Wednesday, November 02, 2005

Tom Jones: great human

If there is one human who deserves the title of honorary gorilla it has to be Mr Tom Jones, the singing, swinging, warbling Welshman. From the very start, his songs were smash hits with apes and simians of all persuasions. Cheeky monkeys in the tree tops would scream “What’s new pussycat?” at any lions that passed below. The lions tended to ignore them, but it was good for morale to have a laugh at their expense. We knew in our hearts that Tom could out-roar any lion with that booming baritone of his – and rotate his rear-end in a fashion that few female apes could fail to admire.

Talent is a funny thing. Everyone can see it in a performer who is already famous, but few have the judgement to spot it in an unknown. It took a degree of persistence and self-belief for young Tom, the bricklayer from Pontypridd, to become Tom the hit-making sex-bomb, the only singer in the world capable of inducing female fans to hurl their moist panties at him when he was on stage. Perhaps Tom’s early confidence came from the fact that girls found him irresistible long before he hit the big time. And although he married very young, after impregnating a local lass, he always felt honour bound to indulge his female admirers to the fullest extent of their lustful fantasies.

After being discovered in one of his early infidelities, Tom was reputed to have answered his wife’s recriminations by saying:

“It’s not my fault, you know, they keep on asking for it.”

“So why don’t you say ‘No’ then?” thundered his wife.

“I can’t do that!” replied a visibly shocked Tom, “they’d think I was a poof!”

One has to acknowledge a certain genius in this line of argument, which was apparently put forward which such sincerity that his betrothed resigned herself to a marriage not bound by the normal human conventions. Mrs Tom Jones, first laid by the bricklayer some fifty years ago, remains devoted to a husband who has bedded more women than most other men stare at frustratedly during their entire lives.

Some might say that the ideal of manhood personified by Mr Tom Jones is a throwback to a bygone era, when men opened doors, paid dinner bills and wore the trousers until they wanted to take them off. My reply would be: “What of it?”. The “new man” may be fashionable in certain circles, but he doesn’t look like the kind of fellow who will hand-glide onto a craggy cliff-top to provide his woman with a box of extra dark chocolates with soft creamy centres. And if he can’t do that, he’s about as useful as a three-legged camel without a hump.

He's driven to continually try and prove his manhood over and over and over again because deep down, he fears he just isn't manly enough.

Now if the stupid fucker would just grow a beard, he'd get over it in a shot and his wife would be able to enjoy a bit of fucking fidelity.
There is much in what you say El B, but you're too obsessed with facial hair. Not many beardies have a real Robinson Crusoe anyway, usually they trim it like a fashion accessory. Tom may not have a beard, but look at his hairy forearms. He'd be welcome to join my group as an apprentice gorilla.
Tom Jones, high waisted pants, big buckle, sayes it all really. There are plenty of things more flattering to a woman than that Tarzan old chap.'Here Darling, I bought you this diamond necklace because you are the most beautiful woman I have ever seen.' is waaaayyy more flattering than having a romp with a gay. Why in the name of God would you even want to get a gay to switch? Who would you go shopping with then? No no, I think that is a terrible idea.
"and rotate his rear-end in a fashion that few female apes could fail to admire."
GB - what an ace blog! But I thought it was the female apes who did the rotating?
Thanks, Sexy. Both male and female apes do it, especially when they are doing it. Isn't it more fun for humans that way as well?
How come women will go shopping with a gayer in the first place? I would not go shopping with a lesbian. I wouldn't NOT go shopping with a lesbian, I mean I wouldn't go out of my way to find a lesbian. In fact I don't go to shops.
Tarzan, I have paraded up and down my floors in various states of undress before nearly all of my gay chums, and seriously, nary a flicker, and if there was I'd be suspicious that they weren't in fact paying attention to me at all and -mentally- they were downstairs getting a good seeing to from Guido in 7b, who is not gay at all but everyone in the blasted building, young, old male and female, has the hots for him because he wears Don Johnson style jackets with aplomb and is Italian. But if there was a bit of a blue veiner of course I'd be flattered, then puzzled, then finally I'd put it down to my wanton character and put it out of my mind.
Gays are the ultimate companion shopping totty. They are patient, do care about the clothes you are showing and are never in any rush to pick up children or worried about getting the tea on. Also they are delightfully au currant with all manner of bitchy gossip that you yourself may have missed during the week. Honestly Heathcliff, it is not rocket science.
They must be gay then. If you paraded anywhere near me in any kind of state, well, I'm just saying that's all.
Italians are overrated, well in the films I've seen anyway. Too much pasta, they're mummy's boys to a man, it's not healthy. They are slaves to the slightest corporeal inducement without the mental rigour or dicipline to realise that the best things take I've no idea where i'm going with this.
Ah, fake gay men, well why didn't you say so? And that makes little sense to me, if he was not gay why would he pretend to be gay just to have sex with a woman, why wouldn't he just be straight, then you could bang the ears off each other without wondering about a thing other than hoping the neighbours don't call the Gardai again. And one more thing, horizontal samba? Horizontal? How quaint of you, sort of sweet, but hardly for a first time. If you're doing it for the first time with some hot totty then surely horizontal is simply how you end up after your sweaty oily tangled bodies slithter off the table and tumble to the floor, spent and exhausted? Or maybe that's just me, I could be wrong.
I also consider Tom Jones to be one of the world's great humans. I would never throw my panties at him though, I need those. But what a pair of lungs on that man.

I'd go shopping with him. And I hate shopping.
Would he fit under your table do you think, Wabbit?
Certainly not. He's a big 'un.
Shopping with Tom Jones? I can only imagine what kinds of things you'd bring home...
Edible undies and Just for Men are the only things I can think of off the tops of my head.
All right, ladies, but you haven't commented on his hairy arms. Look at the picture. With arms like those he probably has a hairy chest too. Do you like your men hairy like that? You ought to, in my view.
Edible undies?! Oh FMC, you're the best! Do you think Just for Men has a concoction for body hair, since TJ has so much of it?

If he has arms that hairy, he probably has quite a rug on that dirty old man chest of his... So GB, is he one of those hairy arsed men you were warning me about? (Not that I want to think about TJ's arse... blech, the nightmares!)
You can probably braid Tom Jone's ass-crack.

BUT...he's still an amazing singer. Especially when you hear him interviewed and the bastard can barely talk.
Tom Jones inflicted 'Delilah' on the world and deserves to be up before the International Court of Justice. Why, why, why he was so cruel, we can only speculate, but we just shouldn't take any more. And he has tried a beard -looked a bit silly.
My mom used to blast Tom Jones. Those monkeys shouldn't taunt those pussy cats. They gotta come down sometime. Funny ape.
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