Wednesday, May 25, 2016
Susan Sarandon says that sex is keeping her young-looking, but how can she be sure? It might just as well be eating avocados or rubbing her face with Nivea moisturising cream. I suspect she made this statement because she wants everyone to know that she’s still getting it in spades at the age of 69. We should all be very happy for her, although her achievement is probably far from exceptional. The world is full of gigolos and poodle-fakers, ready to give an old woman a good seeing to for some pocket money and a trip to the circus. Ms Sarandon, no doubt, has her pick of the meatiest studs in the market.
Aware that her youthful appearance might have other causes, she later elaborated on her original suggestion:
“Laugh and have sex,” she advised her attentive fans.
I hope she’s not implying that she laughs during sex, which is a dangerous practice that even baboons try to avoid. I once saw a pair of bonobos guffaw while copulating and it gave them severe muscle spasms. For humans you’ve got the added problem that if one of the mating pair laughs, the other one will wonder what the devil is so funny. Such disruptive habits should not be endorsed by a famous actress.
Laughing at jokes or idiocies is a different matter, of course. It’s clearly a healthy pastime, but I’m not convinced it makes humans look younger than their age. The laughter lines on Mick Jagger’s face suggest the opposite, although there may be other reasons for him looking like a wrinkly old prune. Heaven only knows what evil substances he ingested during his long life of self-indulgence and debauchery. The funny faces he pulls while performing can’t have done him much good either.
But on the matter of sex, we have to recognise that different rules apply to men and women. It’s not something humans like to admit in this age of gender equality and transgender lavatorial rights, but Mother Nature is a harsh mistress who doesn’t give two figs and an apricot for political correctness.
For the male of the species, unlike the female of the species, the climax of the reproductive act involves draining the body of its vital fluids, which saps the entire organism of its vigour and vitality. After the wildebeest rut in the African Savannah, the females are ready to conceive and the males are read to drop dead. Any man who had serviced as many females in so short a time would find himself in a similar condition.
Warren Beatty is one of the few men who has matched the mating exploits of a dominant wildebeest buck, which makes him an interesting case study. Is his face smooth and attractive? Is he as sprightly and youthful as Ms Sarandon? Recent pictures of Mr Beatty are not encouraging on these questions. Perhaps he now wishes he’d followed Gandhi’s example and renounced the carnal pleasures in middle age. There are no prizes for looking like a worn-out old bull.
Wednesday, May 18, 2016
Tales from the Orient
I’m feeling rather conflicted about the Chinese government’s decision to forbid nubile young women from seductively eating bananas on live video streams. On the one hand, the banana is a noble fruit that should never be used as a substitute for the human phallus. To treat a soft sweet delicacy like a piece of meat is an act of culinary barbarism. On the other hand, it’s nice to see Chinese girls behaving coquettishly and exploring their naughty side. Such frivolity is a breath of fresh air after decades of Communist orthodoxy, when they got a reputation for wearing pigtails and repelling cheeky boys with a chopstick in the eye.
The aim of the ban is to stop the practice from “harming social morality”, but the debate it has provoked on Chinese social media indicates it may not be effective:
“They will all start eating cucumbers, and if that's no good, yams,” wrote one sceptical observer.
This is a very good point. A woman’s mouth is capable of hosting an endless variety of foodstuffs. If you ban the sausage she will chew on the carrot; if you ban the chocolate finger, she will suck on the lollipop. The items don’t even have to be edible if she only intends to toy with them. She could suck on a pen or a didgeridoo. It’s a waste of time trying to control what goes in a woman’s mouth. The Chinese authorities would know that if they had more experience in regulating harmless vices.
I suspect they took this action because they fear that such displays will turn those who view them into sex-crazed satyrs. Swarms of horny young men are a threat to any authoritarian regime. The sexually frustrated are reckless and insolent, quite capable of reacting to repressive measures by running amok and defacing statues of Chairman Mao. If you want to control the human masses, you’ve got to numb their cravings and keep them docile.
The Japanese, of course, are far more sexually liberated than the Chinese. Their erotic websites are full of women eating bananas, often while wearing school uniforms. Penile objects are everywhere. The vagina, however, is still taboo.
Many moons ago, I wrote a post in support of Megumi Igarashi, the Japanese artist who makes artefacts modelled on her vagina. The good news is that Ms Igarashi was recently acquitted of the charge of making a kayak that looks like her vagina. The judge ruled that you can’t be sure it’s a coochie because of the psychedelic paintwork. The bad news is that she was still fined $3,700 for sharing data from a 3D scan of her lady parts. I will look for a website where people of conscience can make a contribution to her expenses.
The conclusion I draw from these stories is that human obscenity laws usually involve banning women from doing stuff rather than men. It’s a blatant example of sexism that must be squashed like a cockroach. Women should be allowed to do whatever they want.
Wednesday, May 11, 2016
Donald Trump! Donald Trump! He’s the only person the tourists on safari want to talk about. Scarcely a week passes before another fresh-faced actress has a nightmare about him. These starlets need to toughen up. “Better a nightmare than a wet dream” is what I say.
Although I’ve commented on Trump’s antics before, I resolved to hold my peace when he became a presidential candidate. A gorilla should remain aloof from human politics unless the politician in question is trying to imitate a gorilla. Trump looks a bit like an orang-utan, but I don’t think he’s trying to mimic one. A real orang-utan is more deadpan and laconic.
“So why are you breaking your vow now?” I hear you ask. Well, it came to pass that someone referred me to an article about Trump’s wife Melania. It’s a very long article which you shouldn’t bother reading unless you’re planning to spend time on the lavatory. You’d have to be pretty constipated too. However, it takes no time at all to observe the pictures of Mrs Trump, which indicate she’s an exceptionally attractive woman. Trump may have been a boorish oaf to say he had a prettier wife than his rival, but he certainly wasn’t lying.
Beautiful though Melania is, the article suggests she’s not the smartest cookie in the biscuit tin. Yet I would hesitate to describe her as a bimbo who married Trump for his money. Although it must have been part of the attraction, the article suggests she wanted an older man who was fatherly and (by her standards) wise. Some women need to be looked after by Daddy.
This led me to a thought about the likely aftermath of the upcoming election in November. When Trump’s Republican rivals dropped out of the race, I saw fear in his eyes. It was the fear of getting his buttocks caned by a woman. If Hillary wins (as she surely will), Trump would be a broken and humiliated man. After such a debacle, he would be in no condition to protect his wife, let alone keep her satisfied in bed.
Call me a fanciful ape, but wouldn’t this be the perfect opportunity for Hillary to steal Melania’s heart and make her the second lady in the White House? It would be a moral fable worthy of Aesop to see a mighty braggart like Trump have salt rubbed into his wounds. And no woman could feel safer than when lying beside the president, with the secret service outside the door, peeping through the keyhole.
Some might say that such a sensational development would make America a laughing stock in the world. I dare say a lot of hostile pundits in the Eurasian landmass would be sniggering and making satirical remarks. But behind their smirking faces, they would be stunned and amazed by this act of audacity. The closeted lesbians in their own communities would be thrilled and energised, eager for the taste of liberation on their own tongues. For the first time since Neil and Buzz hopped about on the lunar surface, America would be speaking for humanity.
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.
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.
Wednesday, April 20, 2016
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.
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.