Wednesday, September 09, 2015
Quo fartis?
Taylor Swift has denied breaking wind during a live performance on MTV, even though the sound that tooted out as she bent over on stage was suspiciously fart-like. The TV station has supported her claim that a microphone malfunction was to blame, so I suppose that settles the issue. What reason would they have to invent an alibi for a megastar who earns them millions in advertising revenue?
As a jungle-dwelling ape, I know all too well how the ears can be fooled by deceptive sound effects. I remember once laughing at a squatting baboon who seemed to be passing gas like a punctured tyre, only to realise that the noise was being made by a serpent hissing in the nearby bushes. I felt like an utter ass on realising my error, as snakes are no laughing matter in the jungle.
Whether or not Taylor broke wind, I’m disappointed that she went to the trouble of denying it. The idea that pretty girls shouldn’t fart is one of the great humbugs of human society. Not only is farting a normal bodily function, it’s essential for good health. As well as releasing excess pressure, it removes pungent gases that would do no good if left to bubble and froth inside the intestines. Miss Swift could have made it socially acceptable for young ladies to discharge their flatulence openly and politely, instead of clenching their butt cheeks until an opportunity to sneak it out slyly arises.
Now some of you are probably thinking that I’ve overlooked a crucial question on the subject of farting. What about those in the vicinity of the perpetrator who must endure the obnoxious smell? This is hardly an issue in the animal kingdom because the odours are speedily dissipated in the open air. Not even a herd of flatulent wildebeest can stink up the entire savannah in all its vastness. It’s only the human fad for living in confined spaces that has made the innocent bystander a potential victim of malodorous emissions.
I’m not suggesting that modern humans should return to outdoor living, of course. Even a macho poseur like Bear Grylls, who conned President Obama into smooching his overrated arse, would find it impossible to endure in the long run. The solution, it seems to me, is good ventilation combined with a clear warning from the emitter of the gas to those within sniffing range. Nothing is achieved by the current practice of non-disclosure and denial. It only makes the problem worse.
What can never be tolerated is deliberately using the fart as a weapon. Fans of South Park will remember an episode in which Eric Cartman repeatedly farts on some innocent Muslims to make them confess to terrorist activities. There are also shocking You Tube videos of college boys farting in the faces of their sleeping room mates. It goes without saying that such abuses must be stamped out, but how will that be possible while farting and farting etiquette remain taboo subjects?
Labels: Bear Grylls, fart noises, farting, Farts, Taylor Swift
Wednesday, February 25, 2015
Teddy Bear
The British TV adventurer, Bear Grylls, has said he would order his son to eat him if they were stranded in the jungle without food. For this statement alone, he should be banished from the rainforests of the world and forced to live on milk and cookies for the rest of his life. A self-described “survival expert” who cannot find food in the jungle is a worthless humbug. We gorillas think of our habitat as a giant salad with plenty of protein snacks available if you don’t mind putting wriggly things in your mouth.
One has to pity his son, of course. I don’t know how old he is, but the thought that he might one day have to chomp on his daddy’s carcass must be giving him nightmares. I dare say it’s also ruined his appetite. A big-headed TV personality like Grylls no doubt believes that his flesh is tasty, but its flavour is probably no better than porcupine or wart hog. If he’s really serious about the whole thing, he ought to cut a piece of meat from his rump and try it himself. Don’t ask your child to eat something you wouldn’t touch yourself.
Now cannibalism is a dark dietary practice from man’s primeval past, so far removed from the experience of modern humans that one rarely finds it discussed. My friend Harry Hutton, the roving English teacher, explored the topic in one of his early blog posts by posing the following question:
You are trapped on a desert island with the Spice Girls. Food and rum have run out. You are weak from hunger and there is no hope of rescue. Which Spice Girl would you eat first? (Scroll down to vote).
As a vegetarian gorilla I abstained from the vote on principle. My favourite Spice Girl is Ginger, and she’s certainly the one I’d prefer to nibble if someone put a gun to my head. But eating her flesh would be out of the question. The problem with polls of this sort is that they involve a moral paradox. The Spice Girl you’d most like to bite should the last one you’d actually want to devour if you’re not utterly devoid of sentiment in confronting such dilemmas.
Scenes involving cannibalism are mercifully rare in the movies. The only example I can think of is the ending of a film called The Cook, The Thief, His Wife and Her Lover. Helen Mirren’s lover has been murdered by the gangster who owns her, so she takes revenge by forcing him to eat her lover’s body, expertly cooked by a gourmet chef. As the gangster feels the vomit rising in his throat, she encourages him to sample the dish by saying:
“Try the cock – it’s a delicacy. And you know where it’s been.”
There should have been a warning before the closing credits that this remark was facetious and not based on culinary research. A man’s todger contains no muscle tissue and doesn’t even qualify as offal. You’d be a fool to try it.
Labels: Bear Grylls, cannibals, Ginger Spice, Helen Mirren, Spice Girls, todger
