A few months ago, I attempted to shield myself from all news bulletins after I heard a quote from William Hague, in which he said that Europe faced the great danger of “a real shooting conflict” if Russian forces entered eastern Ukraine. That sounded much scarier than a purely imaginary non-shooting conflict, where enemy troops merely startle each other by jumping out from behind bushes, tooting on kazoos, so I tried to avoid all mention of the crisis.
In the same way that I can shut down Melvyn Bragg’s ‘In Our Time’ before he utters a single adenoidal word about Mesopotamian mathematics, so I became adept at switching TV channels and radio stations at the precise moment any World War Three-sounding news report hit the airwaves. Existing in a news-less world was bliss for a while.
I’m following the news again now. But after reading about an 18-year-old British woman performing sex acts on 24 men in a Magaluf bar recently, I almost wish my self-imposed news blackout had remained in force.
A video of the incident apparently shows a new trend in Magaluf called ‘mamading’, where bars and nightclubs hosting bar crawls encourage women to perform sex acts in return for free alcohol. The rules in this case were simple: fellate as many men as possible in the shortest timeframe to win a bottle of Cava (or, according to some reports, a cocktail called a ‘holiday’). So far, so depressing.
The two-minute video shows a young woman attempting to fellate various men standing around on a dance floor, who present their flaccid penises like timid, newborn hamsters. It’s a video best watched with your eyes closed, because with the DJ bellowing unintelligibly into a microphone and LMFAO’s ‘Sexy and I Know It’ playing in the background, you can trick your mind into thinking that you’re actually watching nothing more offensive than a load of teenagers puking themselves inside out on a fairground waltzer.
But your eyes eventually flicker open and you continue to watch as the young woman heads from crotch to crotch, hurriedly popping penises into her mouth and spitting them out just as quickly, like someone reacting to a garlic, bleach and asparagus-flavoured Calippo. It’s a uniquely unsexy scene.
With everything happening below belt level, the woman in the video is the centre of attention and fully recognisable, whereas the men – typically – are mostly faceless participants. Except, that is, for Geordie Shore’s Jay Gardner, who the Mail Online spotted standing in the crowd – but not taking part. Of course, you would kind of expect to see someone from Geordie Shore hanging out in a Magaluf party shithole. It’s not like Penelope Keith was spotted loitering in the background, or the presenting team from the Antiques Roadshow. Having said that, Gardner said the incident was the most “shocking” thing he’s ever seen, which no doubt ruined the night of canasta he’d been promised.
Towards the end of the video, one man fleetingly attempts to hold the woman’s head in an effort to push for three whole seconds of fellatio but she shrugs herself free and moves on to the next man. The faceless chancer then fastens his trousers and quickly melts back into the crowd, never to be seen again. No articles will be written about him, and there will be no heartbroken family members or P45-wielding employers waiting for him in the arrivals terminal when he gets home. He and the rest of the men in the video can simply return to their normal lives – no consequences and no questions to answer – whereas the woman now has to shiver this experience from her soul and rebuild her life, which hopefully her loving and forgiving family can now help her to do.
With seemingly no understanding as to what all the fuss is about, the promoter of the event, Carnage Magaluf’s Alex Collinson, said of the incident: “It’s an average night on Carnage bar crawl…turning inbetweeners into studs in six hours.” Given that Collinson’s average punters are likely to be the sort of banter-loving ‘lads’ who would probably agree to have a pair of buttocks tattooed on their face, farting the word ‘twat’ across their forehead, if it entitled them to a gruelling two-minute slot drinking a lager and absinthe broth from a soiled toilet bowl, that’s one hell of a makeover. But with their money in his pocket, all he really did was turn them into slightly poorer ‘studs’ – leaving them with nothing but a depressing holiday anecdote and possibly genital herpes.
If such events continue to take place I suggest that they get the next party of ‘studs’ to all lie together on their backs with their limp penises sitting up like a bad harvest. They should then hand the woman a basket of barbed wire quoits and give her two minutes to hurl as many as she can into the phallic field before her. The point-scoring doesn’t even matter, just taking part will win her an emergency airlift away from the holiday nightmare in which she finds herself. The Chinook can then drop her off somewhere nice, like the Lake District.
There we go, a nice shift in power and a happy ending! We can but hope.
Sublime clip-clops 