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
Friday, April 15, 2011
Facial cues
Have you noticed that a lot of internet sites are displaying the faces of women supposedly having orgasms? A totally pointless exercise, in my view. You’d find similar expressions on the faces of women suffering from muscle cramps or trapped wind. Some of the more extreme portraits remind me of a slave girl having her toe amputated in the tent of a Mongol warlord. These faces provide no reliable data about a woman’s drives and juices.
A picture gallery showing the faces of ovulating women would be far more useful. Biologists have recently discovered that female rhesus monkeys have special “ovum faces” which only their steady boyfriends can discern. The same is true of gorillas. The eyes of my females flash like police sirens when they’re ovulating – if I gave them the chance they would handcuff me to a tree and read me my rights. Fortunately, it’s the ape who’s packing the biggest pistol that lays down the law in the jungle, so I generally manage to keep on top of the situation.
The manager of the safari camp once told me that he knew when his wife was fertile.
“The point of her nose changes colour and her eyes moisten,” he explained. “We’ve never needed to use contraception since I learned how to read her cycle.”
“But doesn’t she want you to service her when she’s fertile?” I asked. “I’ve heard that women can be very horny at that time of the month.”
“Of course she does,” he said. “I get some lube from the drawer and tell her I’m using the tradesman’s entrance this time.”
“And is she happy to receive you through the back door?” I inquired.
“Beggars can’t be choosers,” he replied.
A man who would currently benefit from such perspicacity is David “The Hoff” Hasselhoff, who has been energetically squiring a 31-year-old Welsh nymphette by the name of Hayley Roberts. Rumour has it that The Hoff is considering making an honest floozy of the blond part-time factory worker and aspiring model. Further rumour has it that she is eager to produce a brood of Hofflings for the great man, which might be more than he can handle at the age of 58. If he knew when she was ovulating he could thwart her cunning reproductive schemes.
Yet there are more important things in life than helping The Hoff with his family planning. Take road safety, for example. It’s an issue we take very seriously in the safari business, even though there are no actual roads to travel on. Our bus drivers always give animals the right of way and never break the speed limit unless being chased by an elephant. I was therefore shocked to hear of a Polish truck-driving instructor who gave his pupils the following advice:
“If a car gets in your way, fucking hit it!”
If the Polish authorities want to send Mr Krzystof Bojemski to the Congo for retraining, there’s a herd of elephants I’d like to introduce him to. If a truck drives into them, they fucking squash it.
Labels: elephants, orgasm, ovulation, sodomy, The Hoff, truck drivers
