Wednesday, June 22, 2016

Sudden impact


There is absolutely no reason for me or any other gorilla to have an opinion on breast implants. Nevertheless, I do remember pontificating on the topic in previous posts. I can’t remember exactly what I wrote, but I’m pretty sure I chided women who artificially inflate their bosoms. I might have quoted a saying of a mythical ape called Old Melonhead:

Be satisfied with what Mother Nature has bestowed upon you, for the fate of those who defy her is grievous to behold!

I now see it was quite wrong of me to lecture women who hire surgeons to enhance or reshape their boobs. A news story from Australia has forced me to open my mind and amend my judgements. What happened was that a 45-year-old woman collided with a kangaroo while riding her bicycle, causing her to receive a fearful blow on her chest. Fortunately for Ms Sharon Heinrich, her voluptuous silicone boobies came to the rescue and saved her from a mortal injury:

“My breast implants probably saved my life,” said Ms Heinrich, after being told her she was lucky to be alive.

Her sizable implants were naturally ruptured by the accident, so the quick-thinking surgeon replaced them with even bigger ones:

“Santa brought me 10 DDs in 2000, and it turns out they were 320 millilitres in size, but this time the surgeon put in 400 millilitres,” explained Ms Heinrich. “Australia can be a harsh country, so it’s best to be safe now,” she added. “I suppose I should be thanking the kangaroo.”

Much as I applaud her for holding no grudge against the kangaroo, she ought to have inquired after its health. I hope a bush ranger visited the scene of the accident to see if the creature needed medical assistance or counselling. The bush police should have also taken statements from witnesses to the incident. Although we can’t be sure who was to blame for the collision, a wild creature in its natural habitat normally has the right of way. The kangaroo may well have a valid insurance claim.

In light of Ms Heinrich’s fortunate escape, one could argue that breast implants are a vital safety precaution for cyclists, akin to air bags in motorcars. The main problem with making them compulsory is the expense involved in fitting them. And the same requirement would have to apply to men to avoid gender discrimination. It goes without saying that you can’t have men with titties riding on public highways – the accident rate would rocket because of motorists staring at them in horror, amusement or lust.

A more feasible solution might be the padded bra, filled with a firm yet elastic substance that kangaroos would bounce off without injury to either party. If that turns out to be the solution, we should name them in honour of Sharon Heinrich, whose brush with death sparked off the search for solutions. I should imagine that many advances in technology have been inspired by a woman’s jahoobies. 

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Wednesday, June 15, 2016

The opposite of sex


Has Salma Hayek gone off sex? This is what she said in a recent interview:

“Sex is not the key to a happy marriage, but it's a side effect. Although not every day! If it's every day, it loses its charm.”

At the age of 49, she has every right to be less horny than she was at the height of her fecundity, but I can’t help getting the impression that the carnal pleasures have been relegated to a fairly minor role in her life. An educated gorilla knows how to read between the lines.

Of course, it’s far from clear that her 54-year-old husband would be able to deliver conjugal service on a daily basis. As a Frenchman he probably thinks he’s capable of that and more, but I suspect he’s secretly relieved that Salma isn’t more demanding. The last thing a man of his age needs is an insatiable wife.

She went on to make the intriguing suggestion that scuba diving is a satisfactory substitute for sex:

“I'm a diver, and I think this is the most sensual thing. It's liberating to move in the water, to float, to observe things that you cannot control, to be in touch with your breathing. I find that sexy.”

Fascinating though this perspective may be, I’m not taking a dip in the Congo River to test whether it’s correct. It contains too many hungry crocodiles that have no appreciation for sexy breathing exercises. If Salma wants to explore her sensuality by behaving like a fish that’s fine by me, but I’d advise her to keep well clear of dolphins. Anyone who’s familiar with the work of Sir Davy Attenborough knows that those slippery beasts are relentless sexual predators. They would not hesitate to press their advantage on a lone woman floating about in an erotic stupor.

I reckon the problem for famous actresses is that their lives and careers have become so sexualised that they find the whole thing unappealing. Even Sharon Stone has lost her appetite for casual fornication at the age of 58:

“At this point, I get more satisfaction from a smile, a laugh, a warm conversation or a really sexy look,” she told a magazine for retired people. “You know the way a man can look at you? Where you know he really sees you?”

Call me an innocent ape, but I’m not quite sure what this sexy look involves. When we gorillas make eye contact, it’s usually to scare off intruders or put cheeky upstarts in their place. My guess is that very few men have the cojones to look Sharon Stone directly in the eye – the image she’s created for herself in her movies is just too intimidating. Consequently, whenever she gets a friendly grin from a fellow who hasn’t seen her films, she’s ready to jump into bed with him. I'd wager a number of wily opportunists have put this theory into practice, but we won’t hear the details until they publish their memoirs.

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Wednesday, June 08, 2016

Dolly's denial


As I suspected, the rumour that Dolly Parton is a lesbian was too good to be true. An American tourist on safari told me she had frequent slumber parties with a woman called Judy Ogle, who was supposedly her lesbian lover. He also asserted that the husband she claims to have has never been seen in public. It was Dolly herself who put these insinuations to bed in the best possible way:

“If I was gay, I would have come out of the closet just a-flying!” she declared in a recent interview.

Apparently her husband is just a publicity-shy fellow who shuns the limelight, whereas Judy Ogle is a bosom childhood friend who never intentionally touched Dolly’s bosom. You can’t assume someone is a kitty-muncher just because her name is ‘Judy Ogle’. Many people are burdened with suggestive names that don’t reflect their true nature.

Of course, I wouldn’t blame the Velcro vixens for hoping that Dolly was one of their number. Anyone can see that busty lesbians are in short supply, so Dolly would have given the sisterhood some much-needed chesticular gravity. The flat-chested, short-haired, trouser-wearing stereotype isn’t everyone’s cup of tea, and recruiting a well-stacked player for the A-team would have won them new fans.

Another myth that Dolly could have helped to explode is that lesbians are not especially keen on booby action. I don’t believe that anyone who is attracted to women would downplay the jahoobies – certainly, no one attracted to Dolly could do so. Maybe Ellen Degeneres should make a public statement clearing up the misconceptions on this topic.

What Dolly has clearly demonstrated is that you don’t need to be gay to be a supporter of gays. She was quick to apologise when she found out that a female visitor to her ‘Dollywood’ theme park was told to reverse a t-shirt displaying a pro-lesbian slogan. After issuing a statement on ABC news, Dolly announced her support for gay marriage rights:

“Sure, why can’t they get married?” she said. “They should suffer like the rest of us do.”

This is all well and good, but I hope Dolly checked the t-shirt slogan was appropriate for a family venue. “Lesbian and Proud” would be fine, but “Hot Dyke Action at Pussies.com” should be reserved for the bars and clubs.

It seems the queer community are solidly behind Hillary for president, although I’m not entirely sure what she’s done for them. Is there anything she could do after getting elected, besides offering the usual words of support?

If I had Madame President’s ear, I would advise her to invite the surviving members of ‘Village People’ to perform in the White House. It would be great to see them prancing about in their costumes again. It’s a little known fact that ‘YMCA’ is a beloved classic among the gorillas of the Congo, even though we have no idea what YMCA stands for. That’s the great thing about pop music – you can enjoy the songs without having a clue what the words mean.

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Wednesday, June 01, 2016

Penile poetry


A man in Burma has been sentenced to six months in prison for having an insulting poem about the country’s president tattooed on his penis. It’s a form of political dissent that might have been invented by the Marquis de Sade. Or possibly a baboon. Had I been the defence counsel, I would have argued that the words inscribed on a man’s todger are his own private affair. A malcontent who genuinely wanted to insult the president would have penned a letter rather than expressing his disapproval in a place that few would venture for light reading. I doubt even the man’s wife would have paused to admire her husband’s verse while attending to other duties. It’s the kind of service that only a call girl would provide, and expect to be generously tipped for.

Given the inaccessible location of the incriminating evidence, I’d like to know how the Burmese police found out about it. The most likely snitch would have been the tattooist, who might have given the police an anonymous tip-off to avoid getting nabbed as an accessory. I pity the policeman who had the job of checking that the words were defamatory. It’s not a form of investigation that falls within the normal definition of police work, and I hope the judge allowed him to testify from behind a screen. No one wants to be known as the official cock inspector.

It seems that free speech is under attack all over the world. A German comedian recently got into hot water for suggesting that the Turkish president was romantically involved with a goat. Would you believe he is now being prosecuted under an ancient German law that prohibits insulting a foreign head of state?

A British journalist has responded to this outrage by holding a competition to compose the most obscene limerick about the Turkish president. It’s a bold act of defiance, but I’m not convinced that human poets are savvy enough to imagine anything more lurid than goat-love. They should first spend a few months in Africa observing the hyenas and baboons to get their creating juices working.

If you’re thinking of entering the competition, I regret to inform you that the prize of one thousand pounds sterling has already been won. As if to prove my point, the winning entry elaborated on the goat theme. I reproduce it below in its full and uncensored version:

There was a young fellow from Ankara
Who was a terrific wankerer.
Till he sowed his wild oats
With the help of a goat
But he didn’t even stop to thankera.

The most amazing thing about this limerick is that the man who composed it might well be the next prime minister of the United Kingdom. I wonder what will happen if, at some future date, he has to host the Turkish president on an official state visit. Fortunately the British don’t serve goat at their state banquets, although many of their senior politicians are good at making bleating noises, which may test the limits of the Turkish president’s patience. 

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Wednesday, May 25, 2016

Beauty tip


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.

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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.

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Wednesday, May 11, 2016

Trumpy pumpy


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. 

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