Wednesday, February 20, 2013
Resigned to his fate
I’ve just returned from a gala jungle event celebrating Pope Benny’s resignation. Everyone expected me to lampoon the old codger in my post-banquet speech, but I surprised them all by wishing him a happy retirement. I even persuaded the guests to pledge donations for a farewell gift, which we agreed should be a quartz crystal butt-plug. An ex-high-pontiff should gouge his rectum with the finest materials – the dignity of his position demands nothing less.
It’s no secret that Benny and I had our differences. His modus operandi was to make the innocent feel guilty so he could forgive them, while concealing the deeds of the guilty so that no one would blame the church. My modus operandi is to help humans discover their inner ape, so they lose their fear of being goosed and turn the other arse-cheek. These divergent philosophies meant we didn’t see eye-to-eye on a number of important issues concerning the erogenous zones. So be it. Now is the time to let bygones be bygones and let Benny hide in a monastery.
Some French feminists wanted me to join them for a celebration in Paris, but I turned them down. They held the event in Notre Dame Cathedral and marked the occasion of the Pope’s departure by chanting slogans at bemused tourists while running around topless. They also banged the big bell for good measure. I suspect they wanted me to bang the bell for them so they could concentrate on promulgating their message (whatever it was). I’m glad I didn’t go. A gorilla should not pander to stereotype by pounding away at the behest of nubile women.
It’s difficult to discuss Pope Benny without the condom question rearing its ugly head. He feared that people who used them would bonk away compulsively without having to worry about the consequences, which would make a mockery of the church. The good news for Benny is that a college student in America has come up with an idea that might address this concern. Mr Kyle McCabe is providing an emergency condom service for students on the point of copulation. As these condoms will only be delivered when the stiffy is ready and waiting, there is no question of encouraging anything that wouldn’t have happened anyway. I hope Benny’s successor will endorse this responsible use of the rubber.
The new Pope will have more important things to worry about, of course. The spiritual health of the flock is not what it might be in these days of confusion and disorder. Much of the problem, in my view, is the guilt Catholics feel about disobeying the church’s teaching on masturbation. I don’t know of a single one who is devout on this issue. Certainly not Ms Frankie Dobson, who recently educated me about the pleasures of a double-penetration wank. It’s high time the church legalised such acts to unburden the souls of the faithful. Perhaps Benny could experiment with the butt-plug we sent him and report back on its potential for spiritual invigoration.
Labels: butt plug, condoms, double-penetration wank, masturbation, Pope Benedict
Friday, November 25, 2011
Sealed with a kiss
An Italian fashion house has launched an advertising campaign promoting the idea that enemies should kiss and make-up. A huge picture of President Obama and Hugo Chavez pressing lips recently appeared on a billboard outside the Brazzaville YMCA. Everyone knows the photo is a fake, so it generated very little excitement, even among the residents of the YMCA.
It’s just as well that Obama is secure enough in his sexuality not to blast the poster to kingdom come with a Cruise missile. He’s recently been proving his heterosexual credentials by canoodling with Julia Gillard, the raunchy redhead who rules the roost in Australia. After greeting Ms Gillard with a moist-looking peck on the cheek, he patted her receptive tush right into the White House. I hope Michelle was mature enough not to give him hell afterwards – there’s no such thing as cheating when you’re making political alliances.
The only person complaining about the poster campaign is Pope Benedict, who was depicted smooching an Egyptian holy man. A Vatican spokesman denounced it as a violation of the Holy Father’s chastity, but I suspect what really upset Benny was the lack of passion in the kiss. No one ever got to be Pope without sticking his tongue down a few throats. The fashion house withdrew the Papal poster under threat of legal action, but there must be a few thousand stashed away in a warehouse. They'll become a collector’s item after Benny has his sex-change operation.
The most puzzling poster is the one of Sarkozy kissing Frau Merkel. The couple were bosom allies the last time I checked, so why show them kissing? Could Sarko have bribed the fashion house to do it because he wanted to make his wife jealous? A new mother is often so infatuated with her baby that she neglects her husband’s needs. Maybe the poster will prompt Carla to accelerate her programme of coochie exercises so she can wrap her luscious thighs around Sarko the next time he ventures into the marital bed. If he keeps on fantasizing about getting into Frau Merkel's pants it might damage the French national interest. She doesn’t look like the sort of woman who’ll give it away for nothing.
Now, this advertising campaign is a clever gimmick, but its premise looks flawed to me. There is no evidence from human history that kissing is a reliable indicator of benign intentions. Delilah kissed Sampson; Judas kissed Jesus; J Edgar Hoover kissed Dillinger and a dozen other gangsters. It’s the oldest trick in the book to butter up your victim with a smooch before giving him the big shaft. As Shirley Bassey said, it’s the kiss of death from Mr Goldfinger.
Instead of kissing, humans who want to make peace should do what we gorillas do: bring about a controlled collision between their rumps. It takes real courage to turn your back on a rival and stick out your behind, trusting that he will do the same rather than kicking your arse or attempting some other unspeakable act. If President Obama started booty-bumping all the hostile characters who show up in the UN building, the Age of Universal Love might finally dawn.
Labels: Angela Merkel, Barack Obama, booty-bumping, Julia Gillard, kissy-face, Pope Benedict, Sarkozy
Friday, October 29, 2010
Religious tolerance
I’m not the sort of ape who takes sides in human squabbles, but it warms my hairy cockles when an oppressed religious minority wins its legitimate rights. I’m talking about the druids, who have finally been recognised by the British state as followers of an authentic faith, rather than a bunch of herb-sniffing weirdos who have read too many Asterix comics.
To achieve this auspicious end, the druids have had to compromise on some of their traditional practices. Human sacrifice will now be restricted to the Festival of the Giant Hooting Barn Owl, which occurs every 721 years. And caterwauling in the small hours to ward off the Demon Duckface will only be allowed in underground caves or nuclear bunkers. In exchange for these pragmatic concessions, druidic trust funds have been given tax-exempt status, which means there’ll plenty of savoury fish-balls and dandelion wine to go round at this year’s winter solstice celebrations.
The lesson we can draw from their successful campaign is that good things come to those who wait. The druids were wizards-most-exalted of the British Isles before the Roman invasion of 43 AD, which they resisted fanatically by wailing and letting off stick bombs. According to the historian Tacitus, their frightful antics…
…struck the Romans with awe and terror. They stood in stupid amazement, as if their limbs were benumbed…
But the men of the Roman army soon pulled out their weapons and got stuck in, burning down the sacred druidic groves and forcing the survivors to hide amongst the Welsh. It was a bitter pill to swallow for a proud indigenous priesthood.
Pope Benny must be looking with envy at these neo-pagan cults, gaining influence and winning converts while his own church is mired in scandal. He has only himself to blame. When he visited Africa last year, he foolishly condemned our native tribal religions, denouncing the witch-doctor as a devil in ostrich feathers. This inevitably brought a thousand voodoo curses down upon his holy head, causing skeletons to emerge from cupboards and poke him in the vitals.
Instead of bad-mouthing other faiths, a wise high pontiff would raid them for good ideas. If you ask rank-and-file Catholics what they most admire about paganism, they’ll inevitably mention female deities. The Virgin Mary isn’t quite up to the job, as she’s revered for being someone’s mother rather than a goddess in her own right. There is also the problem of her virginity, which prevents her from answering the prayers of the sexually frustrated.
If I were the Pope, I would make Lucy Lawless the goddess of Christianity. Xena the Warrior Princess was a class act - proud of bosom and earnest of thigh, she rode into battle like a true Christian knight. Yet she was also a coquette, who let beefcake suitors woo her like a wood nymph. If she became the Queen of Heaven, the Catholic Church would once more be a fitting home for fearless swordsmen and swooning damsels, whose sins in the heat of passion would be forgiven. This might not be to everyone’s taste, but it beats getting buggered by men in frocks.
Labels: Druids, Lucy Lawless, Paganism, Pope Benedict
Wednesday, April 28, 2010
The Pope forgives again
Pope Benny is behaving like a man who is desperate to change the subject. In his latest digression he declared himself a fan of The Beatles, lamenting the 40th anniversary of their break-up, and graciously forgiving them for their “drug-taking and blasphemy”. This has failed to impress Ringo, who noted that being forgiven by the Pope puts you in rather dodgy company. I personally won’t believe Benny is sincere until he reverses Yoko Ono’s excommunication for “witchcraft, satanic incantations and lewd exposure of the pudenda”. The Catholic Church will never be a moral voice for the acid-trippers and headbangers until it can distinguish the eccentric from the diabolical.
Meanwhile, the Pope’s ever loyal supporters have been walking on eggshells to avoid embarrassing him. Take the recent papal visit to Malta. The mayor of a small town wanted to tear down a much-loved phallic symbol lest the High Pontiff should accidentally gaze at this monstrous affront to ecclesiastical dignity. Commonsense prevailed after the creator of the monument told the mayor he was a philistine and an ignoramus.
“Rome, where the Pope lives, is full of columns, but I don’t see anyone complaining and asking for them to be removed!” he thundered.
A very good point indeed. Benny must have seen a veritable forest of oversized dicks in his long career of holy service – why would one more offend him?
If the Pope is determined to pardon child-abusers, he should start with those outside the priesthood guilty of the most venial sins. I was dismayed to hear of yet another schoolmistress getting arrested for seducing a teenage boy. The most dispiriting aspect of this case was the willingness of her 16-year-old pupil to testify against her in open court. Although the jury sensibly acquitted her of all wrongdoing, prosecutions like this send a terrible message to the young. A generation of schoolboys will have learned that kissing-and-telling and ingratitude are commendable forms of behaviour.
It seems to me that this schoolmistress is a good-natured and obliging young lady who made an unlucky choice. Call me a fanciful ape, but I feel that she and others like her belong in a religious order. They remind me of the pagan goddesses of antiquity who would bestow the ultimate favour on their most loyal devotees. What a happy position the Catholic Church would now be in if it had made these women priests instead of all those nasty paedophiles. Pope Benny, alas, is far too timid and reactionary to consider their ordination, but they could always offer their talents to another church. There are many progressive sects that encourage women to serve God in all positions.
Perhaps they should start by approaching the Mormons, who are rich enough to pay them well and weird enough to appreciate their unorthodox pastoral techniques. Before becoming priestesses, they would have to be trained to distinguish the deserving from the undeserving. Generosity is the finest of virtues, but it loses its heavenly aura if you toss it around indiscriminately.
Labels: phallic symbol, Pope Benedict, schoolmistress, The Beatles
Wednesday, March 17, 2010
The Exorcist
I got an emotional phonecall from my old friend Luca Bacchetta, the only trapeze artist to have become a cardinal in the Roman Catholic Church. As the Vatican’s official physical trainer, he has pioneered bending and stretching exercises which conform to the principles of human dignity set out in the Catechism. The Pope himself is a frequent bender, but a less enthusiastic stretcher.
“Our situation is unbearable, GB!” he bleated. “The Chief Exorcist has taken up residence after announcing that the Devil is in the Vatican. He is currently snooping around the place, spying on all the cardinals for signs of demonic possession. You can’t have a shit without fearing that Father Gabriele Amorth will poke his head over the cubicle and ask you why you’re taking the Lord’s name in vain. He says that constipation is a sign of satanic effluvium in the bowels.”
“Can’t you get the Pope to do something about him?” I asked.
“Are you joking? The Pope is more terrified of him than anyone else. ‘Father Amorth must not be impeded in his holy mission,’ says the High Pontiff. The real reason, of course, is that he’s shit scared of being condemned himself. That madman wouldn’t think twice about denouncing the Pope as a Satanist, so the Holy Father is behaving like his punk.”
“Is there anything I can do to help?” I asked, purely as a courtesy.
“I’m so glad you asked, GB!” replied Luca excitedly. “You’re the only person I know who could put that bastard is his place. If you came here, the heat would be well and truly off us. Amorth will call you a demon and order you to flee to the bowels of Hell, but his powers will be impotent because you’re a gorilla. When he realises he can’t harm you he’ll be like a castrated bull without horns. He’d be at your mercy, GB, you could squash him like a dog turd!”
“I hope I’d find some other way of reasoning with him,” I said. “Squashing humans is always a last resort for us gorillas. Let me consider your request and get back to you. A few more days of being witch-hunted won’t kill you. Do you remember when Mariana the Magnificent dug her fingernails into your arse on the trapeze? Just grin and bear it as you did then. Be a man, Luca!”
I’m not the kind of ape who accepts an assignment without doing his homework, so I googled the exorcist’s name and found this article. It seems that Luca’s allegations about him are well-founded, although one has to give Amorth credit for being so full of pep at the age of 85. I suspect the old viper has kept himself sprightly by drinking milk from his own personal wet nurse – directly from the teat, I’d wager. I’m tempted to visit Rome simply to meet the man and ask for his views on having gorillas in the clergy. Who knows, we might hit it off and stage a coup d'état against Pope Benny, who is clearly a snivelling poltroon with no ability to inspire the faithful.
If I became Pope Bananas, I would revitalise the Catholic Church in a hundred different ways. The first thing I’d do is legalise masturbation, so a billion guilty Catholics could spank the monkey in peace without saying a thousand Hail Mary’s afterwards. Progressive reforms like this would win me the verdict of history.
Labels: exorcist, masturbation, poltroon, Pope Benedict
Wednesday, June 24, 2009
Madonna and child
A man on safari tells me that Madonna is going to visit the parents of her 22-year-old companion, Jesus Luz.
“Perhaps she wants to adopt him,” I suggest.
The man seems doubtful, but agrees it would be a fitting way of formalising their relationship. The boy’s natural parents surely love him dearly, but they can’t give him the start in life that Madonna can. In her delicate embrace, young Jesus would be nurtured with the most fragrant oils and lotions, rubbed tenderly on his chest, thighs and buttocks. Living in a well-heated mansion, there would be no need for him to wear clothes as he swung on the indoor climbing frame, his adoptive mother watching his movements with burgeoning pride and excitement. Let us hope that the paperwork can be finalised quickly without legal challenge.
The religious significance of the adoption would be enormous. The sight of Madonna mothering her own baby Jesus would surely strengthen the faith of Roman Catholics everywhere. It might even attract new converts. Anglicans fed up with the namby-pamby nonsense from the Church of England and its bearded archdruid might be tempted to migrate to Rome on seeing this miraculous re-enactment. I hope Pope Benny makes the most of the opportunity by granting an audience to Madge and Jezz and having his picture taken with them. Giving them his blessing might technically be blasphemous, so perhaps he ought to let them bless him.
I shouldn’t really be nagging the Pope because he has a lot on his plate at the moment. A great row has erupted among the faithful in Spain after a group of mothers who call themselves “Daughters of the Generalissimo” sent an open letter to the Vatican. They have inquired whether a devout Catholic wife should ever permit herself to attain a physical climax during marital relations, adducing their own opinion that any child conceived in such debauchery would be the Spawn of Satan. The Pope has deferred judgement pending consultation with Cardinals experienced in such matters. Spanish feminists, meanwhile, have expressed their fury by burning their knickers in the Plaza de España in Madrid.
If I had the Pope’s ear, I would advise him that it was perfectly lawful for a woman to experience elation during the physical act of love. There are many precedents in Holy Scripture – Bathsheba was never punished by the Lord for enjoying a jiggy with Mr Biggy and Delilah was obviously an insatiable minx who liked it mean and dirty. The only stipulation for the pious wife is that she should remain silent while in the throes of ecstasy. The purpose of marital congress is procreation, and no righteous husband should have to listen to his wife making a hullabaloo when he’s trying to impregnate her. It’s the sort of thing that might put a man off his stroke and make him forget what he was doing. A few soft little moans and sighs should be all that is permissible.
Speaking of procreation, I was disappointed to hear that Paris Hilton has failed to make good on her promise to produce a brood of little Parisites. Her latest beefcake suitor was callously dumped after she discovered he was “boring”. She should stop being so picky if you ask me. Does she want to be impregnated or entertained? Men who can do both generally prefer not to breed with vacuous floozies.
Labels: Jesus Luz, Madonna, Paris Hilton, Pope Benedict
Wednesday, April 01, 2009
The Pope in Africa
A reader has asked me to comment on Pope Benny’s recent visit to Africa. I admit I’ve been avoiding the subject for fear of stirring ill-will among my human cousins. Rancour is an emotion that should be kept a safe distance from the bosom. I certainly wasn’t one of those who hooted and heckled the high pontiff when he announced his opposition to condoms. To my way of thinking, a man’s sexual habits are his own private affair. If Benny is happy for his todger to take a dip without a life jacket, who am I to interfere? The nuns who visit him are surely capable of asking to see the results of his latest STD check-up before accepting his blessing.
A pair of American women staying at the safari guesthouse told me they would be joining a feminist protest against the Pope and his reactionary views. They showed me a box of custom-made condoms, each with a picture of Benny’s head on it. After inflating them like balloons at a papal rally, their intention was to burst them shouting “Pop the Pope!”
“My dear ladies!” I exclaimed. “Blowing and popping is not even recognised as an insult in Africa. People would assume you were celebrating someone’s birthday. In this part of the world, humans express strong feelings either by dancing or throwing spears. Since you lack javelin expertise, I suggest you shake your bottoms disdainfully at the Pope during his sermon.”
“What shall we do with the condoms?” they asked.
It was a fair question. Leaving them in the box would have been a waste of good rubber.
“Why not insert peeled bananas inside them before your protest?” I suggested. “You could hold one in either hand and crush them in your fists at a climactic point in the dance. The symbolism would be obvious to everyone. Benny would have to double his dosage of Viagra after seeing that.”
They seemed satisfied with my advice and gave me a book to read called Postmodernism and Gender Relations in Feminist Theory. I promised to study it carefully.
Far more troubling to me was the Pope’s insidious attempt to convert witches to Roman Catholicism. The witch doctor is a friendly neighbourhood apothecary in Africa. Some are nefarious frauds and impostors, but to condemn an entire profession because of a few bad apples isn’t playing fair. How would Benny like it if I said all Catholic priests were pederasts?
I had very good relations with the English witch community back in my circus days. Nowadays they are all good witches, the bad ones having been burned a long time ago. I would describe those I knew as boisterous ladies with an aptitude for handicrafts, herbal medicine and naked outdoor dancing. It would be no exaggeration to say that we got on like a house on fire. Convinced that I was some sort of hairy wizard, they invited me to one of their outdoor dances. I went there purely as an observer, of course. Gorillas do not boogie with naked women.
On returning to the circus, my friend Smacker Ramrod, the circus vet, asked me where I had been. I immediately told him of the wondrous spectacle I had witnessed.
“I bet most of them were hairy old lesbians,” he sniffed.
He was obviously jealous.
“They were not, Smacker,” I replied haughtily. “And since you have attempted to demean them, I would point out that: (a) there is nothing wrong with being hairy; (b) the elderly do not participate in such events, which might be injurious to their heath; and (c) you are the last person who should use the word “lesbian” in a derogatory sense given your own taste in erotic entertainment.”
He graciously withdrew his remark and I promised to introduce him to the foxier witches in my acquaintance.
Labels: condoms, Pope Benedict, witches
