Wednesday, April 26, 2017
Putting a seal on it
An American tourist tells me that a US Navy Seal is not an animal with flippers that makes unpleasant barking noises. Apparently, the Seals are daredevil commandos who visit remote locations to confront bad guys in need of assassination. I use the computer at the safari guesthouse to confirm this description is essentially correct. However, the Seals are considerably more versatile than the American public imagines them to be. A few minutes of judicious googling leads me to an article about Chief Special Warfare Officer Joseph Schmidt III, who is rumoured to have starred in lesbian-themed movies such as ‘Strippers Come Home Horny from the Club’ and ‘Apple Smashing Lap Dance’.
The details are somewhat murky, but it appears that Officer Schmidt was encouraged to pursue this line of work by his wife, who is a successful porn actress. This is what she said about her husband’s situation:
“He was always pretty open about it with the command. I mean, honestly, all of his buddies knew about it. He got called in and they said, ‘Look, keep it on the low, don’t mention the SEAL name and blah, blah, blah.’ “
But now that the lid has blown off, the Seals have launched an investigation into what Officer Schmidt has been doing under their noses:
“There are prohibitions on behaviour that is discrediting to the service,” explained Captain Jason Salata, a spokesman for the Seals.”
For my part, I don’t see what role a barrel-chested fellow like Officer Schmidt would have in such movies. I can’t believe a single lesbian on Earth would find him attractive, so what does he contribute? The manager of the safari camp is an aficionado of lesbian porn, so I ask him how a man could have a starring role in this genre of entertainment.
“Oh, you poor innocent ape!” he sighs, shaking his head sadly. “All the best ones have men in starring roles.”
He then gives me a brief lecture on the topic, describing the following parts that male actors have played:
• the loyal slave who performs various tasks for his lesbian mistress, which may include keeping her toys in serviceable condition;
• the Peeping Tom who furtively watches lesbians until he is discovered and punished for his voyeurism;
• the cuckold whose wife is seduced by a lesbian and must face the humiliating truth that she prefers girl-on-girl action to anything he can provide.
Call me an old-fashioned ape, but I don’t think any of the roles described above are compatible with the ethos of an elite fighting unit. A man in military service can’t appear to be pussy-whipped by lesbians. The enemy might think he was a coward whose finger would tremble on the trigger. If I were in the Seals High Command, I would require Officer Schmidt to submit the scripts of the movies he is offered a role in, and forbid him from accepting any part where lesbians bully him into submission. Artistic freedom is a wonderful thing, but you’ve got to draw the line somewhere.
Labels: lesbians, porn, US Navy Seal
Wednesday, March 23, 2016
Nicked in the bud
To my knowledge, there are no gorillas who live in Manchester, a city in north-west England. I once visited the place in my circus days. Its grey climate and chilly breezes made me muse on philosophical questions such as ‘The Purpose of Existence’ and ‘The Problem of Free Willies’. Rather than searching for answers like a human, I put on a pair of thermal underpants. This is why news stories from Manchester put me on edge, like an elephant who can sense the presence of a snake.
The latest incident of note from that benighted city concerns a 61-year-old academic who has been forced out of his job. Professor Nicholas Goddard, known as ‘Old Nick’ in the adult entertainment industry, was exposed as a former porn star when one of his students saw him in an X-rated film.
“I didn’t get paid much for my movie work, but they did cover travel expenses,” explained Professor Goddard. “I stopped acting when it all became too much.”
The “acting” he did involved having sex with numerous women while wearing nothing but a gold watch. I’m not surprised it became too much for him. I couldn’t imagine copulating with countless females with an expensive timepiece on my wrist. I wouldn’t be able to stop thinking about what it was rubbing against.
When his past became public knowledge, the university launched an investigation and subsequently issued the following statement:
“Professor Nick Goddard has resigned from his position at the university with effect from April 1, 2016. His teaching and supervision duties will be undertaken by other colleagues between now and April 1, 2016.”
I don’t know why they chose April Fool’s Day. Are they implying that the professor was a fool? Or do they think he made a fool of the university? If you ask me, the biggest fools are his students. I bet they were sniggering like chipmunks during Professor Goddard’s lectures, making it impossible for him to continue. So now they will be taught by unprepared tutors. If they get low grades, they have no one to blame but themselves.
The biggest villain, of course, is the student who snitched on Old Nick. In the first place, he should have been studying rather than watching porn films. In the second place, he should have kept the information to himself instead of squawking like a parrot. I hope his career prospects will now be limited to lowly occupations such as tabloid journalism.
I’m glad to say that a few honourable Mancunians have spoken out in Professor Goddard’s defence:
“It’s nothing to do with his job or the university,” declared Nicola Munro. “There is no need to investigate him unless he has acted inappropriately. Back off is what I say!”
She speaks with the courage of a tigress defending her kill. Let’s hope the university takes heed of her words and re-employs the good professor. If he can’t continue in Chemical Engineering, they could at least give him a chair in Erotic Studies.
Labels: acting, porn, pornography, thermal underwear
Wednesday, March 16, 2016
Virtually arousing
I wonder if virtual reality porn is going to be the next big thing for humans who hanker after hi-tech gadgets. The pastime involves putting on a big fat pair of goggles and watching videos stored in the memory. Apparently, the naked women don’t stay on a screen for you to admire at a distance, but walk right up to you, pouting and jiggling their jahoobies. I dare say there are naked men too for those who prefer beefcake and sausage. The first users of this gismo have been lavish in their praise:
“We tried virtual sex for the first time and it feels like we just lost our virginity again!” they exclaimed.
This looks like an impressive endorsement, but a comment from a more reflective guinea pig indicates the illusion was less than perfect:
“The scenes feature serious visual depth and three-dimensionality. My mind told me to reach out and touch, but my invisible arms were grabbing nothing but air.”
Not being able to feel the goodies is surely a major deficiency. And you can’t taste them either, unless you’re sucking on a rubber teat flavoured with essence of booby.
Call me a suspicious ape, but I don’t trust these early reviews. How do we know they weren’t sponsored by the manufacturer? Normally, I would have asked the manager of the safari camp for his opinion, but he is currently convalescing from a vasectomy operation and in no mood for such experiments. So I phoned my old circus buddy Smacker Ramrod and asked him to give it a try.
“If I used that device at home my wife would hammer my kneecaps with a rolling pin!” he protested.
“So why not use it outside the house?” I suggested.
“You mean in the street, where people could see the stiffy in my trousers?” he asked. “That might get me arrested. And wearing those goggles would allow any old pervert to walk right up and grope me. The really scary thing is that I might enjoy it.”
I had to admit these were valid objections, so I’ll just have to wait for an impartial review from a blogger I trust. Until then I shall reserve judgment, like a justice of the higher appellate court. But that won’t stop me discussing the broader implications, like a prophet of the masonic temple.
Virtually reality porn will have its human enthusiasts, but it’s not a perfect substitute for the real thing. Nor can it be enjoyed in a public place with making the participator looked like an utter nincompoop. Anyone so foolhardy should expect to have his picture taken by on-lookers while someone held a sign above his head with the word “pillock” written on it.
Hence it would most likely become a private bedroom pursuit, done as an aid to self-stimulation. The main cause for concern is that many humans might become completely dependent on it, like the ‘orgasmatron’ in the Woody Allen movie. If you can’t get yourself off without the help of a machine, you might as well marry a robot.
Labels: jahoobies, orgasmatron, porn, technology, virtual reality
Wednesday, March 07, 2007
India's porn dilemma
What ever is going on in India? Some upstart minister has banned a satellite TV channel for showing a woman licking an ice cream. Has the man had some kind of mental breakdown? Watching women eat desserts is one of the great innocent pleasures of life. I used to do it all the time in the circus and it never failed to perk me up. I even carried packets of freshening wipes to offer to ladies whose indulgence left them with particularly sticky mouths. The minister’s idiocy seems to be an extreme reaction to the fear of spiritual pollution brought about by India’s economic liberalisation. The older generation, steeped in the morals of the late Empress of India, are terrified that the young may discover the more authentic tradition of the Kama Sutra. What would then stop them from shaming their elders by discussing sexual gymnastics at the dinner table? Hence the desperate measures to keep anything resembling hanky-panky off the TV screen.
As a gorilla, I have mixed feeling about pornography. Animals living in the wild have no need of it because sex is going on all around them. We hairy apes treat live action as something to be enjoyed when you're having a picnic with the kiddies. Mating elephants are a particular favourite: it’s a bit like watching a drunkard outside his front door trying to fit a key into the lock – slapstick comedy at its finest.
As far as humans are concerned, any television producer will tell you that a bit of soft porn is essential to attract a decent audience for quality late-evening drama. In my circus days, I often saw the clowns watching TV plays exploring serious social issues such as poverty, alienation, family breakdown, etc. You can bet your last pair of undies that they wouldn’t have bothered without the prospect of a pliant pair of boobies materialising mid-way through the transmission. Dogmatic opponents of pornography should bear this in mind before condemning it as a corrupting influence.
Hard-core porn is a different matter altogether. Far from encouraging people to have sex, it seems to take the place of it. The man who gets addicted to watching other humans bonking is on a sure path to impotence. I have only heard one good argument for making such films, which was made, unintentionally, by an elderly Irish lady. This woman was a wealthy widow, who being a great fan of circuses had helped us with our pre-event promotions when we visited Dublin. After our opening show, the all-female acrobat team invited her to a trailer for drinks and a chin wag.
“Oi wouldn't tink av comin' widout de marvellous blatherin' gorilla!” said Mrs Sweeney.
I wasn’t the sort of ape to disappoint a lady, particularly if she happened to be a fan, so I went along to the trailer and took an unobtrusive seat by the rear window. For all her talk of marvellous gorillas, the widow Sweeney seemed a lot more interested in chatting to the girls, and after few drinks the ladies seemed to have forgotten I was there. As is customary on such occasions, the conversation drifted into matters of a personal nature.
“You gals are so lucky wid de pill an' de sex-oo-al revolooshun,” declared Mrs Sweeney. “Oi wus a teenager when oi got married an' me an' me 'usban' knew nathin' about sex. Nathin' at all!”
“What did you do on your wedding night?” asked one of the girls.
“We agreed ter show each other what we 'ad,” replied the aged one. “An' when oi saw what yer man 'ad oi burst into tears!”
You would scarcely believe the outpouring of sympathetic cooing this revelation provoked.
“I don’t blame you darling,” said one of the girls. “When I saw my first one I wanted to call the police!”
Her co-performers giggled as if recalling their own sexual initiations, while I remained impassive, staring at my toes with my ears pricked up.
“Wus a week before we wus 'usban' an' wife in de proper sense,” continued Mrs Sweeney, “an' tree years before oi got any pleasure from de act.”
“Well you’re luckier than my sister then,” piped a cheeky female voice. “She didn’t enjoy it until after her divorce.”
“Find a gran’ fella, did she?” inquired the Celtic dowager.
“Found a good sex toy!” retorted the acrobat, prompting the entire female contingent to laugh uproariously, Mrs Sweeney being the heartiest among them.
These reminiscences convinced me of the need for explicit – yet tasteful – sexual films, aimed particularly at the pubescent human maiden. A girl should not have to endure an unpleasant shock before her first experience of love-making, and should also be reassured about the adaptive qualities of the human cha-cha. I should imagine that my friend Dickie Attenborough would be the right man for the director’s chair.
Labels: ice-cream, India, porn
