in which the naked chimp is unmasked, his machines debugged, and his bugbears debunked

Monday, June 25, 2007

Putting the fun back in fundamentalist (despite his injury…)

It was one of those stories you e-mail to everybody. The one about Mr Blair. No, not the soon-to-be-ex British PM, the other Blair, the one from Brisbane. The masturbator. But not just any old masturbator – this isn’t your typical Brisbane wiggin technician. This guy was a real artist. An extremist. A person who’s really willing to go the whole hog, and hang the consequences. If you’re wondering what I’m talking about, you obviously didn’t read the article, so here’s a very basic re-cap.
Mr Blair arrived at his (female) friend’s house, smoked off a few rocks, then felt the rise of the horn (as many a meth freak has). Not one to be put off, he apparently informed Kylie (the ‘friend’) that he was just going to have a shower. Cut to thirty minutes later, and the guy’s still pounding his parson – first in the shower, then rolling around on the bed, then back to the shower again. All over the house, as out of control as unmanned garden hose. According to the article, she asked, then begged, then pleaded for him to stop, telling him she had to bathe her kid. But he just kept right on going, hammer and tongs. The details are a little hazy at this point, but apparently Kylie then threatened him. And when that didn’t work? Well, she stabbed him in the shoulder with a kitchen knife. Twice. And what did he do? He put on a pair of shorts, went out to the garage… and kept on wanking, which he was still doing half an hour later, when the cops arrived.

"Despite his injury,” the prosecutor said, “it seems Mr Blair continued to masturbate while in the garage."

Of course, ‘in reality’ this sorry little tale says more about the terrible effects of ice on human relationships than anything else, but…I couldn’t help but feeling, well, admiration for Mr Blair. I mean, it really puts the fun back in fundamentalist, don’t you think? Like James Brown, Stanley Kubrick or Moby Dick’s Ahab, there’s something wonderful about a true extremist, somebody who ‘really means it’. A person who’s really willing to go the whole nine yards, no matter what reality says or what the consequences might be. I’m not saying you should go around to your mate’s house and beat off on their rugs or in their rumpus room, but just think. Think of everything in your life that’s flying at half mast – the limp things, the lame things you do. Reflect on them all, then give yourself a tenth of the gift Mr Blair gave himself, amply. We’ve all got a little bit of the fundamentalist inside us somewhere. Unleash your inner extremist – on your guitar, on your drum machine, on your wok. Let him loose on your floppy, flabby bits. It needn’t be hard, it can be fun. Have a good stab at it, go on… indulge yourself. You know you want to.

© Peter Chambers 2007

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PC is an animal of the antipodes believed to be related to a gibbon.