OnStage New York Columnist
Because at this moment, I can barely think about anything else.
I saw “Kong: Skull Island” this weekend. I left feeling fairly enthralled, overall impressed, and-- in an unanticipated twist-- horny.
The cast was top-notch: John Goodman a hoot (per usual); Samuel L Jackson a scream (what else?); Brie Larson a superstar (duh).
And yet, with all that starpower, it was the derriere of a mammoth baboon that stole the show. You saw it. You know exactly what I’m referring to.
Kong had just finished skewering an onslaught of nefarious vermin. His jungular* domination was felt by the awedience**. But what came next drew the biggest gasps of all.
A victorious Kong turned to exit the screen. As he pivoted, the camera panned downwards and revealed Skull Island’s main attraction: King. Kong’s. A.S.S.
I could no longer think in complete sentences. All my brain could summon were buttocks-related rap song catchphrases, like “apple bottom jeans” and “booty booty booty rockin’ everywhere.”
Moments later, my thoughts gelled. Eyebrows arched and internal light bulb switched to on, I mused: “I recognize that ass. That’s Jessica Biel’s ass.”
Prove to me that I’m wrong-- I double dare you. There’s only one set of buns in Hollywood capable of bouncing an entire roll of quarters into oblivion, and they belong to Mrs Justin Timberlake.
So a hearty congratulations to the CGI folks who kongcocted*** this ape’s booty from the best of Hollywood’s bums and into the mankey**** of my dreams. I’ve already made an appointment with my psychologist and warned him that neither of us will ever be the same.
But I figure-- we objectify humans every day, why not extend this indecency to our famous furry friends? And so I did. And then I wrote an article about it.
Recommendation: See Kong in theaters. Underwear optional.
** An audience in awe
*** Speaks for itself
**** Man + monkey
***** My brain is tiny. I make up my own words.