Monday, July 23, 2012
Keyhole art
On balance, I think that the new peeping tom exhibit at London’s National Gallery will be a force for good. For those of you who aren’t avid followers of high culture, this work of art consists of a bathroom in which naked women are viewed through carefully positioned peep holes. The women are models, I should hasten to add, and fully aware that visitors are spying on them. One hopes their skin retains its natural oils and juices after being washed and dried on a continuous loop.
Why do I approve of this exhibit? Because I believe that giving peeping toms a lawful outlet for their perversion is better than letting them run amok in respectable society. As well as causing their victims much anguish and annoyance, these fiends have to be hunted down at considerable cost in time and labour. I speak as a gorilla who was dragooned into anti-voyeur duties during his circus career. The female acrobats expected me to guard their changing and showering facilities, as well as apprehending any rascally swine who dared to spy on them.
Although I was happy to protect the girls from intruding eyes, and dealt with offenders as mercifully as the dictates of justice allowed, I would much rather have been reading comics or harvesting root vegetables or competing in toe-wrestling tournaments. No gorilla on his deathbed has ever said “I wish I’d spent more time chasing peeping toms”. Even the biggest dullards of our species have better things to do with their leisure.
I have often wondered why humans, of all the animals, feel shame on exposing their private parts. I think there are two reasons. First, there is considerably more variety in their size and shape than in other species. Imagine a world in which all humans had standard-issue genitalia. Would a man be ashamed of displaying his todger if it were identical to every other human todger? I think not.
The second reason is that humans have less control over their sexual arousal than other species. This is obviously true of men, who dread being discovered with an involuntary stiffy, even when they are fully clothed. Yet there are also women, so I’ve heard, who can be tricked into unwanted nipple-hardening and dilation of the vulva. This is a major biological weakness, because the animal in heat is an easy target for predators. Hence clothes are an essential cloaking mechanism for humans.
The models in the National Gallery have clearly learnt to master their shame, but I’m not particularly keen to watch them in action. Looking at naked humans through peep holes is not the gorilla way. I would much rather view the exciting banana exhibition being held in a museum in Somerset.
The banana is a noble fruit which feels no shame when you peel it. Yet curiously enough, the man whose artefacts are being displayed at the museum was inspired to start his collection by the sight of a woman furtively eating a banana. Why in the name of all that’s white and tasty would a woman be embarrassed about eating a banana in a public place? I admit to mystification.
Labels: Art, banana-peeling, peeping tom, shame, todger
Friday, March 12, 2010
The eye of the tummy
Another evening tending bar at the safari guesthouse, and I hear some men discussing their favourite scenes in a James Bond movie. One mentions the ominous advance of a deadly laser beam towards Sean Connery’s flinching testicles. Another recalls the chest-crunching squeeze inflicted on Pearce Brosnan by the vice-like thighs of Miss Xenia Onatopp. Before I can reflect on the peculiarly masochistic character of these choices, I am asked for my own treasured highlight of the Bond canon. I answer without hesitation:
“It is the moment in The Spy Who Loved Me when Roger Moore sucks a ruby from the navel of an Egyptian belly dancer.”
“I remember that!” exclaims one of the guests. “He was lucky he didn’t swallow it!”
“007 never swallows,” I reply solemnly. “His suction power is always finely tuned to the requirements of the mission.”
“Ho-ho-ho,” they chuckle, giving me a knowing look.
I wonder what it’s like for a woman to have a jewel sucked from her navel. Probably quite shocking the first time, but then more enjoyable as she acquires a taste for it. The technique of the sucker is obviously very important. I should imagine the crucial point is to extract the stone quickly in one powerful suck, rather than gobbling at it half-heartedly like an ailing goldfish. You could practice by sucking an egg out of a chicken.
I’ve had a soft spot for belly dancers ever since Princess Banu, the Turkish maestro, visited the circus I worked in. After watching us rehearse, she returned the favour by giving us a free demonstration of her art, performed to the tune of a popular Levantine love ballad. I was utterly enthralled by the spectacle, my eyes following her belly button as it tossed and rolled amid the smooth undulating flesh of her abdomen.
After hooting exuberantly when she took her bow, I raced to give her my compliments in person.
“Marvellous, Princess!” I effused. “Your fabulous exhibition of tummy twisting has elevated me to a state of transcendental rapture!”
“Thank you so much, GB,” she said. “As I have pleased you, perhaps you could do a little favour for me.”
“Name it, Princess!” I exclaimed. “You are Salome to my King Herod… although I’d rather not chop anyone’s head off, which might compromise my philanthropic work with the Quakers.”
“I don’t want anyone’s head, GB!” she giggled. “It is your wonderful feet I am interested in. I have heard they can do amazing things. Would you peel and eat a banana for me using just your feet and toes?”
If you think I found this request demeaning you’d be absolutely wrong. We gorillas are not ashamed of what we are and what we can do with our feet. Only humans are strangely sensitive about being asked to perform acts for which they or their breed are particularly renowned.
“Of course, Princess,” I said. “I have a fine ripe bunch in my trailer. Let us repair there forthwith, that I might demonstrate the feat which has tickled your fancy.”
When the ringmaster asked if he could join us I told him to fuck off.
Labels: banana-peeling, belly button, belly dancing, navel-sucking
