Monday, April 16, 2012
The Love Butt
A story from Miami is making me happy and sad at the same time, which is quite an achievement for an everyday human tale of yearning and fulfilment. I don’t usually experience such a complex mix of emotions unless mating elephants are involved.
It concerns a 43-year-old divorcee called Jenny Fizgerald, who in spite of her name is a sultry, olive-skinned Latina (see picture). Believing that her flat backside was discouraging potential suitors, Jenny forked out 10,000 dollars for buttock-reshaping surgery, which gave her a delectably peachy rump, very ripe for the plucking (see picture). Shortly afterwards, she got engaged to a 42-year-old hombre called Carlos, who has the face of a compulsive booty-ogler.
“I know my new bum made this happen!” said Jenny delightedly. “And I know Carlos loves it too – he’s always staring.”
Is that all he does? Perhaps Jenny’s ladylike modesty prevented her from mentioning more tactile forms of appreciation.
"Her bottom is why I noticed her in the first place,” agreed Carlos. “Without it we might never have spoken."
He's got a point. A fabulous arse is a great ice-breaker. Whenever my old friend Smacker Ramrod saw an attractive woman at a party, he used to circumnavigate her discreetly before attempting to make conversation. A clear mental picture of her posterior helped him find the right words and focus on the task at hand. Some may call such behaviour sexist, but let us acknowledge a simple truth: most women would rather have their bottom admired than listen to a lot of guff about the price of oil or the G-12 summit. I’m sure that’s even true of female politicians like Hilldog and Frau Merkel.
So why did this story make me feel happy? I should hope it’s obvious. Gorilla Bananas cares about his human cousins and wants them to achieve their dreams. It tickles the cockles of my heart that Jenny has transformed her life by acquiring a pert behind.
“I finally feel great and sexy about myself,” she said.
I bet she does. Full marks to Jenny for realising that it’s never too late to boost your self-esteem by improving the texture of your tush. It thrills me that her delectable derrière solicited a marriage proposal from a man she deemed worthy of the honour. And although I’m not 100% certain about Carlos, I can’t fault his taste in tail, or deny the happiness his regard for the rear has brought. In the words of the Indian chief whose name I forget, my heart soars like a hawk!
And yet there is also sadness.
As a gorilla who lives in the wild, nestling snugly in the bosom of Mother Nature, I can’t condone artificially enhancing the bottom by cutting and sucking and pumping it. If Jenny had told me about her plans for cosmetic surgery, I would have invited her to stay with my tribe for a couple of months. There is no better way of getting your butt in shape than living like a gorilla – our tree-climbing, kick-dancing, flesh-massaging lifestyle goes hand-in-hand with a rock-solid rump. Some of us had buns of steel before steel was invented.
Labels: arse, bottom, marriage, rump, tush
Friday, February 02, 2007
Meat for the girls
Leonardo DiCaprio has denied being a “piece of cute meat”. Someone should tell this conceited young man to wait for the compliment before pretending to reject it. It seems that Hollywood celebrities have been desperate to play down their sex appeal ever since Steven Spielberg narrowly escaped being sodomised by a stalker. But if DiCaprio is really the ugly duckling he claims to be, how is he able to command a fee of $10 million per movie? No film studio would pay that kind of money for an actor with a face like Porky Pig.
In fairness to Leo, he may not have been talking about his face. I wouldn’t blame him for trying to postpone the fateful day when he is asked to bare his buttocks for the camera. His fans will certainly feel cheated if he hasn’t done so by the age of 35, and perhaps start to wonder whether his derrière is not disfigured by some great bulbous wart. It’s curious how these fashions creep into the movie industry. No one ever expected Humphrey Bogart or Spencer Tracey to show his backside to his fans, but nowadays it is more or less de rigueur for the leading man.
I suspect the fad for rear-exposure was kick-started by the narcissistic mooning of Richard Gere in American Gigolo. Gere also exposed himself frontally in that movie, but mercifully this precedent never caught on in Hollywood. The reason, I should imagine, is that few women derive any pleasure from ogling a man’s “meat-and-two-veg”, as the English housewife calls it. For the lady of good taste, HMS Winkie is a gunboat to be felt rather than seen. The hindquarters, however, are an entirely different cut of beef. Many are the times I have witnessed women peering at the well-packed posterior of a strutting young buck. Female gorillas, I should add, are just the same.
Of course, there was a time when mooning was a tactic used by heterosexual men to shock or humiliate their rivals. The Scotch reputedly did it to the English before their famous victory at the Bannockburn. In my circus days, I was asked to umpire a tennis match between the ringmaster and the senior clown. Believing that the ringmaster had served long, the clown caught the ball in his hand and threw it back over the net. The ringmaster, infuriated by this presumption, was having none of it.
“If that was a fault, I’ll show you my arse!” he bellowed, glaring at the clown before looking in my direction.
I adjudicated in the ringmaster’s favour.
Given that it is now socially acceptable for women to admire the male rump, they ought to come clean and say what they look for in a bottom. The film industry deserves no less from its enthusiastic patrons. Which of the following would be their ideal?
(a) an enormous billowy pumpkin, rough and cratered like the lunar surface;
(b) a smooth, tight, boyish pair of buns;
(c) a muscular pair of upper thighs, suggestive of the pelvic power of a rampaging stallion.
My guess is that the human female, being a complex and subtle creature, would like a combination of all three to suit her changing moods and evolving preferences. Such versatility, alas, is surely beyond the ingenuity of Mother Nature.
Labels: arse, bottom, bum, tush
