Wednesday, February 22, 2017
Return of the jubblies
One year ago, the executives of Playboy magazine announced to the world that they would no longer be publishing pictures of naked women. The new era of on-line porn had made nudity passé, they told us. Now they have admitted it was all a terrible mistake. Here are the words of Playboy’s 25-year-old Chief Creative Officer, Cooper bin Hefner (aka son of Hef):
“Nudity was never a problem because nudity isn’t a problem. Today we’re taking our identity back and reclaiming who we were.”
Reading between the lines, I think we can infer that the absence of nudie pics provoked howls of anguish and despair from the magazine’s loyal readers. What the Playboy bigwigs didn’t appreciate was the big difference between jahoobies on a computer screen and jahoobies on smooth, glossy paper. The latter can be rubbed against the face and licked, heightening the sensual pleasure. Only crazy people lick computer screens. I once saw a baboon lick one and the static electricity gave its tongue a shock.
It is said that there is nothing new under the sun and nothing surprising under the moon. Do you remember when Coca Cola brought back Classic Coke after New Coke bombed? The whole episode ended up boosting their sales, which led some to suspect it was all a clever marketing ploy. The CEO of Coca Cola had to issue a formal denial:
“We’re not that clever and we’re not that stupid,” he said.
It remains to be seen whether Playboy will experience a similar revival in its fortunes. A new era of naked flesh might attract new readers, but what about the old readers who have migrated to Penthouse or Hustler? Winning them back might be next to impossible. Their only hope is to innovate. A lot of men must be bored of staring at dumb blondes in passive positions. How about a nude kickboxing lady or a nude schoolmistress giving lessons on a blackboard? If you think about it, there are very few activities done by fully-clothed women that cannot also be done by naked women. The possibilities are endless.
None of this would persuade me to take out a subscription, of course. A gorilla has no interest in human flesh. The only reason for me to pick up a copy of Playboy would be to swat flies. That might change, however, if the magazine acquired a reputation for high-quality journalism. As a student of humanity, I would read any periodical that kept me informed of the latest fads and perversions.
“Who could they hire?” I hear you ask. Top of my list would be a feminist writer like Gloria Steinem. Obviously, she’s a huge enemy of Hef and everything he stands for, but enemies can often collaborate for the greater good. Remember the US-Soviet alliance during World War 2? To read her trenchant prose amid all the boobies and booties would be the purest delight. Now where can I find the email address of the Hefner boy?
Wednesday, February 15, 2017
An incident of fornication in a public place has been reported in Somerset, a county in southern England. The unfortunate eyewitness was a 19-year-old mother of two, who gave the following description of the event:
“They were there for ten or 15 minutes,” said Ms Lara Shoemaker. “At first they just stopped underneath the bridge as it was really badly raining. Then they started kissing and then after a while he put his hands up her skirt and she put her hands down his trousers. You could see she was messing around. After that he lifted her leg up and then they started having sex. It’s very disrespectful. I have got two kids and if they were tall enough to see out of the window I’d have been really angry.”
Ms Shoemaker took pictures of the incident and posted them online, but I don’t think they’ll be helpful in identifying the culprits. The faces are not visible and the bodies are fully clothed, so they could have been anyone. I don’t blame her for being worried about what her children might have seen. As well as asking embarrassing questions, they might have copied the behaviour on display. The human infant will imitate anything that looks like a party game.
Should it be illegal for humans to have sex in public places? Criminalising such behaviour is an easy solution, but what if it just pushes couples into toilet cubicles? There is literally nowhere to run if you’re having a dump and you hear a lot of huffing and puffing next door. This is why many learned scholars oppose legal restrictions on outdoor humping. Curing such social ills, they say, requires soft touch policing combined with better public amenities. Allocate land for dedicated dogging zones where people can copulate in tents. Have a loudspeaker play ‘She’ll be Coming Round the Mountain’ to drown out lewd noises and encourage a speedy consummation. Provide free Batman and Batgirl masks, so people don’t have to worry about being photographed as they enter and leave the camp.
Speaking as one who’s watched countless baboons mate in the open air, I have a lot of sympathy for the social reform approach. If anyone tried to arrest baboons having sex, pandemonium would break out. The baboons would treat it as an act of unprovoked aggression and make war on the enforcer. Their ears would be deaf to legal or moral arguments. “If you don’t like the sight of it, look in another direction,” they would say.
I’m not saying humans are like baboons, of course. They have places to go to when they want to have sex. If they do it in public, it’s probably because they like being watched. Exhibitionists are brazen rogues who seek to shock and embarrass. The best way of making them change their ways is to laugh at them when they’re doing it, to give them a sense of shame. You’ll never have law and order if no one is ashamed of anything.
Wednesday, February 08, 2017
A woman from Ontario has made a name for herself by giving birth while wearing a Chewbacca mask. A You Tube video of her braying while in labour has won near-universal acclaim:
“She’s the kind of woman I aspire to be,” tweeted one of her adoring fans.
Chewbacca mom, who’s real name is Katie Stricker Curtis, explained the philosophy behind her masquerade:
“Just because I’m about to be a mom doesn’t mean I have to grow up! Never take life too seriously!”
She must be the first woman in history to turn childbirth into a comedy routine. I wonder what gave her such an outlandish idea. Did she think that making people laugh would give meaning to her labour pains? Most women feel that the baby itself is sufficient reward for their suffering. You have to give her credit for being such a devoted slave to comedy.
Having said all that, I confess I’m in two minds about Mrs Curtis and her wookie show. As a former circus ape, I’m all in favour of innovations in slapstick entertainment. On the other hand, you can’t turn everything into a joke. Giving birth may be an important life event for the mother, but it’s the biggest life event of all for the baby. Taking your first breath is a solemn occasion. You don’t want people laughing at you when you’re struggling to squeeze your bulbous head through an overstretched coochie. If the aged are entitled to a dignified death, babies should be entitled to a dignified birth.
When I told the manager of the safari camp about this story, he said:
“The baby must have been thinking ‘What the fuck?’ when it saw its mother’s face! If I’d been in its place, I would have asked for a mirror to see if I took after her!”
“My dear manager,” I replied. “If you’d been in its place, everyone in the room would have been saying ‘What the fuck?’”
Of course, a newborn baby has no idea what its mother is supposed to look like and will bond with anything that nurtures it. Remember Tarzan? He was nursed by a chimpanzee and grew up thinking he was an ape, even thought his arms weren’t long enough to perform all the feats. When he reached adulthood he was a strange, hybrid creature who swung on jungle creepers and made eerie yodelling noises. If a human thinks it belongs to another species, it ends up neither fish nor fowl.
One hopes Mrs Curtis took off the mask before she started suckling the infant. Living for comedy is all very well, but you can’t expect a newborn baby to laugh at your jokes. What will the child think when it’s old enough to see the You Tube video? Will it be proud of its zany mother who inspired so much merriment? Or will it think the woman who carried it in her womb is a bit of a prat? Time will tell.
Wednesday, February 01, 2017
A new love drug?
Many moons ago, I asked the manager of the safari camp if he used Viagra.
“You cheeky ape!” he squealed. “Why would a man like me, in the prime of my life, need Viagra?”
“Even men in the prime of their lives can suffer from flaccidity at the point of coital engagement,” I replied. “I read about this in an issue of Cosmopolitan I borrowed from your good lady wife.”
“Is that so?” said the dagger-eyed manager. “Well let me tell you, my hairy friend, that at the point of coital engagement I’m as flaccid as a flagpole made of granite. And don’t ever quote stuff from Cosmopolitan to me, it’s a highly overrated magazine that encourages women to be judgemental and dissatisfied.”
I thought of this tetchy exchange after hearing about a new wonder drug that stimulates the erotic impulse. It’s called “kisspeptin” and a trendy young journalist called Mirandi Larbi wrote this about it:
Researchers from Imperial College London injected 29 guys with kisspeptin and found that it boosted the brain’s response to pictures of couples in sexual or romantic situations.
This seems to suggest it’s a drug for the voyeur rather than the lover, but perhaps the two are closely related. I remember watching a horrifying film called American Psycho in which a narcissistic young banker watches himself on TV while cavorting with a pair of strumpets. And what about couples who have a mirror on their bedroom ceiling? You wouldn’t endure the embarrassment of hiring a workman to install one of those things unless you got a big kick out it.
It wouldn’t surprise me if this new drug becomes more popular than Viagra. I read somewhere that the blue pills give men the granite flagpole without increasing their desire to use it. That’s more like a bicycle pump than an aphrodisiac. Kisspeptin, by contrast, sounds more like one of the love potions you read about in medieval fairy tales. It ought to work for women as well as men. Although it may not be powerful enough to make a fairy queen enamoured of an ass, it might well give women the soft and gooey sensations they need to get in the mood for it. Who could possibly complain about that?
Of course, there are teething problems that will have to be sorted out, the most obvious one being the use of injections. I can’t believe humans will be desirous of hanky panky after being pierced by a sharp piece of metal. A woman doesn’t want to be thinking of needles when she’s about to be penetrated by a broader, if blunter, instrument. Creating kisspeptin pills would put the drug on a level playing field with Viagra, but I would advocate a nasal spray as the optimal solution. My old circus buddy, Smacker Ramrod, always stressed the role of his olfactory organ in whetting his carnal appetite. I would go so far to say that he thought of the nose as a secondary sexual organ.
Wednesday, January 25, 2017
An English “glamour model” has taken the unusual step of banning men from her home:
“I honestly can't bear the thought of letting a man into my house ever again,” tweeted Jodie Marsh. “My house is too beautiful & clean & perfect ... I'm not saying men are untidy or dirty or smelly or unhygienic. Just that in my experience ... well, you know ... Men are like elephants. I appreciate their beauty and I like looking at them but I don't want to own one and I don't want one in my house.”
Given that Ms Marsh has made a handsome living from posing topless in “lads’ magazines”, her tweets may be unhelpful in furthering her career plans. Those who have stared ravenously at her jahoobies don’t want to be told that they’re smelly vagabonds by the owner of the said jahoobies. Publicly banning them from her home may also be counterproductive. They surely never expected to be invited, but now they can’t even fantasize about the possibility.
My mentor, Dr Whipsnade, didn’t allow tramps or vagrants into his impressive mansion, but he never announced it as a policy. If they turned up at his door, they were directed to the garden shed and told to wait for provisions. If you own a big, impressive house, you mustn’t insult the masses by telling them it’s strictly off-limits. That kind of behaviour can provoke a brick through the window. Even the Queen of England invites common folk to her garden parties, serving them an excellent buffet of teacakes and desserts.
So why has Ms Marsh acquired such an aversion to the opposite sex? Part of the reason might be the marriage she is currently in the final stages of dissolving. Her estranged husband was reputedly a man of lowly character with body odour issues. Having a mate who smells bad can put anyone off sex. Ms Marsh expounded on the delights of celibacy in an earlier TV interview conducted in her home:
“I'm celibate again now, because I just like it. I don't want any willies near me. I'm just nothing, I'm asexual.”
When asked about self-love, she said that was a different story and told the interviewer not to rummage in her drawers.
“Because you've got all the implements!” he exclaimed.
I think we can take it as read that the toys in her drawers are giving full satisfaction. If I were her agent, I’d negotiate an endorsement deal on her behalf. Having a nude model say that your device is so effective that she doesn’t need men is a manufacturer’s dream.
It is possible, of course, that Ms Marsh has not dated the right kind of man. Women of her background and appearance tend to attract the coarser variety of suitor. As well as smelling like baboons, such men have an unsubtle approach to the erotic pleasures. Maybe she would have fared better with the smoother type of fellow who showers regularly, uses cologne and keeps his tufts well trimmed. It’s easy to mock the metrosexual dandy, but I bet he gets laid more often than the he-man.
Wednesday, January 18, 2017
I’m trying to get in touch will Paola Saulino, an Italian actress currently traversing her country on a prize-giving tour. Ms Saulino (pictured above), promised to perform oral sex on any man who voted “no” in a recent national referendum. This is what she wrote on her Facebook page:
“I will practice oral sex with due and careful craftsmanship, thus fulfilling my duty, without losing even a drop of your essence, strictly looking at you in the eye. All this to those who will vote no in the referendum.”
The referendum was held to approve reforms the Italian prime minister said were essential, which convinced most voters they were as essential as tits on a bull. When the no-vote prevailed, Ms Saulino felt obliged to honour her promise to millions of Italian men who defiantly rejected the demands of their government in the hope of getting a blowjob. She is giving updates on her progress as she travels from city to city:
“First step of pompatour is gone, “ she wrote after leaving Rome. “A little bit tired but everything is ok.”
Who can blame her? Although only 51 men claimed their reward in Rome, that’s more pro-bono work than most lawyers do in a year. I hope she’s getting advice from a competent throat specialist on the best kind of mouthwash to use.
Maybe she’ll recoup her expenses by writing a book about the pompatour when it’s over. It isn’t everyday that a woman tastes the semen of so many different men. There could be interesting regional differences between the southern coastal cities and the industrial centres of Milan and Turin. We might finally get some hard data on how garlic and olive oil affect the virile juices.
She should also acquire a broad knowledge of the ejaculatory exclamations uttered by her countrymen. I’ve often wondered whether Kevin Kline’s cross-eyed groan in A Fish Called Wanda was based on anything real. The character he played, Otto, was an American of Italian ancestry, so the nature-versus-nurture debate may be relevant. He also worked for the CIA. Who knows how that would affect a man’s climax?
So you must be wondering why I want to communicate with Ms Saulino at this delicate stage of her mission. It’s because the manager of the safari camp, contemptible villain that he is, has whispered his intention to visit Italy for the ignoble purpose you can guess. He’s been practising his Italian using an on-line tutorial so he can pass himself off as a naturalised citizen. Paola would be a fool to fall for such a trick, but he might get lucky, and that offends my sense of fair play. I want to give her a warning so she can send the manager packing with his bodily fluids un-siphoned.
My legal sources tell me that “soliciting oral sex through deception” is not actually a criminal offence in any known jurisdiction. Pretty incredible, don’t you think? I guess too many powerful men benefit from this legal loophole.
Wednesday, January 11, 2017
Pamela's African plans
The manager of the safari camp is thrilled about the news that Pamela Anderson might make her home in Africa. This is what she told Hello! magazine:
“I’ve never been to Africa and I want to help elephants and rhinos so I could see myself living there.”
She didn’t elaborate on how her presence in Africa would help the elephants and rhinos, but such details can be worked out later. There is always work for the eager volunteer. If she spent enough time prancing about in the bush, I’m sure she would eventually distract a few poachers on the hunt for big game. The sight of Pamela in her swimsuit might cause them to fire prematurely, warning the elephants and rhinos to make good their escape. By such unorthodox methods will the wildlife of Africa be preserved.
On the other hand, maybe Pamela thinks she has more to contribute in the field of public relations. Everyone knows that the rhino is hunted for its horn, which is used as a quack remedy for impotence. A poster of Pamela stroking the horn of a live rhino with the caption “It feels so much better when it’s attached” would help to get the conservation message out. The only problem would be finding a live rhino willing to let her touch its horn. Given the belligerent disposition of these beasts, tranquiliser darts may be necessary. Pamela could take hers orally.
But if she does come to Africa, my hunch is that she would soon get bored of hanging out with the elephants and rhinos. Four-legged animals have many admirable abilities, but none of them are transferable to humans. If Pamela wants to acquire new skills, she should spend some quality time with her ape cousins. As well as teaching her how to climb trees, we could show her a few dance moves that haven’t yet made it to the discos and nightclubs of LA. Pamela has invested so much in her boobs that she may have forgotten what her butt cheeks are for.
She should also hobnob with her fellow humans, of course. She’ll be pleased to discover that big-breasted women have a higher status in Africa than in most other regions of the world. In the Mother Continent, big titties are seen as a source of nourishment rather than fun-bags for men to rub their faces in. Pamela would certainly have no problem in adopting orphans, although I’d advise her not to foster baby chimps. They have a reputation for being aggressive feeders and might rupture her implants.
The one thing Pamela will have to be wary of is the hot African sun, which could give her skin the texture of a warthog’s rump if she doesn’t protect it. I'd hate to see her turn into a nasty old crone. No doubt she will bring her own lotions, but I would advise her to use a natural jungle ointment that we gorillas can supply on demand. The best way of staying healthy in Africa is to go native.