Wednesday, February 08, 2017
Unnatural birth
A woman from Ontario has made a name for herself by giving birth while wearing a Chewbacca mask. A You Tube video of her braying while in labour has won near-universal acclaim:
“She’s the kind of woman I aspire to be,” tweeted one of her adoring fans.
Chewbacca mom, who’s real name is Katie Stricker Curtis, explained the philosophy behind her masquerade:
“Just because I’m about to be a mom doesn’t mean I have to grow up! Never take life too seriously!”
She must be the first woman in history to turn childbirth into a comedy routine. I wonder what gave her such an outlandish idea. Did she think that making people laugh would give meaning to her labour pains? Most women feel that the baby itself is sufficient reward for their suffering. You have to give her credit for being such a devoted slave to comedy.
Having said all that, I confess I’m in two minds about Mrs Curtis and her wookie show. As a former circus ape, I’m all in favour of innovations in slapstick entertainment. On the other hand, you can’t turn everything into a joke. Giving birth may be an important life event for the mother, but it’s the biggest life event of all for the baby. Taking your first breath is a solemn occasion. You don’t want people laughing at you when you’re struggling to squeeze your bulbous head through an overstretched coochie. If the aged are entitled to a dignified death, babies should be entitled to a dignified birth.
When I told the manager of the safari camp about this story, he said:
“The baby must have been thinking ‘What the fuck?’ when it saw its mother’s face! If I’d been in its place, I would have asked for a mirror to see if I took after her!”
“My dear manager,” I replied. “If you’d been in its place, everyone in the room would have been saying ‘What the fuck?’”
Of course, a newborn baby has no idea what its mother is supposed to look like and will bond with anything that nurtures it. Remember Tarzan? He was nursed by a chimpanzee and grew up thinking he was an ape, even thought his arms weren’t long enough to perform all the feats. When he reached adulthood he was a strange, hybrid creature who swung on jungle creepers and made eerie yodelling noises. If a human thinks it belongs to another species, it ends up neither fish nor fowl.
One hopes Mrs Curtis took off the mask before she started suckling the infant. Living for comedy is all very well, but you can’t expect a newborn baby to laugh at your jokes. What will the child think when it’s old enough to see the You Tube video? Will it be proud of its zany mother who inspired so much merriment? Or will it think the woman who carried it in her womb is a bit of a prat? Time will tell.
Labels: Chewbacca, comedy, giving birth, Tarzan
Wednesday, September 17, 2014
Kiss of horror
My heart bleeds for Erica Valentine, the woman with an unusual kissing phobia. The 36-year-old model (pictured above) hasn’t had a date in over two years because of her fear of oral cooties.
“So many things go through my head so it makes kissing impossible for me,” she explained. “I've only ever had three boyfriends and I ask them all sorts of questions such as when they last brushed their teeth.”
Erica did live in wedlock for eight years, but the strain of a smoochless marriage was eventually too much for her husband. He left after impregnating her, possibly feeling he’d been used like a sperm bank. I hope she doesn’t give up on love. She might yet meet a man who is content to pleasure her from behind, his lips sealed with duct tape as an added precaution. A suitable advert in the personal columns would surely attract many offers. A chaperone would obviously be required to weed out the fiends and perverts.
Could Erica be cured of her complex by a shrink? It would certainly be fascinating to explore her subconscious mind. Her phobia might have originated in nursery school, when a greedy boy tried to suck a sweet out of her mouth. Hypnosis might be an effective therapy. Put a suggestion in her brain that her saliva is more deadly to germs than the toilet cleaners advertised on TV. You could test whether it worked by asking her to kiss a walrus or a warty old toad. Kissing a man would be a piece of cake after that.
Had Erica been born a gorilla her phobia would be unimportant, because kissing is unheard of amongst the hairy primates. When I told my females about the tongue-wrestling humans get up to, they hooted in hilarity. I am confident that human infants raised in a gorilla band would have no interest in kissing each other when they reached puberty. They would all be like Tarzan, who had no idea his mouth could be used for sexual purposes until Jane started sitting on his face.
How humans acquired the kissing habit is one of the great mysteries of anthropology. You don’t see couples spooning in a hunter-gatherer band. I reckon the practice began when humans started living in houses, which the women were expected to look after while the men were away at work.
Picture a man arriving home at the end of the day, looking forward to putting his feet up and relaxing in a vegetative state. Before he can sit down and begin the important task of scratching his nutsack, his eardrums are assaulted by the incessant chatter of his missus. After years of annoyance, he finally comes up with the solution – pressing his lips against hers to shut her up.
One can only wonder how the first woman to be kissed reacted to her first kiss.
“Are you out of your mind, you mad brute!” she might have hissed. “You’d better not do that again until I’ve taken off my lipstick!”
Labels: hypnosis, kissing, oral cooties, Tarzan
Wednesday, April 30, 2014
Blog pictures
An anonymous emailer (ictits@yahoo.com) asks me if any pictures would be too distasteful for this blog.
“Yes, a picture of your head on a platter,” I reply.
An impertinent question deserves a facetious reply. As far as I’m concerned, none of the pictures published here is distasteful. Those of a sensitive disposition might find some of them disturbing or bewildering, but that can’t be helped. We live in a disturbing and bewildering age. It is better to look reality in the eye than nuzzle utopia in the groin. If you want to live in a fools’ paradise, go to Disneyland and play booty-bumps with Mickey and Goofy.
It goes without saying that the internet is overflowing with pictures I would never post here. I recently came across a particularly inappropriate one of the model Candice Swanepoel. It shows her in a state of undress with the head of a purring cat between her thighs. I suppose she thought the pussy-on-pussy motif was funny, but to me it’s a flagrant case of pet abuse. The cat may be snoozing contentedly, but it looks like a bigger twat than the one it’s obscuring. The feline gods have been offended, and will revenge themselves on mankind by spraying the suburbs with rainstorms of piss.
A nude photo of Miss Swanepoel not being nutmegged by her cat would have been okay, but I probably wouldn’t have published it. Human nakedness does not interest me unless the naked human is making a statement of some kind. An example of such has been provided by the actress Minnie Driver, whose naked form is displayed above. Apparently she’d received an unflattering response to pictures of herself on twitter, so she decided to naysay the naysayers by proudly flaunting her flesh:
“I’ve got a banging body,” insisted Minnie.
We gorillas prefer more meat on our females, but that’s not a criticism of Minnie. I believe there are men who lust after waifish women, possibly because it makes them feel bigger and manlier. Good luck to them.
Below is the kind of picture I most enjoy uploading – it’s of the actor Kellan Lutz making an arse of himself in front of a gorilla. He’s going to play Tarzan in another remake of the classic jungle fantasy, and his antics were an attempt to practise for the role. Little does he know that few gorillas have heard of Tarzan, so it’s very unlikely the silverback in the picture is thinking “Oh, what a good actor that fellow is.” From the look on his face, I would guess he is thinking “Oh, look at that man making an arse of himself.”
I wouldn’t say I’m hostile to Tarzan, but it’s never been explained why he wore a loincloth. No human infant brought up by apes would be ashamed of his genitals. I believe women found the sight of a man's dangly bits embarrassing when the first Tarzan films appeared, but don’t the women of today just laugh at such sights?
Labels: cat abuse, men's dangly bits, Minnie Driver, Tarzan
Monday, April 02, 2012
Alien adoption
Yet another human is claiming to be on speaking terms with extra-terrestrials. Mr Simon Parkes, an English town councillor, says his real mother is a green life-form, 9 feet tall with a stick-like figure, big eyes and tiny nostrils. Not a bad-looking female by the sound of it. Big eyes and tiny nostrils are better than tiny eyes and big nostrils, as any visitor to Impfondo “horsey-face” menagerie will confirm.
“If I had a body like hers I’d want to get out of it!” he quipped.
I’m not sure I agree with his ungallant remark. Victoria may appear horribly undernourished for a woman who can afford to keep her larder well-stocked, but she has done her duty as a wife and mother, producing a healthy brood of four. The proof of the oven is whether it has room for the pudding.
Perhaps Councillor Parkes should introduce Victoria to his alien mother, who is also as thin as a street lamp. She probably thinks women are squat, bulbous creatures, and might enjoy meeting one with a similar figure to herself. It takes all sorts to make a universe.
Labels: alien abduction, aliens, Tarzan, tiny nostrils, Victoria Spice
Wednesday, December 12, 2007
Tarzan and Jane
Enter Jane, wearing furry bikini and examining coconut in her hand.
Jane (shouting): Oh Tarzan! Would you help me break open this coconut?
Enter Tarzan, wearing trademark loincloth and expression of Class A meathead. Takes coconut from Jane and taps it gingerly against his forehead.
Tarzan: Hum! This hard coconut! Tarzan go and find rock!
Jane (contemptuously): Oh give it to me!
Snatches coconut from Tarzan and smashes it against his skull, causing it to break into roughly equivalent hemispheres. Tarzan staggers about in a daze.
Tarzan (muttering): Humphwurumph.
Jane rubs some coconut oil on her tummy and looks at Tarzan coyly.
Jane (in hoochie mama voice): Does Tarzan want to rub oil on Jane’s boobies?
Tarzan opens eyes wide, turns to face audience and then looks at Jane.
Tarzan: Not tonight Jane. Tarzan got headache!
The couple took their bow amid raucous laughter and cheers. After leaving briefly to change into more formal dress, they returned to bask in the praise of their fellow guests. For some reason they were particularly interested in what I had to say, and awaited my appraisal of their performance as if I were the Ape from Del Monte.
“Quite splendid!” I enthused. “If Johnny Weissmuller were here today his pecs would be throbbing with envy. And his co-star who played Jane would be rushing off to get her boobs enlarged. You have put a teaspoon of chilli powder into a dish growing bland with age!”
They beamed with delight and asked me for my autograph, which I was happy to provide.
We gorillas have no particular animus towards Tarzan, although it was rather presumptuous to call him “Lord of the Apes”. There are no titles in the jungle and a solo man is in no position to lord it over anyone, no matter how much beefcake he is carrying. Other than that, the story is pretty flattering to us. A human infant of noble birth is adopted by a mysterious band of apes and suckled by a surrogate ape mother. They bring him up to be a model jungle citizen who always tells the truth and repels dastardly interlopers with vigorous and well-aimed flying kicks. The only point against him is that he never really lets his hair down and boogies like an ape. Perhaps his tribe were devout Presbyterians or something. But basically he is a good egg.
Jane is obviously thrown into the story to complete the fantasy for the human male. Her presence implies that you can live like a real jungle ape, swinging wildly through the trees, while cohabiting with a hoity-toity mistress. It does seem a little far-fetched though. A woman like Jane might well have consented to a roll in the undergrowth with Tarzan, but I can’t imagine her willingly moving into the tree house with him. Yet before we pour scorn on the fable, let us recall that it inspired a little girl called Jane Goodall to respond to the lure of the jungle. As my well-informed readers will know, she went on to become a celebrated chronicler of chimpanzee society and the best-looking white woman in
While the Tarzan books have their place in popular fiction, the Tarzan films are something else. When I saw my first Tarzan movie, I hooted with laughter on hearing the ape-man’s famous ululating cry. You see, it actually means something in baboon language. A rough translation is:
“Look! Look at my erection! Look at my erection!”
Labels: Jane Goodall, Johnny Weissmuller, Tarzan
