Monday, September 10, 2012
Health news
I note a spate of breakthroughs in the field of human healthcare. I say “human healthcare”, because you’d have to be a blithering idiot to believe that any of these therapies would work on another species. Homo Sapiens has evolved into an idiosyncratic beast, with its own peculiar diseases and remedies. That’s why vets and doctors are rival professions with their own qualifications and secret handshakes. Having seen both of them, I would say that the vet handshake is kinkier.
The first treatment to consider is clown therapy. Apparently, bringing clowns into hospital wards improves the morale of patients and gives their immune system a boost. I can well believe it. Laughter is a natural opiate which exercises all the right muscles. In my circus career, I raised the hilarity to an even higher level by kicking the clowns’ arses when they were performing. Whether this was good for the health of the audience is difficult to say. Most of them probably felt better, but a few may have suffered hernias or died from laughing too much. A classic case of swings and roundabouts.
The next theory to consider is that eating walnuts improves the health of a man’s sperm. There must be something in this. We apes have always been pro-nut, going to great lengths just to munch on a handful of them. They are surely more than capable of perking up a man’s jism. I am sceptical, however, about the feeble-textured walnut being the nut of choice. Groundnuts and almonds should make human spermatozoa swish their tails more vigorously.
The final treatment I wish to discuss follows conveniently from the last one. It has been postulated that women suffering from depression can cure themselves by taking a man’s semen. This can be done by having straight sex, but oral ingestion is of greater therapeutic value.
Reluctant though I am to pooh-pooh the work of scientists, this one is much harder to swallow. I suspect that a cabal of male researchers have got their heads together in the hope of getting some head. There are a lot of depressed women in the vicinity of medical research laboratories, desperately looking for something to give them a lift. Although going down on horny scientists is unlikely to harm them, one should never give patients false hope. And how will they feel when they find out they’ve been duped into fellating geeky men? It would surely be a terrible blow.
Many humans, of course, nonchalantly ignore the findings of medical science in attending to their physical well-being. I recall an old gypsy woman who cured her ailments by putting a clove of garlic up each nostril. Our local witchdoctor, peace be upon him, got rid of a boil on his behind by smearing it with chicken shit. There are many paths to wisdom in this world of ours, and the men in white coats don’t have all the answers. Having said that, they’re probably the best people to ask if you’re looking for someone to give you a blowjob.
Labels: clowns, fellatio, jism, semen
Wednesday, February 04, 2009
Sex, drugs and suicide
Three long-haired men once came to see me after watching my circus act.
“We want you to join our band,” they said.
“What sort of band is it?” I asked.
“Metal,” they said. “We’re called The Electric Chairmen. We let our fans decide whether we’re judges or executioners.”
“Or condemned men indeed,” I remarked. “What role do you envisage for me?”
“Drummer,” they answered. “We need a drummer who can hit extra hard.”
I sighed and shook my head. I am sorry to say that this silly, one-dimensional idea about the musical ability of gorillas was common long before Cadbury-Schweppes plc jumped on the bandwagon.
“I regret that I cannot play the drums,” I said. “I am proficient only in the recorder and the Congolese nose flute.”
“Don’t worry about that, man, we can teach you!”
“No, gentlemen, you will have to ask someone else. I believe Ringo Starr has been looking for a position since The Beatles dissolved their partnership.”
They left disappointedly and I pondered the attractions of being in a pop group. If it’s so good, why do so many of the most successful performers die young? Jim Morrissey, Curt Cockbain and Michael Hutchend all perished miserably from self-inflicted injuries. I suspect that a man who receives too much fellatio loses his grip on reality. He begins to think of his penis as a lollypop and suffers agonies of regret that he will never be able to taste its fruity flavours. The spine of an upright primate is simply not flexible enough. (We gorillas can do it but rarely bother – it’s not worth the back strain it causes). Perhaps I should write a paper on this for the Journal of Psychology. Even if my theory is false, men who aren’t getting any will feel better for hearing it.
Some pop stars, of course, manage to cope with the fame and the groupies without committing suicide. David Cassidy is one who lived long enough to write a memoir from the perspective of middle-age. It may have been helpful that his associates in The Partridge Family included the maternal Shirley Jones and the nymph-like Susan Dey. These two ladies were indeed a foster family for young David, Miss Jones being his actual step-mother and Miss Dey being a surrogate sister (albeit with one much regretted act of incest). Their presence surely helped to keep his self-destructive demon at bay.
A more functional explanation of Mr Cassidy’s survival is found in the reason for his nickname “Donk”. If half of what he says about his blessed physique is true, a woman would have needed the throat of a python to relieve him orally. It seems he was quite happy to use his prodigious organ in the orthodox fashion in any case. According to David, the Italian movie star Gina Lollobrigida was well-briefed about his dimensions:
The first time I met Gina she looked me up and down and said: “I hear you’re a monster. I want to meet the monster.” Well, I decided that if I had it, there wasn’t any point in just keeping it in the holster all the time.
Very obliging of him. My old circus chum Mario claims that it was this encounter that inoculated Mr Cassidy against the woeful fate of others in his profession. Apparently no man who has slept with an Italian actress has ever taken his own life. Mario was a notorious bum-pincher in his day, but I have no reason to question his knowledge of Italian show-business folklore.
Labels: David Cassidy, fellatio, Gina Lollobrigida, heavy metal
