Wednesday, September 16, 2015
Queen and country
Pierce Brosnan has made the daring suggestion that the next James Bond should be gay. The idea is not quite as preposterous as it sounds. It would be good to have a Bond who dresses stylishly and knows all the fancy dance steps. A musical production on Broadway would not be out of the question.
Yet no one should underestimate the conundrums and dilemmas of pulling off such an outrageous coup. The thorny issue of sex inevitably rears its throbbing head. As anyone who’s followed the Bond franchise knows, carnal intimacy is no mere recreation for 007. He often has to sleep with women to pump them for information. Sometimes the baddies try to catch him with his pants down, but the attempt invariably fails, leaving them with much egg white on their faces. You know the day of reckoning is approaching when a cocksure Bond thwarts his treacherous assassins. While it’s certainly possible for a gay man to have sex with a woman (think of Oscar Wilde, Rock Hudson and John Travolta), it’s not in the nature of Bond to fake orgasms or shoot with his gun half-cocked. One limp love scene could ruin the entire movie.
Then there’s the question of dealing with the villains, most of whom are men. Despicable blackguards though they are, it cannot be denied that many of them are sexy beasts (e.g. Kamal Khan and his big-turbaned henchman in Octopussy). Could a gay secret agent kill a man in cold blood that he was sexually attracted to? Or would his finger tremble on the trigger as he pointed his lethal weapon? I don’t pretend to know the answer to these questions, but the doubts are sufficient to warrant a thorough investigation. The court calls Mistress Maddie as an expert witness.
Now, the sexuality of crime-fighting heroes is a recurrent topic of conjecture. Batman and Robin were thought to be in the closet by many, although that never stopped Catwoman from trying to bring out the tomcat in the Caped Crusader. Maybe the smell of his sweaty tights interfered with her gaydar. More recently, the actor who plays Spiderman has suggested that his character should by gay or bisexual. Actually, I don’t see how he could be anything inside that skin-hugging costume. Someone should solve the riddle of how Spiderman takes a leak before pondering the question of his sexual urges.
My own view is that the truly dedicated crime-fighter should be asexual, like the late Steve McGarrett of Hawaii-5-0. Anyone can see that James Bond is a ludicrous fantasy figure invented by Ian Fleming, a wannabe action hero who seduced women with champagne and sausages. Personally, I could never trust a public servant who was obsessed about sex. Dirty Harry rarely got laid, and when he did the woman had to practically open her thighs and sit on his face. That’s the way it has to be for a no-crap law-enforcer. You can’t be thinking about poontang when you’re protecting the public from villains and vagabonds.
Labels: Batman and Robin, gay crime fighters, James Bond, poontang, Spiderman
Wednesday, May 28, 2014
Austrian sausage
I wonder if Conchita Wurst has received any marriage proposals since winning the Eurovision song contest. I’m sure she’d make a good husband for some lucky woman. She obviously couldn’t be anyone’s wife with that beard on her face.
Bearded ladies were a popular sideshow attraction in the circus, but that was long before my performing days. They never thought to marry, because no man can tolerate strangers gawking at his wife’s beard. Conchita, however, is only pretending to be a bearded woman. She is actually a bearded man, so her facial hair shouldn’t deter eligible spinsters from popping the question.
Now it’s easy to dismiss a transvestite who grows a beard as a joker and a contrarian, but maybe Miss Wurst is making a serious point. A woman who dates a gay man to help him hide his gayness is commonly known as “a beard”, so maybe she’s telling the world that she doesn’t need a beard because she already has one. The manager of the safari camp pooh-poohed this theory when I explained it to him:
“If you look at her beard, it’s like pubic hair on her chin,” he said. “It’s her way of telling other gay men that her mouth is a sexual organ.”
“I think that’s taken as read, with or without a beard,” I remarked.
While most Europeans regard Conchita as a talented singer with an amusing demeanour, the Russians are highly disgruntled by her rise to fame. A politician called Vitaly Milonov has described her as a pervert who would turn Europe into a hotbed of sodomy. I would have thought that using phrases like “a hotbed of sodomy” is more likely to turn Europe into a hotbed of sodomy. Although I’m not quite sure what a hotbed is, it sounds like the perfect venue for crazy butt sex. I’ve got a feeling this Milonov character knows more than he’s letting on.
Now that Miss Wurst is famous, anecdotes about his childhood have started to surface. The pastor of the village he grew up in recalls how he longed to wear frilly dresses:
“He so badly wanted to dress like the girls and got upset when he wasn’t allowed," said Father Michael Unger.
His love of all things girly made him very popular with girls of his age, who would follow him around like groupies:
“Every day his girlfriends would go to his house to play,” recalls Stefanie Afornegger, a childhood friend. “We would dress up and sing and take photos of ourselves.”
“Boys envied him, mistaking his friendship with girls for romance,” added Max Schoff, his English teacher.
It’s often been observed that gay men find it easier to acquire girlfriends because of their greater empathy with the feminine. I’ve no doubt Conchita would be the perfect boyfriend, up until the point when his girlfriend stuck her tongue in his mouth. The men who have really got it made are the ones who can combine gayness with an honest love of poontang. It’s a form of hybrid vigour.
Labels: beards, Conchita Wurst, poontang, sodomy, transvestites
