Wednesday, April 15, 2015
Swiftian satire
The exciting news from America is that Taylor Swift is being pursued by two men. They aren’t literally chasing her, of course. The human male is not a horse, even though some can snort and whinny with the best of them. The rivals for Taylor’s fair hand are a sportsman called Sean St Leger and a record producer called Calvin Harris. The sportsman looks as if his head was carved from a block of wood, which may be part of his appeal. There is much to be said for a mate who can crack walnuts with his chin.
Will Taylor’s gallants fight for her favour in the time-honoured way? I’d like to see them square up like a pair of feuding silverbacks, fisting each other’s concavities, (but not biting each other’s testicles, which is what chimpanzees would do). Sadly, I suspect they will settle their differences in the modern metrosexual way by allowing Taylor to choose between them. It won’t be an easy decision. Those in the know say she hasn’t slept with either man, so she may as well toss a coin.
But maybe there’s another way. If Taylor is truly as chaste as they say, she could ask each contestant to demonstrate his skills by making love to a sex doll. She wouldn’t watch them herself, of course. The blush that would bring to her maidenly cheeks would be worse than sunburn. A panel of judges would evaluate their performance from behind a one-way mirror, giving points for agility, inventiveness and staying power. The doll herself would have no vote, but would receive a thorough douching after her ordeal. The judges I would appoint are Lady Gaga, Ellen Degeneres and Barry Manilow. It’s what we call a balanced hen coup in the jungle.
To those of you who think that Barry Manilow is a worthless old has-been, I have some stunning news to announce. The great man has recently married his long-time manager and partner, a gentleman by the name of Garry Kief. What, you never knew that Barry was gay? You should have asked. Why should he volunteer information if you don’t take an interest in his life? Fittingly enough, his “best man” was the actress Suzanne Somers, a close lady friend. It all goes to show that the old dog has plenty of waggle-power in his tail.
A more radical solution to Taylor’s dilemma would be to marry both her suitors. Before you dismiss the idea as flagitious and impractical, cast your mind back to a classic film called Paint Your Wagon. In that epic musical western, a pioneer lady was unable to choose between a pair of prospectors played by Clint Eastwood and Lee Marvin, so she married both of them. They soon came to an amicable arrangement where the husbands would visit their wife on alternate days or something like that. No different, in principle, from two buddies sharing a mountain bike. This was precisely the kind of pragmatic adaptability that enabled homo sapiens to thrive in the Badlands.
Labels: Barry Manilow, gay marriage, polyandry, sex dolls, Taylor Swift
Wednesday, May 14, 2014
Nose insult
Do the Japanese want to have bigger noses? It’s a question I’ve been wrestling with ever since I saw a controversial TV commercial for Air Nippon. You might think that a gorilla would trounce any question in a wrestling match, but that would be making the cardinal error of taking a metaphor literally. Some questions are doughtier than Hulk Hogan and retire from the ring as undefeated champions. Can you tell me why humans who feast on ugly critters like lobster and shrimp won’t touch insects or grubs? I thought not.
At the end of the above-mentioned advert, a Japanese man appears wearing a blond wig and an artificially elongated nose – his intention is to show how the Japanese could change their image in the eyes of the world. Air Nippon had to apologize and withdraw the commercial after it was deemed racist. I don’t know who did the deeming, but I would guess it was a member of the Barry Manilow fan club. The advert changed my image of the Japanese, because I never realised they were capable of such tomfoolery. But graver souls than I thought they were mocking the racial features of Europeans, in the same way that Europeans used to mock Africans by blackening their faces and wearing frizzy wigs.
Air Nippon said they meant no offence, claiming that blond hair and big noses were considered attractive in Japan. Blond hair I can believe. It’s well-known that Japanese businessmen will pay extra for blond escorts. But do they really find big noses attractive? I suppose seeing an enormous honker might be an amusing novelty if you live in a country of midget-nosed orientals, but that doesn’t mean you want one yourself. Having your nose affectionately pulled by curious children is bound to get tiresome after a while.
Another anecdote of Japanese society may shed some light on this mystery. There is a couturier in Japan that rents out ball gowns and wedding dresses. Nothing strange about that, except that many of its customers are men who want to be photographed in their glamorous costumes. The store has an arrangement with a neighbouring barber, who will shave, shampoo and powder-puff these gentlemen before their photo-shoots begin.
“We concluded that men want to feel like princesses too,” said Hitomi Iseki, the 42-year-old manager of the Marry Mairee.
There are doubtless different visions of what a beautiful princess should look like, but I’m as sure as eggs is eggs that a big nose doesn’t figure in any them. The princess is a delicate, fragrant, dainty-nosed creature, not an atrocious harridan with a great big snout in the middle of her face. (The latter may be an accurate description of many a real princess, but we’re talking about the fairy story ideal here).
So, to humans of European ancestry I say this: the Japanese are not envious of your nose – they may smile at it fondly (and toy with it if you’ll let them), but they don’t want one like it.
Labels: Air Nippon, Barry Manilow, big noses, insults, Japan
Friday, August 17, 2012
Dwarf complaint
I got an email accusing me of being prejudiced against dwarves:
Labels: Barry Manilow, big noses, dwarf, Dwarves, Mick Hucknall
Monday, December 03, 2007
The nose have it
A French woman at the safari camp reveals that she is sexually attracted to men with big noses.“You mean like Gérard Depardieu?” I ask
“Pah!” she exclaims. “His nose is like the tulip bulb. I want the long sharp nose of Mr Geoffrey Rush!”
“A decent actor,” I admit, “but not a big hit with the ladies, as far as I know.”
“For sure he is a hit with this lady!” insists the woman. “And he always acts to such naughty roles – the Marquis de Sade, the Pirate of the
She squeals and pinches my arm, delighted with her own wit.
“Excellent pun, to be sure,” I remark. “Yet what is it about big noses that appeals to you? The prospect of a good nuzzle perhaps? Or does their sniffing potential tickle your fancy?”
“Sniffing and nuzzling is good,” she answers, “but more important is what the big nose suggests about the man.”
She chuckles, giving me a knowing look.
“Indeed?” I reply. “And what might that be?”
This straightforward question prompts the woman to laugh hysterically for a good minute-and-a-half. Heaven knows what she finds so hilarious. The French are famous for their odd sense of humour, of course. A lot of them find Jerry Lewis funny.
“My dear Mr Bananas!” she sighs at length, drying her eyes. “You are big, strong and hairy, but you have hardly any nose! So, alas, I could never be yours.”
“I am sorry to be unworthy of you,” I reply loftily. “I shall endeavour to bear my disappointment lightly.”
I leave her to entertain the other guests with her nasal ruminations.
Maybe what she liked about big-nosed men was their implied personality. A woman might easily develop a fascination for such a fellow after watching him ferreting around, probing beneath the veils of multi-layered mystery. Lieutenant Columbo acquired a huge female following simply by asking awkward questions, even though he dressed like a tramp and was a patsy to his wife. The nosey man might also be more adventurous in bed, delving with his torchlight into regions that less inquisitive lovers would shun. And let’s not forget that many women are fond of cats, who are renowned for their curiosity.
Snooping in the wrong circumstances can be a terribly destructive thing, though. The Nosey Parker has ruined the career of many a promising politician. Does anyone remember Gary Hart, the American senator from somewhere-or-the-other? He was billed as the next John Kennedy, even though he didn’t have a particularly large nose. The same could not be said of Barry Manilow, the shrew-faced songwriter and neighbour of Mr Hart. When he learnt that the senator was taking time off the campaign trail to relax on his yacht, he turned up at the harbour with a box full of signed albums. The assorted dolly birds and party girls on the vessel inevitably broke cover and screamed, as they are wont to do in the presence of famous crooners. The press quickly got wind of the commotion and Mr Hart’s presidential bid exploded in a shower of crotchless panties and push-up bras.
I don’t begrudge Manilow his success and give him his due as a composer of sentimental ballads. I’m sure he has no shortage of female admirers who have fallen head-over-heels in love with his phenomenal snout. But he should curb his inquisitive instincts when they are likely to change the course of American politics.
Labels: Barry Manilow, Geoffrey Rush, Gerard Depardieu, Noses
