Friday, October 12, 2012
Bosom brew
The manager of the safari camp got annoyed when I asked him whether he’d be guzzling a new range of alcoholic beverages from Germany. The innovation in the distilling process is to pour the liquor over the breasts of “glamour models” before bottling it.
“What kind of idiot do you take me for?” he huffed. “There’s no such thing as tit-flavoured booze and I’m not paying a hundred dollars for a bottle of vodka because it's been spilled over some bimbo's boobs!”
“Methinks the lady doth protest too much!” I thought before replying. “Do calm down, manager, I was only asking. I never thought a connoisseur of your calibre would be fooled by such a gimmick. I’m sure you wouldn’t buy their vodka if they let you suck it off the breasts.”
The manager rubbed his chin and cogitated before replying: “I doubt you could suck two fingers off a woman’s chest,” he said. “And you definitely couldn’t drink it in one swig. But I might pay the price of a single if they asked me nicely.”
“That’s very generous of you,” I remarked. “And thank you for sharing your expertise on this vital subject.”
The manager may well be right that only a fool would buy these spirits, but that’s hardly a fatal flaw in the business model. There are many fools in the world, and some of them will surely pay extra for alcohol that’s rinsed the rack of a nubile woman. Can we be certain, furthermore, that the dumpling-dowsing has no effect on the taste? I’d like to hear the verdict of a professional taster before coming to a firm conclusion.
Even if the liquor is chemically unaltered, it might well taste different to a man who knows where it’s been. Taste is a complex sensation affected by neurons firing in different centres of the brain. Back in my circus days, there was a clown who used to have a plate of sausages and beans while watching Benny Hill on TV. He said the beans tasted divine if he ate them when the bald fellow was getting head-slapped. As for the sausages, he saved them for the dolly-bird chase at the end. The taste of anything depends on the mood you’re in. I find bananas most appetising when I’m lying in my hammock watching the sun set; but they’re practically inedible if I’m sitting on a rock watching baboons mate.
None of this means I have any intention of sampling the bosom booze. We gorillas shun intoxicants that might make us foolish and cause us to behave like the crazy gibbon. I do wonder, nevertheless, whether the same idea could be extended to other foods. Would it be possible, for example, to insert a hen’s egg inside a woman’s birth canal so she could re-lay it? Perhaps it’s the sort of thing Lady Gaga might attempt if someone put the idea into her head. I should imagine a carton of her freshly laid eggs would fetch a handsome price in the market.
Labels: bosom-flavoured booze, Lady Gaga, re-laying eggs, taste buds
Wednesday, August 05, 2009
Uncurbed enthusiasm
A heated argument breaks out at the safari guesthouse about the TV comedy show Curb Your Enthusiasm. It concerns an episode in which the petite black comedienne, Wanda Sykes, breaks off her engagement with a rap singer on discovering that he is “running around town eating pussy”. The ladies present are of the opinion that Wanda had acted appropriately, denouncing her fiancé as a slimy-tongued philanderer who ought to have his lips sown together. The male guests take a contrary position, arguing that Miss Sykes had overreacted. She should have realised, they say, that a rap singer is a breed of man for whom eating pussy is like eating popcorn – a snack of negligible significance. One of them goes so far as to suggest that Krayzee-Eyez Killa had proved his fidelity to Wanda by reserving his own private parts for her exclusive satisfaction.
You are doubtless now expecting to hear of my own contribution to this debate. “Gorilla Bananas surely intervened to smooth ruffled feathers and cool heated tempers,” I hear you say. “He devised a compromise formula that coaxed the bickering humans into renewing their cross-gender camaraderie.” Well, I’m sorry to disappoint you. My lips, on this occasion, remained firmly sealed (if not actually sown together). Life is not an episode of The Waltons and there are times when the antagonists must settle their differences without my arbitration. I cannot always play the part of a hairy King Solomon.
What I was motivated to do was watch the episode in question on the HBO video-on-demand channel. One must always examine the evidence before making judgements about alleged sexual misconduct. In the opening scene of the show, Mr Killa recites the lyrics of a new composition:
If you say anything
You’ll beg me to die
Coz I’ll make you suck my dick
Then I’ll nut in your eye
I’ll stomp on your world
As if my name is Godzilla
I’m coming for you motherfucker
I’m your Krazee-Eyez Killa
In virtually his next breath, he informs Larry David that performing oral sex on women of diverse ethnicities is one of the great passions of his life:
“You’ve got all different flavours of pussy,” he explains. “The best pussy to eat is Asian pussy.”
The man clearly believes that oral sex is a panacea for life’s problems – a heinous punishment to inflict on an enemy in one context becomes a gourmet delicacy in another. Such are the nuances of ghetto culture. Yet natural justice demands that we consider the matter from the viewpoint of his fiancé. For a wife to have the taste of her private parts compared unfavourably with countless Asian women is undeniably a gross humiliation. Had I been betrothed to Mr Killa, I simply wouldn’t have stood for it:
“If the taste of my pussy isn’t good enough for you I’ll serve it to someone else!” I would have declared frostily.
On the other hand, it does seem rather harsh to dump a fellow for habits he presumably acquired during his bachelorhood. Shouldn’t a man contemplating matrimony be given a chance to mend his ways?
So on due reflection, I would have advised Wanda to take Krazee-Eyez back on condition that he gave up his promiscuous pussy-eating compulsion. A mere declaration on his part would not suffice. To prove his sincerity, he would be required to eat raw chillies for a month in order to cleanse his palate and permanently numb his taste buds. Purged of his ability to appreciate the subtle flavours of a woman’s cha-cha, he would surely be cured of his indecent obsession. Even the most hardened addict can learn to kick the habit.
Labels: Asian pussy, chillies, flavours, Larry David, oral sex, taste buds
