Wednesday, March 23, 2016
Nicked in the bud
To my knowledge, there are no gorillas who live in Manchester, a city in north-west England. I once visited the place in my circus days. Its grey climate and chilly breezes made me muse on philosophical questions such as ‘The Purpose of Existence’ and ‘The Problem of Free Willies’. Rather than searching for answers like a human, I put on a pair of thermal underpants. This is why news stories from Manchester put me on edge, like an elephant who can sense the presence of a snake.
The latest incident of note from that benighted city concerns a 61-year-old academic who has been forced out of his job. Professor Nicholas Goddard, known as ‘Old Nick’ in the adult entertainment industry, was exposed as a former porn star when one of his students saw him in an X-rated film.
“I didn’t get paid much for my movie work, but they did cover travel expenses,” explained Professor Goddard. “I stopped acting when it all became too much.”
The “acting” he did involved having sex with numerous women while wearing nothing but a gold watch. I’m not surprised it became too much for him. I couldn’t imagine copulating with countless females with an expensive timepiece on my wrist. I wouldn’t be able to stop thinking about what it was rubbing against.
When his past became public knowledge, the university launched an investigation and subsequently issued the following statement:
“Professor Nick Goddard has resigned from his position at the university with effect from April 1, 2016. His teaching and supervision duties will be undertaken by other colleagues between now and April 1, 2016.”
I don’t know why they chose April Fool’s Day. Are they implying that the professor was a fool? Or do they think he made a fool of the university? If you ask me, the biggest fools are his students. I bet they were sniggering like chipmunks during Professor Goddard’s lectures, making it impossible for him to continue. So now they will be taught by unprepared tutors. If they get low grades, they have no one to blame but themselves.
The biggest villain, of course, is the student who snitched on Old Nick. In the first place, he should have been studying rather than watching porn films. In the second place, he should have kept the information to himself instead of squawking like a parrot. I hope his career prospects will now be limited to lowly occupations such as tabloid journalism.
I’m glad to say that a few honourable Mancunians have spoken out in Professor Goddard’s defence:
“It’s nothing to do with his job or the university,” declared Nicola Munro. “There is no need to investigate him unless he has acted inappropriately. Back off is what I say!”
She speaks with the courage of a tigress defending her kill. Let’s hope the university takes heed of her words and re-employs the good professor. If he can’t continue in Chemical Engineering, they could at least give him a chair in Erotic Studies.
Labels: acting, porn, pornography, thermal underwear
Wednesday, February 19, 2014
Old man Clooney
George Clooney thinks he’s getting too old for acting. Silly man! Doesn’t he know that all the best character parts are written for craggy-faced dudes with interesting faces? What George really means is that he’s too old to play leading men who can make women perspire into their panties. This, I regret to say, is the mentality of a vain, strutting peacock. Why would I expect anything better of him? Because we gorillas have lofty ideals which we hope our human cousins will adopt.
Clooney should take inspiration from the example of Robert Redford, the former screen heartthrob, whom 36% of bored housewives fantasized about when their husbands were exercising their conjugal rights. Redford is now as wrinkly as a prune, but that didn’t stop him playing the leading (and only) role in a movie called All is Lost. After it was shown at Cannes, the audience burst into rapturous applause, acclaiming Redford as a cinematic legend whose feet they were not worthy to pedicure. It’s much easier to be admired for your acting when you don’t make the audience jealous or horny.
Things are not so easy for ageing actresses, of course. Shirley MaClaine played some charming old biddies, but whatever happened to Brigitte Bardot? I can’t remember her in a single role where she didn’t look like a fresh French tart. This must be a worry for Ludivine Sagnier, the aspiring French thespian who’s been hailed as the new Bardot. Her career took off when she took off her clothes in a film called The Swimming Pool – since then, all the Hollywood roles she’s been offered have required nude scenes as a matter of course:
“There is always on the brief written “naked part” or “naked scene”, and I don’t feel like that really connects with what I really am,” she explained.
I know how she feels. All the big screen roles I’m offered involve tree-climbing and chest-thumping. It goes without saying that there are lots of naked pictures of Ms Sagnier in cyberspace, but I’m not going to publish any of them here. When you’ve seen one perfectly-formed human female, you’ve seen them all.
I prefer women who expose their bodies without asking to be paid, usually to make an important statement. A recent example of such is 26-year-old Katarina Jovanovic, a former office worker in Belgrade. She resigned from her job by sending her boss a photograph of her naked body, tastefully obscured by an oilcloth with the Serbian words “I quit” written on it.
“I am not interested in sitting and working for one company until I get old and can retire,” explained Katarina. “It’s a mistake that everybody thinks that a paycheck and money are Man’s only purpose.”
This admirable sentiment makes her nakedness profoundly symbolic and meaningful, which is exactly what nakedness should be. Katarina plans to attend a weaving and pottery class, and is currently spending some time “experimenting”. I send her my best wishes and hope her experiments go well.
Labels: acting, actresses, George Clooney, nudity
Wednesday, December 01, 2010
A Baleful performance
I‘ve recently discovered that the actor Christian Bale is Welsh. He hides it very well, I must say. Gone are the days when Richard Burton would majestically utter the lines of a Roman nobleman in a rich Port Talbot drawl. Even the great Anthony Hopkins puts on an American accent for most of his screen roles. How much more seductive Hannibal Lecter would have been as a Welshman, beguiling the prissy Agent Starling with his sing-songy vowels and lubricious charm. You wouldn’t have blinked an eye if she’d let him nibble her tender parts.
Mr Bale’s suppression of his Welshness has not brought him peace of mind. In a recent interview with Esquire magazine, he complained that being a film star was a humiliating job that made him feel like a sissy.
“I learned there’s a certain character that can be built from embarrassing yourself endlessly,” he explained.
In a way, that’s quite fitting. A shrewd observer once said that the Welsh were a nation that had nothing to be ashamed of and plenty to be embarrassed about. Yet, anyone who makes millions of dollars from showing off in front of a camera ought to be immune from such concerns. It is true that Bale has a tendency to fly off the handle and make an ass of himself, but people expect that of film stars. The hurdle of absurdity has been set pretty high ever since Mel Gibson starting channelling Mad Max.
Real embarrassment is what humans suffer when they are caught doing something totally at variance with their public image. Here are two recent examples:
• Australian rugby player Joel Monaghan is photographed simulating oral sex with a dog.
• English nurse Jayne Reed confesses to a three-in-a-bed romp with a 46-year-old man and an 18-year-old girl.
The rugby player is wisely seeking political asylum in Europe. An Australian sportsman who lets a dog sniff his groin is shown no mercy when he appears before thousands of beer-guzzling larrikins. They will bark at him until he feels like a bitch in heat. Making a dignified exit is better than being hounded out of your country.
The case of the nurse is more complex. The man and the girl were patients, so what she did was arguably a form of post-operative therapy. Even if her intention was purely recreational, one can see a method in her madness. If you’re into heavy petting, four arms are better than two, and two heads are better than one. Not being sure who was doing what might have added to the thrill.
However, one aspect of the nurse’s conduct will bring her unending lifelong shame. She referred to her bed-mates as “Daddy Bear” and “Baby Bear”, while styling herself as “Mummy Bear”. On hearing this revelation, the panel adjudicating her case groaned loudly and rubbed biscuits into their faces. A woman who seeks to enact the Goldilocks fable in her sexual escapades is sappier than a gum tree – she must be forced to suck lollipops until her tongue turns orange.
Labels: acting, Christian Bale, embarrassment, Welshmen
