Bosom brew

The manager of the safari camp got annoyed when I asked him whether he’d be guzzling a new range of alcoholic beverages from Germany. The innovation in the distilling process is to pour the liquor over the breasts of “glamour models” before bottling it.

“What kind of idiot do you take me for?” he huffed. “There’s no such thing as tit-flavoured booze and I’m not paying a hundred dollars for a bottle of vodka because it's been spilled over some bimbo's boobs!”

“Methinks the lady doth protest too much!” I thought before replying. “Do calm down, manager, I was only asking. I never thought a connoisseur of your calibre would be fooled by such a gimmick. I’m sure you wouldn’t buy their vodka if they let you suck it off the breasts.”

The manager rubbed his chin and cogitated before replying: “I doubt you could suck two fingers off a woman’s chest,” he said. “And you definitely couldn’t drink it in one swig. But I might pay the price of a single if they asked me nicely.”

“That’s very generous of you,” I remarked. “And thank you for sharing your expertise on this vital subject.”

The manager may well be right that only a fool would buy these spirits, but that’s hardly a fatal flaw in the business model. There are many fools in the world, and some of them will surely pay extra for alcohol that’s rinsed the rack of a nubile woman. Can we be certain, furthermore, that the dumpling-dowsing has no effect on the taste? I’d like to hear the verdict of a professional taster before coming to a firm conclusion.

Even if the liquor is chemically unaltered, it might well taste different to a man who knows where it’s been. Taste is a complex sensation affected by neurons firing in different centres of the brain. Back in my circus days, there was a clown who used to have a plate of sausages and beans while watching Benny Hill on TV. He said the beans tasted divine if he ate them when the bald fellow was getting head-slapped. As for the sausages, he saved them for the dolly-bird chase at the end. The taste of anything depends on the mood you’re in. I find bananas most appetising when I’m lying in my hammock watching the sun set; but they’re practically inedible if I’m sitting on a rock watching baboons mate.

None of this means I have any intention of sampling the bosom booze. We gorillas shun intoxicants that might make us foolish and cause us to behave like the crazy gibbon. I do wonder, nevertheless, whether the same idea could be extended to other foods. Would it be possible, for example, to insert a hen’s egg inside a woman’s birth canal so she could re-lay it? Perhaps it’s the sort of thing Lady Gaga might attempt if someone put the idea into her head. I should imagine a carton of her freshly laid eggs would fetch a handsome price in the market.

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