Wednesday, August 24, 2016

The making of Britney

Once again, I find myself thinking about Britney Spears. Not in a lurid or lustful way, I should hasten to add. I feel like an ornithologist observing a rare species of parrot and wondering what’s going on inside that birdbrain. This time, it’s the title of her new song that has me flummoxed. “Make me” is what it’s called. It’s the kind of thing a pina colada would say to a barman if the pina colada could talk. However Britney isn’t a cocktail, so what does she mean by that two-word instruction?

If the song were about food, it might be short for “Make me a possum burger”. I’ve never thought it remotely likely that Britney was a vegetarian – her sharp white teeth and hungry eyes remind me of a female hyena. Although she probably doesn’t screw up her nose at fast food, I’m sure she prefers fresh road-kill, skinned and sliced by an unkempt backwoodsman with a bushy beard. There was a rumour that she acquired a taste for squirrel when she was a girl, but she claims she only petted the critters.

But perhaps I ought to listen to the song before speculating about the meaning of its title. There might be a few subtle hints in the lyrics about what she’s asking for. Come to think of it, I can look up the lyrics directly without even listening to the song. Here’s a selection of some of the more pertinent lines:

I just want you to make me move
Like it ain't a choice for you, like you got a job to do
And make me oooh, oooh, oooh, oooh...
And make me oooh, oooh, oooh, oooh...

I think we can safely deduce that she isn’t talking about burgers. The last two lines seem to be saying “Make me moan like a harlot”, but the first two lines are more opaque in their meaning. “Like you got a job to do” could mean she’s hired a gigolo to pleasure her, but why would she need to tell him that? A gigolo would already know he had a job to do. What Britney is really saying, I suspect, is “Make me pregnant”. That’s the kind job she has plenty of history in asking for, and I don’t believe she’s done yet. The “ooh oohs” in the last two lines could be labour pains.

Now I’m aware there’s a video promoting the song, which could provide further clues about what it all means. The problem is that the current video is actually a replacement for a previous one that was withdrawn. A show business gossip site has revealed that the original video was axed because it was “too sexy”. “Too sexy for what?” I’d like to know. This earlier version should be re-instated in my view. Let Britney express herself freely, so we can scrutinise her movements and assess her desires and intentions. We won’t get to the bottom of this subject if people keep on censoring the evidence. 

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Wednesday, August 17, 2016


The late Gene Roddenberry said the purpose of science fiction was to portray a hopeful vision of the future, but I’m worried it’s creating a lot of false hope. Take the transporter in Star Trek. I can’t think of anything more wonderful that whizzing from A to B in a pulse of sub-space energy, but what are the odds of that ever happening? Even if it’s feasible in theory, you’ve got to wonder how the away team always ends up on a clean piece of ground, rather than treading on dog shit or gate-crashing the lair of some flesh-eating lizard. Ideally, you’d send an expendable peon to check out the place in advance, but that never seems to happen on the Enterprise.

The phaser, on the other hand, is much closer to reality. We already have the laser, its rhyming stepbrother, and I was pleased to read about a new application in Canada. Students from Vancouver have developed an auto-firing laser, which zaps uppity geese who dare to plunder the crops of hard-pressed farmers. There’s no need to feel sorry for geese, who are the hooligans of the avian world, renowned for honking and flapping at anyone who attempts to reason with them. The laser does not injure them in any case. Rather than cooking the goose’s goose, it spooks the bird and makes it flee in panic.

However, the most important advances in technology will probably be devices that no one ever predicted. Who, in the reign of Queen Victoria, would have dreamt that 21st-century humans would be relaxing in hot tubs and Jacuzzis? A bath used to be a monthly ordeal endured by gentlefolk to scrape off their befoulments with hard brushes and coal tar soap. Yet somehow this grievous tribulation was transformed into a sensual experience with massaging jets and swirling underwater vortices. Miraculous.

A more recent example of an unforeseen invention is the straddling bus, which has never appeared in a sci fi movie. The Chinese are incredibly excited about it, because their own engineers designed it, and it does look very remarkable. It’s essentially a giant mobile conference room with sufficient space below for cars to drive right through. Impatient motorists will be able to pass safely underneath, instead of hooting their horns and attempting dangerous overtaking manoeuvres.

There are humans, of course, who shun the blessings of modern technology. I suppose a jungle-dwelling ape like me should admire them, but in truth I view them with suspicion. It is not in the nature of man to eschew his creature comforts unless he is a religious hermit. I’ve heard stories about a human tribe called the Amish, who are said to draw water from wells and pluck their own chickens. All well and good, but aren’t they also a tourist attraction for visitors who want to chuckle at their quaint customs and silly clothes? As any gorilla knows, you can’t get into the tourism business without acquiring a taste for easy living. I wouldn’t be surprised to find Jacuzzis in their homes. 

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Wednesday, August 10, 2016

Paris gets flashed

Many years ago, I wrote a post defending Paris Hilton against people who claimed she was a spoiled, vacuous bimbo. Some time later, I discovered that the allegation was actually well founded, which made me feel like a lawyer who had defended a guilty client. Thereafter, I naturally shied away from discussing Miss Hilton, but I did not delete the original post, which is still buried somewhere in the archives. Gorilla Bananas is not like one of those cowardly media pundits who erases embarrassing tweets to avoid the scorn of the mob.

So why am I mentioning her now after such a long hiatus? Well, it’s because of a recent news item about her. Apparently she is now a DJ, which seems like a fitting occupation that will give her something useful to do without taxing her brain excessively. Yet her new line of work is not without its perplexing incidents. It seems that many girls on the dance floor are showing Paris their breasts for reasons that are currently unfathomable:

“I'm a girl so it's weird when girls are flashing their boobs at me,” she explained. “But I love that people are into it and they feel so free that they can express themselves however they want.”

Now why would so many girls be baring their breasts at Paris Hilton? The most straightforward reason would be to indicate they were sexually available, but how could Paris respond to their invitation while she was busy playing records? I can’t believe that girls who go to discos don’t have better methods of seduction.

Another possible motive, much less flattering to Paris, is that the girls want to show their breasts are fuller, rounder and perkier than her own ones. If you’re envious of a woman’s fame and fortune, why not even up the score by making her jealous of your jahoobies? If that was their intention, there’s little evidence they succeeded. A dopey creature like Paris would be blissfully unaware of such devious attempts to demean her.

A third possibility, which I’m leaning towards with increasing favour, is that the girls were hoping to be recruited for a porn video. Although Paris is not a commercial producer of adult entertainment, I vaguely remember a story about her appearing in a porn video herself. Did that really happen? It was a long time ago, so I may have been dreaming. But no, I don’t think I was.

I now recall an article about that video written by Germaine Greer, who noted with approval that Paris had a bored expression on her face when some fellow was eating her cha-cha. This, Ms Greer assured us, was a powerful statement of feminist indifference. It proved that a man couldn’t orally pleasure a woman into a mass of moaning, quivering flesh.

I’m not entirely persuaded by Ms Greer’s argument, but I’m not going to search for the video after all these years just to refute her. I’ve got better things to do than study the expression on Paris Hilton’s face.

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Wednesday, August 03, 2016

No sex please, I'm British

The woman pictured above is a 37-year-old British TV personality called Jodie Marsh. She is also a part-time “glamour model” and bodybuilder. Don’t feel like an ignoramus if you’ve never heard of her, because I’d never heard of her myself until last week. I should emphasize that she didn’t catch my eye because of the picture. You can’t pique a gorilla’s curiosity by showing him a hoochie in a provocative posture. No, she got my attention because it was recently reported that she’d taken a vow of celibacy.

“Being celibate is the best thing I've ever done,” Ms Marsh proudly declared.

I have to admit being impressed by humans who renounce the carnal pleasures. I tend to believe they’re on a spiritual mission to become an enlightened bramacharya, like Gandhi or Doris Day. Ms Marsh, it has to be said, doesn’t look like a holy woman, but I never judge a book by its cover. Maybe her tartish appearance is an illusion that obscures a serene and contemplative soul, gliding gently on a path to Nirvana.

I’m sorry to say that my favourable opinion of her didn’t last very long. In a subsequent interview she elaborated on her reasons for giving up sex.

"I love being celibate,” she said. “You don't have to shave your legs every day!”

As a hairy ape, I find the idea that you have to shave your legs before having sex quite offensive. And why do women have to shave their legs and not men? If I were a feminist, I’d be thumping my chest in annoyance. The next statement she made gave the game away:

"The thought of sex actually makes me feel sick.”

The whole point of taking a vow of abstinence is to give up something you enjoy doing. If you’re not making a sacrifice, it doesn’t purify your soul. No one ever got enlightened by not doing something they didn’t want to do in the first place. The woman is clearly an airhead who needs to spend some quality time with a vibrator.

On reflection, I don’t believe she finds sex disgusting at all. Why would she expend so much effort in beautifying her body if she didn’t want men to lust after her? Her Wikipedia biography hints at a promiscuous lifestyle, in spite of her protestations to the contrary. I suspect this whole celibacy charade is a ruse to attract men who are thrilled by the idea of bedding an infamous coquette who says she doesn’t want it anymore. She will no doubt take her pick of the adventurers and poodlefakers who cross her path, giving the lucky gallant the ride of his life. And he’ll probably laugh triumphantly when he climaxes, like the despicable bounder that he is.

It all sounds very sordid to me, but maybe she is actually thrilled by the prospect of being ravished and despoiled by a lecherous character. Minor celebrities often acquire peculiar tastes after getting a taste for the high life. I would advise her not to make a video. 

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Wednesday, July 27, 2016

Boob joke

Why is it that celebrity lawsuits take so long to settle? The gossip rags report that someone famous is being sued and you don’t hear a thing about it for months. I’m still waiting to discover the outcome of Elton John’s dispute with the bodyguard he allegedly groped. The wheels of human justice grind more slowly than a lap-dancing snail.

The latest legal battle currently in stasis involves Ellen Degeneres and a 35-year-old woman called Titi Pierce. In this case no groping occurred, although it might still happen if they meet in a dark cubicle. Titi is upset because she was referred to as “Titty” in Ellen’s TV show. Apparently, the correct pronunciation of her name is “Tee Tee”, and those who confuse it with a vulgar term for the breast are guilty of malicious hate speech. Her lawyer issued the following statement on her behalf:

“In all her 35 years of life, no one has ever referred to Ms Pierce as ‘Titty’ until the Defendant did so on February 22, 2016 on national television. Prior to the Defendent’s misdeeds, Ms Pierce has been called only by her name ‘Titi’, which as grammar dictates, is pronounced ‘TEE TEE’”

As a result of this appalling insult, his client “suffered stress, emotional distress, embarrassment, humiliation, anger, and other mental pain and suffering”. She might also have acquired a nervous tick and a zit on her butt. Yet no one can deny that making fun of an exotic name is a coarse form of humour employed by the lowliest wags. Ellen should hang her head in shame and make fun of her own breasts as a penance. She should also offer to pay compensation of not less than forty-six US dollars.

Nevertheless, I do find it amazing that no one had ever mispronounced Titi’s name before. Maybe she lives in a church-going community whose residents would never say the word “Titty”, not even if they saw a topless dancer shaking her jahoobies in their direction. However, Ms Pierce is a realtor, so she must have encountered people from all walks of life, including those who snigger at boob jokes. I suspect that many of her clients were suppressing their chuckles and calling her “Titty” behind her back.

Some women, of course, have more suggestive names than “Titi”. Fanny Cradock was a pioneering British TV chef, admired as much for her domineering personality as her recipes. Yet there is no evidence that anyone ever made fun of her name. Some might have been too scared to do so, but jokes of that kind would have fallen flat in any case. Having a humorous name is a minor distraction if you’re a ballsy woman who can stuff a turkey and mash potatoes at the same time.

The lesson for Ms Pierce is clear enough: People will only mock your name if they have nothing else to say about you. To put yourself beyond such foolish quips, you’ve got to raise your public profile and get a reputation for being a hard-ass uppity bitch.

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Wednesday, July 20, 2016

Baywatch fantasy

Pamela Anderson is such a good sport! In a recent interview, she revealed that she has often indulged the fantasies of her boyfriends by adopting her Baywatch persona and re-enacting scenes from the much loved TV show. By way of illustration, she gave the following anecdote:

“One of my boyfriends wanted rescuing from the bed. So I jumped in the shower, got all wet, and frisky and then did the slow-mo run all the way from the shower to the double bed. I think he was pretty satisfied with the performance.”

If you think that was no big deal, do some research on how a “serious” actress like Sharon Stone reacts to men who expect her to behave like one of the characters she has played. You will find her whining about ex-lovers who hankered after “that woman on the screen” instead of her, for which misdemeanour they were haughtily rebuffed and shown the door.

Pamela, by contrast, has the sunny disposition of a woman who doesn’t overanalyse her relationships. She clearly has neither the expectation nor the wish for men to gaze into the inner depths of her soul. Consequently, she is more than happy to use the armoury in her acting repertoire to entertain her gallants. You have to admire a woman who doesn’t make a fuss and gets on with the job in hand, no matter how unusual the request.

Now Pamela is certainly a lucky woman who has milked her talent for every drop of sustenance it could provide, but that doesn’t mean her life has been free of aggravation. I’m sorry to say she is one of the growing band of celebrities who has been tormented by a stalker. In the same interview, she disclosed that the stalker had not only spied on her furtively but broken into her home to harass her in person. This disturbed individual was a woman who attempted to placate Pamela with the following invidious assertions:

“I’m not a lesbian, I just want to touch you.”

I’m glad to say that Pamela was not beguiled by these words and asked the police to intervene before any touching could occur. Had I been the stalkee, I would have told the stalker that not being a lesbian is nothing to be proud of. Pamela should have said that she wouldn’t want to be touched by a woman unless she was a lesbian, and a pretty damned hot one too!

When all is said and done, you have to give Pamela her due for still getting all this attention at the age of 49. Why is she still newsworthy? It can’t be because of her oversized bosom, which lost its ability to shock and amaze a long time ago. No one should dismiss Pamela as a walking pair of melons. My guess is that people find her uncomplicated personality engaging. It’s much easier to be loved by the masses if you’re an earnest simpleton who is devoid of any pretensions or conceit.

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Wednesday, July 13, 2016

Tasting the spice

The Spice Girls have admitted that they used to kiss each other “once in a while”.

“Because of what we went through together, there's a bond that no one else understands,” explained Emma Bunton.

I think we can take it as read that it was mouth-to-mouth kissing with probing tongues. It wouldn’t be much of a confession if they were giving each other an affectionate peck on the cheek.

I don’t know how their fans will react to this revelation, but it all sounds completely natural to me. They were young, passionate women with pumping hormones, sharing hotel suites and borrowing each other’s toiletries. Their close camaraderie was bound to spill over into something more intimate in moments of high emotion. And don’t forget all the dancing they did together, shaking their booties in perfect synchrony. It could only have stimulated their mutual attraction.

Having admitted to kissing in private, should they now do it in public? The reunion concert planned for next year would be an idea venue for a spicy exhibition of smooching. When I asked the manager of the safari camp for his opinion, his answer was unequivocal.

“Of course they should do it!” he declared. “They’ve created the expectation, so now they’ve got to follow through. No one likes performers who are all talk and no action.”

“Which pair would you like to see press lips?” I asked.

“They should take it in turns to snog Baby Spice,” he replied. “Make her blush and pant for breath.”

“That sounds disturbingly similar to a ‘gang bang’ scenario,” I remarked. “Maybe you should browse for a suitable movie instead.”

In truth, I don’t really want to see them kissing on stage. Madonna and Britney Spears did that many moons ago and it wasn’t at all erotic. It never is when it’s done purely for show. In an ideal world you’d want to watch the Spice Girls kissing in a private, intimate setting, but if you did that you’d be a Peeping Tom. It’s depressingly difficult to enjoy the simple pleasure of voyeurism in a decent and wholesome way.

It goes without saying that the Spice Girls don’t have to kiss each other to remain popular. I can think of very few musical acts in which kissing was an essential part of the entertainment. Did Sonny and Cher kiss after singing I Got You, Babe? I’m not convinced that they did, even though it would have been artistically justified. And what would it have proved anyway? They soon got divorced after their double-act lost its appeal.

That reminds me of another thing I admire about the Spice Girls – they never got bitchy with each other after they parted company. I’m pretty sure Cher insulted Sony Bono after he got into politics, implying that he was a midget who was useless in bed. It was an ugly slur against real midgets, who are often as good in bed as people twice their size.

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