Monday, April 03, 2006
Arise, Sir Tom!
Splendid news from England! Tom Jones, the yodelling stud, has received his long overdue knighthood. The Japing Ape’s recent lobbying must have been the coup de grace that convinced the Queen of England to summon him for the shoulder-tap. Unfortunately, I wasn’t able to witness Sir Tom ride off in his suit of armour after receiving his medallion, which he will no doubt forever display on that manly chest of his. But I sent him a telegram so he knew I was there in spirit.
Although the circus I belonged to gave countless shows in England, I never once met the Queen. Our paths never quite seemed to cross – I might be performing in Guildford while she was at the races in Epsom; that sort of thing. I did once meet her daughter-in-law, the Duchess of York, who rushed to meet me after a show in my final season in the circus.
“Gosh, Mr Bananas, you were so fantastic!” she gushed. “I almost wet my knickers laughing when you sat on that clown!”
“Thank you, Your Highness,” I replied. “I’m glad you enjoyed the show.”
“Oh just call me Fergie, everyone else does. I really wish my daughters could have seen you today. They’re away with their dad for the summer hols so they’ll have to wait until next year.”
“I regret that I will not be performing next year,” I said. “You see, Miss Fergie, this is my last season before returning to Africa. But do take your daughters to the show anyway, there will be many worthy acts to beguile and amuse them.”
“Oh you can’t be leaving us!” she wailed. “It’s really shocking that my relatives don’t know about you. I’m going to make sure my mother-in-law hears about what a great entertainer you are and everything you’ve done for the image of gorillas.”
I thanked Fergie for her kind words and watched her trot away with her chauffeur. I didn’t expect to hear from her again, so it came as a great a surprise when a letter arrived a week later with royal insignia on the envelope. It was from Fergie, who had been given the job of sounding me out on the award of a knighthood before departing for the Congo. Although I greatly appreciated this gracious gesture, I knew at once that I would have to decline. The problem was the likely reaction in the community I would shortly be joining.
If the simians of the Congo got to hear that a gorilla had accepted a knighthood, they would be quite merciless in their mockery. And by “mockery”, I don’t mean the good-natured ribbing that a man might get after being voted “sexiest bum” by his female co-workers. The monkeys would literally be queuing in the trees to piss on my head. The gorillas, meanwhile, would be dreaming up practical jokes to play on me, like putting a live scorpion in the coconut shell I use as a finger bowl. The parrots, of course, would be irresistibly drawn into the affair. They would gather around me at the crack of dawn, while I was still asleep, and shriek “Arise, Sir Bananas!” at the top of their voices. It would be more than an honest gorilla could bear.
The tricky question was how to reply to Fergie’s letter without seeming aloof or ungrateful. One does not want to appear too proud to accept a knighthood. I eventually settled on the explanation that accepting such a prestigious award would offend my fellow gorillas by violating our ancient customs and traditions. I thought this would play well in The Palace, given the current focus on multiculturalism.
Although the circus I belonged to gave countless shows in England, I never once met the Queen. Our paths never quite seemed to cross – I might be performing in Guildford while she was at the races in Epsom; that sort of thing. I did once meet her daughter-in-law, the Duchess of York, who rushed to meet me after a show in my final season in the circus.
“Gosh, Mr Bananas, you were so fantastic!” she gushed. “I almost wet my knickers laughing when you sat on that clown!”
“Thank you, Your Highness,” I replied. “I’m glad you enjoyed the show.”
“Oh just call me Fergie, everyone else does. I really wish my daughters could have seen you today. They’re away with their dad for the summer hols so they’ll have to wait until next year.”
“I regret that I will not be performing next year,” I said. “You see, Miss Fergie, this is my last season before returning to Africa. But do take your daughters to the show anyway, there will be many worthy acts to beguile and amuse them.”
“Oh you can’t be leaving us!” she wailed. “It’s really shocking that my relatives don’t know about you. I’m going to make sure my mother-in-law hears about what a great entertainer you are and everything you’ve done for the image of gorillas.”
I thanked Fergie for her kind words and watched her trot away with her chauffeur. I didn’t expect to hear from her again, so it came as a great a surprise when a letter arrived a week later with royal insignia on the envelope. It was from Fergie, who had been given the job of sounding me out on the award of a knighthood before departing for the Congo. Although I greatly appreciated this gracious gesture, I knew at once that I would have to decline. The problem was the likely reaction in the community I would shortly be joining.
If the simians of the Congo got to hear that a gorilla had accepted a knighthood, they would be quite merciless in their mockery. And by “mockery”, I don’t mean the good-natured ribbing that a man might get after being voted “sexiest bum” by his female co-workers. The monkeys would literally be queuing in the trees to piss on my head. The gorillas, meanwhile, would be dreaming up practical jokes to play on me, like putting a live scorpion in the coconut shell I use as a finger bowl. The parrots, of course, would be irresistibly drawn into the affair. They would gather around me at the crack of dawn, while I was still asleep, and shriek “Arise, Sir Bananas!” at the top of their voices. It would be more than an honest gorilla could bear.
The tricky question was how to reply to Fergie’s letter without seeming aloof or ungrateful. One does not want to appear too proud to accept a knighthood. I eventually settled on the explanation that accepting such a prestigious award would offend my fellow gorillas by violating our ancient customs and traditions. I thought this would play well in The Palace, given the current focus on multiculturalism.
I also suggested that an acceptable way of recognising my contribution would be for a royal spokesperson to speak out, now and again, in support of one of the causes I favoured. The mouthpiece wouldn’t have to be anyone too important – a butler or private secretary perhaps – and the cause could be something fairly uncontroversial like organic farming. Imagine my surprise when I found out that no less a personage than the Prince of Wales had been chosen to promote the Gorilla Bananas agenda! It’s a good thing they didn’t make the Queen do it! – I’m sure she has enough on her plate, what with one thing and another.
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Bloody hell, you're up early. Sounds like you could do with some Congo-caffe. I have no television, so I rely on the net for all of my news. I doubt I would have stumbled across Sir Tom Jones' Knighthood otherwise, seeing as the local newspaper is not worthy of soiling with a dogs turd.
Poor Tom, he ought to lay off the Just For Men these days and perhaps the botox. He is starting to look like he spends all his time in a wind tunnel.
I've always found nerdy guys to be much hornier than big, macho blokes like Tom Jones. The nerds don't get much sex, so they want it a lot more. I wouldn't be surprised if the lead in Tom's pencil ran out when he was in his 30s.
# posted by 
: Monday, April 03, 2006
: Monday, April 03, 2006
Can someone please iron him? Dunno how they can let him out in public, all creased up like that.
GB - I hope that you were sitting on that clown in a purely professional capacity, and not for pleasure. In my book the only valid reason for sitting on a clown is to suffocate them.
GB - I hope that you were sitting on that clown in a purely professional capacity, and not for pleasure. In my book the only valid reason for sitting on a clown is to suffocate them.
When I sit on clowns, it's done in the cause of art. Sir Tom is not what he used to be, but he allegedly never refused a lady when he was up to it. Anyone's equipment would be worn out after that kind of heavy service.
What with hanging people from there ankles and sitting on people (i have no objection to sitting on clowns as i find them disturbing) is there anything else you do in the same line. Just curious
Looks like Charles has had a go at planting out Camilla's hat. Not the first of her furrows he's plundered, I, along with the rest of the known world, has heard, thanks to the usual fine reporting in the Sun.
Am I the only one who thinks Sir Tom looks quite dashing, sporting his new beard. And he has to wince like that for fear of Princess Anne suddenly throwing her knickers at him. She's gaga for his 'Delilah' apparantly.
Am I the only one who thinks Sir Tom looks quite dashing, sporting his new beard. And he has to wince like that for fear of Princess Anne suddenly throwing her knickers at him. She's gaga for his 'Delilah' apparantly.
Charlie, we gorilla are pacifists 95% of the time. The rough stuff is always a last resort.
Sam, Charles must be the only heir to the throne who ever expressed a desire to be a tampon. Sir Tom, at least, went from rags to riches.
Sam, Charles must be the only heir to the throne who ever expressed a desire to be a tampon. Sir Tom, at least, went from rags to riches.
I was always more an Engelbert Humperdinck man myself. Did you know you can get a record with Sir Tom and Engelbert both on it, singing their own songs but with them interspersed and with no indication on the track listing as to who's singing what? Caused me no end of confusion as a boy, that did.
Sir Charles likes to be a tampon? WOW ~ something like our own embarrassing Clinton-o-philes, no doubt. Though I believe they(the English) are specific about their elite breeding programs for the royalty, whereas here, Presidents get bred willy-nilly, regardless of social function or class. Either way,, it seems they all end up with some quite astonishing reproductive mishaps, eh? ;-D
Redhead girl, what Charles said to Camilla was "I wish I was a tampon so I could always be inside you". In England the toffs are really into blood sports, although Camilla was never much of a fox.
# posted by : Tuesday, April 04, 2006
: Tuesday, April 04, 2006
You see this is where we beat the Americans hands down.
Whereas their ruling establishment consists of greedy men jumping on the gravy train to line their own pockets, we have that AND a bunch of middle class inbred parasites called the Royal Family who we pay for while they lie useless like the huge fat ordinary lazy bloated maggots they are.
Look at them, all the best possible advantages and what did they do with it? A more ordinary mediocre bunch you couldn’t find. They take dull to new depths. Has any of them ever excelled at anything in their pampered spoiled disgraceful lives?
And Tom Jones, what a wanker.
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Whereas their ruling establishment consists of greedy men jumping on the gravy train to line their own pockets, we have that AND a bunch of middle class inbred parasites called the Royal Family who we pay for while they lie useless like the huge fat ordinary lazy bloated maggots they are.
Look at them, all the best possible advantages and what did they do with it? A more ordinary mediocre bunch you couldn’t find. They take dull to new depths. Has any of them ever excelled at anything in their pampered spoiled disgraceful lives?
And Tom Jones, what a wanker.
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