A moment of divine intervention fell upon the country this past Sunday and surprisingly it didn’t involve a crying statue of The Virgin Mary or a bleeding portrait of Jesus.
Instead there was 3 minutes 50 seconds of hardcore porn broadcast on free to air TV channel Prime in the middle of a cold, lazy hazy Sunday afternoon. Those that had huddled around the box to watch the latest instalment of Grass Roots Rugby, got a little more ‘root’ than they bargained for when inexplicably, their viewing was interrupted by a scene from Desperate Black Wives II. Now I know what you’re thinking and yes, I was surprised too, to learn that there was a sequel.
Parents watching Prime with their children were appalled. Wives slammed the TV3 (the parent company of Prime) switchboard with calls of complaints whilst fathers sent the children to their rooms so they could watch the offending material alone. TV3 ran a disappointingly small part of the offending footage as one of their lead stories that night on their 6pm news. Personally I was appalled at what I saw. The woman shown on the screen, though skillful with her application of the whipped cream to a fella’s pixelated dickie was alas white, not black. Needless to say I called TV3 in disgust at the blatant misrepresentation of the facts.
The official word on how it happened is that the feed from Sky’s adult channel got cross wired with the Prime channel. My white arse it did. I suspect like all good employers, Prime has a weekend skeleton crew consisting of low paid, low intellect staff and the good ol boys watching the porn tried to see if they could get it on the big screen. It stayed like that for nearly four minutes till their game of soggy biscuit was over and someone realised that the screen showing the Prime channel was no longer just showing guys in short shorts reaching between each others legs and grabbing balls.
This is the kind of stuff we fella’s grow up dreaming will one day happen. That one day free to air porn will just start showing and all will be good in the world. Its right up there on the list of hopeless male fantasies that will never happen, with other gems like the endless hope that some day a sexy shop assistant will offer to try on the skimpy outfit you’re planning to buy your girlfriend because she’s ‘about her size’.
The closest I ever got to that happening was the day I was waiting for my wife to try something on in Sussan and an attractive young lady exited a changing cubicle clad in only the skimpiest set of pyjamas, the type you usually only see on feminine hygiene ads. You know the ones, where girls have sleepovers, pillow fights, shave each others legs and practise their pashing on one another? Her mate was waiting next to me to critique the outfit choice and it’s fair to say she got the big thumbs up from the both of us.
Which is not quite the same as when the sales assistant in Glassons asked me whilst I waited for my wife outside the changing rooms another time, if what it read on my tee shirt – Big Cock (my local Asian takeaway) – was true or not? Needless to say the answer I gave her was not the same as the one I gave the heavily tattooed carnie who screamed it out across the field where the circus was laid out on the Napier foreshore another time. He thought it was funny, I thought he had remarkably good eyesight for a wanker.
All of which reminds me of the one time Coops crashed over at my place one weekend and we stayed up all night watching Jean Claude Van Damme and Arnie movies – as we did back in them days. We’d gotten our hands on one of the shared skin flicks too that was doing the rounds so what with that, the Muscles from Brussels and half a dozen Double Browns we had quite the night planned. Thing is, neither of us wanted to watch the porno together so it was a battle of wits to see who would stay awake the longest and this watch it alone. I won, but I was only a few segments of poor tracking in when two girls decided on a bit of anal bead action. I know what it is now of course, but back then it was just wrong so naturally I woke Coops up and we proceeded to watch the rest of it together, in our sleeping bags, with our knees bent.
Apparently Primes miracle was only broadcast in the Auckland region meaning the rest of us good folk gagging for a bit of hard core during a lazy Sunday never got to see it anyway. But I’m not taking any chances. Just today I went out and bought a 14 inch, a DVD recorder and a stack of blank DVDs that I plan to set up and record Prime around the clock.
And I don’t mind waiting because 3 minutes 50 is just about all I’ll need I reckon.
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