17 April, 2009


Far too fruity for the semi-detached mind

After spending far too much time this morning reading repetitive dialogues of the deaf on political blogs, I turned briefly to Laban's blog in the hope of enlightenment and relief, where I came upon this decidedly fruity post.

It was not so much the entertaining but inevitable puns on the name of the late Zimeroonian President Canaan Banana in Mark Steyn's linked piece that ruffled the tranquility the semi-detached mind but the earlier quote about Ronnie Laing, a man for whom the epithet "egregious" is altogether inadequate.

Laing, it seems, took righteous exception to that old fraud the Bagwash (the Beatles excepted, didn't we all?) and on one more than usually drunken occasion
... was found sitting on the pavement and muttering obscenities about “orange wankers”.
Orange wankers?

A friend, fondly recalling the solitary recreations of his distant adolescence, would often wax lyrical about the suitability of freshly-baked bread for masturbatory purposes. Warm, yielding, far cheaper than a Dutch wife and disposable after use with relatively little danger of embarrassment.

(Now you know the real reason why Napoleon invented the baguette. Stuffing it down infantrymen's trousers is only half the story!)

Oranges, however, seem entirely ill-adapted to the task. Does one peel them first? If so, does one align oneself with the "polar axis" of the fruit for efficient penetration? Are navel oranges to be preferred, these being sterile and hence eliminating the danger of creating a somewhat alarming hybrid?

On a practical level, is the gratuitous additional stickiness resulting from penetration of an orange (or indeed any poor innocent citrus fruit) particularly desirable, or indeed enjoyable? (I would imagine however that the activity might perhaps form a thoughtful precursor to a fellatious encounter.)

There are deep social and moral issues here. The clergy might wish to offer a view, though I suspect the Rev Dr Paisley might have something to say on the matter while Archbishop-elect Vincent wisely maintains a discreet silence.

Oh, and a supplementary question about the matter of Dr Banana, while we're here? Is a sodomite the one that lies on the floor of the cave pointing upwards, or the one that clings to the roof of the cave pointing down? I can never remember; perhaps I need a mnemonic.

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