Wednesday, December 09, 2015
Caught in the act
I have a huge amount of sympathy for the Cornish woman who installed a CCTV system to monitor her garden after she saw a man masturbating there.
“It was shock horror – just disgraceful!” said 38-year-old Devika Devereux. “My jaw was hanging wide open and I could not believe what I was witnessing!”
As if that wasn’t bad enough, the police then instructed her to remove the camera because it was violating the man’s privacy! I had to pinch myself to make sure I wasn’t reading the script of a Monty Python comedy sketch.
I hope Ms Devereux sues the police for adding insult to her injury by implying that she had installed the device for voyeuristic purposes. Never in my life have I heard of a woman who derives any pleasure from watching a man play with his private parts. That doesn’t mean such women don’t exist, but they are surely few in number, living on the margins of society in fear of their vice being discovered. Of course, there is no lack of men who love to watch women toying with themselves, but that’s a completely different scenario. No one in his right mind would compare horsemeat to finger-licking chicken.
The identity of the man who groped himself in the garden is yet to be discovered. The police, it seems, have better things to do than apprehend the culprit responsible for the whole imbroglio. Why he should have wished to spill his seed on Ms Devereux’s perfectly mown lawn remains a mystery. Given that the police have no interest in carrying out an investigation, I would advise Ms Devereux to check her garden gnomes for signs of physical or emotional abuse. It might also be an idea to interview any local cats that were lurking in the vicinity. Our feline friends have excellent night vision and would certainly be spooked by the sight of a strange man wrestling with his todger.
I came across a fair amount of self-abuse when I was in the circus. Most of it was done by the dwarves, who seemed to be sexually frustrated to an unusual degree. I soon learned to ignore the ferocious panting of these surly manikins, to say nothing of the evil manic laughter they emitted on arriving at the consummation of their exertions. However, on one occasion I was forced to intervene when a particularly odious dwarf was thrusting against the smooth polished exterior of my trailer. I grunted to attract his attention and threw a J-cloth and aerosol spray in his direction.
“Make sure you clean up after you’ve finished,” I barked. “I don’t want your toxic secretions corroding the surface of my dwelling.”
The dwarf scowled and gnashed his teeth, but I knew he would not dare to disobey me.
If I lived in Cornwall, I would certainly lend Ms Devereux a hand in dealing with the villainous onanist who trespassed on her property. But as I live in the Congo, I can only offer her my moral support.
Labels: CCTV, Dwarves, indecent exposure, masturbation, police
Wednesday, August 26, 2015
Short shrift
A British woman has been given a “suspended sentence” for stabbing her boyfriend in the shoulder. Apparently this means she won’t go to prison. She has also patched things up with her boyfriend, who after recovering from his injury has resumed his courtship of her. Fortune favours the furious female, as we say in the jungle.
In fairness to the woman, the stabbing was not unprovoked. During one of their arguments, her boyfriend had called her “a dwarf and a midget”. Although she is undeniably short in stature, she had a right not to be called names by one who professed to be her lover.
The picture of the couple above displays the disparity in heights. It’s remarkable that she managed to reach the man’s shoulder. She must have plunged the blade while jumping in the air, which is no mean feat for a novice in the art of batto jutsu. It would have been much easier to deliver a wound to the belly or groin, causing untold damage to the man’s vitals. Maybe this was one of the mitigating factors that persuaded the judge to treat her leniently.
Another interesting aspect of this case is that the boyfriend initially told the police he had been attacked by an unknown assailant. The truth only came out after the couple had a brief separation. Did he reverse his decision to shield her from justice after getting dumped? If so, he is a man of weak character. You can’t go back on a decision to forgive a woman just because she won’t sleep with you. That’s behaving like a whiny little bitch.
Now it goes without saying that a petite woman is nothing like a dwarf. I speak as one who worked with dwarves during his circus career. Dwarves are bow-legged creatures with big heads who are sexually attractive to fetishists and masochists. Petite women are generally well-regarded and admired by the wider community. Some might say Miley Cyrus is an exception to the rule, but I wouldn’t agree with them. Look at the number of fans she has.
My favourite petite woman is Charlene Tilton, who played Lucy Ewing in Dallas. I remember some insufferable TV critic calling Lucy “the poisoned dwarf”, a nickname which sadly caught on among the boorish and the insolent. In my estimation she was the best character in the show, courageously fending off the sarcastic barbs of JR and the others while single-mindedly pursuing her own passions amid all the scheming and skulduggery.
It’s also worth pointing out that Charlene is no waif. Unlike Miley Cyrus, she has a remarkably full figure. On balance, I would say that it’s better for a petite woman to have an ample bosom. Otherwise, she might look too boyish and attract the wrong sort of man. Could this also explain why Charlene never had a bi-curious phase in her life? Maybe I’m wrong about this, but women who experiment with same-sex dalliances never seem to have big boobs.
Labels: Charlene Tilton, dwarf, Dwarves, lesbian, Miley Cyrus
Wednesday, September 03, 2014
Ice bucket challenge
I’ve noticed that a lot of humans have been dousing themselves with buckets of ice-cold water. One mustn’t mock them because they’re doing it in a good cause, but I don’t see the point of the exercise, unless the good cause is finding work for unemployed towels. When I decide to support a worthy charity, I reach into my jungle sporran for a gold coin and toss it in the direction of the authorised collector. Buckets of cold water, if any be loitering in attendance, are emptied into the Congo River to cool off the crocodiles.
To my human friends who would like to accept the challenge but are fearful of screaming like a sissy, I offer the following advice: it won’t feel so bad if you prepare yourself for the ordeal by roasting yourself on a spit for two minutes. The manager of the safari camp was not moved to action when I made this suggestion, but his wife’s eyes lit up in apparent enthusiasm:
“I like to have a cold shower after my weekly Zumba session,” she said. “You could easily climb above the cubicle and throw a bucket of cold water over me. It’s okay for a gorilla to see me naked because it’s like being examined by a doctor. But wait for me to shampoo my hair first.”
I scratched my armpits in contemplation before making the following reply:
“Madam, I am flattered by your confidence in my tossing ability and gratified by your faith in my clinical objectivity. However, what you propose is work for a chimpanzee rather than a gorilla. If you wish, I will dispatch a competent bucketeer to your cubicle at an agreed time. He may not be as poker-faced as me, but I will instruct him to refrain from hooting or whistling.”
She told me she would like to meet the chimp first, so I agreed to arrange an interview.
Now, an actress called Olivia Wilde has performed the feat with a liquid other than water. In a video clip posted on YouTube, she spoke these words to the camera before soaking herself:
“I hope it's okay, I couldn't find any water, so I'm going to use breast milk. It took me all night to make this.”
The contents of the bucket did look like milk, but I’ll change my name to Latte Macchiato if it came from her udders. I suspect her improbable boast was an attempt to talk up the value of her boobs. An up-and-coming actress is always looking for ways to increase her bargaining power with the movie moguls. Yet I’m far from convinced that the milk-producing capacity of her jahoobies indicates how appetising they would look on film.
It’s possible, of course, that Miss Wilde was simply making a joke. If so, it was much less funny than the shrieks she emitted after drenching herself, which made her sound like a dowager having her knickers pulled down by a dwarf. What definitely wasn’t funny was all that milk going to waste. When I think of all the hungry baby dwarves, it makes me want to weep.
Labels: breast milk, dwarf, Dwarves, ice cold water, jahoobies, screaming like a sissy
Friday, August 17, 2012
Dwarf complaint
I got an email accusing me of being prejudiced against dwarves:
Mr Bananas
I have searched your blog for posts mentioning dwarves and found more than 10 of them. In these posts, you have stated or implied that dwarves are nasty, lecherous, perverted, jealous and bow-legged. Shame on you for having such bigoted views! How would you like if I said all gorillas were chest-thumping brutes? In future, please think before you express such offensive opinions!
Mulch Diggums
It’s a very uncomfortable feeling when someone searches the entire output of your blog for evidence that you’ve maligned a disadvantaged group. My regular readers will know that I rarely mention dwarves in any context. When I do bring them up, it’s usually in an anecdote concerning the delightful little gnomes I knew in my circus days. Admittedly they were prone to sulks and tantrums, but this is true of all temperamental performers. When a female acrobat called them “despicable midgets”, I told her to moderate her language. One must never antagonise a dwarf without good reason.
Anyway, I informed Mr Diggums that I had worked with dwarves in the circus and had treated them as respectfully as circumstances allowed (bearing in mind that I had to toss them when we were rehearsing and performing). Outside of the ring, they had no better friend than Gorilla Bananas. The dwarfish community remains dear to my heart, and I would fart in the face of anyone who pursued a vendetta against them.
This misunderstanding about dwarves brings up the question of how sensitive one should be when discussing minorities. To my way of thinking, all humans belong to a minority group of one kind or another. Consider men with big noses. They are often mocked by other humans and sometimes resort to cosmetic surgery. Are they unfairly stigmatised?
The question is not a simple one, because some men are actually proud of their prodigious conkers. My old friend Smacker Ramrod says his long nose was an invaluable tool in sexual foreplay. He claims that women loved it when he nuzzled them in their tender parts. I took his word for it, although I couldn’t quite see why a squidgy facial appendage would work better than a finger.
When I asked the manager of the safari camp whether having a big nose was a handicap, his answer was unequivocal:
“Of course it’s a disadvantage!” he declared. “Look at Barry Manilow. He must be the only millionaire pop star that no woman under the age of 47 ever wanted to sleep with. Compare him with Mick Hucknall. That ginger-haired brute slept with thousands of groupies during the peak of his fame. Swap their noses and it would have been a different story.”
I should mention that Hucknall, rubicund satyr though he may be, has since apologised to the girls he callously used to feed his carnal appetite. But would he have been able to seduce them in the first place if his nose had been like Barry Manilow’s?
Labels: Barry Manilow, big noses, dwarf, Dwarves, Mick Hucknall
Wednesday, October 05, 2011
Witches and Dwarves
I’m glad to hear that the British police are confiscating wands and broomsticks that visitors are trying to smuggle into the Houses of Parliament. There’s no telling what the honourable members might do after being hexed by a politically active witch. They already behave like utter buffoons in the debating chamber, venting amid a chorus of farmyard noises. If a witch managed to put a pagan spell on them, the midget who sits in the Speaker’s chair might not be safe. Uglier creatures than he have been molested by the goatish mob.
Most of the witches I knew in my circus days were wholly apolitical, which I thought was a very good thing. Politics is a dirty game which would befoul and corrupt the spiritual values of the Spooky Sisterhood. The witches I met were convinced I had supernatural powers, and invited me to their outdoor naked dancing events (as an observer).
“My dear witchy ladies,” I said to them. “Before I accept your gracious invitation, I must disabuse you of the notion that I am a hairy wizard. I regret to say that I have no magical benediction to bestow upon your sacred coven.”
“Come along anyway,” they replied. “You can scare off the peeping toms.”
This was a service I was more than happy to provide. The naked witch is a sublime metaphysical entity that should never be ogled by perverts and degenerates. Her succulent flesh is a sacrament for the forest demigods, not an aid to self-abuse.
My relationship with the circus dwarves was much less cosy. People thought they disliked me for tossing them in my act, but most of them thoroughly enjoyed sailing through the air with their little limbs akimbo. In truth, they resented me for being the star of the show. Dwarves are jealous by nature and would rather forgo the pleasures of unaided flight than see a rival win acclaim.
A recent episode of dwarfish rascality has occurred in Argentina, where the farmers of Catamarca are blaming a marauding leprechaun for ruining their harvests.
“It was short like a dwarf and I’ve seen it and spoken to it,” said Cosimus Behana. “I wasn’t drunk or drugged – we are really cursed.”
This craven peasant needs a kick in the seat of his pants. A farmer who fatalistically allows a dwarf to commit mischiefs on his land is a disgrace to his profession. One has to wonder what he said to the creature when he spoke to it. It wouldn’t surprise me if he offered to trim its beard and polish its hobnailed boots.
If this bothersome imp is really causing their crops to fail, the farmers could easily make him desist with a bit of old-fashioned bribery. In my experience, a dwarf will suspend any vendetta he is pursuing if you offer him beer and prostitutes. With any luck, the hookers will take him away when he’s drunk and sell him on the open market as a brothel mascot. I’ve yet to meet the dwarf who could outfox a call girl.
Labels: Dwarves, Houses of Parliament, leprechaun, prostitutes, witches
