Tantric Popcorn; International War Crimes Convention, the

Neal’s Belch no. 173 for Nov 14th, 2004

I’ve always had a problem with the popular music artist, Sting. It’s nothing to do with the fact that he’s a former teacher, who should be able to articulate himself with more sophisticated sentences that “De do do do de da da da”. No, I’m fine with that. Even though my spell-checker hates it.

If artists feel the need to express themselves using media other than the language which their parents and teachers have worked hard to instil in them since childbirth, then I suppose they must be allowed to do so.

After all, this is a free world, and those of us who wish to stray from the herd of sheep and hang out with one of the local badgers for a while, should be permitted to do so. Besides, I’ve always thought that sheep and badgers look good together. And I’m not suggesting that the two should necessarily mate. There’s more to life than sex, you know. Some of us realise that you can get almost as much enjoyment out of having a chat with a badger while leaning on the gate at the end of the field, as you can from an orgasm. And that brings me to my difficulty with Sting.

For several years now, that man has, according to the tabloid press, been a proponent of the pastime known as tantric sex. For those who are too young and innocent and stupid to know what that means, it involves going to a cinema with a nice person, and making the popcorn last all the way through the first half of Lawrence of Arabia, the twenty minute interval, and possibly the second part of the movie too.

The trouble with this is that Sting is so named because, as a child, he wore a yellow and black striped article of clothing, and looked like a bee.

Now bees, as you know, die after they sting you. They are not able to make themselves last a long time, and if Sting really had the characteristics of a bee, he would be a lot more likely to concentrate on the movie. He would most likely decline the aforementioned snack food.

As would I, but in my case it would be on health grounds. I’ve never liked popcorn much myself. I don’t care much for the taste, it’s full of cholesterol, albeit good cholesterol.

By the way I’ve always been most impressed at the way scientists, to avoid having to invent a new word, just called it “good” cholesterol. I think the same principle could be applied by parents who want to name their children Hitler.

Up to now, this has always been a problem, as the name carries with it a lot of baggage. But under this system the child could be called Good Hitler on the birth certificate, and just Hitler for short. Then everybody would be able to tell the difference between the long deceased war mongering dictator, and Junior.

Many of you may not be aware that I used to work as a secretary to a war mongering former dictator. I too am unaware of this.

As far as I’m concerned, it is a vicious rumour made up by myself in order to fill up a paragraph in an article, after I ran out of things to say about tantric popcorn. Although admittedly I am able to touch-type, and would be well qualified to assume such a role.

However, in my day having good keyboard skills did not amount to a crime against humanity.

Apparently it does now. I only recently found out that the reason why the United States refused to sign up to the international war crimes convention a couple of years ago, was because the President was under immense pressure from the Secretarial Guild of North America, who were afraid that administrative assistants all over the world would be arrested and brought before a court in Switzerland or something.

Anyway till Wednesday, I’m Neal from MatchstickCats.com and IllitPress, and my fingers know the layout of my keyboard like the back of their hands.