My male staff loves to read, or at least he loves to pretend he can read, it impresses the girls you see. While he's pretending to read he relies on me to remind him to keep the book, newspaper or magazine the right way up so as not to give the game away. Those of you who know me will be aware that I am a late guinea pig. I made the one way trip to the Rainbow Bridge a couple of years ago, but my spirit likes to sit on my male staff's shoulder, tickling his plump rosy cheeks with my ghostly whiskers. Often he thinks a fly is deliberately trying to annoy him and this gives me hours of inexpensive entertainment as he wafts his hand about his face more and more desperately and with in a vain attempt to discourage the non-existent fly, while all the time his language becomes increasingly X-rated. If only he knew.
Anyway just lately he's been pretending to read Bill Bryson's The Road to Little Dribbling. It's a sort of sequel to Notes From a Small Island. Both are a hoot and I thoroughly recommend them. In his latest offering Mister Bryson rails against a certain type of magazine, the type that is mostly full of advertisements but also has articles on what the editor wants you to believe so called celebrities are doing to each other and themselves. Just the other day my male staff was sitting in the doctor's waiting room with me on his shoulder as usual. (He'd been called in because his brain scan result came back as negative.) He was thumbing through one of magazines. I think is was called WTF or something like that. Anyway he had it the right way up because he was looking at the pictures and even he can tell when a photo of Brad Pitt is upside down. Reading over his shoulder I could see that a heavily tattooed female celebrity called Kolostomy Bagg or some such was admitting in an interview with a "journalist" that she'd had a vaginal enhancement - a gift apparently from her aging German boyfriend - Stornch Kradelsnatcher. Mr Bryson was a little puzzled as to what a vaginal enhancement entails and I'm afraid I can throw no more light on the matter than he was able to. His suggestion was that perhaps WiFi had been installed. I prefer to think that perhaps Kolostomy had added a widescreen digital TV complete with a 24 hour sports channel installed to keep Stornch entertained while he's.................well you know, do I have to spell it out?
There are other types of enhancement too - bum and boob implants for example. I like to call well known recipients of these celebretitties. Bum implants are an interesting idea and may be a way for my male staff to make a little extra pocket money by selling some of the blubber from his own ample posterior to buttockally challenged wealthy young women. There's always the danger that unsightly hair might begin to appear on the recipient's new plumped up arse but that's just a risk you'll have to take ladies. That Kwim Krashcardigan woman must have received her bum implants from a doner hippo I think. I just hope she doesn't ever feel the urge to waggle her backside to spread her dung around. Can anyone tell me which talent made her the celebrity she is today? Was it the size of her nether regions or the fact that she and her Scottish lover Canye Seemawilly made a home movie of their tedious sex life?
Then there are lip enhancements too which apparently involve stuffing half your face with botulism to such an extent that if this had been available in 1943 Britain Winston Churchill himself would have requisitioned the recipients' lips to be used as Lancaster bomber tyres. The whole phenomenon is utterly ridiculous, but it has a serious side too. All this obsession with shallowness has an insidious dumbing down effect on people. Hence the current popularity of liars and fools like America's Donald Trump, Britain's Nigel Farage and Australia's Pauline Hanson. These dangerous people are getting shed loads of votes all over the planet. Apart from public stupidity and the abject failure of humanity to produce alternative worthwhile leaders I blame magazines like WTF.
Whoops-a-daisy. Apologies to Mr Seemawilly, I've just been corrected. It wasn't Mr Seemawilly in the Krashkardigan sex tape. It was some nonentity called Ray someone.