Monday, May 09, 2011
Scarlett's phantom pregnancy
Scarlett Johansson has denied that she’s carrying Sean Penn’s baby and I, for one, believe her. The bulge in her belly could have many innocent explanations, such as a bout of dropsy or too many side orders of potato wedges. She might even be hiding a gopher beneath her sweater like a mommy kangaroo. Most actresses go through a sentimental phase about animals. We gorillas will always remember the visit of Daryl Hannah, who approached our hairy community like a girl in search of a piggy-back ride. A kindly female patted her on the head and gave her some roots to chew.
There’s another reason why Scarlett is unlikely to be pregnant – I seriously doubt whether The Pennster’s man-seed is up to the job. Actors who’ve led dissolute, drug-taking lives often end up with lackadaisical sperm that chase their own tails rather than making a beeline for the nearest egg. The couple must have had carnal relations, of course. A woman doesn’t shack up with one of Hollywood’s leading men unless she’s ready and willing to spread her legs for him. Refusing to oblige would have certainly provoked a huge tantrum from Penn, possibly culminating in Mel Gibson-like threats to burn the house down.
One thing that doesn’t surprise me is Scarlett taking to an older man. Those of you who’ve seen the film Lost in Translation will know what I’m talking about. In that movie, she plays a bewildered young woman who wanders around Tokyo looking for someone to talk to. Amid the unsettling hordes of inscrutable Japanese, she finds an American man played by Bill Murray, who soothes her troubled soul with his mellow reflections. It was obvious, even then, that Scarlet hankered after a craggy-faced Daddy figure who would tell her bedtime stories while balancing her on his knee. You may say that she was only acting, but A-list thespians habitually draw on their own emotions to make their performances convincing.
Speaking of older men, the relentless hounding of Silvio Berlusconi is beginning to get on my nerves. The latest accusation against him is that he encouraged a pair of party girls to make love to a statue of the god Priapus, whose broken todger he had previously repaired. Is this supposed to be a crime? What would be the point of restoring a statue’s manhood if you didn’t intend to help it use its new equipment? If a man is prosecuted for being a pimp to a restored work of art, the emasculated sculptures of the world will remain forever dickless.
The allegation I utterly refuse to believe is that Berlusconi has had sexual congress with multiple high-class harlots in his “bunga-bunga” parties. Aside from the fact that “bunga-bunga” means “masturbation” in the Congo, the statue incident proves beyond doubt that he prefers watching to participating. A wily old goat like Silvio knows better than to endanger his health by allowing whores to milk his waning gonads. When a man gets to his age, vicarious titillation is a safer option than the real McCoy.
Labels: bunga-bunga, phantom pregnancy, Scarlett Johansson, Sean Penn, Silvio Berlusconi
Monday, December 22, 2008
The Italian Knob
An Italian visitor declares that Silvio Berlusconi is the biggest “pezzo di merda” in Western Europe. I feel obliged to reprimand him for his intemperate outburst.
“Sir, your remark is uncharitable for the Christmas season. Western Europe is full of enormous pezzi di merda. Perhaps Signor Berlusconi is the biggest one in Italy, although he has tough competition, what with the Mafia and Lapo Elkann.”
There follows a civil exchange of views in which our guest cites the following examples of objectionable conduct by the Italian prime minister:
1) He wore a headscarf following a hair transplant operation, giving the excuse that he had whimsically decided to dress like a pirate.
2) He discussed his wife’s extramarital affairs with other European politicians.
3) He complimented the American president-elect on his tan.
I offer no mitigation for the first complaint. The leader of a civilised nation should never give succour to pirates, even if it is limited to copying their sartorial habits. We quickly dismiss the possibility that he had converted to Islam and was wearing the hijab. A hedonistic fellow like Berlusconi would never give up wine purely to adopt a particular form of headdress.
On the second allegation, I am far more inclined to leniency. Frankly, I can’t see much wrong in gossiping about your estranged wife’s sex life, even if the aim is to divert attention from your own debaucheries. A cuckold has his rights, and it wasn’t as if he was kissing-and-telling or revealing bedroom secrets. Indeed, his behaviour may have done much to dispel the unpleasant stereotype of the jealous Latin lover, chasing his rival with a meat cleaver.
On the third point, I am not sure what to think. Barry Obama certainly has a fine-looking tan, but drawing attention to it may be tactless. I know enough about humans to be aware that a hue obtained from a visit to the tropics is crucially different from a congenital complexion. All the same, I sense that Barry is the kind of man to take such remarks in his stride and give the wag making them a smack on the back for his impudence. He certainly has the sun-tanned look of a coffee-commercial actor. Perhaps he should star in such an advertisement with the Secretary of State presumptive, to help her pay off her campaign debts. Imagine them together on a yacht, Barry loitering on deck with his shirt unbuttoned as Hillary brings him light refreshment in a bikini:
“Mmm-hmm! You sure make a mean cup of coffee, Hilldog!” he might say after savouring a long sip with his eyes closed.
I hear that the hotels in DC are fully booked for Barry’s inauguration in January. I expect they’re all terribly excited about the speech he is going to make. I hope he comes up with some new material rather than rehashing all the old stuff about “change, we can do it, yes we can”. If I were his speech writer, I’d make sure Britney Spears got a mention after all the trouble she’s been through. It’s very easy to criticise a woman for exposing her shaven cha-cha to photographers, but don’t forget that she was driven to it by her ex-husband, a worm so disreputable that even other worms find him slimy.
Never have I witnessed a celebrity divorce where the blame was so much on one side. Had I been the presiding judge, I would have sternly rebuked the repulsive rapster before plucking him like a Christmas fowl.
“Federline,” I would have said, “you are a talentless bounder! I hereby give full custody of the children to Miss Spears. You must also give her all your assets, including the clothes you are wearing. Officer of the court, strip this man at once! Leave his briefs on, though, he has caused enough offence for one day.”
Anyway, I hope that President Obama finds a job for Britney in his administration. Nothing too important, just a little something to allow her to regain her pride and present the middle finger to her critics. Given the state of her nether regions, ambassador to Brazil might be a good post.
The Japing Ape wishes his readers a Merry Christmas and will return in one week.
Labels: Barack Obama, Britney Spears, Silvio Berlusconi
