Wednesday, March 08, 2017
Lost in Translation
I have tremendous sympathy for the Chinaman who was mistakenly sent to a refugee camp in Germany. The poor man had his wallet stolen after arriving in Stuttgart as a tourist. Speaking neither German nor English, he tried to report his crime to the police, who promptly sent him to a refugee centre in Dusseldorf. There, he was photographed, fingerprinted and possibly deloused, before receiving a meal of soup and noodles. A German Red Cross worker was the first to notice something was amiss:
“He acted so different to the other refugees,” recalled Christoph Schlutermann. “He kept trying to tell people his story, but no one could understand him. He kept asking to get his passport back, which is the opposite of what most refugees do.”
Perplexed by his behaviour, Herr Schlutermann consulted a local Chinese restaurant, which advised him to install a Mandarin translation app on his mobile phone. This enabled him to communicate with the tourist, who told him he had come to Europe for a hiking holiday. The man was finally sent on his way after spending 12 days in the bureaucratic German asylum system. He chose not to make an official complaint, merely commenting that Europe was not what he imagined it to be. His patience and good manners are an example to us all.
The language barrier can be a headache for anyone in the tourism industry. Just recently, I was accosted by a tall blond woman, who had strayed a mile or two from the safari camp.
“Svo storog lorlin!” she squealed excitedly in an obscure Nordic tongue. Although I had no idea what she was talking about, her facial expression and body language suggested an interest in social intercourse. So I beckoned her to follow me to a plum tree and plucked a juicy fruit for her.
“Fakka feer ferrin,” she said. “Ech moon merra fin Dian Fossey.”
On hearing the words “Dian Fossey” alarm bells sounded in my head. There is a particular breed of woman that imagines she can travel to Africa and persuade the gorillas to revere her as their Sugar Mummy. So I took her by the hand and marched purposefully to the safari camp.
“So that’s where you’ve been, Gunnella!” exclaimed the manager. “Been showing her the secrets of the undergrowth, eh Bananas?” he added, winking at me.
“You must keep your guests on a tighter rein,” I replied. “She’s an amiable young woman, but wholly unequipped for solo expeditions in a foreign habitat.”
This incident shows what a risky business tourism can be. If Gunnella had encountered a pack of marauding baboons, instead of a civilised ape, there’s no telling what would have happened. The manager of the safari camp would have been winking out of the other side of his face. Let’s hope Gene Roddenberry was right in predicting a future where everyone, including the Klingons and Romulans, is fluent in English. The same language, spoken in a variety of interesting and amusing accents, is enough cultural diversity for one galaxy.
Labels: blondes, Chinamen, Languages, winking
Wednesday, February 26, 2014
Blondes
Let’s start with Zivile Useckaite, pictured alongside, who is the chalk. She lives in Dublin and rears a remarkably ugly breed of bald cat, often dressing them in brightly-coloured garments. This may be necessary to prevent them from shivering. Her hobby is undoubtedly eccentric, but Ms Useckaite is no fool because she works in cancer research. Her cats look as if they’re on chemotherapy, so maybe they remind her of her worthy occupation.
The cheese is Eva Braun, the long-suffering mistress and short-lived spouse of Adolf Hitler. A long lost painting of her has been found in an attic and is expected to fetch six thousand pounds on auction. Was she stupid? Yes, but it couldn’t be helped. Hitler would never have tolerated a clever woman who criticised his military strategy or made ironic remarks about moustache. Furthermore, pictures of Eva suggest her hair was dirty blond or maybe even light brown. This shows that the fuehrer was willing to compromise on racial features to obtain a mistress who was suitably dim and docile. You can’t think less of blond women because of Eva Braun.
And now to the chutney, a retired model called Blondie Bennett, who wants to be a life-sized Barbie doll. Her admiration for the plastic princess is both fulsome and tinged with envy:
“She has the best life,” explains Blondie. “All she does is shop and make herself look pretty – she doesn’t worry about anything.”
Not that Blondie has much to worry about. She has an army of online sugar daddies who pay all her bills in return for photos of her in their favourite Barbie costumes.
Belittling Miss Bennett’s intelligence would be as easy as farting on a mushroom; but if you think she’d be upset by such insults, you’d be wrong. The incorrigible woman actually wants to be dumber, and is currently undergoing a program of hypnotherapy to make her more vacuous and Barbie-like.
“I’ve had 20 sessions and I’m already starting to feel ditzy and confused,” she said proudly. “I want people to see me as a plastic sex doll – and being brainless is a big part of that.”
Some might say that Blondie is wasting her money, because she couldn’t possibly be stupider than she already is. I would point out that the money she spends comes from her sugar daddies, so she doesn’t have to worry about wasting it. The hypnotherapy sessions will prove her commitment to the mission statement, even if they don’t make her noticeably dimmer, which should keep her sponsors happy.
In any case, I don’t believe Miss Bennett is really an airhead. How many humans are richly rewarded simply for imitating a doll? It isn’t even a good imitation if you look at her photo below. Only an expert in self-promotion could have pulled off her caper. She’s the kind of blonde I’d want on my team if I were planning the hoax of the century.
Labels: bimbo, blondes, cats, Eva Braun, Hitler, hypnosis
Wednesday, March 27, 2013
Tiger's latest birdie
So Tiger Woods has announced he is “dating” Lindsey Vonn, the all-American skiing champion. Is it my imagination, or does she resemble every other woman Tiger has charmed with his swishing club shaft? If I were Tiger’s agent, I would have urged him to go out with a transitional brunette just to prove he isn’t colour-prejudiced. I wouldn’t have advised him to date a black woman, of course – a suggestion so outlandish might have caused him to choke on his tongue, which wouldn’t have helped his accuracy with the driver.
As a gorilla, I don’t see why men find blond women so alluring. Admittedly they do look the part in Scandinavia, where they blend into the Nordic landscape like artic foxes. But I always find it damnably difficult to tell their faces apart when they congregate in large numbers. I wonder if Hef has name badges for the playmates in the mansion, so he can keep track of whose turn it is to knead his leathery buttocks. Maybe he doesn’t particularly care and lets the girls draw straws.
Now a few blond women do stand out from the crowd. Scarlett Johansson is one and Angela Merkel is another. They complement their strengths and weaknesses so perfectly that they ought to be a double-act. As the gene for human blondness is a relatively recent mutation, they must have a common prehistoric ancestor who was the Mother of all blondes (Moab). The alpha males of that epoch must have fought for the privilege of mating with her, while the alpha females no doubt pulled her hair and made bitchy remarks about peroxide. Being the first of a new strain is never easy.
Yet in truth, I find red-haired humans more interesting than blondes. The genetic mutation that gave rise to their condition is a very ancient one, shared by our orang-utan cousins. It is said to be associated with extrovert behaviour and a healthy libido, which is why you should always expect the unexpected from a redhead.
Take Cynthia Nixon, the actress who portrayed Miranda in Sex and the City. There she was playing happy families with her husband and two children, when quite out-of-the-blue she ran off with another woman and joined the tuppence-licking sorority. Her conduct reminded me of Clyde, the mercurial orang-utan in Every Which Way But Loose, who would stick out his arm without warning to punch people in the face.
Who is the world’s leading redhead? I would give the title to Julia Gillard, the prime minister of Australia. A lot of people find her accent unbearable, but I think it makes her sound like a school mistress addressing the roughnecks and bushwhackers in their own barbarous dialect. There is no doubt that millions of men have sexual fantasies about her, and are frustratedly searching for pornographic images to indulge their obsession. If she retired from politics today, she could easily earn $500 an hour as an escort, which is a more honourable way of making a living than giving paid speeches to assemblies of toadies.
Labels: Angela Merkel, blondes, Cynthia Nixon, Julia Gillard, Scarlett Johansson, Tiger Woods, tuppence-licking
Friday, June 15, 2012
Brazen blondes
The manageress of a dating site for adulterers is claiming that blond women are the most successful cheats:
“They know what they want and are seizing life by the horns,” declared Rosie Freeman-Jones of ‘Intimate Encounters’.
Does that mean life is a bull or a pair of cocks? The metaphors of a dating-site madam are unfathomable to a simple gorilla like me. In any case, I’m not convinced by her suggestion that blondes are a breed apart. She seems to have forgotten that women can dye their hair. For all she knows, the biggest trollops on her client list may be bottle blondes.
There is no solid evidence that men on the prowl for floozies prefer natural blondes. Consider the case of La Cicciolina, the Hungarian-Italian porn star, who famously offered her body to Saddam Hussein as a bribe for withdrawing his forces from Kuwait. Although her flowing locks were bleached, she never bothered to dye her dark eyebrows the same colour. Her admirers knew she was a fake blonde but they never gave two hooters about it.
As for the lady garden, my old friend Smacker Ramrod told me that even natural blondes tend to have pubic hair which is several shades darker.
“Yellow beavers look unnatural, even when they’re genuine,” he explained. “That part of a woman’s body is meant to be dark and mysterious.”
I took his word for it at the time, but now I’m not so sure. Could differences in lighting and shade account for the apparent mismatch? For many blondes, of course, the modern fashion for the depilating the cha-cha has made this question moot. There is very little mystery left in a woman’s undercarriage these days – it must be one of the most photographed areas of the human body.
It actually surprises me how conventional fornicating women are in their choice of cosmetics and dyes. I would have thought men who wanted to cheat on their wives were bored and looking for something different. Whatever you say about blond hair, it isn’t very different.
To my way of thinking, the enterprising hoochie should adopt a new and exciting look to entice men into her web of sin. A good place to look for ideas would be Star Trek (the original series), where Captain Kirk was continually putting his phaser on stun for some weird and wonderful alien chick. Although these damsels in distress were always humanoid, they usually had some exotic feature which made them especially alluring. I recall a particularly raunchy green one, who gave every indication of being a tigress in the sack.
The broader question, of course, is whether a dating site for cheaters is ethical. My own view is that it’s better for adulterers to commit adultery with other adulterers than deceive people genuinely looking for love. Such an arrangement is less likely to result in anguish, turmoil or dire revenge. Sometimes it’s safer to let the guilty wallow in their guilt than endanger the peace of the realm.
Labels: beavers, blondes, bottle blondes, dating-sites, fornication
