Friday, September 17, 2010

Spanish church brawl

Disturbing news of a punch-up in a church in Spain, which began when a member of the congregation spat out a wafer the priest had put in his mouth. No one likes to see their cooking insulted in that way, so Father Victor Jimeno might be forgiven for departing from Christian norms and giving the ungrateful wretch a slap on his insolent face. Mayhem then ensued, with blows being exchanged in pews and arses being kicked on the altar. 

In spite of following the strict dietary laws of my race, I have never had occasion to spit out food given to me by humans. If you don’t like what’s on the menu don’t order it – or, if possible, get the menu changed. 

A few years ago I paid a surprise visit to my friend Ernesto Bongodrum, who owns a farm in Kenya. The Bongodrums have been in my debt ever since I rescued their virgin daughter from the clutches of a predatory movie producer and found her a position in a respectable circus. Yes, there are respectable circuses if you know where to find them, and she didn’t surrender her virtue until she was a fully-trained acrobat, which is as much as any parents could hope for their daughter. 

Ernesto was appropriately overcome with joy when he saw me hiking through the fields to the salutations of his smiling farmhands. 

“Gorilla Bananas, our dear friend and benefactor!” he exclaimed. “Tonight we shall have a feast in your honour! I shall tell Dolores to light the oven while I slaughter the fatted calf!” 

Touched as I was by this effusion of honest veneration, I could not allow him to butcher a calf on my behalf, which would have violated the sacred edicts of Old Melonhead the Wise. So I tactfully proposed an alternative: 

“Ernesto, my dear fellow, your hospitality would put the Raja of Mehmoodabad to shame. Rather than slaughtering the fatted calf, please indulge my fancy by milking the fatted cow instead. I have a bunch of overripe bananas in my knapsack and presently crave to toast our friendship with a sweet and frothy milkshake.” 

Ernesto did as I bade, giving the udders of his favourite ungulate a good pumping while I sat in the lounge, entertaining Dolores with bawdy anecdotes from my circus days. 

I wish I could say that all great apes were as careful about their diet as we gorillas. I was shocked to hear news of a captive orang-utan called Oshine, who was fed junk food by irresponsible humans until she ballooned into a hairy version of Jabba the Hut. 

There’s not much future for a fat female orang-utan. Unlike the human species, there are no kinky males with a blubber fetish. I don’t envy her new owners in Dorset, who hope to restore her to a normal weight by putting her on a diet. A spoiled orang-utan used to eating sweets and desserts isn’t going to look kindly upon humans who present her with plates of carrots and broccoli. Vegetables will fly through the air before this portly princess is in serviceable condition. 

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Hey that is my next door neighbour. Ha.
Oh, that poor portly princess. Perhaps she should be fed wafers.
Im sure I recognise that belly from some of the summer episodes of Match of the Day...
Unsure why the parishioner spat out the Body of Christ... unless perhaps he was expecting it was going to taste like chicken.
I love this story! A brawl at a church! That was funny...Poor Oshine though...Humans are so cruel!
I really hope the fat lady recovers her ideal shape. Its not easy to be on a diet.

PS.- Being a catholic in Spain has a certain degree of danger, as you can see. A priest may kick your ass or worse than this, you may have to pay for Mr Ratzinger's trips.
I wish you'd give my udders a good pumping GB
Your photo is proof positive that salads do not make you slim. I knew it! I knew it! I'm going to redouble my slimming efforts by a visit to Macdonalds.
Ms Wannabe: The hulk or the orang-utan? Either would be good for deterring burglars, but you'd have to order extra food if they came round for dinner.

Robyn: Yes indeed, Robyn. As well being good for your soul, the Body of Christ is a great diet supplement.

Joanna: Does she remind you of a player or a pundit? I would have put her on the coaching bench for the Italian team.

Robert: I suppose he might have been a vegetarian, but that's still no excuse. He should have kept his mouth shut or asked for a meat-free option.

Christiejolu: Hello, Christeijolu! I wouldn't put all the blame on the humans. No one forced Oshine to scoff down all the junk food they gave her.

Leni: I wonder if any Spanish priests are retired bullfighters. A new career where they can wear costumes, show off and kick ass must be very appealing.

Nursemya: I should be so lucky, Nursie.

Mrs Table: Don't be silly, Mrs Table, one plate of salad won't get her into shape! You can get away with it, being a woman. You don't have to climb trees for one thing.
I'm guessing the spitting communicant received a wasabi cracker, rather than a sacred host. This was a common practical joke in the parish where I was raised.
This is exactly what I try to tell M. DeFarge as he stuffs my face with ice-cream. I shall show his this photo as a dire warning of the future.
PS LOL. Plus, the nails add fiber, which she clearly needs.
xo Robyn
Oh come now, I bet there are plenty of males of the human variety who would substitute a chubby lady for a chubby orangutan. I'm not judging, I'm just sayin'...
sounds like father victor jimeno learned a few things from father jack hackett.
So many dilemmas for the modern cleric. It was simpler in the 70s:
Kyknoord: Do they taste very different then? I'd like to see the recipes before deciding whether your theory is plausible.

Madame Defarge: Are you sure he wouldn't prefer you a little plumper, Madame D? Men have all kinds of fetishes unknown to the apes.

Robyn: Do you think she's constipated, Robyn? She does look a bit tense, but that could the result of being photographed.

Sandra: I never realised the fetishes of the human male went that far.

Billy Pilgrim: Hello and Welcome, Mr Pilgrim! I see you're a fan of the sitcom! Perhaps Father Jimeno belongs to an older tradition which began during the reconquista.

Mr Boyo: You really couldn't be certain it was a spoof back in the 1970s. It makes me wonder if there is a Vatican-approved brand.
I grew up in a Catholic Church, so my Sundays were usually accented by a bland, tasteless wafer more paperlike than breadlike, and warm red wine.

Once, I went to a Protestant church, and I was pleasantly surprised to see that their Jesus flesh was pita bread. When I got to the blood part, I was delighted to see they had both red and white wine. However, upon sampling the yellow fluid, it turned out to be apple juice.

As I neared adulthood, I learned to just have steak and beer and sleep in on Sunday.
Now I have seen it all...
Judging by all the depraved word searches on the internets..there are probably some uses human males would like to try with fat female orangutans.
Chris V: So your spiritual and gastronomic development went hand-in-hand. I'm sure it's the same for most holy men.

JTILIS: I am surprised that anything could surprise you, Miss.

Static: You're probably right, but they don't know what they're letting themselves in for.
John Paul II was a smoker, and his preferred brand was kept secret to prevent a rush of Papists seeking to pass Purgatory by lighting up.

I like to think the old Pole smoked Caro or Carmen, two noxious brands from the Communist era. Or maybe both.
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