Wednesday, February 12, 2014
Bieber sex tape
Someone is trying to make a killing by selling a “sex tape” of Justin Bieber to the highest bidder. I wouldn’t give a nit in my arse for it. It seems that Bieber was secretly filmed showering Australian strippers with cash before spanking their bottoms and licking their nipples. That’s barely even embarrassing compared with his other recent exploits. What Bieber should do now is re-enact the incident and put a video of it on You Tube. This would make the illicit tape worthless and earn him respect for taking a stand against immoral profiteering. No one should make a fast buck just because Bieber cavorted with strippers. No one apart from the strippers, that is.
Bieber has been criticised for his conduct by a media insider called Bonnie Fuller, writing in the tone of a big sister scolding her errant baby brother. The gist of her argument is that spanking and licking strippers is sexist behaviour that degrades Bieber’s female fans. I’d like to hear the strippers’ side of the story before endorsing this opinion. They might have enjoyed the acts for which they were so handsomely compensated. There’s no point complaining about sexism if everyone is having fun – it just makes you look like a killjoy.
Ms Fuller also advises Justin to remember his courtship of Selina Gomez, a girl he was supposedly in love with. What good would that do? He probably regrets not licking and spanking her when he had the chance. You can’t turn back the clock and expect Justin to behave like the puppy-loving boy he was before he got jilted. The most romantic thing he would do now is launch a raid on the Playboy mansion and steal Hef’s floozies. It’s a mission of mercy that would have my full support.
What these well-meaning critics don’t understand is that Bieber’s brain is currently located in his pants. Maybe it will return to his head in due course – or maybe he’ll become another Bill Clinton. It has recently been alleged that the ex-president had an affair with Liz Hurley during his White House days. He has wisely refrained from denying the rumour, which would have been taken as proof of its truth. I wonder if Bill also had a heart-breaking adolescent love affair before he began his long career of shagging anything in a skirt. He and Bieber could then establish a man-whore support group for former jilted teenagers.
Romance may be dead for Justin and Bill, but it lives on inside the English kitchen. I refer to the case of Donna Musk, a 45-year-old Leicestershire woman who refused to cook a potato because it was shaped like a heart. It seems she wants to preserve it as some kind of love token from the god of the root vegetable.
“It's upstairs in my bedroom sitting on a pillow,” she revealed. “I don't know how long they last for but I'm keeping it really dry.”
Happy Valentine’s Day, Donna, but don’t expect your spud to turn into a stud.
Labels: Justin Bieber, man-whore, potato, sexism, Valentine's Day
Wednesday, February 15, 2012
Bull bollock pie
The manager of the safari camp has been asking me for advice on natural jungle aphrodisiacs. Every Valentine’s Day, his wife makes him choose between taking her to Paris or being her sex slave for the day. The Artic weather conditions now prevailing in Europe argued against the Paris trip, so he resigned himself to gigolo duty, an assignment which requires him to wear a loin cloth and rub his body with oil. The expression on his face made me think of a weary old bull being driven into a paddock where an insatiable cow awaited him.
I told him that although I knew of a herbal stimulant that works well for apes, I wasn’t sure of its effect on humans. Maybe it would help him rise to the occasion or maybe it wouldn’t. Nor could I rule out side effects.
“You don’t want to be a guinea pig on V-night,” I cautioned. “Suppose you started having convulsions when your wife was sitting on your face? She might give you a karate chop.”
“Well, I’m not using Viagra,” he mused. “When I took one of those pills last year, it was like inflating a tyre with too much air. My organ ached for days.”
“A grievous affliction to be sure,” I remarked. “The only other thing I can suggest is a Valentine’s Day dish invented by an entrepreneur in England. His company is marketing a bull testicle pie which he promises will invigorate the loins and make the bedsprings creak. It’s so potent there’s a health warning on the packet.”
“Where can I get the recipe?” asked the manager.
“The recipe isn’t important as long as you ingest the active ingredient.” I replied. “I believe there’s a cattle ranch in the Umbogo district which gives them away free if you bite them off yourself.”
“I’ll try the meat market in Brazzaville,” said the manager cautiously.
What can one say about Valentine’s Day? I’ve always thought it was an occasion for needy women to pretend they were adored by a man by pressuring him into jumping through some well-advertised hoops. During a circus tour of Costa Rica, I remember seeing hundreds of teenagers canoodling in a public square on 14th February. They reminded me of the brainwashed followers of a kooky religious cult participating in a mass wedding. I have nothing against one or two couples smooching in a public place, which adds a little sugar to the scenery. But when a whole herd of them does it, we're moving into rabbit-farm territory.
I wonder what Taib Seferovic has been doing on Valentine’s Day? For those who haven’t been following the news, he is a 61-year-old Bosnian man with 49 ex-wives, fervently hoping to get hitched for the 50th time.
“My wives have never asked for alimony because they know I have no money," he explained.
I suppose he must have spent it all on chocolates and flowers. He sounds like a great catch for some lucky spinster.
Labels: aphrodisiac, bull testicles, Valentine's Day, Viagra
