Wednesday, June 10, 2015
Sticks and stones
Can you believe that men are scared of Sharon Stone? This is what she says:
“Guys run away. People bought into the story that I'm a sex symbol but I'm not really. I'm really the girl with the baggy clothes and the bag of books.”
“I wish more guys would throw themselves at me,” she added.
What kind of poltroonery is this? I’d like to unleash a raiding party of female gorillas on the men of America to teach them what real fear is. Why anyone would be scared of Sharon Stone is a mystery more puzzling than the Bermuda octopus. Admittedly, she did play a woman who kept an ice pick under her bed in Basic Instinct, but that was just an acting role. I’d be amazed to find the spindliest bodkin beneath her bed in real life.
Sharon’s bewildering predicament prompted me to give Smacker Ramrod a call. My old circus buddy has never failed to shed light on anthropological anomalies of this sort. This is what he told me:
“I wouldn’t be scared of her myself, but I can see why men with fragile egos would find her intimidating. They assume she’s been serviced by the finest studs on the planet and fear they’ll be found wanting in the bonking department. The fact that Miss Stone has demonstrated her expertise at faking orgasms on film would do little to reassure them.”
I thanked Smacker for his explanation, which I have since given some thought. Is being judged a mediocre lover by Sharon Stone really a prospect to be dreaded? You’ve still slept with her, after all, so how are you down on the deal? Surely a man in that situation should just shrug his shoulders and say “C’est la vie”. You can’t have everything in life.
One fellow who probably wouldn’t be scared of Sharon Stone is a cyclist who made a spectacle of himself during a nude bike-riding event in England. It seems that the exposure of his private parts to a crowd of onlookers caused him to become sexually aroused, provoking much dismay and consternation.
“Everyone was taking their clothes off to get ready for the ride,” said one witness. “I heard gasps and I turned around – it was a horrible sight.”
Fortunately, the police were at hand to pull the man aside and give him a stern lecture. He was instructed to put on a pair of trousers.
My only reaction to this story is to marvel that a human could be so similar to a baboon in his bodily responses. I’ve seen more baboon stiffies than I’d care to remember, which is a perpetual hazard in the jungle. The golden rule is never to react with a show of emotion, which would be taken as a sign of weakness. Just maintain a poker face and attend to your affairs without interruption.
Baboons are vulgar exhibitionists who have no fear of their fellow primates, but their erections are no more dangerous than Sharon Stone.
Labels: baboons, nude cycling, public erection, Sharon Stone
Monday, August 27, 2012
A towering achievement
I’m feeling a little sorry for Henrik Rummel, the US Olympic rower who was photographed on the podium with a raging stiffy. Overcome with embarrassment, he foolishly tried to deny the obvious in an interview with a celebrity gossip site. One might say his performance was predictably wooden. I couldn’t resist showing the podium picture to the manager of the safari camp.
“If that isn’t a boner, the sausage I ate for breakfast was a noodle,” he said.
For once, I had to agree with him. What Rummel should have done was brazen it out. Instead of getting his girlfriend to back up his flimsy evasions, he should have used her as an excuse for his unplanned turgidity. Suppose he had responded to the picture with the following statement:
“I guess my brain was thinking about the medal I won, but my Johnson was thinking about Melinda’s hooters.”
He would have come across as a cool dude rather than a dissembling nitwit.
Public relations is an art I mastered in my circus days. The rules I followed were: (i) answer all your fan mail; (ii) ignore all your hate mail; (iii) cultivate your image by disseminating titbits of personal information. The unwashed human masses love hearing quirky snippets of news about the celebrities they revere. Here are a couple of facts about myself I released through carefully chosen media outlets:
Gorilla Bananas has a bust of Lord Nelson in his trailer.
Gorilla Bananas can play ‘A Hard Day’s Night’ on his recorder.
Needless to say, my fans lapped it up like cream from the she-elephant’s udders. As I grew more media savvy, I cashed in on the product placement scam by feeding the press headlines such as:
Gorilla Bananas uses Harmony Hairspray.
Few of the Olympic medal-winners possess such skills, which is why they tend to make a hash of their public pronouncements. Even Usain Bolt, who is used to being in the limelight, sounded like a bit of a dick after winning the 100 metres. If I were Bolt’s manager, I’d tell him to avoid all unscripted interviews and project his persona solely in TV commercials.
“Be realistic, Bolty,” I would say to him. “A professional scriptwriter will feed you far better lines than anything you could say when speaking off the cuff.”
Bolt would probably be too arrogant to follow my advice, but at least I’d have the satisfaction of knowing I’d done my job whenever he yammered away like a jackass.
Some Olympic medal-winners are so jejune in their public statements that it actually makes you like them more. This is what Helen Glover, the 26-year-old British rowing champion, said to the BBC during her victory parade in Cornwall:
"Oh my God, I'm so excited and the rain's stopped, so that's good. I said I wasn't going to cry at all, but I did, once.”
Heh, what a sweet little girl! One has an avuncular urge to buy her an ice-cream and take her to the funfair.
Labels: Olympics, public erection, public relations, Usain Bolt
