Wednesday, April 24, 2013
End of the bra?
A French scientist is claiming that bras are useless:
"Medically, physiologically, anatomically, the breast does not benefit from being deprived of gravity,” declared Professor Jean-Denis Rouillon. “Instead, it languishes with a bra.”
So he says, but can a Frenchman be trusted on this delicate question? Devising compelling arguments for a woman to take off her bra is a celebrated diversion of French intellectual life. I believe Jean-Paul Satre devoted a chapter to it in his PhD thesis.
The Americans, by contrast, remain as resolutely pro-bra as ever:
“The first lady will not be changing her pectoral apparel in light of this development,” said a White House spokesman.
As a gorilla whose own experience on this subject is lacking, I have little data with which to assess these competing claims. On the one hand, the tribal women of Africa have never worn bras. On the other hand, many of these women have exceptionally droopy titties. Yet wearing bras may have made them even droopier.
If I were to study humans in the same way that Dian Fossey studied gorillas, I would go around the world with an inch tape asking women to let me take their measurements. I have no plans to do so, because subjecting women’s breasts to meticulous scrutiny would be undignified for a gorilla. Such tasks should be left to men, whose reputation on this issue is already in tatters.
One band of intrepid women who should welcome Professor Rouillon’s findings is FEMEN, the Ukrainian feminist group that specialises in bare-bosomed protests. Their latest exploit was to ambush President Putin at the Hanover Trade Fair while Frau Merkel was showing him the latest German equipment. Alexandra Shevchenko is the name of the FEMEN activist who managed to invade Mr Putin’s personal space and scream the slogan “Fuck dictator!” at him (which was inscribed on her breasts for good measure). Putin responded to this affront by puffing out his own chest and raising his eyebrows in an ironic grimace.
“It was a very intimate moment,” said Miss Shevchenko afterwards.
Undoubtedly this protest would have been less effective had Alexandra been wearing a bra, but that doesn’t mean it was particularly effective without one. President Putin seemed too intrigued by the messenger to notice the message, and no doubt laughed the whole thing off as a futile attempt to arouse him sexually. You can’t humiliate an ex-KGB man by showing him your jahoobies. Such displays are dismissed as decadent frippery in the official spy manual.
Sadly, the one dictator who might be cowed by naked breast-power is unlikely ever to face that ordeal. I refer to Kim Jong Un, whose baby cheeks would surely burn with shame if they were smothered between a pair of voluptuous boobies. This explains why the only females allowed in his presence are pubescent pom-pom girls and flat-chested army secretaries. I wonder if anyone could persuade Pamela Anderson to parachute behind enemy lines, so she could tit-slap some sense into the abominable little upstart?
Labels: Bras, Breasts, FEMEN, Frenchmen, Kim Jong Un, Pamela Anderson, Putin
Wednesday, April 17, 2013
Triple Jump
Russell Brand, the chirpy English comedian, has asked the Kardashian sisters to join him in a “threesome”. As there are three sisters, he must have meant a foursome. No matter. Errors in arithmetic are easy to make when the brain is befuddled with thoughts of debauchery. I once saw a baboon lose count of his kola nuts after a female flashed her red rump at him.
Brand was not put off by the fact that one of the Kardashians is with child and another is lactating. He admitted fantasizing about “limitless, foaming rivers of milk and orgasm”. Khloe Kardashian was quick to respond to this seductive cocktail of creamy juices:
“I heard that pregnant pussy is the best pussy,” she remarked.
I don’t know whether that’s true, but it looks like Russell is pushing at an open door.
As a gorilla, I am very wary of the idea of mating with more than one female at a time. Such disorderly tussles can lead to bickering and accidents if the roles are not clearly defined. It ruins the mood if two females clash heads when attempting the same manoeuvre. I would advise Brand and the K-sisters to hire a choreographer before attempting to enact their pageant of depravity. It’s better to invest in solid production values than put on a show that flops.
Is it my imagination, or have an unusually large number of actresses got knocked up recently? The latest was Halle Berry, who said that having a child at the age of 46 was the biggest surprise of her life:
“I thought I was past the point where this could be a reality for me,” she explained.
She obviously isn’t aware that menopausal ovaries hold a few eggs in reserve which can pop out at short notice when man-seed gets squirted upstream. Mother Nature is a sly old bird who can trick humans into reproducing just when they think it’s safe to go bareback. Mind you, I could probably have told her she was still fertile by giving her crotch a good sniff after her Kegel exercises. We jungle creatures have a good nose for reproductive hormones.
Now I don’t care what hanky panky humans get up to as long as they follow the golden rule: keep it in your own species. I was sorry to hear of another horrible case of bestiality in China, where a man was rushed to hospital after having butt sex with an eel. The eel was definitely not consenting, even though it took the active role. After getting trapped inside the man’s gut, it had to be extracted by surgeons. A member of the medical team described its tragic fate:
“It was still alive when we got it out but it died soon afterwards, which was probably a mercy.”
I wonder if this sort of thing is now happening in China because of the years of sexual repression they suffered in the days when everyone wore a Mao suit. The sooner they get it out of their system the better.
Labels: arithmetic, bestiality, Kardashians, pregnancy, Russell Brand
Wednesday, April 10, 2013
Pet care
Did Justin Bieber abandon his monkey? Everyone seems to think so, but the facts look inconclusive to me. The monkey was taken away from him when he arrived in Germany because its papers weren’t in order. You could argue that Bieber should have put his foot down and threatened to leave the country, but the German authorities are responsible for instigating the estrangement. You can’t blame Bieber for not accompanying his monkey to its quarantine cell and living off nuts and berries. A growing boy needs milk and cookies to keep his chest fluff growing.
It was foolish of the Germans to act so high and mighty. They’re unpopular enough in Europe for squeezing the assets of the Greeks and Cypriots. At the very least, they should have found a good foster home for the monkey instead putting it in a cage. I would have given the creature to Lilo Wanders, the celebrity transsexual, whose lavish home is equipped with the latest restraining devices for monkeys and other stray beasts. I doubt such measures would have been necessary, though. The most agitated monkey would be soothed by resting its head on Miss Wanders' hormonally enhanced bosom.
One has to wonder whether things will ever be the same between Bieber and his simian pet. The monkey has no knowledge of German quarantine laws and probably thinks it was sent to boarding school. It may well be happy to return to Bieber, but it’s bound to feel resentment when it reflects on its ordeal. How will it avoid comparing Bieber with Michael Jackson, who treated Bubbles the chimp as an inseparable companion and bedmate until death did them part? Such reflections might incite it to take revenge by secretly scouring its anus with Bieber’s toothbrush. Monkeys have a gift for sly and sneaky sabotage.
In truth, it’s rarely a good idea for a human to have a pet monkey. The species are too similar to avoid unrealistic expectations. Even a confirmed pet lover like Paris Hilton couldn’t make it work. As she explained to her fans:
“My monkey was really cute but used to screech and go crazy whenever he saw me naked. I think he wanted to touch my boobs or something but was too confused to ask. I had to lock him in the closet whenever I wanted to watch TV in the nude. So I put him up for adoption and found him a new home in a zoo.”
The ironic thing is that Justin himself would make a much-loved pet – he seems to inspire the same feelings as a rabbit or a faun. Teenage girls can be very sentimental about shy delicate creatures that like to be stroked. Perhaps Paris Hilton should adopt him as her human pet and teach him how to handle all the negative publicity he’s been getting. One assumes Bieber is man enough to see her naked without freaking out like a monkey. He can always close his eyes if he gets too flustered.
Labels: Justin Bieber, Lilo Wanders, Michael Jackson, monkeys, Paris Hilton, pets
Wednesday, April 03, 2013
Sleep deprivation
Poor Ginger Spice is suffering from insomnia. She tweeted this news to her army of fans, who promptly tried to bore her to sleep with their inane suggestions. I refrained from tweeting anything myself. If Ginger wants my advice, I’ll be more than happy to give it to her, but she’ll have to ask me first. I’m not adding my pearls to the chorus of ill-informed chirping.
Her sister-in-song, Scary Spice, recommended having sex as a cure for insomnia. That’s easy for her to say. I believe she has a herd of brawny-arsed stallions at her disposal, who can tire out the friskiest filly. I hope Ginger isn’t tempted to borrow one of those studs. It is better for a lady to make love to her rabbit than use a man as a sedative agent.
Ginger blames her insomnia on her hyperactive brain, which won’t stop thinking about one thing or another. It’s a problem that chimpanzees would solve by dropping a coconut on her head. We gorillas prefer more gentle remedies. If Ginger were currently residing with my tribe, I would gently swing her to sleep in my hammock, while humming the snake’s song from The Jungle Book. Not many women can keep their eyelids up while being rhythmically rocked by a crooning gorilla.
I wonder what Ginger can’t stop thinking about. She doesn’t seem like the type who is kept awake by cryptic crossword puzzles or ancient Sankrit texts. Maybe she’s brooding on the news that Victoria Spice has given up singing for good, which means that the Spice Girls will never perform together again.
It’s sad when illustrious careers come to an end, but such is life. I had similar feelings of regret when I took off my circus pantaloons for the last time. The important thing is to enjoy your leisure activities and keep looking forward to the next challenge. I returned to Africa to carve out a domain in the jungle. Maybe Ginger should return to Watford to carve out a domain near the M25.
Two ladies who must be looking forward to their retirement are the 70-year-old Dutch twins who recently stopped working as call girls. One of them admitted that her only client was an elderly gentleman who kept turning up for his weekly S&M sessions:
"I couldn’t give him up,” she explained. “He’s been coming to me for so long it’s like going to church on a Sunday.”
Having serviced over 350,000 men during their 50-year careers, they have saved enough money for a comfortable retirement. I hope they’ll treat themselves to a buff young gigolo from time to time, just to keep in touch with their former profession and offer constructive advice.
“Not too bad, young man, but you must show more initiative when I assume the doggy position instead of waiting for instructions,” they might say.
Don’t you love it when senior citizens pass on their wisdom to the younger generation? It’s what separates us apes from the four-legged mammals.
Labels: Ginger Spice, insomnia, retiring call girls, Scary Spice, Victoria Spice
