Wednesday, June 24, 2015
Navel blockade
Fifty years from now, grizzled old men will tell their grandchildren that Taylor Swift’s belly button made its first public appearance this year. If you don’t believe me, try googling the phrase “Taylor Swift’s belly button” and behold the number of articles about this momentous event.
The abdominal aperture’s exposure is all the more surprising given Miss Swift’s earlier announcement on the subject:
“I don’t like showing my belly button… I don’t want people to know if I have one or not.”
We should thank her for resolving the ambiguity. There are baboons in the Congo who might have worshipped Miss Swift because they believed she was a magical being with a smooth, un-punctured belly. Such harmful superstitions inevitably lead to baby wart-hogs being sacrificed on altars.
If we examine Taylor’s tummy-cranny, it’s clearly an “inny” rather than an “outy”. Indeed, it has the suggestion of an unusually cavernous “inny”. If a tribe of chimpanzees ever got hold of Taylor, they would poke their fingers into her navel to gauge its depth. I should imagine many humans would do the same if they weren’t inhibited by cultural taboos against the poking of celebrity belly buttons.
Miss Swift would be well advised to avoid such outrages by wearing a navel plug. A skilled craftsman could make a custom-made device with a carbon-fibre shaft and a dazzling sapphire head. Those who dared to stare at Taylor’s midriff would be awed and stunned by a flash of blue light.
Of course, there are some men who wouldn’t be able to probe a woman’s belly button because their fingers are too thick. Liberace comes to mind, although he may have lacked the curiosity in any case. David Hasselhoff is another fellow who might be digitally incapable, although one can’t be certain about this. Being tall and tanned doesn’t necessarily mean the fingers are beefy and butch.
The Hoff has recently been in the news for claiming that he doesn’t need Viagra. Acutely aware that people must be wondering how a 62-year-old man keeps his 35-year-old girlfriend satisfied, he has taken to boasting about his prodigious carnal appetite:
“That’s one problem I don’t have,” he assured an on-line magazine. “If anything, I am trying to find an anti-Viagra pill because my girlfriend keeps saying, ‘Why is it that you want it every day?’ And I'm like, ‘Because I find it takes the edge off things’.”
I don’t doubt for one second that the Hoff has the libido of a stallion on a stud farm, but why does he need sex to take the edge off things? A man in the Hoff’s happy situation shouldn’t be feeling edgy and tense. If you ask me, his girlfriend isn’t the great catch everyone assumes her to be. For one thing, she’s supposedly turned down five marriage proposals from the Hoff, which must have damaged his ego. And what kind of woman complains about having sex every day? Not a woman whose belly button you’d want to poke, that’s for sure.
Labels: baboons, belly button, sexual boasting, Taylor Swift, The Hoff, Viagra
Friday, March 12, 2010
The eye of the tummy
Another evening tending bar at the safari guesthouse, and I hear some men discussing their favourite scenes in a James Bond movie. One mentions the ominous advance of a deadly laser beam towards Sean Connery’s flinching testicles. Another recalls the chest-crunching squeeze inflicted on Pearce Brosnan by the vice-like thighs of Miss Xenia Onatopp. Before I can reflect on the peculiarly masochistic character of these choices, I am asked for my own treasured highlight of the Bond canon. I answer without hesitation:
“It is the moment in The Spy Who Loved Me when Roger Moore sucks a ruby from the navel of an Egyptian belly dancer.”
“I remember that!” exclaims one of the guests. “He was lucky he didn’t swallow it!”
“007 never swallows,” I reply solemnly. “His suction power is always finely tuned to the requirements of the mission.”
“Ho-ho-ho,” they chuckle, giving me a knowing look.
I wonder what it’s like for a woman to have a jewel sucked from her navel. Probably quite shocking the first time, but then more enjoyable as she acquires a taste for it. The technique of the sucker is obviously very important. I should imagine the crucial point is to extract the stone quickly in one powerful suck, rather than gobbling at it half-heartedly like an ailing goldfish. You could practice by sucking an egg out of a chicken.
I’ve had a soft spot for belly dancers ever since Princess Banu, the Turkish maestro, visited the circus I worked in. After watching us rehearse, she returned the favour by giving us a free demonstration of her art, performed to the tune of a popular Levantine love ballad. I was utterly enthralled by the spectacle, my eyes following her belly button as it tossed and rolled amid the smooth undulating flesh of her abdomen.
After hooting exuberantly when she took her bow, I raced to give her my compliments in person.
“Marvellous, Princess!” I effused. “Your fabulous exhibition of tummy twisting has elevated me to a state of transcendental rapture!”
“Thank you so much, GB,” she said. “As I have pleased you, perhaps you could do a little favour for me.”
“Name it, Princess!” I exclaimed. “You are Salome to my King Herod… although I’d rather not chop anyone’s head off, which might compromise my philanthropic work with the Quakers.”
“I don’t want anyone’s head, GB!” she giggled. “It is your wonderful feet I am interested in. I have heard they can do amazing things. Would you peel and eat a banana for me using just your feet and toes?”
If you think I found this request demeaning you’d be absolutely wrong. We gorillas are not ashamed of what we are and what we can do with our feet. Only humans are strangely sensitive about being asked to perform acts for which they or their breed are particularly renowned.
“Of course, Princess,” I said. “I have a fine ripe bunch in my trailer. Let us repair there forthwith, that I might demonstrate the feat which has tickled your fancy.”
When the ringmaster asked if he could join us I told him to fuck off.
Labels: banana-peeling, belly button, belly dancing, navel-sucking
