Wednesday, February 17, 2016
The Beckshaft
It’s been a long time since I wrote anything about Mr Becks, the ex-footballer and possible ex-husband of Victoria Spice, but that doesn’t mean I’ve been ignoring him. My females are constantly asking for news about him, which I drip-feed to them like juice from an orang-utan’s armpits. In truth, he isn’t doing very much apart from the usual posing and preening, but that seems to be enough to keep his fans squealing in delight. His twitter page is suggestive of one who prefers to communicate in pictures, but I don’t hold that against him. A picture is worth a hundred hoots, as we say in the jungle.
The good news for collectors of memorabilia is that a sex toy manufacturer has produced a dildo that looks like Mr Becks. His face is imprinted on the business end of the device, but its shape does not match the contours of his body. In short, it is an effigy of Mr Becks in the shape of a phallus. Whether it bears any resemblance to his actual appendage is an open question. Amusing novelty item though it may be, I’d be surprised if many women used it to satisfy their carnal urges. Being an admirer of Mr Becks doesn’t mean you want his head inside your coochie.
Our local witch doctor is worried that enemies of Mr Becks will use the item as a voodoo doll:
“What is to stop jealous rivals sticking pins in the toy to curse him with the stings of The Evil One?” he asked.
“You ignoramus!” I exclaimed. “You cannot stick pins in a dildo. It is made of hard silicone plastic, not softwood from the Umbogo tree.”
“In that case his rivals should be told,” said the witch doctor. “He who breaks pins on a juju charm will have a limp pupuyoo for the rest of his life.”
“I will quote your cautionary words in my blog, so the enemies of Mr Becks will be forewarned,” I assured him.
As for the manager of the safari camp, he snorted in derision when I suggested giving the dildo to his wife as a Valentine’s Day gift:
“It doesn’t even vibrate!” he scoffed. “You can’t fob a woman off with an obsolete toy like that. A plastic dick is still a plastic dick, no matter whose face is on it.”
“I never realised your wife was so choosey,” I remarked. “Perhaps there are other women who will treasure it as a love token of considerable sentimental value.”
Be that as it may, I don’t expect it to sell like hot cakes. Only the most devoted groupies of Mr Becks would consider buying it, and even they might be put off by the embarrassment factor. If very few are sold, I will probably order one myself. It would soon acquire rarity value, and might eventually be worth as much as one of Liberace’s dildos. There’s an opportunity in every flop, as we say in the jungle.
Labels: dildos, juju, Liberace, Mr Becks, voodoo
Wednesday, December 17, 2014
Bum news
Victoria Spice has admitted to being a “pain in the bottom” without revealing whose rump she has troubled. That shouldn’t stop us from making an educated guess. I’d wager a ripe bunch of bananas that the bum in question belongs to Mr Becks, her devoted spouse. As a former footballer, his buttocks should be able to bear plenty of punishment before beads of sweat start appearing on his forehead and his groin. It’s a small price to pay for keeping the spark in your marriage alive.
Unfortunately for Mr Becks, Victoria is the type of woman who can dish it out but can’t take it. There’s not nearly enough meat on her tush to satisfy a man’s healthy appetite for butt bongo. If I were her husband, I’d be looking at Miley Cyrus with envious eyes. Miley is petite, but her rump is fleshy enough to be slapped around like pizza dough. Unfortunately for those who dream of pummelling her posterior, she has recently started dating one Patrick Schwarzenegger, son of the former Governator.
I’d like to know why this Schwarzenegger sprog is qualified to be Miley’s beau. Being the son of a famous pair of pecs shouldn’t give you the right to romance the cheekiest nymphette of our age. I hope Miley won’t consider marrying him until he proves himself worthy of the honour. Let him show the world what he’s made of by twerking with Madonna and kicking Bieber’s ass. An alpha male should acquire a reputation of his own rather than basking in the fame of his more illustrious mistress.
Whoopi Goldberg has recently reminded us that not everything associated with the bottom is good. She farted loudly on a TV chat show and had the class to accept responsibility for the deed. This would never have happened back in my circus days, when it was standard practice for humans to blame their farts on someone else. The clowns were constantly doing it and often accused me of creating their flatulence. I was generally content to give the accuser a scornful stare without issuing a formal denial, which would have compromised my dignity.
On one occasion I was forced to respond. After emitting a horrible little guff that sounded like a party horn and smelled like poison gas, a clown feigned to look at me with sad, reproachful eyes:
“Oh GB!” he whined. “Whatever have you been eating?”
“What?!” I thundered. “You accuse me of producing that pathetic little squeak?” “This is what a real gorilla fart sounds like!”
And rising to my feet, I turned my back and gave him a blast of wind resembling the base note of a trombone.
This is why I hope more humans will follow Whoopi’s example and be upfront about breaking wind. If your bowels are feeling turgid, make an announcement to the effect that you need to blow some gas out of your butthole and run to the nearest window. If you're going to fart, do it with dignity and concern for the innocent bystander.
Labels: butt cheeks, buttocks, fart noises, farting, Farts, Miley Cyrus, Mr Becks, Victoria Spice
Wednesday, June 04, 2014
The intern returns
Monica Lewinsky has blossomed into a confident, intelligent, attractive woman of 40. Before you call me a kiss-ass, study the recent picture of her above. When I emailed it to my friend Smacker Ramrod, he sent me the following response:
“Gadzooks, she is gorgeous! Lucky is the man who moistens the gum on her flap!”
I’m sure we would all agree with him on that.
Now, some of you might be thinking this is a gratuitous blog post about Miss Lewinsky, written for no other reason than her suitability as a target for bawdy jokes. That would be a scurrilous, defamatory half-truth. I was inspired to pen this piece by Monica herself, who is the author of a fascinating article recently published in Vanity Fair. Let me summarize its main points for you:
1) Monica chided the chanteuse Beyoncé for taking her name in vain in one of her songs. The offending lyrics were:
He popped all my buttons and he ripped my blouse
He Monica Lewinsky’d all on my gown.
To which Monica retorted:
"Thanks, Beyoncé, but if we're verbing, I think you meant:
He Bill Clinton'd all on my gown.
Well said, Monica. Some might say that although you didn’t own the gun you helped to pull the trigger. I would say that no one is entitled to turn your name into a verb for jizzing. It wasn’t your mess and Beyoncé is clearly an airhead.
2) In reminiscing about her youthful indiscretion in the White House, she said that the public disclosure of her deeds had made her “the most humiliated person in the world”, and that the true villains of the affair were those who did the disclosing, rather than the tomcat president whom she willingly siphoned. (I apologise for the length of the last sentence, which is a bigger mouthful than the one Monica got, but sometimes it’s necessary to spit it out in one go.)
3) After getting her Masters degree from the London School of Economics, she turned down job offers from firms seeking to exploit her status as the world’s most famous fellator. She is now using her experience to help victims of on-line humiliation and harassment, which she hopes will give a purpose to her past.
You’ve got to respect Monica for dealing with her debacle in such a dignified way. She could have made millions by promoting herself as America’s No.1 hoochie, but instead she chose philanthropy, which is an entirely different field.
Being humiliated is a terrible fate for a human, although it has to be said that many deserve it. I get the impression it’s easier to bear for those not overburdened with grey matter. Take Mr Becks, for example. He recently revealed that he wooed Victoria Spice by wearing an exceptionally tight pair of trunks. A man of greater intellect, like Einstein or Eddie Murphy, would have surely been embarrassed to admit to such a thing.
Life is so much easier if you can respond to ridicule and insults by grinning like a village idiot.
Labels: humiliation, jism, Monica Lewinsky, Mr Becks, Victoria Spice
Wednesday, July 03, 2013
Brain anomaly
An English anthropologist has explained why the human masses are obsessed with celebrities. It seems that their brains are hard-wired that way because of a unique arse-licking gene (a.k.a. “butt-kissing gene”) possessed by homo sapiens. This causes them to squeal with excitement when a famous person comes into view and behave like a fawning toady.
It’s all about prestige, you see. Unlike other animals, humans can acquire status simply by sucking up to superstars and show-offs. Furthermore, the habits of these performers are studied obsessively by aspiring young fame-hunters hoping to further their own paths to glory. Lady Gaga was just a star-struck teenager when she saw Madonna and Britney French-kissing. Look at her now.
In the rest of the animal kingdom, behaviour is driven by fear rather than hero-worship. The hyena respects the pride male to avoid getting its head chewed off; the baboon respects the silverback to avoid getting its lights punched out; the zebra respects the rhino to avoid getting the horn. There’s no need to lick anyone’s butt in the African bush unless you’re trying to make friends.
A celebrity who is wowing the world with his zany antics is Russell Brand, the chirpy English comedian. It is alleged that he recently propositioned a middle-aged lesbian TV personality, although he might well have been joking. Middle-aged lesbians find it hard to judge whether a man is being ironic or genuinely wants to straighten them out. When questioned about his indiscretion, Brand promptly confessed that he couldn’t resist infiltrating lesbian liaisons:
“I won’t rest until every lesbian relationship in Britain has been disrupted by an unwelcome boorish Essex boy," he announced.
Will frisky young bucks now follow in Brand’s footsteps? I hope so. The best way of honing one’s skills is by taking on a nigh impossible challenge. As for the lesbians, there’s surely no harm in reminding them they’re still attractive to men. It would also give them a list of potential sperm donors should they ever wish to reproduce.
Of course, a celebrity is only worthy of emulation if he sticks to his forte and doesn’t bite off more than he can chew. I was sorry to hear that Justin Bieber has started aiming kung fu kicks at the paparazzi. Someone should tell Bieber that it takes years of training to carry out such stunts without looking like a jackrabbit or injuring your buttocks. It also requires spiritual instruction to acquire the demeanour of an inscrutable Chinaman.
A more outrageous case of celebrity overstretch is Victoria Spice’s suggestion that her husband should play James Bond. It goes without saying that Mr Becks is not remotely up to the task – he cannot act and his voice sounds like a cockney version of Mickey Mouse. I doubt he could get through the love scenes without grinning like a chimp. The good news is that he seems content in his current role of being eye-candy for a certain type of woman – (the type that isn’t interested in the quantity of grey matter in a man’s skull).
Labels: cult of celebrity, human brain, James Bond, Justin Bieber, Mr Becks, Russell Brand
