johnny depp, pictures, films, biography, life

depp throat

I may sometimes come across as quite the bigot but the truth is I'm

actually remarkably tolerant and accommodating of other people, their

convictions and the ways they choose to live. I quite like poofs and

coloureds.*

*note to fascists: this is a deliberately politically incorrect joke*

When I was in primary school I caused an outrage, offended the

sensibilities of my small conservative home town and disappointed my

parents when I invited Cameron the Aboriginal boy from my class home

to play computer games and eat sandwiches after school. It was no

small gesture on my part. I vividly remember Cameron and I having to

ride home in the back of the ute, in full view of dozens of stunned

parents and students, because dad couldn't fit us in with him in the

front(or so he said). How tolerant is that?

Others might have been mortified by the situation but I rebuffed those

prejudiced stares and sat proudly in the back of the ute as it bounced

my little black friend and I home for snacks and good times - even if

I did get sick of him a couple of hours later and had dad drop him

back to his housing commission house.

But while I clearly love and respect our downtrodden minorities, like

the gays, I am not gay. So can someone please tell me why do I want

Johnny Depp to give me a vigorous seeing to?

I understand it is quite comfortable and typical for groups of women

to debate the relative attractiveness of members of the same sex,

particularly celebrities, whilst sipping an erbal tea and thumbing

through gossip magazines.

"God, how soft and creamy is Charlize's skin?"

"I know! and wouldn't you just kill for Angelina's full lips?"

Maybe I don't get out enough but I can't ever recall seeing a team of

burly, heterosexual men having a playfully heated discussion about

whether Jake Gyllenhaal has better bone structure than George Clooney.

I can't even imagine too many even allowing such matters to cross

their minds for the fleetingest second.

The matter at stake here is not surreptitiously wanting to bed a

famous member of the same sex but merely having the courage and

freedom to acknowledge you can clearly see and understand their appeal

to those men and women who do long to shag them. And so it is with me

and Johnny.

Quite simply I believe he is the most beautiful specimen of a man who

was ever made and take pity on myself at least 103 times a day I was

not made in his image; the chocolate eyes, chiseled features, toned

physique, the bad boy body art and mild and thoughtful temperament.

Couple that with his singular talents as an actor and his friendship

and portrayal of my most revered of idols, the journalist Hunter S.

Thompson in Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas and soon in an adaptation

of Thompson's novel the Rum Diary and you have created the perfect

conditions for moisture in the general region of my pantaloons.

Ever since I became aware of my strange and unnatural lust for Depp I

have kept my dirty attraction secret, too frightened to even share it

with my friends and family for fear of abandonment and recrimination.

But some time ago at a party, when all and sundry were well primed

with alcohol, the devil set my tongue wagging and I carelessly

revealed my shameful secret. But rather than being slapped or whacked

in the kidneys, doused in piss and kicked out into the street like a

mangy dog, I instead rather harmlessly initiated a conversation that

had male and female alike musing on whom from their own sex they would

most eagerly conquer. One friend insisted they would do mostly

anything to spend Seven Years in Tibet with Brad Pitt, while another

venomously said they would like to play Womb Raider with Angelina

Jolie. Encouraged, I ventured that I would be more than happy to be