Wardrobe malfunction

It happens with a tiresome regularity.
A woman’s precarious chest scaffolding gives way, and out pops a boob.
This happened on New Year’s Eve to voluptuous Colombian star Sofia Margarita Vergara.

Malfunction, malfunction, screamed the delighted entourage. The victim of the accident looked appropriately embarrassed and, surrounded by bodyguards, beat a hasty retreat. But not before the paparazzi laying in wait took a few good shots.
If they didn’t, I believe that another unfortunate malfunction could be arranged.

Malfunctions are accidents waiting to happen and are often engineered by the “victims” or their handlers. And in showbiz there is not such thing as bad publicity.
The Wardrobe Malfunction Victims (they are always women) often wear gravity-defying outfits, and the odds are that eventually gravity will prevail.

It is to be noted that malfunctions always happen to well-endowed celebrities, and that it is often the quickest way to the evening news or the next movie contract.

Malfunctions seldom happen to male celebrities though. I wonder why?
Personally I wish that it would happen more frequently to our smug, self-serving male politicians.
These impotent SOB’s are permanently holding the country hostage and love nothing better than to parade in front of the cameras to declare that no deal can be reached with the opposition.

These people deserve a real Wardrobe Malfunction.

I wish that it would happen in particular to the smug, permanently tanned Sartorial Prince of the Republican Party.
I would be delighted to see him inadvertently drop his pants during a press conference and flee for cover under the flashes of the paparazzi.
This is the kind of malfunction I would not mind seeing or hearing about. It would truly make my day.

In France they say that ridicule kills and I wish it did. This way we could replace the entire Congress and House of Representatives with one-term Doers instead of entrenched, self-serving, do-nothing Talkers.


Vade Retro Satana

Everybody knows that a crucifix or a garlic lei will keep the Devil at bay.
But sometimes you don’t have these reliable tools handy when you most need protection from the Prince of Darkness.

devilSingle women I have been told, are especially vulnerable to Satan’s ploys. They have relied since time immemorial on the male of the specie for protection; but when widowed or divorced, they become highly susceptible to attacks.

You ought to know that Satan doesn’t work alone and relies on many surrogates to do his nefarious work. And they come under all kinds of guises.
They could look like car mechanics, plumbers, pest-control guys, financial advisers… but trained eyes can see through their cover and shoo them away.

A divorced acquaintance of mine told me that she knows what to do when under attack by the Wicked One.

When confronted or pressured by unscrupulous Satan’s henchmen, she flashes a wedding ring and quickly recites the magic formula:  Vade Retro Satana (Go back Satan). She repeats it three times and the Evil One is forced to beat an angry retreat.

These magic words also imply that if the Devil doesn’t back off, she will call her big brawny husband to deal with the matter. And when disturbed, he is not a pleasant man.

This woman told me that the ring combined with the magic incantation works wonders, and that Satan’s helpers always back away. So even though she is not technically wedded anymore, she wears the gold amulet for protection.
She doesn’t wear it all the time for fear of wearing off its magic powers, but she keeps it handy for emergencies.

I was not aware of the Golden Ring’s magic capabilities, but now that I am cognizant of the facts, I will make sure to always display it prominently.
The problem though is that when I go to sleep I always remove my wedding ring and sometimes, I forget to put it back.

I should be more careful because I am a weak person, and without my ring to protect me I could easily fall prey to the Devil’s sweet talking propositions.
So wear your ring, and to make double sure that nothing regrettable happens to you, eat and bathe in a garlic scented concoction as often as you can.

You can thank me later.




The holiday season will soon be a memory thank God!
People, particularly women, go crazy during that time.
I love shopping, they crow. I lôôôve it!
And off to the hunt they go.

Call me stupid, slow-witted, but what the hell is there to love?
Shopping in the first place is extremely taxing. Mentally and physically. Shuffling through stores for two or three hours can wear out even a seasoned marathoner.
In the second place, why would you waste time in a store if you don’t have a specific goal in mind?
To women this is a stupid question. Why would you waste two or three hours whacking a tiny ball with a club, they would retort.

Then why would you buy something that you don’t need? Women don’t think that way; they do it for the excitement, for the joy of bringing  home the fruit of their hunt.

And why would you battle a store-crazed mob when you could shop online from the comfort of your living room?
Those foolish questions could only be asked by a man. To a woman they are totally irrelevant. Shopping is a God-given right equal only to the right to vote.

Men on the other hand, won’t go shopping, unless prodded with a sharp object.

To women, shopping is pleasurable, exciting, even sexually stimulating. While shopping is a chore for men, it is highly entertaining and energizing for women.

I suspect that seventy percent of women have sexual intercourse minutes after returning home from a shopping expedition.
I have also been told that some women get so worked up by shopping that they cannot control themselves and have sex in the store’s fitting booths.
This is one of the wiles they use to coax reluctant men into shopping expeditions.

Granted, women are much better shoppers than men, but they have so much more practice.
And with all this running around they have a much better chance of winning a marathon than a man, but what’s the point of a marathon may I ask?
Nowadays you don’t have to send a runner to report a victory; a simple “texto” (text message in French) will suffice. Duh!

As a man, I really don’t see the point of sport shopping, and it offends my sensibility when women list shopping as a “hobby”.

But I might be missing the point… What women are trying to say is that it is the post-shopping that makes this hobby so exhilarating.
This I can understand.