Friday, December 28, 2007

Dick Whittington's pussy


I click my tongue in disapproval on learning that London has a mayor. I’m sure the office never existed back in my circus days. I’ve watched enough westerns to know that the mayor is invariably a cowardly hypocrite who can barely be trusted not to forge his own signature – the sort of scheming scoundrel who sends the lone sheriff to fight outlaws while secretly selling whiskey and rifles to the Comanche. Appointing a mayor is an invitation to corruption, skulduggery and fingers in every pie.

The current mayor of London seems little better than these characters from Dodge City. I had the misfortune to hear him on the wireless, droning away in his nasal voice about how he was tackling the city’s problems. Someone should tell this smug little twerp that London’s problems existed long before he popped out of his mother’s egg pod, and will survive long after his mortal remains have turned to dust. Nothing short of a change in latitude will solve them. The man who believes he has miraculous powers is a short step away from donning a cape and demanding sacrificial virgins.

It wasn’t always like this. The story of Dick Whittington, thrice mayor of London, is fed to English babies with their mother’s milk. The crucial difference, of course, is that Honest Dick was not the mayor, but the Lord Mayor. Being ennobled meant that very little work was required of him, which greatly limited his capacity for doing mischief. His only duties were to wear a funny hat and accept the cheers of the multitude as he travelled to the Guildhall in his golden carriage. There’s nothing like being powerless to win the affection of the English masses. The popularity of the Queen of England rests largely on her irrelevance.

Now Dick Whittington would never have made it to the top without the aid of a highly resourceful and unswervingly loyal cat. In those days, the feline population knew the meaning of an honest day’s pay for an honest day’s work. As well liquidating pesky rodents, the ambitious cat performed odd jobs for its master and softened up his lady friends by curling up on their laps. Before the advent of the sports car, the most effective pussy-magnet was the pussy. When young Dick came to London with his worldly possessions tied up in a bundle, it was his future cat-servant who spotted his potential and showed him the ropes. After a spell together in the merchant navy, they quickly penetrated the inner circle of Lady Veronica Cadwallader, who bought Dick a seat in the Worshipful Company of Fannymakers.

Sadly, the cats of today no longer have the skills required to advance the career prospects of their owners. Dr Whipsnade allows a tomcat called Casper to reside in his mansion, who thanks to the doctor’s liberal disposition has been permitted to retain his gonads. There was a time when Casper allowed me to feed him insects by hand. Nowadays he turns up his nose at such offerings, his palate having grown accustomed to gourmet cat food containing salmon, pheasant or venison. When I invite him to approach me, he yawns lazily and sprawls along the carpet, expecting me to go and stroke his belly. He obviously thinks life is pretty good, toasting himself beside the fireplace and shagging the neighbourhood kitties when he can be bothered to get off his arse. His nemesis can’t be far away though. He has the complacent air of the pride male whose domain is about to be invaded by a pair of young lions who’ll make mincemeat of him. He’ll be yawning out of the other side of his face when that happens.

But enough of London's pampered felines. Tomorrow I return to the Congo, where men are men and apes are apes. And cats are vicious devils who'll rip out your liver if you give them half a chance.


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Comments:
So you consider a mayor to be a useless figurehead like the queen but with less interesting attire? Well, I have this to say to you...

At least Arnold Schwarzenegger isn't your governor.

That is all.
 
Even more perversions are afoot in modern culture, such as those persons who keep cats inside all the time and declaw them. And they call themselves cat lovers! Thank God you are going to the Congo where cats are free to be cats.
 
I understand that Boris JOhnson chap is vying for the London Mayoral elections next year - at least he has a more interesting hairdo and I'm sure will be full of wit and charm, and interesting, intellectual, fresh ideas to enhance everyone's lives - or if not, at least there will be a lot of cycling clubs in London and smashing ideas on how not to get your bike nicked!

And can I just point out that he would be a lot better to look at whilst he does f*** all for London (- at least from a chick's point of view!)
 
PS. Hope you have a good trip back to the Congo. Let me know if you ever swing through this way!
 
Mayors and Cats are a bit of a waste of skin in the beasts book , both are nowhere as near as much fun or use as a dog or an au pair.
I must admit I am drawn to the idea of capes and vestal virgins tho........hmmmmm maybe I should concider running for office
 
Dick, pussy, fannymakers ... sometimes, Mr Bananas, I think you have a mind over-burdened with the vernacular of the sexual act. Then I titter at your musings and remind myself that a smattering of smut enlivens the darkest of days. Long may you post - I enjoy you enormously.

Happy New Year to you and yours. :-) x
 
Kara: You're not still mad at Arnie for being a tit-groper in his youth, are you? He publicly apologised for that.

Emma: I never knew people did that. A friendly cat is quite gentle with its claws.

Mzungu Chick: The challenger is quite a comedian, but so is the incumbent when he's in the mood. And a certain type of woman used to find him attractive 20 years ago (not your type, obviously).

Beast: Running is certainly what you need to do after your Christmas overindulgence.

Kitty: Best new year wishes to you, dear Kitty. The line about shagging the neigbourhood kitties was not a reference to you, of course.
 
While I wouldn't venture as far as to declare I enjoy you enormously, Mr. B, I certainly do enjoy the posts on this blog enormously, the vernaculars of the sexual act, as Kitty so succinctly puts it, not the least of the reasons why.

However, re: the assumed fondness of the English for the powerless, and given the dreadful performance of the Indian cricket team (one assumes your wonderful familiarity with several matters English extends to the sport as well) against the Australians, I must question the declining popularity of the English cricket team -- indeed, of cricket in genera.

Surely, if you're right, the affectionate English public would have flooded the team's doorsteps with little baskets of fluffy kittens these past few Christmases?
 
. . . the sort of scheming scoundrel who sends the lone sheriff to fight outlaws while secretly selling whiskey and rifles to the Comanche.

Careful, GB. You don't want to insult my forefathers like that. How in the world to you think my family paid for tuition at the University of Missouri?

Cheers.
 
but what of the dogs?
 
Clearly the pussies of San Francisco are more like those of your native Congo. I wonder if their Mayor uses them as a form of law enforcement...?
 
Hi, this is not so related to your page, but it is the site you asked me 1 month ago about the abs diet. I tried it, worked well. Well here is the site
 
Phew, I thought I might have blinked and missed something. :-p x
 
Cats are such tarts too: tails in the air, furry boots up to there, purring all over the place.

I suspect though, that if Ken Livingstone were turned into a cat during this, the most magical time of the year, he'd be less the slinky, hungry alley cat of the people he'd have us believe he is, and more of a flubbery Bagpuss type fatcat. Too long at the public trough is not good for anyone.

I hope your Christmas was peaceful and lovely, sweet Nanas.
 
Rimi: Sporting power is a bit different, because it's never used to put the fans in gaol. As far as the Indian cricket team is concerned, I'd like to see the Nawab of Pataudi back in the side.

Randall: You're surely descended from W T Sherman, the scourge of the confederacy and a fearless Indian fighter.

Daisy: What of them? They fawn on their human masters and shit all over the place. Cats are more dignified.

Ms Cake: That tigress was a bad'un. Should have left her in Siberia.

Kitty: Glad to set your mind at rest!

Sam: Yes thanks, Sam. I thought Mr Livingstone was more of a newt and toad man.
 
Like Dick Whittington, I too have been dismayed to find that London's streets are not paved with gold, but instead are paved with faeces and urine. And the occasional corpse.
 
*takes her fawning dogs and pouts*
 
I never realized the Indian cricket team were Comanche. No wonder they lost, everyone knows the best fast bowlers in the world are Huron, the biggest hitters are the Sioux, and the Pawnee are the best catchers. The Comanche are only good at table tennis.
 
"The popularity of the Queen of England rests largely on her irrelevance."

By God G.B., you have it exact. Exactement !

I had dinner in the Guildhall once, stayed at the Savoy, the company paid for it. Very fancy. The worshipful company of gasfitters were my hosts. Best fanny magnet there is. Dosh.
 
Are you suggesting the mayor should now be fed to babies?
 
Hi, I just stopped by to thank you for visiting my blog and to see what someone called Gorilla Bananas is all about. I like your style and I will be back :)
 
Heya gypsy :) Yea Gorilla Bananas, thanks for pooping by my blog too! Anyways, I have no words about your mayor. Our previous mayor went illegal spear fishing and got caught in a grouper hole and drowned. Maybe you will get that lucky someday?
 
Pfrrrrrrrrr! I take very good care of Sometimes Saintly Nick, the human I own, thank you!
 
oooh... i see my friends Lord Likely and Upset Waitress are already your fans. I wonder why they've been keeping all this gorilla stuff secret from the nurse.....

thanks for dropping by the gimcrack. I'll be back
 
How do you celebrate New Year Mr Bananas? I shall do the same...
 
Could be worse. Our mayor is a former lawyer for the mob. I'm not kidding.
 
told you I'd be back :-)
 
Lord Likely: Perhaps we should be thankful that while the urine is often human, the faeces is mainly canine.

Daisy: You have more than one? How many poop bags do you need?

Lady Daphne: The Comanche were banned from cricket after their use of bodyline tactics - with bows and arrows.

Dr Maroon: I am so glad you mentioned this, Dr, as others readers might have doubted the existence these Worshipful Companies. A man in Cheapside once asked me to sign a petition saying they were an anachronism. I immediately called the City of London police, who soundly thrashed him

Ms Robinson: Haha! I had to re-read the whole piece to find out where I had implied that! I wish I had said it in your words. I'm so close to writing pure crap, but haven't quite lost my inhibitions.

Gypsy: Welcome to you, Ma'am.

Upset Waitress: Welcome, ma'am. Are you Australian?

Alex the Cat: I think he pampers you too much.

NurseMyra: Hi Nursie. You're always welcome here, especially in uniform.

Mutley: I'll relaxing in a hammock, very close to Nature.

Mr Minnow: Welcome from Las Vegas, Sir! Are not the mafia the main customers for legal advice in your fair city?
 
gorilla i have three...beagle, maltese and rat terrier...as we have a huge back yard which is fenced we don't need poop bags, just let them in the yard prior to a walk and we are good to go :)
 
i forgot to wish you a happy new year gorilla...so here you go "happy new year"...i wish for you a jungle wild enough to keep you from being tamed this year...hope it works...
 
I currently support a cat who could hunt for Scotland. She has managed three rodents per day for the past several years, bringing in voles, mice, rats, and shrews, and always offering them to me before devouring them messily on the porch. Last month she killed a weasel and was clearly proud of her feat. No one believes me until they see her in action: she manages to look as sweet and innocent as the most pampered, useless pet you could imagine. Dick Whittington would have done very well with her; she is somewhat wasted on me. I know I should be proud, but I cannot help but feel for her victims.
 
While my dog may fawn, he can disembowel the best of them as he's had plenty of practice on my comforter and the living room furniture. I must say, though, you talk of London streets smelling of urine. While Mile End may reek every so slightly, London can't hold a candle to Everystreet in New York City. Should they do battle, the stench of bum pee in the subways would outshine London's matter in a second.
 
I am an unabashed cat lover, but I like working cats and strongly prefer them to spoilt, over-indulged felines. And I don't believe that being fond of one's cats is an excuse for treating people badly either. Once, visiting relatives of my husband in England, I witnessed an elderly woman being asked to get up from a particular chair because 'the cat sits there.' The woman asked to vacate her chair was a gentle, useful person with a kind word for everyone, and she had just washed up a sink full of dishes and made two dozen mince pies. The cat was beautiful, but he was a cat. God forbid I ever become such a cat lover that I treat my fellow human beings so shabbily.
 
Oh Boy - I've just popped over from Stinking Billy's and am now lurking.
 
Me too!!
 
Oh I do love cats! Especially panthers. Do panthers make good companions, Mr Bananas? I would never subject one to the indignity of being a pet. A companion, as Devil was to the Phantom.
 
What any post-pubescent English male will know is that Dick Whittington is a woman.

More than that, Dick is a lisson young woman in tights with a habit of not wearing skirts and slapping her thighs at regular intervals.

It's no wonder we're all strange.
 
I'm sorry, I just had this awful mental image of Ken Livingstone slapping his thighs.

I'll go and be sick then I'll have a lie down.
 
Daisy: Happy New Year to you. I'm impressed that you've trained your dogs to shit only in your yard. You deserve an award for that.

Mary: I believe your cat brings you its kills because it thinks of you as its mother and wants your approval. A cat-proof bird table would be a good idea. A cat that has its own chair is a sissy.

Kate: I didn't realise NYC had pissier places than London, but I'll take your word for it. If you really want a good whiff of urine, standing downwind of mating elephants might be the best bet.

Aims: Be my guest, ma'am. Haven't you just de-lurked?

Casdok: Hello madam. I've definitely met you before somewhere!

Princess Stef: I'm afraid panthers (or leopards) are solitary and bad-tempered. A lion cub might grow to love you, but it would probably kill your boyfriend.

Kevin: Heh! I wrote a post 2 years ago titled "Tis the season to be a transvestite". A shemale actress might be ideal for the part.

Nev: I think it would be worth watching hogs being castrated to get that image out of your mind.
 
oh, i can forgive him for that. what i can't forgive is being forced to look at those nasty ass veins sticking out of this neck. it's enough to make me not want to eat for, like, a while.
 
A perfectly valid reason to marry the Phantom, then.
;)
 
'The popularity of the Queen of England rests largely on her irrelevance'.

Hear, hear.
 
Haha, awesome blog! Thanks for dropping by and leaving a comment.

Please explain to me what are "swinging ape bloggers". I would love to become an ape.
 
He(Ken) is quite clever, to be called Red Ken and have a nanny. Newts love him and he got up Blair's nose. So not all bad.
Be careful - remember it's a jungle out there. All the best for 2008 and keep on doing what you do so well.
 
BTW: all this popping round to blogs - how about it buster?
 
Another year brilliantly blogged at the Japing Ape. Dearest Nanas, you rock my mornings twice weekly in your inimitable way. Blessings, health and happiness be upon your house (nest?) in the coming year. One of these days I'm coming to the Congo to pick your brains and your fleas, perhaps both if I'm feeling saucy.
Love,
Sam.
 
Mr Bananas
"Dat cat is a food teef"
As I believe Congolese folk would say.
My own dear mother keeps two of these beasts and what a life they lead, a day of sleeping on silken cushions, lazing by the radiator in a fur lined basket, yawning and flicking the cat vees at anybody who passes them.
Do you have any relatives who could take their place?
My mother had a burglary last year and no doubt an enraged Gorilla would have done a better job of seeing off the miscreants.
I would consider a respectable troop of Baboons.
 
dear GB - my cat Bernard Montgomery II and I would both like to wish you a happy new year and all the best for 2008!
 
Kara: It's because of all the blood that flows in and out of that big head of his.

Princess Stef: If you say so!

Mosha: You sound like an anti-monarchist!

Pi: Happy New Year to you as well.

Secret agent: You are on your way to becoming an honorary gorilla, my friend.

Sam: Thanks Sam dearest, I'm sure you'll be able to resist my charms when we meet!

Hitch: She might get more than she bargained for with a gorilla. We apes like to share body heat at night.

Mermaid: Same to you, dear Mermaid, I'd love to give Monty a cuddle.
 
Gorrila, no I'm not Australian. Don't hold it against me though! :) Heya I linked you up too. And Happy New year.
 
Thanks for coming by GB. I'm sure you had a great New Year. Here's wishing you every success for 2008. :-)
 
A happy new year to you, Mr. Bananas!

Bottoms up!
 
Happy New year Mr Bananas!! I trust you have been suitably peeled this year?
 
Happy New Year GB! - Hope 2008 is good to you :)
 
HAppy New Year Mr Bananas , I am not entirely sure what gorillas would wish for ,, but I hope you get it :-)
 
Thanks very much folks. A Happy New Year to all of you.
 
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