Glenda Bailey OBE: Erstwhile queen of the Marie Claire cocks supplement

Glenda Bailey

New York's other British fashion queen, Glenda Bailey, is keeping docile feature writers busy, I see. The 52 year-old editor of Harper's Bazaar has a book to flog, Harper's Bazaar Greatest Hits (a mere £28.99 from Amazon; or if you prefer, £35.99 from Telegraph Books), and a V&A talk to publicise - September 18. Not to mention 'Harper's Bazaar: A Decade of Style' which runs until 8 January 2012 at the International Centre of Photography in New York. Book return flights now!

In the Observer today, a grazing fawner avers, 'While running the American version of Marie Claire, [Bailey's] penchant for risk-taking was legendary.' I'm sure it was. But nothing compared to her pioneering antics on British Marie Claire - I wouldn't expect any of the newspaper indentured tots to know anything about that time (the 80s-90s, darling); or even to imagine that sentience was alive and kicking even before their own natal birth.

Who can forget (if one knew to start with) Glenda's notorious penises supplement? When I tell people who doze through Glamour now, they think I'm making it up. But Glenda Bailey OBE, and friend of Karl Lagerfeld, actually persuaded the dull Old Spice scrotes of IPC that what the world needed was the gift of a penises supplement. And there they were, dozens and dozens of different disembodied dicks, a bonanza of Bobbitt-like chopped, cropped choppers, all close-shot - and this before pajazzling. An Argos catalogue of sausages, winkles, cigars, buttons (?) all manner of types; some cut, some not; though all flaccid. This exhibition of cock caused a fuss at the time and sales rocketed.

Glenda's genius was simply this: no mainstream women's glossy editor had ever thought or dared to do this before. Like Warhol and his art. She was copied briefly of course; and then the novelty was done. And later, Glenda got her OBE.

Deservedly so, I'm sure.

Justin Bieber's penis: A post-modernist approach to blogging

Justin Bieber and his missing sock

One way to promote your website right now is to post a Justin Bieber item, albeit a spurious one - perhaps the sad, neglected, undiscussed, unread, utterly redundant and hypocritical New Statesman might take note. Justin is among the most searched global topics on the internet, apparently.

Into my second paragraph and I've already lost about 95% of the beliebers: bye. But let's plough on. Much of the obsession with the heterosexually advertised Christian teen sensation, with the bossy mum, is focused  on his cock: Nanny Google has about 1.36m links to Bieber cock stories. So if I link this story to my Daniel Radcliffe PhotoShopped cock pics I'll have created a perfect storm of interest to take Madame Arcati well into the Winterval season.

Predictably, there is much concern about the guessed dimensions of Justin's cock. One school of thought holds that it is very small indeed. Another, that he is Colin Farrell's doppelgänger: let's ask Angelina Jolie next time she's around.  In other quarters, it is claimed Lady Gaga has stolen his penis while .... well see for yourself. It's all out there.

Now, I don't know about you, but I have to get on. But as a parting shot, I publish below the top search keywords to Madame Arcati today, pre-Justin Bieber's penis: A post-modernist approach to blogging - a zeitgeist snapshot:

daniel radcliffe penis
liberace
daniel radcliffe dick
sheila vogel-coupe
daniel craig penis
daniel radcliffe circumcised
daniel radcliffe cock
madame arcati
almine barton
carole malone

Molly Parkin: 'Croatians love my new cock paintings'

Molly Parkin. Photo by Tommy Candler

My fiancee Molly Parkin has sent me a letter. She is off to Croatia this summer to exhibit a collection of her new paintings many of which take the cock as subject. I hope this isn't Madame Arcati's influence. She also waxes on recent cock posts here. Anyhow, here's her letter to me ....

You said to let you know re: Croatian gallery girls. Utterly charming, completely bowled over by the paintings. They chose 11 of the very biggest ones, one 6ft by 5ft abstract, which I only painted yesterday, Sophie's Summer Wedding. And another one, an orgy scene, full of cocks of all nationalities entering every sort of orifice. Also another full of cocks, one black one actually piercing the pussy of the white girl. And another belonging to a pale teenage rentboy, being manhandled by a sophisticated divorcee, awaiting her false mammaries.

Hello Rudolph Nureyev. How's Dame Margot? "She's fine. I'm bigger than Sam Leith, dah?" (Photo by Richard Avedon)

The Croatians proclaimed them "very powerful indeed", full of wisdom, and not as "sweet" as they expected (they didn't add "from an old lady").

When I offered to paint out the cocks before the exhibition, in case of giving offence to the Croatian nation (thinking of the mealy-mouthed turds' response to your penis parade), they exploded with vehemence at the very thought. More our cup of tea, then, the Croatians!!

Adore all this cock business on Madame Arcati you've been up to, and the way you actually voice it, so clever, so naughty, so titillating; arousing, too. Brings a rush to the brain... er, um, yes, and there!

Oscar Wilde would have loved it. And Joe Orton. And Mae West. And Vincent Price. And Coral Browne. And Noel Coward. Others must too. Can't we see more of the jiggling sportsmen stuff? Or even Ronaldo in and out of trunks? Moving around, or prone.


Perhaps some political figures such as Profumo, who's weighty down below, I am told. Or is libel the trouble? It's all very well to tell tales on cock size but we hunger for the illustrations. Put it to your public. I can vouch for senior citizens, female, judging by my 80-year-old sister's avid interest. None of us is interested in Page Three girls.

Love Molly xx

Just for Molly to celebrate her Croatian triumph

Croatia website

Watchmen: Dr Manhattan's glowing blue penis! The review

Yes! See this fascist, graphic novel adaptation at a cinema near you! And Dr M's schlong. (Click image for enhanced experience)

Watchmen review: Dr Manhattan's cock
It is soon apparent that quasi-CGI superhero Dr Manhattan's blue appendage serves no purpose other than to underscore his awesome masculinity. It will pass no urine or jizz, it will never rise to attention: it is just there, an emblem of Dr M's unearthly mightiness, a sentinel of manly authority. When one of his doppelgangers makes love to his loyal assistant and girlfriend, Laurie Jupiter, he does so not through the agency of his glowing schlong but by stimulating her with electrical charges from his hands. It's as if he is pressing her with an iron that's prone to cutting out in a shower of sparks. The camera shyly averts its gaze from his groin area, one that requires no showering or waxing incidentally; but you may be assured that there can be no tumescence, which is just as well because even the space of an Odeon big screen is finite.

Nor does Dr M's cock sway pendulously as a trunk of its proportion would do during movement, such as walking: rather it just hangs down like one of those oblong bird feeders one finds in the better maintained garden, rather inertly. Happily, no blue tit or other feathered friend is ever likely to be drawn to Dr M's ambiguous, rather screwed-up nuts.

Filmgoers who are not fanboys/girls of Alan Moore's creation may wonder why Dr M does not simply wear a loincloth or a fetching thong. This is a good question. After all, he does put on a suit for a talk show. So he is cognisant of human decency. One can only conclude that though Dr M sees no difference between a live or a dead person, and meditates on Mars, he is a naturist at best or a filthy exhibitionist and flashing perv at worst. If the latter, saddos who cream themselves on comic novels should be treated with especial caution.

Oh, and then there's the movie ...

James Bond: Modern King Arthur is Jung at heart

Ian Fleming: student of the occult

As the world's publics flock to cinemas for the vicarious joy of watching a grown, renewable man kill unrenewable, other grown men - the appalling Quantum of Solace - I have just finished reading a most fascinating esoteric book about James Bond and his creator Ian Fleming.

Philip Gardiner's The Bond Code - The Dark World of Ian Fleming and James Bond argues persuasively that Bond is a creature of ancient myth and modern psychological theory. He likens Bond to fairytale heroes such as King Arthur and Robin Hood (the dragon-slayers) who all must "unite with the feminine principle" (in the case of 007, the Bond Girl) to kill villains who represent the dark side of Bond's own soul. This marriage of male and female Gardiner calls an "alchemical conjunction", essential for spiritual salvation.

Fleming was very much a student and disciple of Carl Jung whose explorations of the psyche were inclusive of presently-termed mumbo-jumbo topics such as astrology, dream analysis, the occult, alchemy. Gardiner thinks that the Bond tales are a representation of psychological and spiritual light and darkness. Occult references are to be found in Bond stories: the Tudor astrologer and mathematician John Dee signed his letters as "007" (apparently a sacred code and of course Bond's number) and Elizabeth I signed her letters to Dee as "M" (Judi Dench must see a dentist, btw).

Gardiner describes the spiritual references in Fleming's penultimate book You Only Live Twice. For example, Bond thinks his life is coming to an end because his wife has been murdered: he is assigned a new number by the duller suits: 7777. Apparently in Eastern numerology this translates as "It is done".

To quote the blurb: "There are numerous references throughout the books to Gnostic, mystic and alchemist symbols. Even character names are often clues to Fleming's secrets. Auric Goldfinger, for example, is an alchemical term. Auric means gold and the golden finger indicates the alchemist himself, who turns lead into gold. Hugo (mind, spirit, or heart) Drax (dragon or winged serpent) means the mind of the serpent - in alchemy, the serpent is the symbol of regeneration and wisdom, but also of negative energy. "

Perhaps Bond's global appeal has less to do with Roger Moore's arched eyebrow or Daniel Craig's resemblance to a freshly fallen conker than with some inner, subliminal recognition of timeless energies at work within us. As I say to all atheists and secularists, whatever their education or hair colour, "Now, now, stop sulking cos God withheld the sweets. Go lie down in a dark place and dream."

Do read Gardiner's book. Here, buy. (It's not something you'll read about in our Church of Atheism propagandist mainstream media - oh, hello, Roger Alton. Sorry to hear the Indy's circulation is in freefall. The price, alas, of copycat editing/hiring/thinking etc)

Quantum of Solace: A most dreadful, ghastly film

Saw Quantum of Solace today, the new Bond film. What a load of dreadful, action-derivative rubbish. All the style of your average borstal. And Dame Judi Dench should do something about her teeth. Here, read this Jude. And Bond and his latest tart Olga have filthy fingernails and grimy cuticles. I nearly threw up over a veteran old fart film reviewer from one of our ancient newspapers, but showed self-restraint. Bond has expired as a franchise in my view. Barbara Broccoli should be executed. Daniel Craig is fit only for nude photography: Ancient Roman Emperor still-lifes. I like the theme toon by Alicia Keys and Jack White though - you can just listen to that at home on your thingy.

Rupert Everett - is this his penis?

Darling Duncan Fallowell - whom I suspect to be thanatophobic - does not like Arcati's demand for the restoration of the death penalty for crazed, blood-soaked, machete-wielding homicidal maniacs (Ronald Reagan had the right idea, the poppet) and demands that I find a cock shot of Wimbledon champion Rafael Nadal instead.

This is beyond my wit, even beyond my PhotoShop wit (ie bovvered!) so in the nick of time a darling Arcati fan sends me a shot of Rupert Everett's funny looking dick, supposedly from a movie called Cemetery Man (or Dellamorte Dellamore). This hideous pink-hued sight leads me to wonder whether the "my-tooth-was-chipped-on-Rupe's-cock-ring" story told recently on this site is entirely true. Perhaps the teller of this tale will get in touch and explain him- or herself to my vast army of movie crotch-gawpers.

If Rupert's reading this and wishes us to know that this cock is not, nor has ever been, his then of course I shall take it down and store it in my database for posterity.

Jonathan Rhys Meyers: The penis

The third series of The Tudors has been greenlit and so it is only fitting to celebrate this good news with a picture of Henry VIII with no clothes.

Alfie Allen's penis makes its debut in Equus

Alfie Allen's penis has made its stage debut at Chichester in Equus. To the charge of phallocentricity, a naked Laura O'Toole serves as a useful counter-balance. A front row critic tells Arcati: "His penis acquitted itself well in the circumstances, not embarrassing its owner or the audience with any notice-me antics. Though the actors emitted a certain amount of noise (as is their scripted wont), and shifted about the stage to maintain a sense of momentum, his penis was the star of the show as mute eye candy, just hanging there - sometimes dancing about in livelier moments - as unboxered penises do. From a dramatic perspective, his penis is rather like Lady Bracknell's handbag* - an inanimate** MacGuffin - though in this instance, seen but not talked about, whereas the handbag is unseen but much talked about."
*A handbag? Click here
**Inanimate as in "appearing dead; not breathing or having no perceptible pulse."
PS: I wonder why Princess Perez and Heat think posting a bunch of pics of a naked actor is "pervy"? Find their sites and espy their prose blushes, poor things. But publishing female tit and puby beaver is OK, not pervy. Odd that. Anyone would think they take their daily catechism from Old (Mr) Murdoch, the high priest of Perpetual Scrotism.

Zac Efron cock shock pic poll result!! It's a fake!!

In a shock blog poll result commissioned by the Madame Arcati personality construct, 58% of her global reading public have voted that this picture of Zac Efron's cock and balls is a Photoshopped fake!

Only 26% thought this pictorial display of the singing-acting star's masculine crown jewels was for real. Ten per cent generously concluded that the image captured "something of the actual" while a mean 6% thought it "nothing like the actual".

Madame Arcati commented: "Not much gets past my public - as seasoned size queens, they can spot a phony once it's pointed out to them."

However, critics of the much-maligned Madame savaged this latest blog poll. The Francophone Quebecian calling himself Duralex said, as he wiped away drama queen froth from his lips with a Man Size Kleenex: "Mon dieu! Madame has completely humiliated herself this time - suicide is the only answer!! Aux grands maux, les grands remèdes - or as the great philosopher Duralex père once said (via Babel Fish): 'Fuck me! I never thought I would enjoy pleasuring myself so much at the expense of another.'" Duralex fils added: "I am emailing Stephanie Mastini and all of Madame's other friends to announce her death - this is the blog equivalent of a life-changing tsunami!!!!!! Je me écrème dans mon pantalon!!!!!"

Another critic, Lorenzo, was fast asleep when called by reporters - his mother said to call back later. "Shhhhh! The masturbator lazy it is full of paste," she helpfully explained (according to Babel Fish). "È un muscolo Mary."

And the Francophone Claire issued a statement: "J'aime sucer le robinet du Duralex" (as translated by Babel Fish). For more on this incomparable translation service click here.

Ewan McGregor - the penis

"It's not as big as I thought - they said he was hung like a donkey. I never saw Young Adam"
"They always exaggerate - look at that Daniel Radcliffe"
"He's quite well endowed, bigger than Ewan"
"Photoshop - Madame Arcati just stuck someone else's dick on him"
"No! Oh that's so awful, what a con"
"You can't trust what you see, I mean how do you know that this Ewan pic hasn't been reversed or touched up?"
"Well, it's from a movie innit - and he's ginger!"
"Could have been painted on - how do you know he's not blond?"
"Well, he's Scottish ain't he?
"You can have Scottish blonds, you twat"
"What about Liam Neeson - that bitch model Janet whatsit said he was hung like a donkey or something"
"She denies it now, says she may have exaggerated ha ha"
"Oh, that's terrible. But what kind of person sticks up celebrity dick pics in the first place?"
"Don't ask"