beneath the national flag. I’d be very surprised if this patriotic frolic will offend the voters. The last thing the Australian electorate want is a frustrated woman who obviously isn’t getting any to boss them around.
“What about Hilldog?” I hear you ask. I personally think it’s too late for Mrs Clinton to revive her flagging political career by having sex with someone. People would think she was doing it to win votes rather than because she genuinely enjoyed it. It’s time for the Democrats to pass the torch to a new generation of highly-energised hotties with the drive and ambition to get on top and stay there. If Chelsea isn’t interested, the heir apparent has got to be Monica Lewinsky. There aren’t many women in America with her record of selfless service.
Labels: Hillary Clinton, Julia Gillard, Monica Lewinsky, Sarah Palin
Wednesday, June 01, 2011
Powerful women
A study has revealed that powerful women are just as likely to cheat on their spouses as their male counterparts. Someone should tell Angela Merkel. She’s been chancellor of Germany for over five years and still hasn’t put out. Could she be a dark horse who’s been quietly playing the field? I doubt it. A woman who’s getting laid frequently doesn’t look as tense and uneasy as Frau Merkel. The only kind of horse she is is a riderless one.
When I mentioned this disappointing lack of Merkelian action to the manager of the safari camp, he grinned with a knowing look in his eyes.
“She’s obviously not used to making the first move,” he said. “If I were one of Merkel’s aides, I would pay some young Wolfgang to bang her and let her take it from there. It only takes one polar bear to make a hole in the ice.”
Beneath the vulgar language, I detected a valid point. It’s quite likely that successful women are too intimidating for men to proposition, so they have to do the chasing themselves. Such forward behaviour may not be in Frau Merkel’s repertoire of political skills. I’m tempted to invite her to the Congo for some tuition from my females, who have never been shy of grabbing what they want with both hands. My only worry is that the aromas and rhythms of the jungle might turn her into a sex maniac before she’d returned to human civilisation. A randy woman in a community of apes might provoke gross and unnatural acts.
A powerful woman who shouldn’t need any assistance from her hairy cousins is Julia Gillard, the prime minister of Australia. The first thing to note about her is her flame red hair – clear evidence of the orang-utan gene, which implies a high sex drive. I don’t know anything about her private life, but I’d bet you a hundred coconuts that she’s a tiger in the sack. Living in Australia should also help her extramarital ambitions. The country is full of larrikin men who wouldn’t think twice about cornering Ms Gillard in an official function and offering her the use of their didgeridoo. It’s true that her voice isn’t very sexy – she sounds like a frigid schoolmistress, in fact – but that may be part of her political act. There’s no point giving the leader of the opposition an erection when debating changes to the superannuation laws.
I’ve deliberately left Mrs Clinton until last. She’s obviously entitled to cheat on her husband, given the brazen debauchery that he has got away with in his long and distinguished career. My suspicion is that she’s one of those women who is only interested in very clever men, which narrows the pool considerably. She needs to go somewhere with a high egghead density to improve the odds of finding a suitable paramour.
Perhaps I'll contact the Oxford Union to suggest they debate the motion “This house believes that Osama had bigger balls than Obama”. Honour would demand that Hilldog accepted an invitation to participate, obviously speaking against motion. Although most of the boffins in Oxford are untouchable with a barge pole, there’s always the chance that she’ll bump into a smooth-talking hustler like my friend Dicky Dawkins, who could teach her a thing or two about genetic recombination. It’s a match made in heaven.
Labels: Angela Merkel, Dicky Dawkins, Hillary Clinton, Julia Gillard
