the japing ape

Wednesday, October 05, 2016

Coochie snooping

Avid readers of this blog will know I’m not a fan of greedy humans who sue each other because someone insulted them or pinched their butt. However, there are some lawsuits that deserve the full support of any right-thinking primate. I recently read a news report about a woman from Chicago who discovered that her vibrator was collecting data about her intimate habits and passing them to the manufacturer. It must be what technology buffs call a “smart device”. Nuts to that. I bet it’s not as smart as the nosey baboons in my neighbourhood, whose manners have been greatly improved by me giving them a good kicking.

Technology firms insist that collecting such information is part of the “Big Data” revolution that will enable them to cater for the consumer’s every whim. Call me an old-fashioned ape, but I happen to believe that what comes to pass between a lady and her vibrator is as confidential as a confession to a priest. If a woman can’t keep her relationship with her sex toy private, the world will descend into degeneracy and baboonery. For once, the victim’s lawyer was not exaggerating when she said:

”This is one of the more incredible invasions of privacy we've ever dealt with.”

In the circumstances, it is fortunate that the client’s name has been kept secret, although her initials have been identified as “N.P.” Let’s hope that Chicago women with those initials are not now subjected to bawdy remarks or impudent sniggers. I certainly wouldn’t want to be a woman called “Nelly Pinhorn” living within the city limits. It’s probably a good time for such ladies to adopt the American practice of stating the middle initial of their names.

Now Gorilla Bananas is far from being an enemy of new technology, but I’m starting to think that too much emphasis is being placed on the free flow of information. Even tourists on safari are constantly peering into their smart phones when they ought to be looking at hippos snorting and farting, or lions licking their balls. The fact that even vibrator manufacturers are jumping on the bandwagon is a sign that the whole thing is becoming a dangerous obsession.

The good news is that some noble folk in the sex toy industry are focussing on what really matters – making their products more pleasurable for the user. I was fascinated to find an article on the BBC website describing what the dildos of the future will look like. Apparently, the University of Melbourne has introduced a course in industrial design that teaches students how to create sex toys with beautiful geometric curves and contours. One can only imagine the exquisite satisfaction they will deliver to their grateful owners.

Before anyone accuses me of jumping the gun, I’m not advising anyone to buy one of these toys until they’ve been thoroughly tested. I’m sure the manufacturers will send free dildos to bloggers who agree to post honest reviews. Frankly, I can’t wait to read them!

Labels: Big Data, dildos, lawsuit, Sex toys, vibrators

// posted by Gorilla Bananas @ 00:00 14 comments

Wednesday, April 13, 2016

Son of Kirk

William Shatner has said he’s the luckiest man on Earth, and who could possibly disagree with him? Notice that he said “man” and not “human”. He’s obviously not as lucky as those women who can have 12 orgasms in a minute. Nevertheless, he is justly proud of his many achievements and good deeds.

“I've got a beautiful wife, three beautiful children and I've raised a large amount of money for charity,” he declared.

Now, there are some trekkies who think Picard was a better captain than Kirk. I don’t agree with them. Picard was an uptight character who never let his hair down in front of the crew, whereas Kirk was a cool dude who could horse around and flirt with the alien chicks. This made him a better ambassador for humanity than Picard, because no one wants to make friends with a goody-two-shoes species that hides all its vices and doesn’t know how to have fun. Picard was good for signing treaties after Kirk had pressed the flesh.

So why am I talking about William Shatner? I’ll tell you why! A 59-year-old man called Peter Sloan, who claims to be Shatner’s illegitimate son, is suing his alleged father for $170 million. What he has done to merit such a sum is a mystery to me. His mother put him up for adoption at the age of five, and his foster parents did a perfectly good job of raising him. Maybe they would be entitled to ask Shatner to recompense them for their time and trouble, but Sloan’s demand for cash is pure brazen audacity.

You could argue, of course, that Shatner should have done the decent thing and raised the boy in his own home. That would be ignoring the reaction of Mrs Shatner, who might well have sued for divorce on discovering her husband had fathered a bastard son. It’s a foolish captain who causes his ship to capsize by taking on an extra cabin boy.

Much as I’m rooting for Shatner in this dispute, one aspect of his strategy does worry me: he is denying paternity out of hand. His publicist made the following statement on his behalf:

“Mr Shatner has three lovely daughters, but no sons ... Mr Shatner is aware of the lawsuit, but there's nothing there because he isn't his father.”

Sloan insists that Shatner admitted to being his father in private and now wants a DNA test to settle the matter. At the age of 85, Shatner might be playing for time in the belief that he’ll be dead before the court orders him to comply. I would have preferred to see him acknowledge his son, while condemning him for his greed and unwarranted sense of entitlement.

Of course, this lawsuit could only arise because American courts have got a reputation for giving people large sums of money for no good reason. As we say in the Congo, if you feed one crocodile, be prepared to feed ten the next time.

Labels: Kirk, lawsuit, lawsuits, Picard, Star Trek, William Shatner

// posted by Gorilla Bananas @ 00:00 15 comments

Wednesday, April 06, 2016

Legal wrangling

An email correspondent asks me whether I’m going to comment on the sexual harassment lawsuit against Elton John. To be honest, I was hoping to avoid the subject. Sexual harassment is one of those vices that humans feel obliged to denounce in very strong terms lest anyone doubt the sincerity of their disapproval. Yet there are obviously wide variations in the degree of aggravation caused by deeds of a different nature. I know from experience that no one has much sympathy for a 500-pound gorilla who is the victim of an unsolicited butt massage from an infatuated human female. In such a situation, the gorilla is expected to shake the woman off gently and provide her with counselling and a souvenir.

Now, Elton John is a man I have grown to admire. I strongly approve of his commitment to family life, which includes marriage to a trouser-wearing husband and two beloved boys produced by a surrogate mother. He is also a musician of note. Some may argue that my high regard for Elton makes me biased in evaluating the allegations against him, but I shall strive to be impartial. As a former circus ape, I have plenty of experience in mediating between feuding humans.

The name of Elton’s accuser is Jeffrey Wenninger, a former police officer in the LAPD. The alleged incidents occurred while he was working for Elton as a security guard. According to Wenninger, Elton committed the following misdeeds:

1) Telling Wenninger to “get your todger out and say hello to Uncle Elton”;

2) Attempting to grope the said todger with his hand;

3) Twisting Wenninger’s nipple while saying “you gorgeous thing, you”.

Elton’s lawyer has issued a strong denial, but I’d be lying if I said I found it convincing. I remember seeing Elton talk about his sexual preferences in a chat show. It clearly irritated him that heterosexuals were unable to appreciate the attractions of their own sex, while he had found sleeping with women perfectly tolerable. He didn’t seem like the type who would wait for subtle cues before trying it on with a man who took his fancy.

In spite of this, I just can’t find it in me to sympathise with Wenninger. To put it bluntly, a former LAPD officer shouldn’t have allowed a silly old queen like Elton to harass him. How can a man who has apprehended hardened criminals be cowed so easily? Elton may have been hardened, but he certainly wasn’t a criminal. One firm tweak of his nose would have put him in his place.

All of these considerations make this a very difficult case to judge. Wenninger has probably exaggerated what happened to bolster his claim for damages, but there’s no smoke without fire. Elton clearly did something to him, but it was most likely nothing worse than behaving like a silly old tart. I hope it is settled out of court for a nominal sum of money and a souvenir dildo from Elton’s private collection.

Labels: Elton John, lawsuit, lawsuits, sexual harassment, todger

// posted by Gorilla Bananas @ 00:00 14 comments

Friday, June 01, 2012

Lingerie or bust

As a gorilla with a strong sense of fair play, it pains me when my human cousins victimise one of their own for no good reason. My females tell me that I should observe the behaviour of another species with scientific detachment, as if I were Davy Attenborough making a film about baboons. They may have a point, but an ape who has hobnobbed with humans as much as I have becomes emotionally involved in their tragedies and triumphs. I could never be like Davy Attenborough if I tried – he is a phlegmatic, blue-blooded Englishman, whereas I am a soft-hearted gorilla, compassionate to the needy and merciful to the naughty.

The latest example of human iniquity that caused me to tweak my nipples in despair occurred in New York City, where a 29-year-old woman was persecuted because of a physical peculiarity. Miss Lauren Odes was dismissed from her job in a boutique for no better reason that the size of her bosom. Her female supervisor (whom one presumes was a small-titted woman) had instructed Lauren to tape down her breasts or wear a billowy robe to disguise her voluptuous figure. When she declined to follow these demeaning instructions, the blameless girl was sacked.

“It was very shocking and humiliating,” said Lauren. “A crazy experience unlike anything I’ve been through.”

Let’s hope that Lauren’s self-esteem has not been irreparably damaged by her callous treatment. Perhaps the chivalrous men of New Jersey (where she lives) will assure her that her extravagant bosom is nothing to be ashamed of.

The ironic thing about this deplorable affair is that the shop concerned sells “intimate apparel”, which is a sanitised term for sexy underwear. Lauren rightly emphasised this point in a press conference she gave, deliberately mentioning the words “buttocks” and “genital area” to remind journalists that breasts are not the only distracting things on a woman’s body.

The question that intrigues me is what kind of legal defence the shop will make. Is it possible that Lauren’s big boobs would have dissuaded customers from making a purchase? They might argue, I suppose, that modestly endowed women would have felt disheartened at the sight of her chest, concluding that no amount of erotic lingerie could compensate for their lack of bust. It would sadden me if there were any truth to this claim. Some of the most attractive women in history had small bosoms, including Catherine of Aragon and Jane Birkin. There is no shortage of men, moreover, who prefer a ripe little pair of jahoobies.

It is all very well to sympathise, of course, but what can one do to show solidarity? The manager of the safari camp advised me to wear a pair of fake breasts for a week, but his suggestions are not to be trusted. I think what I’ll do is send Lauren a t-shirt with the slogan “BIG OR SMALL WE LOVE ‘EM ALL” printed on it. If she went into court wearing that, the shop owners and their legal cronies would surely die of shame.

Labels: big boobs, jahoobies, lawsuit, lingerie, persecution

// posted by Gorilla Bananas @ 00:00 23 comments

Monday, October 11, 2010

A piglet squeals

I’m going to nominate Britney Spears’ former bodyguard for the ‘Sissy of the Year’ award. He has recently been telling tales about Britney in court, claiming that she pranced around naked and made him watch her play with herself. He believes this entitles him to sue her for “sexual harassment” and obtain ridiculous damages. If I were Britney’s lawyer, I would ask the jury one simple question: How could a man who protects people for a living behave like such a snivelling wuss?

Now I don’t dispute that Britney did behave like a sex-crazed vixen in need of a good seeing to. One wouldn’t expect anything different from the woman. Nor am I saying that the fellow should have jumped on top of her the minute she wiggled her naked butt-cheeks – that sort of behaviour is for the goats and baboons. But a man who expects to be financially compensated for being propositioned by a nubile woman has forfeited the right to own a pair of testicles.

There is always a polite way of declining a woman’s favours without making her feel like a heifer whose udders are unfit for milking. When holidaying in England, a few years ago, I had the privilege of reading the memoirs of Lieutenant Cornelius Wagstaff of the Royal Navy, whose journal was an heirloom in a stately home I visited. In its pages, there is a description of an incident that occurred during shore leave in Naples, when the Contessa di Napoli invited Wagstaff to her palace to examine some artefacts of the late Lady Hamilton.

When Wagstaff arrived, he found a home empty of servants apart from a maid, who gave him directions to the Contessa’s bedchamber before leaving herself. On arriving, he found that both the door and the Contessa were wide open. As the latter sprawled naked on her bed, arching her back like a pussycat about to be stroked, she addressed her guest as follows:

“Here I am and this is what I offer you.”

Like a true officer of the King’s Navy, Wagstaff composed himself before responding to the challenge of an enemy vessel. Taking a deep breath, he said:

“My lady! Your body is an exquisite temptation which causes my sturdy loins to surge with manly desire. Yet I cannot succumb, for I am betrothed to a woman who at this very moment clasps my portrait to her tender, yearning bosom!”

“I see,” said the Contessa. “Shall I dress and show you the palace?”

Wagstaff chewed his lip and frowned before replying to this question:

“Rather than dressing, my lady, let me join you in your unveiled simplicity as we tour this majestic domicile, that you may witness your effect on my manhood. You have shown me yours, so I must show you mine.”

So the Lieutenant and the Contessa walked around the palace as innocently and as nakedly as Adam and Eve on their first day in Paradise. The Contessa was satisfied that her physical charms had not been scorned, and Wagstaff had turned what might have been an untoward incident into a triumph for British diplomacy.

Is there a man alive today with the manners and discretion of Lieutenant Cornelius Wagstaff?

Labels: Britney Spears, lawsuit, Royal Navy, sexual harassment

// posted by Gorilla Bananas @ 00:00 22 comments

Friday, February 22, 2008

Courting trouble

A tourist asks me what my greatest fear is. I reply that I live in dread of being sued for damages. At least being eaten by a predator is over fairly quickly. These legal disputes can drag on for ever while rapacious lawyers feed on your liquid assets like leeches. Thankfully, no one would waste time pressing a suit against me in the Congo, because the chief justice of the supreme court is pretty much in my pocket. I’ve been in his good books ever since he sent his wife to us for a rigorous programme of jungle aerobics. The exercises we made her do had the benign side-effect of tightening up her coochie, which reputedly put a permanent smile on the old bugger’s face.

This ugly business of suing people first came to my notice in England, when I was employed by the circus. I read about an actress winning a tidy sum from a newspaper which wrote she had “a big bum”. I was horrified by this. I must have said the same thing about at least a dozen women – and meant it as a compliment more often than not. When I mentioned this ignoble occurrence to a clown, he opened his mouth and licked his teeth like a lizard. “The English libel laws are like cunnilingus,” he quipped, “one slip of the tongue and you’re in the shit.”

Libel is less of a worry in America because their constitution permits you to talk utter crap to anyone who’ll listen. What you have to worry about there is people claiming – on the flimsiest evidence – that you are responsible for some mishap they suffered. I almost fell foul of this custom when touring there with the circus. We had just finished a show in New York and I decided to spend my day-off watching a baseball match at Shea Stadium. As I hurried to the ticket office, I accidentally bumped into an enormously fat woman who had crossed my path. Luckily, I managed to check myself sufficiently to avoid knocking her over, but she did wobble a fair bit. She was being escorted by an equally gross and exceptionally evil-looking fellow, whom I took to be her husband.

“Watch where yer goin’ yer big hairy baboon!” he snarled.

“Are you addressing me or your wife?” I asked in reply, seeking clarity on the facts before commenting on his outburst.

This perfectly straightforward question caused him to swing his fist wildly at me. Fortunately, I managed to intercept the blow with my head, which caused him to drop to his knees and bleat like an injured moose, clutching his hand in agony. It turned out that he’d broken several bones, but he could hardly blame me for that. Or so I thought. A month later, when we were giving a show in San Francisco, a letter was delivered to us by courier. It was from a legal firm representing the man and presented a list of grossly-inflated compensation demands. These items included medical expenses, emotional distress, post-traumatic stress counselling, loss of earnings and cosmetic surgery (for both the man and his wife).

The ringmaster wanted to take legal advice, but I argued strongly against it. I told him to leave the matter in my hands and let me bear the consequences. All I did was return the letter to sender after writing the following sentence at the bottom with a fountain pen:

The demands made in this communication are frivolous and without merit.

I never found out what the denouement was, because we left the country a week later. As a precaution, however, I arranged for all my US assets to be transferred to Dr Whipsnade’s name.

These wretched lawsuits seem to get sillier and sillier. The latest one that made me want to thump my chest was a claim for $6 million by an exhibitionist street performer who calls himself “The Naked Cowboy”. He alleges trademark infringement by a maker of confectionaries that used the nude cowpoke motif in an advertisement. This is preposterous. If a man can copyright stripping off his clothes and putting on a cowboy hat, the law is an ass with carrot up its backside. How I wish someone would find an old photo of Wyatt Earp in the buff to prove that this bare-bodied busker was not the originator of his cockamamie modus operandi. The living descendants of Mr Earp could then sue Billy the Nekkid for the very transgression he accuses others of. “Let every poisonous snake enjoy a dose of its own venom,” as we say in the jungle.

Labels: big bum, Billy the Nekkid, lawsuit, libel

// posted by Gorilla Bananas @ 00:00 44 comments