Wednesday, May 04, 2016

Head to toe

Rod Stewart’s wife has revealed that her husband used to lick her toes when they first started dating:

“In the beginning of the relationship, when you're having a go at all sorts of things, he did that sort of thing in between the toes, which feels nice,” explained Penny Lancaster.

Normally, I would disapprove of a trophy wife revealing such specific information about her sugar-daddy husband’s tongue activity. In this case, however, I think the disclosure will do no harm. In fact, it may even do some good. Those who thought that Mr Stewart was a selfish lover who cared only for his own pleasure must now revise their judgements. If he was generous enough to moisten a lady’s tootsies, he may not be the bimbo-chasing buffoon he once appeared to be.

It should also be noted that Ms Lancaster is a good six inches taller than her husband, so he must have travelled a long distance to get his tongue within range. Some might speculate that she raised her foot above his face, so he could nibble at her toes like a centaur eating grapes at an orgy. That would have been a difficult trick to pull off, even for an ape. Let’s give Rod credit for making the arduous journey due south.

When I mentioned this story to the manager of the safari camp, he was less than impressed with Rod’s tender tongue caresses:

“You mean he just licked them without sucking them?” he inquired. “She must have been a disappointed woman!”

“Are you implying that all women like to have their toes sucked?” I asked. “It’s not something I’ve read in Cosmopolitan or Marie Claire. Where are your data?”

“Take it from me, they do,” said the manager. “Those magazines don’t tell you everything and I bet you haven’t read all the back issues either.”

Toe-licking is not something we gorillas do, but I admit I was once the involuntary recipient of this peculiar intimacy. It happened during my days in the circus, when a clown with a foot fetish snuck up on me as I slept in my hammock. Unfortunately for the clown, reposing apes react reflexively to ticklish sensations, assuming them to be caused by blood-sucking insects. While shaking my leg to remove the presumed bug, I delivered a kick to the clown’s head that knocked him out cold. Fortunately, he was restored to good health with smelling salts and some minor dental work.

The most notorious toe-sucker of all is Quentin Tarentino. As I’ve already referred to his ghoulish habit in a previous post, I won’t ruin your breakfast by describing it again here. I remember someone saying there were a large number of close-ups of the female foot in his movies. Is this really true? I find it deplorable that a film director would put scenes in a movie purely to indulge his own private fetish. It’s high time Tarentino got grilled about such abuses of privilege by a committee of pedicurist film critics.

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Wednesday, April 27, 2016

Britney's dangerous obsession

It’s been a long time since I said anything about Britney Spears, which I feel I should apologise for. Not to my readers, who are probably glad of the hiatus, but to myself. Britney, you see, has been in my thoughts for a long time. She caught my attention many years ago, when she shaved her head and her coochie, allowing the paparazzi to take pictures of both of them. These were clearly the acts of a desperate woman having an emotional breakdown, which aroused my concern for her wellbeing. Somehow she survived that crisis, gradually expunging the gremlins in her head, and re-emerging triumphantly with her career back on track and her head full of hair. The state of her lady garden remains unknown, but I’m confident it’s being tended to with due care and attention.

Now Britney has recently been in the news for making it known that she wants to have a romantic relationship with Leonardo di Caprio:

"Britney has insisted she'll do whatever it takes to catch Leo's attention,” said a well-placed source.

You might think she’s being too forward in her pursuit of di Caprio, but that would be ignoring his previous attempts to seduce her:

“Leo always had a crush on Britney,” said the source. “When they saw each other at a party a few years ago, he made a play for her, but she wasn't single at the time.”

So why has the deal not been sealed? It seems that di Caprio is worried about becoming the de facto stepfather of Britney’s children, aged 9 and 10, sired by the oafish rap singer she was once married to.

“Leo's made it clear he likes Britney but everyone knows he's not interested in settling down or playing stepdad to her kids,” said the source. “She would have to be OK with knowing it would never be anything serious.”

It’s fascinating that these negotiations are being conducted by intermediaries, as if di Caprio were the Holy Roman Emperor trying to make an alliance with the Queen of Bavaria. Call me a sceptical ape, but the stepfather issue looks like an excuse to me. Britney’s children already have a biological father (oaf though he may be), and the rich can afford any number of nannies to ensure their kiddies don’t hinder their love lives. The fact that di Caprio has stated in advance that he doesn’t want anything serious suggests to me that his intentions are not honourable. I fear that he wants to use Britney like a sex doll and deposit her in the dumpster after he’s finished.

If I had Britney’s ear, I would tell her straight out that di Caprio is a heel unworthy of her amorous feelings. A mother of 34 years must put aside her girlish infatuations and wise up to the wicked ambitions of the dandy and the poodlefaker. I’d hate to see her go through another episode where her head resembles an ostrich egg and her cha-cha is exposed for public desecration. 

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Wednesday, April 20, 2016

Playing politics

Don’t you just hate it when high-and-mighty politicians dismiss the concerns of ordinary citizens as not worth a rat’s toenail? This recently happened in Sweden, when a man complained to the health minister about a couple having noisy sex.

“You're my only hope,” tweeted the man. “Could you ban risqué exercises after 10pm?”

The minister’s response was arrogance personified:

“Sounds nice for them, I think. Good for their well-being and thus public health as well.”

In other words, the guilty couple could go on making a big hullaballoo during their mating gymnastics with the full approval of the Swedish government. One might hope that the minister’s flippant attitude would make him unpopular with the voters, but I suspect he has carefully weighed the electoral arithmetic. We can divide the Swedish population into four groups:

1) Exhibitionists who want people to hear them having sex.

2) Eavesdroppers who want to hear people having sex.

3) Light sleepers who are disturbed by noisy sex.

4) Heavy sleepers who are not disturbed by noisy sex.

If groups (1) and (2) outnumber group (3), the minister can be confident of winning more votes than he’s lost. The voting intentions of group (4) probably won’t be affected, because heavy sleepers are selfish bastards who don’t care about people who are disturbed by sounds they can sleep through. Such is the harsh and cynical world of human politics.

Now the minister attempted to justify his position by implying that having noisy sex is good for your health. You might think a health minister would be well-informed about such matters, but politicians have a habit of concocting any old nonsense that might win them votes. You don’t have to be a medical genius to realise that shouting your head off while exercising your loins will give you a sore throat. Instead of making you as fit as a horse, it will simply make you hoarse. Will the doctors of Sweden stand up to the minister and denounce him as a quack and a charlatan? The Hippocratic oath demands it, but unfortunately these physicians depend on the Swedish government for their livelihood. He who pays the pipe cleaner decides which holes are blown.

Of course, I don’t wish to imply that humans who make a lot of noise during their conjugal exertions always want the approval of an admiring audience. Those of you who have seen the movie M*A*S*H will remember the scene where Radar places a microphone inside Major Houlihan’s tent so the camp can hear Frank Burns gurgling into her body cavities. The pair were not pleased to be teased about their moaning and groaning next morning. Indeed, when Hawkeye Pierce asked one question too many about the terrain in Planet Hotlips, Major Burns had to be restrained in a straitjacket. You might think that placid Swedes would not be so easily enraged by such mockery, but don’t forget that their ancestors were Vikings. I would also hazard a guess that they make funnier noises than Americans.

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Wednesday, April 13, 2016

Son of Kirk

William Shatner has said he’s the luckiest man on Earth, and who could possibly disagree with him? Notice that he said “man” and not “human”. He’s obviously not as lucky as those women who can have 12 orgasms in a minute. Nevertheless, he is justly proud of his many achievements and good deeds.

“I've got a beautiful wife, three beautiful children and I've raised a large amount of money for charity,” he declared.

Now, there are some trekkies who think Picard was a better captain than Kirk. I don’t agree with them. Picard was an uptight character who never let his hair down in front of the crew, whereas Kirk was a cool dude who could horse around and flirt with the alien chicks. This made him a better ambassador for humanity than Picard, because no one wants to make friends with a goody-two-shoes species that hides all its vices and doesn’t know how to have fun. Picard was good for signing treaties after Kirk had pressed the flesh.

So why am I talking about William Shatner? I’ll tell you why! A 59-year-old man called Peter Sloan, who claims to be Shatner’s illegitimate son, is suing his alleged father for $170 million. What he has done to merit such a sum is a mystery to me. His mother put him up for adoption at the age of five, and his foster parents did a perfectly good job of raising him. Maybe they would be entitled to ask Shatner to recompense them for their time and trouble, but Sloan’s demand for cash is pure brazen audacity.

You could argue, of course, that Shatner should have done the decent thing and raised the boy in his own home. That would be ignoring the reaction of Mrs Shatner, who might well have sued for divorce on discovering her husband had fathered a bastard son. It’s a foolish captain who causes his ship to capsize by taking on an extra cabin boy.

Much as I’m rooting for Shatner in this dispute, one aspect of his strategy does worry me: he is denying paternity out of hand. His publicist made the following statement on his behalf:

“Mr Shatner has three lovely daughters, but no sons ... Mr Shatner is aware of the lawsuit, but there's nothing there because he isn't his father.”

Sloan insists that Shatner admitted to being his father in private and now wants a DNA test to settle the matter. At the age of 85, Shatner might be playing for time in the belief that he’ll be dead before the court orders him to comply. I would have preferred to see him acknowledge his son, while condemning him for his greed and unwarranted sense of entitlement.

Of course, this lawsuit could only arise because American courts have got a reputation for giving people large sums of money for no good reason. As we say in the Congo, if you feed one crocodile, be prepared to feed ten the next time.

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Wednesday, April 06, 2016

Legal wrangling

An email correspondent asks me whether I’m going to comment on the sexual harassment lawsuit against Elton John. To be honest, I was hoping to avoid the subject. Sexual harassment is one of those vices that humans feel obliged to denounce in very strong terms lest anyone doubt the sincerity of their disapproval. Yet there are obviously wide variations in the degree of aggravation caused by deeds of a different nature. I know from experience that no one has much sympathy for a 500-pound gorilla who is the victim of an unsolicited butt massage from an infatuated human female. In such a situation, the gorilla is expected to shake the woman off gently and provide her with counselling and a souvenir.

Now, Elton John is a man I have grown to admire. I strongly approve of his commitment to family life, which includes marriage to a trouser-wearing husband and two beloved boys produced by a surrogate mother. He is also a musician of note. Some may argue that my high regard for Elton makes me biased in evaluating the allegations against him, but I shall strive to be impartial. As a former circus ape, I have plenty of experience in mediating between feuding humans.

The name of Elton’s accuser is Jeffrey Wenninger, a former police officer in the LAPD. The alleged incidents occurred while he was working for Elton as a security guard. According to Wenninger, Elton committed the following misdeeds:

1) Telling Wenninger to “get your todger out and say hello to Uncle Elton”;

2) Attempting to grope the said todger with his hand;

3) Twisting Wenninger’s nipple while saying “you gorgeous thing, you”.

Elton’s lawyer has issued a strong denial, but I’d be lying if I said I found it convincing. I remember seeing Elton talk about his sexual preferences in a chat show. It clearly irritated him that heterosexuals were unable to appreciate the attractions of their own sex, while he had found sleeping with women perfectly tolerable. He didn’t seem like the type who would wait for subtle cues before trying it on with a man who took his fancy.

In spite of this, I just can’t find it in me to sympathise with Wenninger. To put it bluntly, a former LAPD officer shouldn’t have allowed a silly old queen like Elton to harass him. How can a man who has apprehended hardened criminals be cowed so easily? Elton may have been hardened, but he certainly wasn’t a criminal. One firm tweak of his nose would have put him in his place.

All of these considerations make this a very difficult case to judge. Wenninger has probably exaggerated what happened to bolster his claim for damages, but there’s no smoke without fire. Elton clearly did something to him, but it was most likely nothing worse than behaving like a silly old tart. I hope it is settled out of court for a nominal sum of money and a souvenir dildo from Elton’s private collection.

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Wednesday, March 30, 2016

Pro bono work

No words of praise are high enough for Ms Charlotte Rose, the English call girl who gave a man with a prosthetic penis his first sexual experience. The beneficiary of her magnanimous gesture was Mr Mo Abad, a 44-year-old security guard who tragically lost his appendage in a childhood accident. After years of frustration and a failed marriage, he finally received an 8-inch replacement made from skin grafts and inflatable tubes. Ms Rose generously waived her hourly fee of 160 pounds sterling for the honour of hosting its inaugural launch.

As well as providing her services gratis, she spent a few days counselling Mr Abad before getting down to business. Far from making him impatient, he greatly appreciated her advice:

"I’m a learner – I’ve got L-plates,” he explained. “I didn’t want to go in all guns blazing and make an idiot of myself.”

When the big moment arrived, the mission got off to a tentative start:

“When Charlotte saw it for the first time, she was silent and I was a bit worried,” recalled Mr Abad.

Yet these early doubts proved to be unfounded, and the mission ended with the flag firmly planted in the lunar surface:

“After it was over, I lay there with a big smile on my face,” said Mr Abad.

Now, the bionic penis is powered by compressed air. The surgeons inserted an ingenious “boner button” in Mr Abad’s nut-sack, which activates a pump that makes the organ expand to its full length. What isn’t clear is how is how it returns to its flaccid condition after use. Allowing it to deflate like a punctured tyre would be one possibility, but then it would make a noise like a hissing snake, which many women would find unnerving in a post-coital situation.

In an ideal world, one would interview Ms Rose and cajole her to spill the beans. However, a video of a recent lecture she gave shows her to be a social reformer and political activist. This is not the kind of woman who would allow herself to be interrogated without due process.

When I related this story to the manager of the safari camp, Ms Rose’s benevolence made little impression on him:

“What’s the point having a superdick if you can’t feel a thing?” he asked. “He should have charged her for the pleasure it gave her and the publicity she got. She must be the first woman in history who won fame for getting fucked by a dildo.”

“Clearly, there are men for whom the blessings of sexual congress are not limited to the sensations they feel in their todgers,” I replied. “And you should show more respect for Ms Rose, who had no way of predicting how her body would react to that pumped-up phallus. Why don’t you watch her video to get a more rounded picture of the woman?”

“Pshaw!” scoffed the manager. “I’d rather watch a hippo fart.”

“Yes, I can see why you’d find that more illuminating,” I replied.

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Wednesday, March 23, 2016

Nicked in the bud

To my knowledge, there are no gorillas who live in Manchester, a city in north-west England. I once visited the place in my circus days. Its grey climate and chilly breezes made me muse on philosophical questions such as ‘The Purpose of Existence’ and ‘The Problem of Free Willies’. Rather than searching for answers like a human, I put on a pair of thermal underpants. This is why news stories from Manchester put me on edge, like an elephant who can sense the presence of a snake.

The latest incident of note from that benighted city concerns a 61-year-old academic who has been forced out of his job. Professor Nicholas Goddard, known as ‘Old Nick’ in the adult entertainment industry, was exposed as a former porn star when one of his students saw him in an X-rated film.

“I didn’t get paid much for my movie work, but they did cover travel expenses,” explained Professor Goddard. “I stopped acting when it all became too much.”

The “acting” he did involved having sex with numerous women while wearing nothing but a gold watch. I’m not surprised it became too much for him. I couldn’t imagine copulating with countless females with an expensive timepiece on my wrist. I wouldn’t be able to stop thinking about what it was rubbing against.

When his past became public knowledge, the university launched an investigation and subsequently issued the following statement:

“Professor Nick Goddard has resigned from his position at the university with effect from April 1, 2016. His teaching and supervision duties will be undertaken by other colleagues between now and April 1, 2016.”

I don’t know why they chose April Fool’s Day. Are they implying that the professor was a fool? Or do they think he made a fool of the university? If you ask me, the biggest fools are his students. I bet they were sniggering like chipmunks during Professor Goddard’s lectures, making it impossible for him to continue. So now they will be taught by unprepared tutors. If they get low grades, they have no one to blame but themselves.

The biggest villain, of course, is the student who snitched on Old Nick. In the first place, he should have been studying rather than watching porn films. In the second place, he should have kept the information to himself instead of squawking like a parrot. I hope his career prospects will now be limited to lowly occupations such as tabloid journalism.

I’m glad to say that a few honourable Mancunians have spoken out in Professor Goddard’s defence:

“It’s nothing to do with his job or the university,” declared Nicola Munro. “There is no need to investigate him unless he has acted inappropriately. Back off is what I say!”

She speaks with the courage of a tigress defending her kill. Let’s hope the university takes heed of her words and re-employs the good professor. If he can’t continue in Chemical Engineering, they could at least give him a chair in Erotic Studies.

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