Wednesday, June 03, 2015
New marriage, old divorce
I got an email from a blog lurker asking me why I hadn’t congratulated Ginger Spice on her wedding, which occurred last month. Having previously anointed Ginger as the Spice Girl I’d most like to eat, this was indeed a regrettable oversight. I apologise profusely to Ginger for my lapse, and wish her all the blessings that matrimonial co-indulgence can bring.
Ginger’s husband is a suave-looking fellow called Christian Horner, who at the age of 40 is only two years younger than his wife. Fortunately, this age difference is too small for Ginger to be called a cougar or her husband to be called a toy-boy. I predict the marriage will last longer than J. Lo’s last one or Madonna’s next one.
Now Christian Horner is a slightly odd name for a human, but not sufficiently strange to indicate his parents were upstarts or anarchists. It is actually a hybrid of ‘Hans Christian Anderson’ and ‘Little Jack Horner’, which implies a consistent theme. The man is apparently a former racing driver, so he might be in a hurry to prove himself. If I were Ginger, I would install speed bumps in the driveway and a portrait of Gerard Depardieu above the marital bed. As the senior partner in the marriage, she should be the one who sets the tempo.
Perhaps if Ginger’s husband were famous his name wouldn’t seem odd at all. It is certainly less peculiar than ‘Art Garfunkel’, yet no one twitches a nostril when that name is mentioned in the art galleries and saunas of New York City. Art has recently been in the news for describing Paul Simon as “an idiot” and “a jerk”. He considers these harsh epithets to be justified because Paul chose to end their musical partnership in 1970.
"How can you walk away from this lucky place on top of the world, Paul?” asked Art of his former comrade-in-song.
But was Paul really “walking away” from success? Given that he wrote all the songs, it might be more accurate to say that he kicked Art out of the band, possibly because the hairstyle was getting on his nerves. My only regret about this divorce is that it destroyed Paul’s ability to write great songs, much in the same way that the other Paul lost his mojo after leaving The Beatles.
Does being in an unhappy situation inspire artists to produce great art, possibly as a form of escapism or self-mollification? We don’t know much about Shakespeare’s life, but he must have suffered episodes of gloom and despair. That much was inevitable in a society where farting in the presence of nobility was a banishable offence.
Perhaps I should spend a few days in a tree overhanging a mangrove swamp to see whether I can compose some tunes on my recorder. If misery is what’s required, there are few more miserable places in the Congo. If the tunes are any good, I’ll release them in an album called ‘Bridge over Troubled Crocodiles’.
Labels: Divorce, Gerard Depardieu, Ginger Spice, marriage, Simon and Garfunkel
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
Wednesday, November 12, 2014
A spicy confession
Mel B, the Scary Spice Girl, has said she is no longer a lesbian:
“I was one of those for a few years but that was years ago,” she confessed on a chat show.
Call me an innocent ape, but I never knew she was ever “one of those”. Now that I do know, I don’t approve of her dismissing it as a bad habit she managed to kick. Being a lesbian is not like a fad for wearing Velcro underwear – there are serious issues to be pondered and important commitments to be made. The good lesbian is a pillar of her community, test-driving motorbikes and organising ladies’ bowling nights. If she is a famous diva, she should sing audacious songs to gee up the rank-and-file. The lesbian who only feathers her own nest is a freeloader at the party – the girl who eats all the cupcakes without helping to wash the dishes.
The ironic aspect of Miss Scary’s renunciation is that she was, by all accounts, a virtuoso in the Sapphic arts. Her debaucheries were astounding in their impudence and opportunism. A former playboy model called Luann Lee recalls how Mel followed her into a disabled toilet:
“I went into the handicapped stall because it’s bigger and I wanted to put my purse down and she just popped in with me. She said, ‘Do you mind?’ and came right in. She was a good kisser. Her lips are very soft and full and she has a tender touch. It was maybe a five-minute kiss and after that she started going for other areas.”
Would it be wrong to conclude from this that Miss Scary is a natural-born lesbian? I don’t claim to be an expert on such matters, but I can’t imagine a more flattering testimony.
The most startling revelation of all is that Miss Scary may have fondled her fellow Spice Girls. The precise nature of these intimacies has not been disclosed, although where lesbian acts are concerned, a little touching goes a long way. She did nevertheless claim to have kissed all four of them:
“Back in the day I had fun,” she told a goggle-eyed Howerd Stern. “I got my tongue pierced and I wanted to try out my tongue piercing and so I kissed them all.”
She did not say which of her bandmates was affected most deeply by her erotic advances. I would like to think she had the strongest designs on Miss Ginger, who would have surely reciprocated warmly. The thought of her dark limbs enwrapping Miss Ginger’s fleshy white body is a pleasing conjecture for primates of all species.
All in all, the record shows that Miss Scary was an enthusiastic dabbler in lesbian pursuits and took many positives from the experience. She should not have brushed off this important episode in her life as a youthful indiscretion. I would urge her to book an appointment with Ellen Degeneres to apologise and do penance. Even an ex-lesbian should sometimes be willing to eat humble pie.
Labels: Ellen Degeneres, Ginger Spice, lesbian, Scary Spice, tongue stud
Wednesday, July 10, 2013
Ginger's confession
Ginger Spice has admitted trying to seduce George Michael when she was an aspiring starlet and he was a pretty boy singer.
“I’d made plans to marry him,” she explained. “I used to practice kissing his poster. Then we met and I started being all flirty-eyed, licking my lips and doing the sexy poses.”
Her wet lips did not win a kiss from her idol, which was probably just as well. It couldn’t possibly have matched the thrill she got from kissing his poster. It seems that George simply ignored her advances and blathered on about his latest hairdo. How good-natured of Ginger to bear no grudges and blame her faulty gaydar. It warms the cockles of my heart that she and George are now bosom buddies:
“He's the only celebrity friend I have, aside from the Spice Girls, that I tell all my secrets to,” said Ginger.
Let’s hope he keeps them.
It takes a big woman to admit falling in love with a gay man and trying, unsuccessfully, to make his pants bulge. I’m sure many single women have made the same mistake. It must be incredibly difficult for them to detect which of the dapper young men they meet is only good for fashion tips and shopping excursions.
We jungle apes use smell to sniff out the gay primates. That doesn’t work for humans, because of the widespread use of scented toiletries. Nearly all men smell gay nowadays. That’s why women have to rely on subtle cues, like the curl of the eyebrow or the stiffness of the gait. Unfortunately, it’s easy to ignore such signals when the hormones are raging.
Personally, I think it’s bad manners for a gay man to spurn the sexual favours of a nubile young woman. Whatever happened to closing your eyes and thinking of Johnny Weissmuller? No man ever died from letting an attractive woman jump all over him. Worse things have happened at sea. Nor can anyone be sure that they’re same-sex orientated until they’ve tried it with someone of the opposite gender. All the best gay men have slept with women, including Oscar Wilde and Pee-wee Herman.
Someone once told me that human sexuality was a continuum, ranging from ultra-straight at one end to utterly queer at the other, with most people somewhere in-between. I can well believe it. Even macho movie stars like Sly Stallone must be slightly gay to masquerade in front of a camera wearing make-up. John Wayne looked camper than a row of tents when he was stroking his horse.
Should there be an award for the straightest leading man? My main worry is that undeserving actors like George Clooney or Russell Crowe would win it. The strongest candidate I can think of is Gerard Depardieu. It is inconceivable that anyone with the slightest hint of gayness would allow his body to take on the shape of a potato. He was also recently fined for riding a scooter while intoxicated. That doesn’t seem like something a gay man would do.
Labels: gaydar, George Michael, Gerard Depardieu, Ginger Spice, Oscar Wilde., Pee Wee Herman
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
