Wednesday, January 07, 2015
Dolly and Christina
Dolly Parton has explained why she doesn’t make New Year’s resolutions:
“It's always the same thing, I'm gonna exercise more this year, I'm gonna eat better. And that lasts for a couple of weeks and then I'm right back where I started. So I don't make 'em cos I always break 'em.”
If I meet anyone wiser than Dolly, I will prostrate myself on an African thorn bush. I wish I could buy a book of her sayings, which I would read while relaxing in my hammock and treasure like a holy scripture. Maybe I’d become the first apostle of a new religion called ‘Partonism’, wearing a small effigy of Dolly’s boobs around my neck as a mark of my piety and devotion.
When you think about it, making a promise to yourself is pretty absurd. What are you supposed to do if you break the promise? Sue yourself? The only promises I ever made were public announcements to dissuade people from ill-omened acts. When I was a circus performer, for example, I vowed never to work with humans in animal costumes. If you’re a real jungle ape, you don’t want to scuffle with people in furry suits who are taking the mickey. An impertinent clown once approached me in a lizard costume in the hope of re-enacting the King Kong v Godzilla fight - I pulled off his fake head and gave his real one a good pummelling. Everyone took my vows very seriously after that. Many daft ideas were immediately shot down by the statement “Gorilla Bananas has vowed never to do it.”
Dealing with impersonators in animal costumes can be a challenge for humans as well as gorillas. Christina Aguilera recently got into a dispute with ‘Mickey Mouse’ at a theme park in California. She allegedly abused him when he insisted on taking a tea break before being photographed with her.
“Do you know who I am?” screamed Christina, before stomping off in a huff and referring to Mickey as “an asshole” in a carefully worded statement to the press.
I don’t know what Mickey said in reply, but it seems quite probable that he took the mickey.
If you ask me, Christina lacks a little something that Julius Caesar called dignitas. There is no surer way of looking absurd than getting into a heated debate with someone in an animal costume. I’m not saying she should have pulled off Mickey’s head, which would have been physically challenging, but it should have been possible to indicate displeasure without parleying with the imposter. If Mickey had been insufferably cheeky, she could have paid some hoodlum a hundred bucks to plant a flying kick on his backside.
I hope Christina won’t get into a huff with me for offering her this constructive criticism. She’s a fine-looking woman whom I’ve written many positive things about in previous posts. But all the good looks in the world won’t save her if she doesn’t know how to deal with humans in animal costumes.
Labels: Christina Aguilera, Dignitas, Dolly Parton, Mickey Mouse, Partonism
Wednesday, August 20, 2014
Good news for Hef
Does anyone know how Hef is keeping? I’ve written a few scornful posts about him in the past, but I’m reluctant to mention him now in case he’s about to pop off. I don’t want people denouncing me as a heartless ape when the playmates are in mourning and the porn community are hailing him as a giant of the industry. Hef may currently be a ridiculous old ghoul, but I’m pretty sure he was admired as a great innovator in his day. No one can deny his many achievements, such as making it socially acceptable for lecherous men to stare at pictures of tits and ass.
The reason I’m talking about Hef is that I’ve got some good news for him. Christina Aguilera has announced that she wants to pose nude in Playboy. Having recently had her second child, she’s eager to show the world that her body is as elastic as a rubber band:
“This is something she wanted to do even before she got pregnant,” a close friend revealed. “Christina's always loved her body.”
I wonder what her fiancé thinks about her unabashed narcissism. If he kept her waiting in bed, she’d probably start without him. Personally, I don’t see why she doesn’t publish the photos on twitter. If you’re fishing for compliments, it’s better to choose a medium where your flunkies can give you instant admiration.
It’s actually a miracle that Playboy is still in business with all the free pictures of female flesh in cyberspace. There’s a blog with the strange name of Zyzzyz (adults only) that I recently became aware of. It is a journal of few words and many pictures, mostly of happy smiling ladies in various states of undress. I discovered this blog because The Japing Ape is one of several it links to. I view this as a compliment, even though the other linked blogs have a nudity or sex theme. A man can take only so much naked flesh before his brain hungers for the prose of a literate gorilla.
Returning to the subject of Hef, I’ll venture a guess that we’ll never see his like again. I’m not trying to kiss his butt here, because no one in his right mind would want to kiss that leathery old pumpkin. The point I’m trying to make is that there isn’t a young man-about-town you can point to say “He’s the new Hef”. What we have instead is fellows like Mischa Badasyan, a 26-year-old German “performance artist” who is planning to have sex with a different person on each day of the year.
“I hope my project entitled ‘Save the Date’ will challenge ideas of sexuality and homosexuality in the time of Tinder, Scruff and Grindr,” he explained.
He may call it art, but I call it a recipe for confusion, because he won’t remember most of the people he’s slept with. Tinder, Scruff and Grindr could sabotage his project by ravishing him in April and buggering him again in November.
Labels: Christina Aguilera, Hugh Heffner, nudity, Performance art
Wednesday, October 31, 2012
Skyfallen
I’m trying not to get excited about the new James Bond film. Not because I want to appear cool and blasé, but because the movie won’t be shown in the Congo until well into 2013. A prematurely excited gorilla is an undesirable phenomenon in a finely tuned ecosystem. It puts the other gorillas on edge, which can lead to bushes being abused and uprooted.
Longstanding readers of this blog will know that Danny Craig is one of my protégés. He offered to send me a pirate DVD of the movie, but I declined his generous offer:
“You mustn’t violate the copyright just to curry favour with me, Danny,” I said. “I’ll be satisfied with a lock of Naomie Harris’s pubic hair.”
I was joking, of course. A big hairy ape like me has no interest in human tufts.
Film reviewers have been counting the scenes in which Danny takes off his shirt. When a movie magazine asked him whether he minded displaying his chest like a hunk of meat, his response was phlegmatic:
“I don't care how many times I have to do it,” he said, adding: “It's going to be harder and harder the older I get.”
Sad but true. Those perfectly-toned pecs will eventually morph into man boobs, making Danny look like a transvestite on hormone therapy. I advised him to delay the inevitable by stimulating his chest muscles with electric shocks, but unfortunately he’s too squeamish. Only real secret agents can bear having electrodes attached to their bosoms.
The manager of the safari camp is always pestering me with his ideas for the Bond movies. I think he hopes I’ll pass them on to Danny. His latest brainwave is that James Bond should have a nubile sister who appears in the films:
“There ought to be a woman you can fantasize about without having to compete with 007,” he explained.
“Wouldn’t Bond get annoyed if someone shagged his sister?” I asked.
“Not unless he was a total hypocrite,” said the manager. “And besides, why would his sister give a damn about what he thought? She’d be a strong enough character to sleep with anyone she fancied and tell her brother to butt out.”
He might be on to something, but who would be suitable for the part? Obviously, she’d have to be a big name in her own right. Jessica Bond isn’t a role for an aspiring starlet, no matter how impressive her vital statistics. After gently racking my brains, I thought of Christina Aguilera, who has recently won acclaim for her ability to function without knickers:
“I don’t like wearing underwear,” she said on a chat show. “I like to be as free as possible at all times. It’s just who I am. It’s empowering. It’s pussy power!”
How fitting it would be for a fearless commando like James Bond to have a sister who fearlessly goes commando herself. Pussy power is also perfect for the part. I’d be tempted to give Christina the role without an audition and let the director worry about her acting skills.
Labels: chest exposure, Christina Aguilera, Daniel Craig, going commando, James Bond, pussy power
Friday, February 12, 2010
Britney's squirrel denial
Britney Spears has denied eating squirrel, but did anyone believe it in the first place? Having chased one of those critters up a tree, I am certain that no human is agile enough to catch one. Certainly not Britney, whose dopey face suggests slow reflexes and poor hand-eye coordination. What’s more, there isn’t nearly enough meat on a squirrel to justify the effort. When I finally grabbed the one that stole my nuts, I thought “this puny little rodent wouldn’t feed an anorexic weasel.” Not that I had any intention of eating it myself, of course – we gorillas are fastidious in abstaining from unauthorised meat products.
Now that Britney has responded to the squirrel allegation, it can only be a matter of time before she is forced into further denials. There is no end of furry mammals that an unstable young singer from a Hillbilly family may be plausibly accused of eating. Possum, raccoon, coyote, beaver? I doubt she’s tasted any of them, yet after making such a fuss about the squirrel story I can’t help wondering.
A circus clown once accused me of eating his pet gerbil. “Gorilla Bananas ate my gerbil” was the line he gave people who noticed the gerbil was missing. I knew at once that denying this absurd story would be undignified and counterproductive. “He who denied it, supplied it” was a popular saying of the time. So I responded with satire, putting up a succession of gerbil recipes on my trailer door. Here are some of those dishes:
Roast gerbil with parsnips and carrots
Southern fried gerbil with sweet potatoes and corn
Smoked gerbil with runner beans and wild mushrooms
Stir-fried gerbil in yellow bean sauce with rice noodles
Gerbil stew with broad beans and shallots
People soon got bored of hearing about gerbil main courses and started accusing the clown of being my stooge in a comedy routine. This upset him so much that he went to a psychiatrist to get over the loss of his pet. Under hypnosis, the clown revealed that he’d trodden on the gerbil by mistake and thrown its squashed carcass into a cement mixer. The memory of this event was so painful that he’d repressed it, substituting the false story involving me. I forgave him the calumny because he’d genuinely convinced himself of its truth. One must show compassion to the mentally unhinged whenever possible.
If I were Britney’s manager, I’d tell her to stop responding to the gossip sheets and take control the debate herself. No one will speculate about her appetite for bushy-tailed rodents if she gives them juicy titbits from the filly’s mouth. A confession is worth more than a hundred second-hand stories.
Christina Aguilera is one who has adopted this strategy, recently declaring that she feels irresistibly sexy in the nude and would rather see pictures of naked women than naked men. Unlike the Britney-eats-squirrel story, this is entirely credible and gives the reader useful information in relatively few words. It also diverts attention from Christina’s dietary habits, whatever they may be.
Labels: beaver, Britney Spears, Christina Aguilera, Possum, Raccoon, Squirrel
