Violets are blue

Mel Gibson has vehemently denied bedding a Polish porn star called Violet Kowal. “It’s an absurd fabrication!” he yelled at a reporter who asked him whether he put on a Batman mask before mounting her. Violet has stuck to her story, taking a lie-detector test to prove she’s telling the truth.

“Mel is great in bed,” she said. “It was the best sex I’ve ever had.”

You’ve got to admire a woman who speaks so generously of a man who has denounced her as a hoaxer. Mel should hang his head in shame for his ungallant behaviour. A gentleman would have accepted the compliment gracefully rather than issuing shrill denials. It’s not as if he had a reputation to protect.

Could he be worried that people will think Violet isn’t attractive enough for him? A-list actors are incredibly vain and hate to be seen chasing B-list totty. I showed her picture to the manager of the safari camp to find out what he thought. After ogling the photo from several different angles, he gave me his considered opinion.

“She’s not bad at all,” he said, “but you can’t tell everything from a picture. She may be one of those dishes that looks better on the plate than it tastes in the mouth.”

“Hmm,” I mused. “I suppose you could say that about any woman. But this is beside the point. If I were Mel’s pimp, I’d find him a woman nearer his own age – young enough to be his baby sister rather than his daughter. People respect a man who declines the spring chicken for the more mature fowl. It shows sophistication and discretion. And confidence in one’s plucking ability.”

The manager was horrified by my suggestion.

“You’re crazy, Bananas!” he exclaimed. “Women like that are called 'cougars'. They hang out in packs, comparing sex toys and hiring male strippers to molest. Videos of their antics are all over the internet. It’s terrifying!”

“Cougars, you say?” I replied. “Aren’t they just overgrown pussycats with sharper claws and bigger teeth? I will investigate before commenting on your allegations.”

After doing my own research, I discovered that these cougars are nothing like as frightful as the manager implied. In many ways they are a positive social force. The manufacturers of erotic lingerie are especially grateful to them for
buying their wares during the economic downturn. As for their romps with male strippers, that’s just harmless, high-spirited fun. It’s obvious that the strippers are not really cringing with fear but enjoying every minute of it. Nor are the cougars treating them particularly roughly – female gorillas would be astonished at their moderation.

These vivacious ladies ought to have an annual convention to exchange ideas and make strategic decisions. I would certainly attend as a sympathetic observer, offering the gorilla perspective on cougarism, and filming some of the livelier seminars. It might end up as an award-winning documentary to rival the work of my friend Davy Attenborough. Any cougars who’d like to get involved should drop me a line tout de suite.

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