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June 26, 1999 |
One recent Kahlúa ad -- which in the past might've featured images of Mayan statuary, swaying palms, a tropical beach -- depicts a voluptuous Swedish milkmaid type spilling out of her tattered 19th century gown while pouring gallons of fresh milk down her own taut, tanned leg. 'Scuze me, I gotta go take a cold shower. OK, I'm back. Anyway, the young woman, whom we, the idle page-turners, seem to interrupt during a moment of spontaneous ecstasy in the cow pasture (she's surrounded by dispassionate Holsteins), looks like she belongs on the embossed cover of a romance novel. (Her breasts are nearly as large as Fabio's!) What has gotten into this tousle-haired gal? What exactly have we interrupted? Who knows. Let your imagination run wild, but keep your hands above your waist. Douglas Cruickshank Douglas Cruickshank's Rogues' Gallery appears every Thursday. The Raw and the Cooked appears every Saturday.
Now, for that infinitesimally small minority of Salon readers who've never milked a cow by hand, allow me to inform you that they don't call it a chore for nothing. Yet our ravishing (ravished?) farmer's daughter -- so overheated she must cool herself with a massive application of raw milk -- apparently thinks little of bathing her luscious legs in gallons of fresh cow juice. One can only assume that in the prequel to this sultry scenario, the buildup to the decisive moment that Kahlúa grabbed for its ad, the piquant milkmaid hand-milked the cows (after all, there's no bovine breast pump in evidence) and then transferred her hard-earned liquid harvest from a bucket to the milk can that she holds below her ample bosom at about -- what a coincidence! -- womb level. What precisely occurred after the milking and before the milk bath shall forever be a mystery. But whatever it was that got Helga the Hottie's motor running must have been somethingelseagain because nothing short of government-imposed price controls could ever get a dairy farmer, or a dairy farmer's daughter, to just dump milk like that. Ah, well. Who ever said advertising had to be logical. Besides, as the Kahlúa tagline clearly states: "Anything goes." (And, no -- I refuse to take the cheap shot and say that Allied Domecq's ad campaign sucks.) Speaking of low-level sucking sounds, Pauline Hanson, an out-there Australian politico (imagine, if you will, a David Duke type in drag, albeit one who's substantially more successful as a politician) seems to have at least temporarily prevailed in banning a spoof song that was aimed at her. Hanson first made the Australian political charts a few years back when she captured the attention of Queensland's considerable redneck contingent with a steady stream of bigoted, nationalistic rhetoric. In 1996, the right-wing redhead won one of Queensland's federal seats as an independent, and in June of '98, her own One Nation party took 11 of 85 seats in the Australian state's elections, making it an unfortunately significant force in Oz politics.
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