Monday, February 21, 2011

Sex or Death. No cake.

Just what is it about the prospect of death and the ability to kill that can turn up the heat so dramatically in our imaginations?

I've spent my morning reading and listening to as much information on the situation in Libya as I can get my hands on. In an ideal world I'd have the time and the insight to write something witty about it here and you'd all stroke your beards and think I was very profound. Sadly however, Popmaster on Radio 2 begins in about 10 minutes and I am determined to get a better score than my father. So, you're just going to have to deal with the tangent my ever untidy mind has gone down.

The Amazonian Guard.

These are the 40 or so deadly body guards that Colonel Gaddafi (use any spelling you like here, you're unlikely to have to suffer the embarassment of getting it wrong on his Christmas card) has at his beck and call. For some people, an entire army just isn't enough. Were he from Hampshire we might start to muse on only child syndrome...

What's so weird about having 40 trained body guards who are pretty much brain washed to want to protect you even though you look like a run down David Gest flying the flag for poor eighties eye wear? Surely when you fall so squarely into the 'knob end' sector of the population and have bloody massacres on your hands and conscience, there's nothing weird about having bodyguards?

Well, The Amazonian Guard are all women. And they are all virgins (unless you listen to the rumours from Tania about Martha...)

This is pretty explosive stuff for a devotee of Islam who reportedly invited all of Italy's top models to a party and then gave them all a copy of the Koran. His Amazonian Guard can wear heels, make up, Western clothes and Western hair (overpriced)...they are outside the normal rules for women in that society.

To me, it seems to make perfect sense. There's an air of mystique about an army of women - that's got to give a fairly hefty upper hand in a combat situation? Women are fantastic multi-taskers - able to scissor kick you to death whilst mentally weighing out the correct amount of cheese to keep us under our Weight Watchers points for that day. We also have a fantastic grasp on irony.

Women have fierce maternal instincts, a deep devotion - I would imagine that a young impressionable woman offered a longer reign on strict regulations in exchange for devoted protection of a man she's been taught to adore would fight tooth and nail to hang on to such a position.

It's a very logical kind of an army to have. And the media I've come across this morning agrees with me massively. Because Gaddafi has 40 sex slaves following him around!!! Phwoar!!! Never mind the fact that these women are trained killers - THEY'VE GOT VAGINAS! Don't you get it? He can shag them?!

I mean, yes...theoretically he could probably shag a lot of women because he wields the great power of a man who doesn't mind killing in droves for what he wants. But, you've missed the point. He's got killer women! Shaggable killer women! And they're virgins. This man has it all.

I'm not sure it would work the other way round...if Carla Bruni had 40 whimpering virgin marines following her around, I don't think their abstinence would be such a bonus feature in heightening their allure. We'd probably all be mildly alarmed that friendly fire would result in an awkward conversation afterwards including the lines 'this has never happened to me before'.

But the connection between sex and death seems to exist regardless of gender...why? How have films and stories so convinced us that someone with the power to end us is going to be the generator of the most powerful orgasm under the sun?

I blame Gerard Butler. And if he wants to fight about it, I'll be greasing myself up over here...Gerard?

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