Wednesday, February 04, 2009

Sex, drugs and suicide

Three long-haired men once came to see me after watching my circus act.

“We want you to join our band,” they said.

“What sort of band is it?” I asked.

“Metal,” they said. “We’re called The Electric Chairmen. We let our fans decide whether we’re judges or executioners.”

“Or condemned men indeed,” I remarked. “What role do you envisage for me?”

“Drummer,” they answered. “We need a drummer who can hit extra hard.”

I sighed and shook my head. I am sorry to say that this silly, one-dimensional idea about the musical ability of gorillas was common long before Cadbury-Schweppes plc jumped on the bandwagon.

“I regret that I cannot play the drums,” I said. “I am proficient only in the recorder and the Congolese nose flute.”

“Don’t worry about that, man, we can teach you!”

“No, gentlemen, you will have to ask someone else. I believe Ringo Starr has been looking for a position since The Beatles dissolved their partnership.”

They left disappointedly and I pondered the attractions of being in a pop group.
If it’s so good, why do so many of the most successful performers die young? Jim Morrissey, Curt Cockbain and Michael Hutchend all perished miserably from self-inflicted injuries. I suspect that a man who receives too much fellatio loses his grip on reality. He begins to think of his penis as a lollypop and suffers agonies of regret that he will never be able to taste its fruity flavours. The spine of an upright primate is simply not flexible enough. (We gorillas can do it but rarely bother – it’s not worth the back strain it causes). Perhaps I should write a paper on this for the Journal of Psychology. Even if my theory is false, men who aren’t getting any will feel better for hearing it.

Some pop stars, of course, manage to cope with the fame and the groupies without committing suicide. David Cassidy is one who lived long enough to write a memoir from the perspective of middle-age. It may have been helpful that his associates in The Partridge Family included the maternal Shirley Jones and the nymph-like Susan Dey. These two ladies were indeed a foster family for young David, Miss Jones being his actual step-mother and Miss Dey being a surrogate sister (albeit with one much regretted act of incest). Their presence surely helped to keep his self-destructive demon at bay.

A more functional explanation of Mr Cassidy’s survival is found in the reason for his nickname
“Donk”. If half of what he says about his blessed physique is true, a woman would have needed the throat of a python to relieve him orally. It seems he was quite happy to use his prodigious organ in the orthodox fashion in any case. According to David, the Italian movie star Gina Lollobrigida was well-briefed about his dimensions:

The first time I met Gina she looked me up and down and said: “I hear you’re a monster. I want to meet the monster.” Well, I decided that if I had it, there wasn’t any point in just keeping it in the holster all the time.

Very obliging of him. My old circus chum Mario claims that it was this encounter that inoculated Mr Cassidy against the woeful fate of others in his profession. Apparently no man who has slept with an Italian actress has ever taken his own life. Mario was a notorious bum-pincher in his day, but I have no reason to question his knowledge of Italian show-business folklore.

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Well as they say - use it or lose it.
Have you got any nick-names for your todger, Mr Bananas?
Mr Bananas, I'm sure had you but joined the band, there would have been many groupies on hand for you.

I always preferred 'little' Jimmy Osmond to David Cassidy. Another childhood illusion shattered. Maybe it was the thought of all those Osmond brothers that did it for me.
Do you play the nose flute and the recorder at the same time Mr Bananas? - I'd pay good money to see that.
Like Madame DeFarge I was in the 'Osmond' camp (camp being the operative word) rather than the Cassidy one. I wonder what Donny's brothers called him? x
Perhaps he has lived this long because he's afraid of being dismemorabilia'd in his death.

I mean, with a rep like that just think how much you could fetch for Donk on ebay...
My sister's constant playing of the Osmonds (and The bloody Eagles) probably account for most of my sociopathic tendencies.

I did - and do! - have the serious hots for Shirley Jones and Susan Dey. They could even look presentable in hot pants. This could only have have a major therapeutic effect on the lad.
Ape Man,Now I know more about David Cassidy than I ever thought I needed to know,but very amusing.
I have tried to add you to my list of blogs that I follow but have so far been unsuccessful. If you could please let me know your full URL ?
Best Regards!
Oh my. I can hardly believe what I just read, GB. Of course, it's amazing, it's incredible. It's what I always suspected: you play the recorder!

Sidenote: Cadbury-Schweppes? Is this of the delicious, chocolate bar Cadbury fame? Or some imposter?

Wednesday, February 04, 2009
Congolenese nose flute??? Is that even a real thing???

When r u gonna play for me darling? I could use some entertainment!
this is all a lie. it's still tuesday.
I'd like to meet Barbara the Butter Queen
Scarlet: I have a name for my hand. It's called 'Spank Miss Scarlet's cheeky bottom'.

Madame Defarge: A wise choice, Madame D, what a charming little tyke Jimmy was! Do you remember him offering to be your long-haired lover from Liverpool?

Lulu: I've never actually tried, Lulu. I'd do it free for you, of course.

Kitty: I doubt they called him 'Donk'. The Osmonds were a clean-living family of regular proportions.

Hoodchick: What a horrible thought, Miss Hoodchick! I hope you would never be tempted to inspect a corpse in that fashion!

Kevin: They were both lovely ladies. Susan was in love with David Cassidy, but he preferred slutty women.

Gaf85: David has been very open about his past! works for most people.

Trish: The Congolese nose-flute too, Trish! Cadbury-Schweppes are indeed the maker of the chocolate bar.

Sabrina: I'd love to play for you and with you, Saby!

Kara: You're behind the times, Missy. Like Stan and Ollie, you're Way out West.

Nursemyra: Has she written her memoirs? 'They all tasted of butter' would be a good title for them.
"Apparently no man who has slept with an Italian actress has ever taken his own life."

Wise words, GB. I wonder whether there is a fateful connection between fellatio and popular music.

I remember stories about various 80s synthpoppers having pints of man-muck pumped from their stomachs, and tales of at least one diminutive American popsters having his bottom ribs removed for ease of self-suction.

Did this apply to earlier generations? Were Flanders & Swann regularly siphoned by Joyce Grenfell? How about Harry Lauder?
Was your circus act musical GB? Such flexibility rather puts the 'wood' in woodwind no doubt. I bet happy flautists are less suicidal than ego-burdened lead singers (assuming Jethro Tull is still around ...)
They look like their clothes are all made out of the same pair of curtains in that picture, apart from the dad.
I preferred Donny to David, but that didnt stop me enjoying the Partridge Family.

Mmmm Cadburys Wispa...

I too play recorder, Mr Bananas; perhaps a duet would be in order, although Im afraid I would struggle with the tenor these days, so you'd have to be satisfied with my descant.
I suspect that a man who receives too much fellatio loses his grip on reality.

you are probably right. There is probably too much of a good thing. And what with groupies coming out of your ears pretty soon you start getting paranoid, do the ladies like me or just the fact that I'm famous, and pretty soon you're face down in a pool of drug induced vomit and it's curtains.
Do you spank the monkies [monkees - whatever..] in the jungle, Mr Bananas?
Mr Boyo: I'm not sure the practice had reached Scotland in Harry Lauder's day. I'd be very interested to know the name of the first Welshman to receive a blow job. You must know if anyone does.

Kate: Apart from a bit of miming, my act was not musical. I played my instruments purely as a hobby.

Lady Daphne: They are young at heart, milady. Their mental age probably never got past 16.

Mrs Cake: Good idea! After the recorder duet I could teach you to play the nose-flute.

Emma: Yes, you can always have too much of a good thing. Maybe they start seeing their dicks as separate individuals who are getting all the attention. It makes them jealous.

Scarlet: Spanking is for naughty girls, Miss Scarlet. The monkeys get a good thrashing when we catch them. One day I might teach you.
Well it was announced today here in Halifax that the Band "KISS" will be playing in july of 2009.

How come the farewell tours seem to be like the friday the 13th movies high in numbers and never laid to rest.
“We’re called The Electric Chairmen. We let our fans decide whether we’re judges or executioners”.... “Or condemned men” Indeed! If I was a judge I'd pass a law called The Heavy-Metal Entailment Act, whereby greebos would have to bring their own daughters to the slaughter, etc.
p.s. "Jim Morrissey"? Brother of Steven?
Happy to oblige, GB.

The first Welshman to be blown was Pte Gwilym "Gwil" Cnychbant of the Royal Welch Fusiliers, originally from Cerigrafu in Flintshire. The incident happened by the back door of the Salon Amélie, Lille, in December 1914. The fellatrice was Mlle Clothilde "La Pipe" Petitfourxcq, as recounted in Cnychbant's memoirs "Gwato'r Ffrancod".

Some doubt has been cast on the validity of Cnychbant's claim, due to allegations that Clothilde was a closely-shaven performing bear and not, as initially reported, a Belgian seamstress's daughter.

In that case the first sucessfully siphoned Welsh was, eerily, Cnychbant's son Pte Gruffydd "Griff" Cnychbant of the Royal Welch Fusiliers. The incident happened by the back door of the Salon Amélie, Lille, in December 1939...
I can't decide which was more entertaining here -- that incredible photograph of the Partridge Family, or your prose. That photograph really is something: Mr Partridge's suit alone would have been more than enough to set me off.
You can play the Congolese nose flute? That's awesome! I can play the Peruvian and Icelandic nose flutes AND the Filipino butt trumpet.
Dude, Iron Maiden would be honored to have such talent as us. The Electric Chairmen can go screw. Let's start a band and freakin' rawk the jungle!!!!

Speaking of screwing, your friend Mario was right about Italian actresses. Why just have a look at Monica, stunning.
I think his remark would also include any famous female born in Italy, the country that seems to spawn beautiful works of female living art.
Such as Rose McGowan and Carla Bruni.

I'd like the three of those babes to tame my monster. =D
Congolese nose flute?? Interesting.

Fascinating post and will definitely change the way I look at the contemporary popular music scene. From now on I will pay more attention to the success rate of pop singers and will be able to draw appropriate conclusions... thanks for this enlightening post.
The image of David Cassidy grunting while being satisfied by a python's flickering tongue will stay with me forever. Unfortunately my dinner did not.

Thanks for that.
Tarf: There's really a band called KISS? Is that short for KISS MY ASS?

Gadjo: I think they specialise in a niche market: music for the tone deaf.

Mr Boyo: It sounds like a fascinating memoir that ought to be required reading in every Cultural Studies degree programme. I assume the bear had its teeth removed. I wish Taffy Taffhead-Jones read this blog so he could gives us his own take on Cnychbant. Not that I doubt your own account, but corroboration is always helpful.

Mary: Is he really Mr Partridge? I have forgotten the names of all the minor characters in that show.

Static: I'm surprised you're not already in a band with your talent for playing wind instruments. I think Italian chicks prefer jazz to heavy metal, but I'm sure we could accommodate them.

Polly: Thanks, Polly. You can tell what's going on by looking into their eyes. Some of them have the gaze of the over-milked dairy cow.

Rachel: Sorry Rach, I'll make it up to you some time. Aren't you too young to know anything about David Cassidy?
Pity the massively-peckered, for they shall ne'er find a woman with the capacity to...understand them.
I am extremely proficient in playing the pink oboe and the skin flute.

Sadly, no bands seem willing to wish for me to join them, and so I must doggedly pursue my solo career.
Who was the first person to declare 'Size isn't everything'?
I that may have been the original intention from Gene Simmons.

I think the band should have been called "Bite Me".

Because they suck big time and have no talent and yet people still buy their albums.
Whatever you say we all know you love dat chocolate. You dip your banana in the chocolate pot. Do you see what I'm saying?
You got to admit that if you had to commit incest than there are worse siblings to go for....
Enlightenment, humor, and the strange insight thrown in (Congolese nose flute, indeed!)

It's another classic post from the all-knowing Gorilla!

Sam: Hello Sam. It takes a big woman to be that understanding.

Lord Likely: I believe his lordship has allowed lady musicians to play his instruments with considerable vigour.

Pi: Possibly a female elephant. They have a big load to support.

Tarf: I'm glad I'm not familiar with their work. Perhaps people buy their albums for the cover pictures.

Insults: Pffft. I fart in your direction, Sir.

Red Squirel: Yes, but you're forgetting that David had a vast harem of eager bedmates to choose from. Apparently Susan wasn't slutty enough for him.

Topiary Cow: Thank you, Ms Cow. One day I shall serenade you with my nose flute!
It is odd that you have not mentioed the role of Lord Archer in all this. He was famous once you know...
Iron Maiden a pop band! Nicko McBrain replaced by a Gorilla? Really, it beggars belief.
Many artists are troubled souls, but I think I may never understand why suicide is the option for the successful artist, having never been one myself.

I suppose all of us are just really looking for a hug?
Mutley: I know so little about him, Mutley. He is your friend, not mine.

Joliet Jake: Iron Maiden, you say? Were they bigger than The Electric Chairmen?

Chris: Would hugs have saved Hutchend? I thought he was looking for a more powerful experience when he hanged himself.
The Partridge Family! At last something wholesome on your otherwise perverted cross-species lecherous site.

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