Wednesday, August 19, 2015
Cyber flashing
A British woman has explained how she became a victim of an insidious new practice called “cyber-flashing”. It is painful to listen to her describe her dread and disgust when unrequested pictures of the male sexual organ were sent to her i-phone. How the villain who committed the outrage obtained her number was not explained. Maybe there is a secret i-phone directory used by such wretches to identify suitable targets for their wicked deeds.
It remains to be seen how much social agitation this new vice causes. If it replaces old-style flashing it might be a blessing in disguise. I’m sure even the woman who got cyber-flashed would agree that a picture of a penis is less menacing than a real one attached to a grinning, pot-bellied pervert. If men who habitually expose themselves send pictures of their todgers instead, they would be regressing to a milder pathology. Notice the analogy with heroin addicts who start taking methadone to escape the more deadly compulsion.
This woman’s story has made me aware that I, myself, was a victim of this abomination. I didn’t realise it at the time, because it happened several years ago, before cyber-flashing was an officially recognised offence. The pictures were not sent to my i-phone because I’ve never owned such a device. I do, however, have a public e-mail address, which is intended for fan mail or serious enquiries about the habits of the lowland gorilla.
Rather than pictures of the penis, I was sent images of the human anus in various states of dilation. I regret to say that a rectal probe was involved in some of them. The email address these horrors were dispatched from was obviously a makeshift one, but that didn’t stop me responding with sharply-worded replies which assailed the scoundrel with epithets such as “poltroon”, “guttersnipe” and “dung-sniffer”. As I should have realised, this only encouraged him to send me further repulsive pictures. Then I noticed the facility to designate email correspondence as spam, and further garbage was consigned to the trash bin.
Now the British woman who got cyber-flashed reported the incident to the police, who immediately launched an investigation to apprehend the culprit. I had no one to report it to but my females, who asked to see the pictures. When I showed them one of the grosser ones, they cackled like geese and asked to see more. Annoyed by their lack of gravity, I gave them a stern lecture about the horrors of indecent exposure in human society, which they listened to with puzzled faces. When I had finished my homily, they put the following question to me:
“If men like showing off their cocks, why did you stop us pulling down the pants of that wildlife photographer?”
(You will excuse me for quoting their vulgar language, which is essential to the anecdote.)
“Because not even the most reckless and depraved man would want to expose his cock to the likes of you,” I replied.
They stalked off grumpily, muttering something about “discrimination”.
Labels: anus, cyber flashing, female gorillas, i-phone, todger
Sunday, December 19, 2010
Scrabble subterfuge
Humans often remark upon my extraordinary vocabulary. “What’s your secret?” they ask. The answer is that I used to play Scrabble in my circus days. Initially with the clowns, who taught me only dirty words, but later with my mentor Dr Whipsnade, who exposed me to a broader lexicon. I do not play much in the jungles of the Congo, where word games are viewed as a sissy pastime, but in a few days time I shall be visiting London for the holiday season. It is there that I am scheduled to play a friendly game with the world champion.
Some of you may not be aware that Scrabble has a world champion. The current holder of the title is a transvestite called Mikki Nicholson, who wears a pink wig. I do not expect to win, even though I am an accomplished player who could beat the pants off most humans. A gorilla’s pride can bear defeat to a world champion.
I asked Dr Whipsnade to arrange the game as a means of enlisting Mikki in a noble cause. I hope to persuade her to apply for a job as a Playboy Bunny at the club that will open in London next year. My sources tell me that Mikki has all the required skills for the job, being attractive, polite, friendly and able to balance drinks on a tray. If they turn her down for the position (as we expect), we will sue Hef for unlawful discrimination. Our intention is to win punitive damages that will substantially lighten the silk-lined elephant scrotum that Hef uses for a money pouch.
Please don’t think that I’ve hatched this plot because I’ve got it in for Hef. On the contrary, I have his best interests at heart. Hef, you see, is a man who has grown accustomed to making a gigantic anus of himself. The older he gets, the more anus-like he becomes. If he continues on his current path, he will be all anus and no cheeks. This will make him the terrestrial equivalent of a black hole, sucking passing bodies into his vortex and transporting them to the parallel universe inside The Playboy Mansion. Only by draining the anus of its cash supply will it be sapped of its lethal power, allowing Hef to live out his final years in dignity and peace.
To prove that I’m not motivated by malice, I am sending Hef a Christmas present he will surely appreciate. It is a new version of the Kama Sutra without the famous drawings of sex positions. As Hef is only capable of getting into those positions with the aid of a harness, it should not diminish the practical value of the gift. He will be able to absorb its timeless wisdom without constantly revisiting the dirty pictures like a randy old goat.
Let us never forget that the Kama Sutra was originally intended to provide “advice for a courtly gentleman on how to live a well-rounded life”. As Hef will shortly learn, there’s more to being well-rounded than imitating an anus.
Labels: anus, Hugh Heffner, Playboy bunnies, Scrabble
