Wednesday, May 11, 2016
Trumpy pumpy
Donald Trump! Donald Trump! He’s the only person the tourists on safari want to talk about. Scarcely a week passes before another fresh-faced actress has a nightmare about him. These starlets need to toughen up. “Better a nightmare than a wet dream” is what I say.
Although I’ve commented on Trump’s antics before, I resolved to hold my peace when he became a presidential candidate. A gorilla should remain aloof from human politics unless the politician in question is trying to imitate a gorilla. Trump looks a bit like an orang-utan, but I don’t think he’s trying to mimic one. A real orang-utan is more deadpan and laconic.
“So why are you breaking your vow now?” I hear you ask. Well, it came to pass that someone referred me to an article about Trump’s wife Melania. It’s a very long article which you shouldn’t bother reading unless you’re planning to spend time on the lavatory. You’d have to be pretty constipated too. However, it takes no time at all to observe the pictures of Mrs Trump, which indicate she’s an exceptionally attractive woman. Trump may have been a boorish oaf to say he had a prettier wife than his rival, but he certainly wasn’t lying.
Beautiful though Melania is, the article suggests she’s not the smartest cookie in the biscuit tin. Yet I would hesitate to describe her as a bimbo who married Trump for his money. Although it must have been part of the attraction, the article suggests she wanted an older man who was fatherly and (by her standards) wise. Some women need to be looked after by Daddy.
This led me to a thought about the likely aftermath of the upcoming election in November. When Trump’s Republican rivals dropped out of the race, I saw fear in his eyes. It was the fear of getting his buttocks caned by a woman. If Hillary wins (as she surely will), Trump would be a broken and humiliated man. After such a debacle, he would be in no condition to protect his wife, let alone keep her satisfied in bed.
Call me a fanciful ape, but wouldn’t this be the perfect opportunity for Hillary to steal Melania’s heart and make her the second lady in the White House? It would be a moral fable worthy of Aesop to see a mighty braggart like Trump have salt rubbed into his wounds. And no woman could feel safer than when lying beside the president, with the secret service outside the door, peeping through the keyhole.
Some might say that such a sensational development would make America a laughing stock in the world. I dare say a lot of hostile pundits in the Eurasian landmass would be sniggering and making satirical remarks. But behind their smirking faces, they would be stunned and amazed by this act of audacity. The closeted lesbians in their own communities would be thrilled and energised, eager for the taste of liberation on their own tongues. For the first time since Neil and Buzz hopped about on the lunar surface, America would be speaking for humanity.
Labels: American politics, Donald Trump, Hillary Clinton, lesbian, Trophy wife
Wednesday, October 07, 2015
Political news
A Peruvian prostitute is seeking election to the country’s legislature. Angela Villon Bustamante (for that is her name) made the following announcement on a popular TV show:
“Vote for me and I’ll make Congress a more respectable brothel.”
As a political slogan, I would say it’s the sex worker’s equivalent of Motherhood and Apple Pie. Unfortunately her official campaign video is in Spanish, so I can’t give you the details of her platform. I asked the manager of the safari camp whether he had a bilingual guest who could translate her manifesto into English – his inquisitive nature required me to fill him in on the details.
“What’s all this to you?” he asked with an insolent grin. “Are you thinking of inviting Miss Busty-man-tits to join your harem if she doesn’t get elected?”
“Your satirical remarks will not deflect me from my purpose,” I replied. “Do you have a Spanish-speaking guest or not?”
“Not at the moment,” said the manager. “But if anyone called Sancho Panza or Speedy Gonzales makes a booking, you’ll be the first to know.”
There are those who would say that candidates like Angela make a mockery of the democratic process. I would argue than human institutions need to be continually revitalised by fresh ideas. It’s incredibly boring for a gorilla to listen to politicians pontificate about the same old issues in the same old way. An experienced courtesan like Angela (she is 51 years of age) would have the ability to think outside the box and come up with new positions. And if necessary, she could think inside the box and adopt the same old positions. Prostitutes are flexible and can adapt to different situations.
Of course, Peru is a minor thicket in the political ecosphere and Angela is unlikely to make it much bushier. The big jungle is the USA, where everyone is currently mesmerised by Donald Trump and his campaign to be the next American president. It seems he got ahead of the pack by the ingenious tactic of saying the first thing that came into his head rather than applying careful forethought to his utterances. To the average voter, this made him sound “genuine” rather than an ignorant buffoon.
I knew Trump would be a force to be reckoned with when he said that a woman who had annoyed him had “blood coming out of her you-know-what”. It was astonishingly daring of him to imply he had intimate knowledge of her menstrual cycle. Presumably he did not, so it must have been an audacious bluff. He reminded me of a crazy baboon I once saw chasing a lioness and trying to bite her tail.
One can only imagine the grievous calamities his reckless behaviour might cause if he ever became president. His hair also resembles a dead furry animal, which means that other world leaders would not take him seriously and snigger behind his back. Clearly he must be stopped, but who is going to beat him now that Hilldog’s campaign is faltering?
Labels: American politics, Donald Trump, Hilldog, Peruvian politics, prostitutes
Wednesday, May 26, 2010
The new Miss USA
The manager of the safari camp is hoping that the news Miss USA will visit us.
“Just think of all the publicity we’d get,” he says. “We could film her eating a banana in the swimming pool.”
I scratch my neck pensively. To be honest, I’m not sure whether having her here will be good for our image. On the plus side, Miss Rima Fakih has a degree in economics, which will counter the erroneous belief that women who eat bananas in swimming pools are airheads. On the minus side, she is the winner of a pole dancing competition, which is not a pastime we would wish to encourage in the Congo. Behaviour of that sort distracts the men and confuses the baboons.
Another cause for concern is the cloud of controversy that engulfed this year’s Miss USA pageant. The muttering and harrumphing began when the contestants distributed revealing photos of themselves in seductive lingerie. Many fans protested that this betrayed the core values of the competition. I see their point. An event in which nubile young women wiggle their bottoms on stage should not be cheapened by the wanton flaunting of flesh. Anyone would think they were trying to influence the judges by making them horny.
I detect the sinister hairpiece of Donald Trump behind it all. He who pays the piper decides which pipe is blown. His response to the complaints was incredibly mealy-mouthed and evasive:
“I think the girls have gone maybe a little over the top this year,” he waffled.
Over the top of what? – the hedge outside his mansion? – the vaulting horse in his gymnasium? – the stuffed rhino in his bedroom? When a hard-headed entrepreneur starts using ambiguous language you can be sure that funny business is going on behind the scenes. Someone should shake Trump by the lapels until he confesses. Owning the store doesn’t entitle him to stick his hand in the candy jar whenever he wants.
Many people disapprove of beauty pageants on principle. I have a lot of sympathy for their position. What does the title of Miss USA really tell you about a woman? I’ve seen pictures of Miss Fakih and I’m damned if I can say what put her ahead of her rivals. Judging a woman as a package doesn’t make sense unless you’re going to marry her.
These competitions should be run like an athletics meeting, with specialist events for the diverse talents on display. Multiple queens could be crowned for excelling in different qualities – Miss Cutie for the prettiest face; Miss Chest for the perkiest boobs; Miss Buns for the nicest behind; Miss Hoochie for the girl most likely to sleep with Charlie Sheen. Picking out one contestant as the most beautiful is unfair to the others and too big a burden for the winner. Imagine having to act the like flower of your nation’s womanhood for a whole year, pouting for the cameras and holding in your farts. I certainly wouldn’t enjoy it.
I think I’ll send a telegram to Miss Fakih congratulating her on her coronation and advising her to behave with discretion. The title of Miss USA is regrettably a man-ho magnet, and I’d hate to think of some conceited dandy adding her to the notches on his bedpost. A woman who takes the name of her country must mercilessly shoot down intruders who enter her airspace.
Labels: Donald Trump, Miss USA, Pole-dancing, Rima Fakih
