Wednesday, June 18, 2014
Prenatal nerves
The actress Mila Kunis is pregnant for the first time and anticipating the ordeal of childbirth with ill-disguised trepidation. She gave the following rebuke to expectant fathers on a late night talk show:
"Stop saying 'we're pregnant’. You're not pregnant! Do you have to squeeze a watermelon-sized person out of your lady-hole? No."
As for the father of her own child, she expects him to avert his eyes from horror show occurring between her legs when she gives birth:
“He'll be head to head, not head to vag,” she said. “I highly doubt he wants to see that being ripped apart and shredded.”
One gets the impression she doesn’t quite believe it’s physically possible for a baby pass through her birth canal. You might think her remarks were intended to be humorous, but she’s obviously trying to talk up her spirits. I’m sure the captain of the Titanic made similar quips when the band was giving its final concert.
The man who impregnated Mila is an actor called Ashton Kutcher, whom I know nothing about. Be that as it may, he should attend a prenatal fathering class so he can learn how to mollify his missus. My old circus buddy, Smacker Ramrod, used his experience as a vet to help his own wife deliver their brood:
“I told her to moo like a cow during her first labour,” he explained. “It emptied her mind of all human concerns and got her into animal mode. Our firstborn popped out like a bar of soap.”
“Did you deliver the child yourself?” I asked.
“No, I didn’t have the right license for that,” he replied. “But we hired a Nepalese midwife who couldn’t speak a word of English. It made the whole thing more like a veterinary experience.”
One would hope things go as smoothly for Mila, but I can’t say I’m optimistic. Her birth will doubtless be attended by a team of busybodies, barking out instructions instead of letting Nature take its course. You couldn’t blame a baby for staying inside the womb rather than entering a zoo like that.
On a more positive note, Mila is delighted that her breasts have got bigger in preparation for the new arrival:
"They're amazing!” she exclaimed. “They've tripled in size. I was a 34A: now I'm a 36C!”
This is very good news for everyone connected with Mila, and especially good news for the baby, who can look forward to a hearty meal after being rudely ejected from its cosy cubbyhole. A pair of boobies, brimming with milk, is just what you need to calm your nerves when you arrive in a strange place.
I hope Mila has invested in one of those suction devices that can harvest milk from over-lactitious women. She could donate her surplus to less bountiful mothers or the makers of gourmet ice-cream. I wouldn’t eat it myself, but she must have fans willing to pay top dollar for a taste of her titty fluid.
“Let others feed on what you don’t need” as we say in the jungle.
Labels: breast-feeding, human milk, Mila Kunis, natural childbirth, pregnancy
Monday, January 31, 2011
Balls of Sheen, Jizz of Becks
A tourist at the safari guesthouse speculates about the size of Charlie Sheen’s testicles.
“I’m guessing they’re bigger than golf balls,” he says.
The evidence he offers for this conjecture is a news report about a weekend the actor spent in Las Vegas, where he allegedly copulated with prostitutes on a revolving-door basis. I tell the tourist that such feats of debauchery, although impressive in their own terms, do not amount to conclusive proof.
“The source you cite mentions that Mr Sheen was ‘coked out of his head’,” I point out. “The aphrodisiac effect of that narcotic might enable a man with gonads the size of grapes to spend a weekend skewering whores.”
“You could be right,” agrees the tourist, “but without big balls he’d be firing blanks pretty soon. I guess you gorillas don’t have to worry about that.”
“We conserve our ammunition and try to make every shot count,” I reply modestly, resisting the temptation to boast or exaggerate. “The animals with the biggest ones in relation to bodyweight are a species of grasshopper. They enable the male to impregnate scores of females in a frenetic spree of hop-on, hop-off action.”
“Grasshoppers!” exclaims the tourist. “Who’d have thunk it? I’ll remember not to keep them as pets so I don’t get an inferiority complex!”
“You could eat them to get a superiority complex,” I suggest.
I later regret having discussed the issue of ball-size with the tourist. Although one should always be civil to guests, there’s no need to feed their delusions about the importance of a well-packed scrotum. For, as we say in the jungle, the proof of the bollock lies in the potency of its seed.
One man who has no deficiency in this regard is Mr Becks, having recently impregnated Victoria Spice for the fourth time. This happy news was greeted with joyous celebrations in the African bush – the elephants blew their trumpets; the rhinos swished their horns; the crocodiles thrashed their tails against the rumps of lounging hippos.
My females did their “squat-and-grunt” dance, offering prayers that the new arrival would emerge from the orifice that Nature intended, rather than being surgically extracted in the manner of its siblings. We gorillas are traditionalists on the question of childbirth, believing that a baby should come out the same way it got in. While it’s true that Victoria’s figure is not ideal for squeezing them through the birth canal, there are ways of preparing her for the required exertions. A tub of Vaseline and a zucchini can achieve great things in the right hands.
What I admire most about Victoria is the way she always manages to get knocked up when some floozy is claiming to have slept with her husband. It’s as if a sixth sense tells her when her marriage is under threat, prompting her to jump on Mr Becks while he’s doing the junior crossword puzzle. I don’t for one minute believe the scurrilous tales of infidelity in the gutter press, but it’s nice to see a wife who knows how to remind her man where his virile juices belong.
Labels: big balls, Charlie Sheen, natural childbirth, Victoria Spice
