Wednesday, February 18, 2009

Ancient memories

A tourist tells me about his past life as a medieval knight called Sir Roger de Pomfrey. He claims he fought both Moors and Turks before returning to England to have a passionate affair with the future queen. I smile indulgently at the fellow’s prattle. Humouring people with crackpot delusions is a pastime I have always enjoyed.

“Your lady’s heart must have been torn in two when the king proposed to her,” I suggest.

“Too right!” he affirms. “She came to me with tears in her eyes and said: ‘Oh Roger, I shall imagine thy burning eyes and feel thy bulging flesh, even as the king doth porketh me senseless on the royal four poster!’”

“Well that’s political marriages for you,” I remark. “I bet Hillary was thinking of Walter Mondale when Bill swept her off her feet. May I ask how you had the good fortune to recover these golden memories?”

“It all came out under hypnosis,” he explains. “I met a chap who does past life regression for a very reasonable fee.”

“Ah, but of course!” I say. “How else would one dig up the mind’s buried treasure?”

Apparently quite a few humans can remember a past life. Why is it, I wonder, that those who lived in medieval England were always members of the nobility rather than Eric the Serf or Fanny the Fishwife? As 90% of the population of that era were peasants, one assumes the lower orders were doomed to be reborn as hedgehogs or snails. I myself have no recollection of my past lives, perhaps because no one has succeeded in hypnotising me. We gorillas are not susceptible to mental jiggery pokery – our jungle instincts make us too sceptical of the spoken word.

I witnessed the peculiar power of hypnotic suggestion in the circus. It all began when one of our female acrobats approached the cage of a rather magnificent snake, which was asleep at the time. Much to my surprise, I saw her write a little message and slip it beside the slumbering serpent.

I decided to retrieve the note to find out what the dickens she had written. Technically a violation of her privacy, I know, but justifiable in this unusual situation. I mean it wasn’t as if the snake was going to read it himself. So I gently fished it out of the cage with a long stick and was shocked to discover it was a love note. I don’t want to go into details, but the entreaty “O squeeze me in your coils, you enormous python!” gives you a flavour of the contents.

I happened to know that this woman was receiving hypnotherapy from my friend Smacker Ramrod, the circus vet, so I immediately went to see him to find out what he was up to.

“It’s nothing much really,” he said. “I just tell her good things about snakes when she’s under – that they’re beautiful, intelligent, sensitive and so forth. She wants me to cure her phobia.”

“Smacker, you bumbling quackhead!” I exclaimed. “You’ve made her fall in love with the giant python! She’ll jump down the ruddy thing’s throat if you don’t deprogram her!”

So he contacted the woman to arrange a quick remedial session, and reduced her serpentine appreciation to a platonic level by saying things like “Snakes make terrible boyfriends and are very selfish in bed” (which may be true for all I know). It seemed to have the desired effect anyway.

This anecdote illustrates the nonsense that hypnosis can plant in the human brain. In spite of being a firm believer in reincarnation (like most gorillas), I don’t for one minute believe that anyone can remember a past life. The beauty of being reborn is that the slate is wiped clean, so you don’t have to reflect on all the embarrassing things that happened to you last time. That would distract you from all the sordid events in your current life, which will once again be forgotten when you die. It’s part of the cycle of existence.

Labels: , ,


I was a gin swilling prostitute, and I'm not afraid to admit it.
I may have been a prostitute, but gin? NEVER!

I am Eric the Serf in this life.
I'd like to be porkethed senselessly - it doesn't have to be by a King either
I can barely make it through this life, without wanting to have had another. Of course, I was to come back as a alpha female gorilla, well, that would be different.
Well, I used to look after Gorillas in a circus... I was the chief banana peeler...
Hoodchick: How much did you charge?

Pearl: I've heard whiskey-drinkers say that gin is an effeminate drink, but is it true? I can't remember tasting either beverage.

Kevin: Bad luck! I hope you'll be Sir Roger de Pomfrey in your next life...or possibly Fanny the Fishwife.

Nursemyra: Porking you senselessly would be a gift from the gods, Nursie.

Madame Defarge: It's a pity you're not a female gorilla in this life, Madame D. We would have made much whoopee together.

Scarlet: I've never doubted you were good with your hands, Miss Scarlet. I would have made you chief nut-sheller as well.
Wise words GB, and compassionate too. Alcohol was invented to allow many of us to start each day, or afternoon to be precise, with the slate wiped clean. If only the same could be said for one's trousers.
You don't know what you're missing Mr B. A little mental jiggery-pokery never did anyone any harm. x
Another entry that has made me giggle out loud. Bravo.

"No one has succeeded in hypnotising me. We gorillas are not susceptible to mental jiggery pokery – our jungle instincts make us too sceptical of the spoken word."

Sadly, I make more money out of wagering that I can stick people's hands to tables in the pub and guessing what card they picked than I do out of my 'illustrating'. If you'd like to try and see if you can be hypnotised, I've managed it with apes with less of a mind than you down the local.

Oooh, misandry.

Failing that, some women have an innate ability to hypnotise without the spoken word, I'm sure that the female gorillas do too, maybe you just haven't noticed it yet.
I was Fanny the Fishwife, bellowing out coarse language without having to wait until the husband got home - brilliant!
I know what you mean about wiping the slate clean, but I'm pretty sure I was Cleopatra in my previous life. I can vividly recall my late night meet-ups with Julius Caesar...
Topiary remembers all her past porketh-ing from the Lord of the Manor.

Just a pedestrian existence as an untidy, untrimmed hedge.

Mr Boyo: Maybe that's why the Romans thought trousers were barbarous. I wonder if the bare-legged legionnaire look might catch on in Wales?

Kitty: You're welcome to try it on me, Kitty, I trust you not to make me quack like a duck.

Rachel: You could be right, Rach, I've often found myself behaving strangely after chatting with my females. Maybe I should let you try your powers on me to find out for sure.

Lulu: That's sounds like more of a fantasy, Lulu. I can't imagine you as a fishwife!

Polly: You recall Caesar rather than Antony, Polly? I see you have a preference for the older man.

Topiary Cow: It sounds rather static, Ms Cow, but I'm sure you saw a few interesting things.
There are parts of Anglesey where trousers are optional. Apparently.
It is rare that any good comes from stealing a pythons love notes - my old mum used to tell me that! or something similar...
I was Alexander the Great

's Chief Eunuch!
Five pence for the straight stuff. Ten for anything kinky.
I just know that ın my past lıves I was the equıvalent of a claıms ınspector or a fıle clerk. And no doubt about it, I did more than one stint as a fish wife.
"Why is it.. that those who lived in medieval England were always members of the nobility rather than Eric the Serf or Fanny the Fishwife?" Exactly! I once somebody who believed in this sort of thing what she'd been in a previous life. "A maid", she said. Ah, I relaxed, and thought to myself "at last some social realism". "Yes, to Queen Marie Antoinette". Grrr.
Kevin: I blame the druids.

Mutley: I returned it to him after I read it. I suppose my action denied him a meal.

Jules: Hehe! Your comment combines bathos and pathos.

Hoodchick: That's very reasonable. I would have put your number in all the tourist guides.

Mary: Two honourable professions and one enjoyable hobby.

Gadjo: You might have asked her whether she considered her current life to be a demotion.
I am not one to ponder the mysteries of re encarnation Mr B , what good would it do me to find out I was Hitlers Aunty in a previous existence , altho thinking about it , that would probably explain a lot about the current go round
I was the Nun who wrote all those helpful homilies.
Thanks for the new word 'Porketh'.
Rather a tabula rasa than a session with Paul McKenna, GB. Look into the eyes ...
I was a can can dancer at the Moulin Rouge. And that was only last week.
Say six sessions, at £60 per. That's £360 for a life where you were in love with a queen - what a deal!
Beast: You're better off not knowing such things, Beast. You might dress like Hitler's aunty, which would lead you into bad company.

Pi: Is "porketh" a new word? I thought it was old English.

Kate: Quite right, Kate, these characters put ideas into your head rather than uncovering anything real.

Lady Daphne: It wouldn't surprise me if you were a dancer in all your past lives, milady. Some tendencies are too strong to suppress.

Inkspot: That might be a fair price if the queen were not Elton John. But how humiliating to require false memories to get off!
Sometimes, when I'm really angry, I get these confusing images of pillaging, smoke, cattle, and York Minster in the background.
What's that all about, then ?
Oh, wait, I remember now, I was an English cow in a past life.
Bloody Scots.
It is so tempting to pass oneself off as one of these 'regression therapists' .... as they have learnt, to get bums on seats you have to pretend your average schlob was Lady or Lord something or other. If you tell them they were the royal bedpan emptier you get angry punters and people asking for their money back.
GB Darling...I'll be having porketh senseless for dinner...

Cheeky Kisses~
Gosh, I can hardly remember what I did on that party Tuesday night, let alone in a past life!

(Perhaps I should see that therapist too, before the pictures reach facebook?)
I used to be a large overweight battery hen in a previous life. These days.. I'm just a large cock.

But that's just between us.. reet?
In my previous life, I was probably a cat. I love to sleep, eat, sit on people's lap and rub up against them.

Che: You mean the Scots didn't turn you into beef steaks? They've always loved animals more than the English.

Emma: Have you been hypnotised, Emma? I'm always amazed how easily some people go under... and then keep a straight face when the hypnotist tells them to go back in time.

Mrs Cheeks: Thanks for letting me know, Mrs Cheeks! Hope it's tasty!

Deborah: Really Deb? Maybe you should take a chaperone with you next time.

Jimmy: Your secret is safe with me. What did it feel like to lay an egg?

Ms Smack: And I'm sure you love it when people stroke you. I would quite like to hear you purr, Ms Smack.
Ruf hypnotised me recently to help me deal with stress. I suppose I should be grateful that Im only barking whenever I hear the words BOGOF at Tesco. Or maybe Im doing more but I just dont remember... *looks worried*

With my terror whenever someone touches my neck, Im quite sure I once met a nasty end. Hopefully something romantic like an aristocratic victim of Madame Guillotine in the Revolution rather than a strangled whore in Whitechapel.
Ooh nicely said Mr Bananas. There really is no point in knowing what you were in your past life!

p/s : Where do you get all these funny, erotic pictures from??? Do you get the gals at the Camp to pose for you? May i be one of your models? :)
Mrs Cake: Good to know you're a thrifty shopper, Mrs Cake. I think your neck phobia is quite normal, there's no need for anyone to touch you there without your permission.

Sabrina: I'm glad you appreciate the pictures, Saby, my teams of chimps work hard to bring me suitable ones. You may certainly be a model if you don't mind your butt being photographed from fifty different angles.
Post a Comment

<< Home

This page is powered by Blogger. Isn't yours?

Follow my blog with Bloglovin Follow my blog with Bloglovin