Wednesday, March 21, 2007

The Devil and his works

Have you noticed how the Satanists have been keeping a low profile lately? A dangerous sign. It means they’re up to something and it can’t be long before headless goats start appearing in the cornfields. Not that any of this worries me. Compared to voodoo witch doctors, the Satanists are about as frightening as Mr Bean. I speak as an ape who has witnessed a witch doctor cut a piece from his ear lobe, feed it to a chicken, bite off the chicken’s head and then eat its body raw.

The big breakthrough for the Satanists came in the film Rosemary’s Baby. Before then, they were widely regarded as cloak-wearing weirdoes who chanted obscure rites and tortured farmyard animals. Roman Polanski’s film portrayed them as regular folk who lived in apartments, watched TV and invited the neighbours for dinner – just a misunderstood minority trying to practice their faith in a hostile society.

The one person who comes off badly in that movie is the main man himself. Hollywood had often depicted the Devil as a suave, dark-haired seducer, capable of reducing a woman to a moaning spasm of multiple delights before turning her into a red-lipped succubus. But in Rosemary’s Baby, the Devil is an appalling werewolf who ravishes poor Mia Farrow with all the finesse of a pneumatic drill.

I’ve only ever had one brush with demonic forces and I’m 99% certain it was a dream. I was staying in Dr Whipsnade’s residence, sleeping in a guest room, when I was roused by the sound of a horrible low chuckle. I looked up to see a woman smiling foxily at me from the door of the en-suite bathroom. She was wearing a scarlet evening dress revealing ample and impressive cleavage, and bore a close resemblance to Fenella Fielding (Valeria Watt in Carry on Screaming). A gorgeous vamp, to be sure, but I could sense all too acutely the ugliness of her soul. There was also a slightly putrid odour beneath her perfume. You can’t fool a gorilla with appearance.

“Can I help you?” I inquired in my deepest Captain Peacock voice.

“I am beyond thy succour, O hairy one!” she replied in a tone of toxic velvet. “Heed my words for I have sour tidings to bring thee. Come hither and learn of thy doleful fate!”

I don’t know why these apostles of Satan always insist on speaking in Ye Olde English. I suspect it’s an attempt to match the language of the Bible – keeping up with the Jehovahs as it were. Nevertheless, I decided to get out of bed and comply with her request. She was pointing inside the bathroom, so I thought I’d better check it for spiders.

When I followed her through the bathroom door I was shocked to find myself walking through the promenade of a gigantic arcade. On both sides of the walkway, which seemed to extend to infinity, were countless adjacent studios, each occupied by humans acting out some kind of drama. Every studio was furnished to appear like part of a domestic home: sometimes a lounge, sometimes a bedroom, sometimes a kitchen and sometimes a garden.

Joan of Dark presently stopped by one of these arenas and bade me watch the humans. I saw three surly cockney women muttering angrily about “poppodoms”, “chapattis” and other Indian delicacies. In the next studio I saw an ugly man in leotards lapping up milk from a saucer held by some kind of dominatrix. Another revealed a weeping transvestite being comforted by a big-bosomed woman. With a shudder, I realised that Hell had been revealed! The she-devil, noticing my horror, turned to look at me with a malevolent smile.

“Observe thy fate, O Japing Ape, whose Earthly life is wasted in tomfoolery! Thy shallow soul will find a berth amid these churls and be vex-ed eternally.”

“Did you say ‘amid these churls’?” I asked in stupefied revulsion. “Surely watching the blighters is bad enough!”

“Nay, thou must join them: play thy part in all! He who loves pleasure, must for pleasure fall.”

Enough was enough. I don’t mind a spirited debate, but when a handmaiden of Hell starts taunting me with rhyming couplets it’s time to call a halt to proceedings.

“I regret, madam, that when my time comes I shall be unable to attend this function. I have a prior engagement with the Hairy Krishnas. I’m with the karma crowd, you see.”

I didn’t regret it a bit, of course, but one has to maintain one’s manners, even with a daughter of Beezelebub. I was pleased to see an expression of confused annoyance appear on her face.”

“Thou liest, Bananas!” she hissed. “Thou art Presbyterian. The computer sayeth thus!”

“Not me, Sister!” I replied airily. “I’m a Church of Congo Ape. You’ve got me confused with Billy Connolly. As for the computer, it’s the old story of ‘garbage in, garbage out.’ That’s a saying we mortals have. Now if you don’t mind I’ll be making tracks back to my bed. A lady of your allure surely understands the importance of beauty sleep.”

I turned my back on the demonic damsel and found myself tucked up cosily in bed almost before I had taken a step.

I don’t know about you, but when I wake up I usually have no recollection of my dreams. On this occasion I remembered every detail, which left me feeling slightly uneasy. I decided to review my life in all its aspects. Was I doing a sufficient number of good deeds? Was I caring for the widow and the orphan of the fallen ape? Was I binding up the wounds of the injured primate? I felt sure that it was only a dream, but perhaps it was some kind of message from on high. At any rate, there was no harm in playing it safe.

After some deliberation, I doubled my monthly contribution to the Society for Retired Geishas with Pet Gorillas.

GB, you clearly have a guilty conscience and need to cleanse yourself spiritually. Those of us who are without sin can only shake our heads and make despairing 'tut-tut' noises. I recommend you give up your many vices (eg sex, drugs, rock'n'roll) and go rub up against a Bob Geldoff.
A salutary lesson for us all there, Mr B. I will change my ways immediately. Once I've found my way out of this boys school.
...a witch doctor cut a piece from his ear lobe, feed it to a chicken, bite off the chicken’s head and then eat its body raw.

GB, is the above really true?

On an off-topic, you should watch a couple of Korean or Japanese ghost stories...I don't know the word for it except that that they're really really scary. They know how to make their evil spirits true-to-demonic!
They're probably too ashamed to show their faces since Satan appeared in an Adam Sandler movie (Little Nicky).
I think they'd let you off binding up the wounds of the injured primate, Nanas, on account of your not having opposable thumbs.

And they do say "Hell is other people," not other primates.

I think it's far more likely that you will spend eternity in a hammock on a beach on one of Heaven's tropical islands, drinking coconut milk and being fanned by 47 virgin gorillas with shiny coats and Brazilian waxes.
The bad guys may be quiet where you are, GB, but here they are subjecting us to yet another presidential campaign.

asym: I've always taken a strong line against drugs, but rubbing against Geldorf is surely more sinful than sex and rock'n'roll.

Japsper: I expect you'll repent to one of the Pope's men on your deathbed.

Susan: All I can say is that art is the highest form of truth, which is why I generally avoid it. I'll make further enquiries about these sushi/kimchi ghost stories.

mj: Adam Sandler is too much of a rabbit-face to play the devil.

Sam: I hope so, Sam, but you'd have to sedate them before the wax'n'rip.

Randall: Be especially wary of candidates with horns and goats' legs.
I always knew you to be totally sinful and in need of cleansing. Still I heard its more fun in hell and what with the temperature there has got to be more nakedness. Poor hairy GB, you might get too hot. I could help you shave?
Can I do that? Paying the price on exit seems a lovely way to deal with it all. I shall do precisely that and carry on as I was. Thank you GB.
“Thou liest, Bananas!” she hissed. “Thou art Presbyterian. The computer sayeth thus!”

You know...I don't know where this hellish record keeping is going down, but if it's in Eastern, Central or Pacific Standard Time...then the computer probably fucked up on account 'a the whole Daylight Savings Time Change Y2K-ish Debacle. If I were you...I'd tell her to let Georgie Bush know where he can go.
Was the man in the leotard slightly porcine and in possesion of a moustache?
If so, I have the uncanny feeling that we may have been visited by a similar demon. Mine looked like Barbara Cartland though. Shame that.
"She was pointing inside the bathroom, so I thought I’d better check it for spiders."

You should do stand up Mr Bananas!
Queenie: I'm a bad ape. I need you to punish me.

Jasper: Yes, but the priest gets to play with your body after you expire.

Kara: George's bedtime is too early for that place.

Lord Milky: Indeed he was. Have we been introduced, M'Lud? Your name is familiar.

Freelance: Slapstick generally works better in the jungle, but thanks for the idea.
" The priest gets to play with your body after you expire."


You're like a car salesman, G-Man: I've already bought into it. I need no more perks or extras.
I woke in the middle of the night once, startled out of my slumber, to find a pair of evil eyes staring at me from the end of the bed.
At first I thought a demon had paid me a visit, but after seeing the glint of moonlight reflected off a cold steel blade barely poking out from beneath some feathers, I realised it was only one of my crazy chickens.
Thank God for the poultry iron ( 5 iron )
Ah, GB, that was truly a simian meisterwerk of a post. I nearly choked on my live chicken's head. If the devil propositioned me in the form of George Clooney I would fall from grace immediately. But I do good works and support impoverished young men as insurance for the Day of Judgment.
That guy in the leotard owes me ten dollars from a bet about Mr Motivator.

In fact, that's probably why he's in hell in the first place - for not paying his dues.

Unless I was dreaming.

Have you ever had Freudian analysis Mr B? I guess the devil lady represents you, the corridor is obviously a womb, and the many figures are your potential children who you despise because of your commitment anxieties. I conclude that an early sexual encounter with a chimp maybe?, has left you with deep fear of women and relationships and a secret lesbian side, expressed by the bath tub!
I do not believe I have had the pleasure; an ape with the power of word would not be something I would be likely to forget!

Though I do recall receiving one or two simian calling cards, as it were...
Mr B, there is no way you could ever convince me that your soul is anything but spotless.

Seems to me you only had a hypnogogic experience that led to you experiencing Dante's inferno in your toilet bowel. An experience that many humans on a Saturday night past pub closing have claimed to have observed...

Worry thee not, sire.
Jasper: Is there no self-abasement to which you will not sink?

Zuba: Time you had a free range roast, I think.

Lady Daphne: A young man would yearn for the comforts of your bosom.

Mosha: Unpaid gambling debts are a venial sin, but they may have led to more serious trangressions.

Mutley: How typical of you to ignore the profound moral message in favour of horseshit psycho-analysis.

Lord Milky: I will add you to my list of trusted confidants.

Miss Cheese: I love you like a sister.
I think people create their own hell, right here, on planet Earth. They do things that disturbs their sleep, at night.

The key, perhaps, is not to try and wash away the deeds that later on make them feel guilty (they think no one's watching, when the truth is that they themselves are) by doing 'good' deeds, but keep away from doing such stuff, in the first place.

That was probably what those who devised the concepts of heaven and hell were aiming at, knowing very well that people would not listen if they simply tried to explain that all of this would help achieve peace of mind for everyone and, therefore, build a better world for all mankind.
I was relieved of my conscience a very long time ago now. I am a slave to my baser instincts. I shall answer for it all at the pearly gates, and may try to get my hand up St. Peter's robes.
**Disclaimer: I am actually gonna give you a serious response to this one.

I firmly believe in the existance of evil/good powers. It ain't necessarily something spooky or trascendental, it's simply part of life. Evil can induce fear (with good reason) but God's perfect power is much stronger than evil and defeats all fears. In other words, it's kinda handy to follow the Big Guy Upstairs 'coz he can deliver us from evil, fear and that..

Little lecture from a theologian in disguise ;- )
So you were mistaken for a Presbyterian too? I've got an excuse, I'm ugly as sin, but old Elvira must be losing it if she thinks you're from the dark side....
Daphne W-B is right! Another meisterwerk.
You're getting terribly good at this Mr Gorilla bananas.
For Gods sake, don't coddle him. Oop, there we go, looks like I'm going too.
If you must join these dating agencies GB, then for goodness sake check them out afore ye go.
Darkeness be only the absence of light - ask a witch next time.
Sidhu: I agree: avoiding bad deeds is as important as doing good ones. That's what I tell chimpanzees who try to bribe me with fruit.

Jasper. I may make you the editor of a magazine one day. You've got the kind of one-track mind that leads to consistency.

Ivonne: God is certainly one of my heroes and will always be No.1 in my book.

Ill Man: Do Presbyterians have a certain look? Certainly, they must have sharper noses than the average gorilla.

Dr Maroon: I rely on you and Daphne to know what's any good.

Face: Coddle me as much as you want, honey, you know I love it.

Minx: I'd love to meet a few witchy babes, but the only witches I know are men who smear blood on their bodies.
Monsieur, your pot is calling my kettle black.
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