Monday, June 06, 2011
Italian meatballs
My old circus chum Mario the Bum-pincher sent me a couple of news stories from his native Italy.
The first one is about a college student whose mother wouldn’t leave him alone. It seems she was ringing him a hundred times a day and visiting his lodgings without warning. He got her off his back by using the anti-stalking laws to persuade the courts to issue an order against her. She can now only phone him once a day and isn’t allowed to visit without permission.
I must say I don’t have much sympathy for the lad, who seems like a bit of a sissy. Pursuing litigation because your mother is harassing you is like scratching an itch with a pineapple. He could have easily put Mama in her place by letting her catch him in bed with a girl. When a mollycoddling mother finds a naked woman in her son’s bedroom, she knows the game is up. It doesn’t matter how tasty her ravioli is, she can’t compete with poontang.
The second story is about a crook who begged to be sent back to prison after serving a term for fraud. He told the police he would rather spend the rest of his days in gaol than live with his nagging wife.
You don’t have to be a baboon to smell the buffalo crap in that one. No man chooses to stay in prison because his wife is vexatious. Italy is a big country, with many places for the henpecked husband to obtain refuge. My guess is that the fellow was on chummy terms with the prison governor, visiting his mansion every day to help with the household chores, and shagging his trophy wife on the quiet. Men have done stranger things than incarcerate themselves for totty.
Anyway, the reason Mario sent me these news reports was to demonstrate that Italian men are frequently tormented by the women in their lives, which places them under abnormal stress. They should therefore be viewed sympathetically, he argued, if they let off steam by groping the buttocks of strange women. When I later phoned him to dissent from this squalid suggestion, he forcefully reiterated his point:
“Supposing your females bugged you every minute of the day?” he asked pointedly. “You wouldn’t go out and squeeze some nice-looking ass?”
“Mario,” I said gravely, “my females could pester me until the parrots stopped squawking and I still wouldn’t go around pinching bottoms without permission. People do such things because they are dissolute and incorrigible, not because they are driven to it by events in their lives.”
“Hey, whaddya judging me for?” asked Mario indignantly. “Are you a priest now?”
I told Mario that although I had not taken the holy orders, many rank-and-file Catholics wished they had a pastor like me.
"They know a gorilla is supremely qualified to scare off the kiddy-fiddlers and kick the Devil’s arse," I explained.
“Haha!” laughed Mario. “Why doncha pinch the Devil’s ass instead?”
“Because I’m not Italian, Mario,” I replied.
That shut him up.
Labels: bottom pincher, Italy, nagging wife, stalking mother
Friday, May 07, 2010
Indonesian police ban
Indonesia’s chief of police has banned men with artificially enlarged penises from the force. A wise policy in my view. Victims of crime are already in a state of shock and don’t need a visit from Officer Cobra Pants. It's not easy to describe an offender’s features to someone with a zucchini in his trousers. It might be a different story if policemen wore kilts, but that would open up another can of worms. A law enforcer who can’t kick a suspect’s behind without exposing himself is fatally flawed as a crime fighter.
The one exception I’d make is for officers working in the Vice Squad. It’s common knowledge that well-endowed policemen get more respect from prostitutes and pimps. They’re harder to bribe for one thing. A working girl would think twice about offering a freebie to a man whose appendage might damage the source of her income. I don’t know which squad was involved in the recent round-up of beach gigolos in Bali, but I hope they measured up to the task. You don’t want policemen getting an inferiority complex from manhandling gigolos.
Are the Indonesian police yearning for greater groin mass to compensate for another inadequacy? Perhaps their standard issue handgun is one of those puny little pistols used by gamblers in the Old West to threaten a rival under the table. A cop won’t feel secure in his virility unless you equip him with a piece like the 44-Magnum. I bet Dirty Harry never gave a second thought to the size of his dick when he was blowing away all the punks and psychos who crossed his path.
When I was in the circus we never called the police, preferring in-house solutions to our security problems. The midgets looked out for pickpockets and bottom-pinchers in the crowds that assembled before the show, keeping me informed by walkie-talkie. If they reported any funny business, I swung over on a guy rope and apprehended the suspect with the long arm of the gorilla. Very little violence was required. To the pickpockets, I simply said:
“You’ve got a choice: you can give what you stole to me, or you can give it to the lions.”
They always gave it to me.
A different approach was required for the bottom pinchers. I gave them a speech along the following lines:
“A pox on your groping fingers, you saucy knave! Apologize for your indecent act or I’ll rip off your pants and expose your grubby gonads to the world! And be sure to repent with downcast eyes or I’ll give your nose a tweak you’ll feel until the next solar eclipse!”
The recipients of the pinch were generally satisfied with the apology, often adding their own acerbic remarks to compound the miscreant’s humiliation. In a few cases, it must be said, the victim behaved in a manner that suggested she had mixed feeling about her experience. One particularly buxom lady even asked her assailant for a date. He didn’t dare refuse under the menace of my stern gaze.
Labels: 44 Magnum, bottom pincher, Indonesian police, penis enlargement
