Wednesday, February 22, 2017
Return of the jubblies
One year ago, the executives of Playboy magazine announced to the world that they would no longer be publishing pictures of naked women. The new era of on-line porn had made nudity passé, they told us. Now they have admitted it was all a terrible mistake. Here are the words of Playboy’s 25-year-old Chief Creative Officer, Cooper bin Hefner (aka son of Hef):
“Nudity was never a problem because nudity isn’t a problem. Today we’re taking our identity back and reclaiming who we were.”
Reading between the lines, I think we can infer that the absence of nudie pics provoked howls of anguish and despair from the magazine’s loyal readers. What the Playboy bigwigs didn’t appreciate was the big difference between jahoobies on a computer screen and jahoobies on smooth, glossy paper. The latter can be rubbed against the face and licked, heightening the sensual pleasure. Only crazy people lick computer screens. I once saw a baboon lick one and the static electricity gave its tongue a shock.
It is said that there is nothing new under the sun and nothing surprising under the moon. Do you remember when Coca Cola brought back Classic Coke after New Coke bombed? The whole episode ended up boosting their sales, which led some to suspect it was all a clever marketing ploy. The CEO of Coca Cola had to issue a formal denial:
“We’re not that clever and we’re not that stupid,” he said.
It remains to be seen whether Playboy will experience a similar revival in its fortunes. A new era of naked flesh might attract new readers, but what about the old readers who have migrated to Penthouse or Hustler? Winning them back might be next to impossible. Their only hope is to innovate. A lot of men must be bored of staring at dumb blondes in passive positions. How about a nude kickboxing lady or a nude schoolmistress giving lessons on a blackboard? If you think about it, there are very few activities done by fully-clothed women that cannot also be done by naked women. The possibilities are endless.
None of this would persuade me to take out a subscription, of course. A gorilla has no interest in human flesh. The only reason for me to pick up a copy of Playboy would be to swat flies. That might change, however, if the magazine acquired a reputation for high-quality journalism. As a student of humanity, I would read any periodical that kept me informed of the latest fads and perversions.
“Who could they hire?” I hear you ask. Top of my list would be a feminist writer like Gloria Steinem. Obviously, she’s a huge enemy of Hef and everything he stands for, but enemies can often collaborate for the greater good. Remember the US-Soviet alliance during World War 2? To read her trenchant prose amid all the boobies and booties would be the purest delight. Now where can I find the email address of the Hefner boy?
Labels: Hugh Hefner, jahoobies, nudity, Playboy
Wednesday, October 28, 2015
Doing the decent thing
Would you believe that Playboy magazine has decided to stop displaying pictures of naked women? Some people might say it’s the passing of an era. The manager of the safari camp thinks it’s the dawn of a new dark age.
“It’s not the end of the world,” I said on seeing his grim face. “You’ll still be able to download nudie pics from the internet.”
“That’s not the point,” he replied glumly. “Putting the clothes back on naked women is like turning the clock back. How would you like it if tourists went back to thinking gorillas were big hairy monsters?”
“Well it might stop them asking for my autograph,” I remarked.
I personally think it’s a positive step for Playboy. It will now be possible for men who enjoy reading its articles to subscribe to the magazine without being thought of as compulsive oglers of tit-and-bum. Dentists will be able to put copies of Playboy in their waiting rooms. Fashionistas will be able to admire the stylish garments of fully-clothed women. Wankers will have to fantasize about undressing these women instead of getting it all on a plate. There’s no doubt these developments are an advance for human civilisation.
Loyal readers of this blog will know that I’ve written uncomplimentary things about Hef in the past, so it’s nice to pat the old codger on the back for a change. The decision was actually made by Scott Flanders, Playboy’s chief executive, who made the following observation:
“You're now one click away from every sex act imaginable for free. And so it's just passé at this juncture.”
Hef gave it his blessing at a board meeting. In the spirit of the new Playboy, let’s hope he will now keep his own clothes on in the mansion. He will still need a nurse to undress and bathe him, of course, but there’s no need for the playmates to witness these repulsive and macabre events.
Lest anyone should accuse me of being a prude, let me emphasize that disrobing can be an admirable deed in the right context. Consider the case of Inés Estévez, a 50-year-old Argentinian actress who was recently the victim of insulting remarks because of a somewhat revealing blouse she wore at a public event.
“20 years ago, I would have killed for that, but now I wouldn't even look at them,” wrote one anonymous cyber-bully in reference to her bosom.
Miss Estévez responded to these contemptible barbs by issuing the following statement:
“For your hunger for destructive critique, you will see [on my Facebook page] a recent photo of my breasts without silicone or photo-shopping. And yes, I'm proud of them.”
In the circumstances, I considered it appropriate to accept her invitation to view the items in question. Having done so, I have no hesitation in affirming that her jahoobies are superb for a woman of 50 (or any other age). There’s no point staring at breasts unless you can link it to some higher noble purpose.
Labels: cyber-bullying, Hugh Hefner, jahoobies, nudity, Playboy
Wednesday, July 01, 2015
Tatum tattle
So apparently there’s an actor called Channing Tatum. It’s a good thing I’ve seen a copy of his driver’s licence floating around the internet, because I wouldn’t have believed it otherwise. Not only is his last name puzzling and slightly comical, it’s also the first name of an actress called Tatum O’Neill, whom I once saw eating a banana in Wimbledon. If Mr Tatum started eating bananas and changed his name to “Channelling Tatum” I might take him more seriously.
What exactly is a tatum anyway? When I asked the manager of the safari camp, he told me it was a shy, beaver-like creature that inhabits the forests of Finland, noted for making peculiar puffing noises. I wasn’t such a fool to take his words at face value, because he’s just the kind of impudent trickster who would love to make a monkey out of a gorilla.
It seems that Mr Tatum has similar concerns. In a recent interview with a film magazine, he complained that fans were constantly asking him to perform for them:
“That happens every time I walk out of my house. It can get old. I'm not a monkey!”
He didn’t say what kind of performance they wanted, but I doubt it was a soliloquy from Hamlet. In the same interview, Mr Tatum revealed he was a retired stripper whose act was now reserved for his wife. I think this reflects pretty well on him. A man who takes his marriage vows seriously shouldn’t hesitate to make a monkey of himself for his wife. On the other hand, it wasn’t clear whether she wanted to watch him disrobe. It could have been pure exhibitionism on his part.
My doubts about the latter were exacerbated when I found another article about Mr Tatum which suggests he’s a proponent of nudism.
“I wish that I could make anyone at any point just happen to be naked,” he said.
“Because people get really nice when they get naked,” he added in explanation.
It’s an interesting theory, but rather too reductive for my liking. Would Genghis Khan have turned into a fluffy bunny if you’d caught him naked in the shower? I think it’s more likely that he would have thrown his bottle of shampoo at you while cursing in Mongolian. Human history is peppered with characters who behaved like utter swines when they were naked. Just think of all the Viking warriors who charged into battle wearing nothing but their stabbing accoutrements.
What Mr Tatum probably meant to say is that people were very nice to him when they were naked. This would be quite understandable. Humans foolish enough to expose themselves in front of a professional stripper would be terrified of being harshly judged. They would do their best to butter him up, so he wouldn’t look at their bodies with pity or wry amusement.
Mr Tatum seems like a good-natured fellow, but he should learn to distinguish the genuinely affable from those trying to curry favour.
Labels: Channing Tatum, nudity, stripping, Tatum O'Neill
Wednesday, June 17, 2015
Shameless acts
I admit to feeling sorry for the English floozy who was arrested in Malaysia for stripping off on a holy peak. How was she to know that her stunt would offend the local mountain gods, causing them to instigate an earthquake measuring 6.0 on the Richter scale? The local tribespeople wanted her to atone for her sacrilegious act by offering the gods ten buffalo heads, but unfortunately she didn’t have any. The Malaysian authorities then took the law into their own hands by charging her with “causing a nuisance”, which is apparently an imprisonable offence in their country.
Had I been the girl’s defence lawyer, I would have made a plea for mercy by pointing out what she didn’t do. Had she performed her nude caper in one of the Mediterranean resorts frequented by British tourists, the locals would have slapped their foreheads in astonishment at her moderation. In the Costa del Sol, the English woman who strips naked is expected either to perform oral sex on the nearest drunken oaf, or douse her body with an alcoholic beverage for the drunken oaf to lap up like a thirsty wolf. The incident would typically be recorded on a mobile phone to provide her with a serviceable memento. Those who are too inebriated to remember the fun they’ve had now take the precaution of capturing it on a digital device to prove it to themselves afterwards. Such are the blessings of modern technology.
The girl’s father has described her as “a very intelligent, stoic young woman”. I suppose we’ll have to take his word for it. The thin mountain air might have turned Tolstoy into a giddy-headed fool. Now that she’s back at sea level, she should validate her father’s words by giving a seminar on meditating in windy places.
Humans from conservative Asiatic countries often remark on the shamelessness of libertine westerners. What they fail to realise is that repressing feelings of shame is sometimes a virtue. Consider the case of Boris Becker, the former tennis maestro, who impregnated a woman in a restaurant in less time than it takes an Olympic sprinter to win the 100 metres. After DNA tests proved his paternity, he humbly accepted his fate, agreeing to a generous divorce settlement with his wife and maintenance payments for his illegitimate daughter.
The girl, now aged 15, is an aspiring model, and her father is suitably doting. Far from being ashamed at having procreated in circumstances that would make a baboon blush, Becker has described the brief coupling as one of the more felicitous events of his life:
“If that's what I'm remembered for, then I'm proud,” he told a British TV network.
I think Becker’s conduct provides a useful lesson for saucy English wenches who prance around naked in exotic holiday destinations. If you’re going to take your clothes off, make sure you get knocked up by a famous sportsman who thinks doing it standing up is an effective method of contraception. The semen of the alpha male is worth its weight in Estée Lauder face creams.
Labels: Boris Becker, floozie, nudity, public nudity, sacrilege
Wednesday, November 05, 2014
My momma done tol' me
Halle Berry says her mother told her to always wear a bra, even in bed. While it’s nice to hear of a mother giving her daughter sartorial advice, she shouldn’t have made it public. According to Halle, following this dictum has kept her breasts perky at the age of 48, which suggests it was a valuable trade secret, like an old family recipe for pumpkin pie. Now that the cat is out of the bag, women the world over will be keeping their boobs permanently encased in the hope of replicating the Berry bust. This is unlikely to increase the sum of human happiness.
Let us consider the issues arising. There are women, I believe, who take great pleasure in removing their chest cups after returning home from a hard day at the souk. What will become of them now? Will they unhappily conform to the new orthodoxy or live with the guilt of allowing their breasts to swing freely? This painful dilemma would not have arisen if Halle had kept her trap shut.
Then there are other women, like my friend Kola Boof, who believe that liberating the jahoobies from their unnatural confinement is a revolutionary act of self-empowerment. If her comradely sisters suddenly started wearing bras, the consequences would be dire. I have visions of her wandering from hamlet to hamlet with her hair unkempt and her breasts smeared with soot, wailing and cursing like a vengeful priestess. Only those with nerves of steel would be unperturbed by her prophecies of doom.
As for the menfolk, one imagines they would approve of the greater quantity of shapely bosoms on display, although constantly turning their heads might strain their necks. But the realisation would soon dawn that these delightfully-packaged dumplings would never be available to play with in their denuded state. This would make them feel like boys in a sweet shop fully of juicy bonbons whose brightly-coloured wrappers they weren’t allowed to remove. The frustration would be intense and might drive many of them mad.
After painting such a grim prognosis, I should lighten the gloom with some cheerier news. Cameron Diaz has announced that she would be happy to “strip completely” in a film role, as long as it was in good taste and befitted the script. Even those who have no wish to see her naked should appreciate her willingness to go the extra mile for her art and her public. It remains to be seen whether the movie moguls will find a tasteful part for her to display her tasty parts.
I reckon the best way of holding her to her word would be to offer her the female lead in a big screen version of the Adam and Eve story. The early part of the film would have all the nudity, with Cameron frolicking unashamedly in glistening pastures and cavorting energetically with the furry creatures of Paradise. There would also be nude scenes with Adam, where they innocently play the humpy-pumpy game God taught them for the purpose of begetting. The biggest headache might be finding a convincing snake.
Labels: Adam and Eve, Bras, Breasts, Cameron Diaz, Halle Berry, jahoobies, nudity, snakes
Wednesday, August 27, 2014
Fruit abuse
Take a good look at the picture above. The manager of the safari camp showed it to me the other day, apparently in an attempt to rile me. He knows how sensitive we gorillas are to the misuse of fruit.
“I hope the feast didn’t go to waste after that pitiful floozy got out of the bath,” I remarked.
“Why would it?” asked the manager. “Those peaches would have tasted even better after rubbing against her jubblies!”
“Rubbish!” I barked. “Her jubblies might have tasted better, but not the peaches. The natural flavour of fruit is not improved by stewing it in a woman’s juices!”
I left the smirking manager to avoid further provocation. After regaining my composure, I did some research and identified the fruit-abusing female as a member of a musical ensemble called “The Pussycat Dolls”. Her name is Ashley Roberts and the purpose of her unusual pose was to promote a cheap brand of wine. I’m sure she was the right woman for the job, but where are the grapes? Even Benny the Baboon knows they’re the main ingredient in wine. I suppose she might have been sitting on them, but you can’t really tell from the expression on her face.
In any event, it’s a damned peculiar way of promoting an alcoholic beverage. At the very least, she should have been holding a half-full glass, to give people the impression she enjoys quaffing the stuff. There is nothing remotely drinkable in that bath, although I dare say most of its contents taste better than the wine they’re trying to sell.
Now I’m not dogmatically opposed to displaying wares on a woman’s body. My dear friend Jules sent me a lovely picture of a necklace adorning the smooth skin of an anonymous model, which I display below for your inspection. Would you believe that the stainless steel object nestling between her norks is a vibrator? I would never have guessed it without being told by the text beneath the picture.
It looks too thin for an insertion device, so it must be one of those bean-tickling gizmos. If so, it’s a masterpiece of slick design, because I can’t see where you’d put in the batteries. Hundreds of years from now, that necklace will be a museum exhibit, inspiring onlookers to marvel at the ingenuity of humans in the 21st century. It might even still be in use. The basic technique of stimulating a lady’s love button is unlikely to change over the centuries – it’s one of those skills like darning a sock or squeezing a lemon that can’t really be improved on.
Anyway, I hope this gorgeous necklace will encourage women to display their sex toys with pride rather than hiding them under their pillows. Men have no reason to feel threatened by such a development. I can’t think of a better conversation starter than expressing admiration for a woman’s dildo and inquiring about its performance. It’s got to be better than petting her poodle and asking her whether it does tricks.
Labels: Fruit abuse, nudity, Sex toys, vibrators, wine
Wednesday, August 20, 2014
Good news for Hef
Does anyone know how Hef is keeping? I’ve written a few scornful posts about him in the past, but I’m reluctant to mention him now in case he’s about to pop off. I don’t want people denouncing me as a heartless ape when the playmates are in mourning and the porn community are hailing him as a giant of the industry. Hef may currently be a ridiculous old ghoul, but I’m pretty sure he was admired as a great innovator in his day. No one can deny his many achievements, such as making it socially acceptable for lecherous men to stare at pictures of tits and ass.
The reason I’m talking about Hef is that I’ve got some good news for him. Christina Aguilera has announced that she wants to pose nude in Playboy. Having recently had her second child, she’s eager to show the world that her body is as elastic as a rubber band:
“This is something she wanted to do even before she got pregnant,” a close friend revealed. “Christina's always loved her body.”
I wonder what her fiancé thinks about her unabashed narcissism. If he kept her waiting in bed, she’d probably start without him. Personally, I don’t see why she doesn’t publish the photos on twitter. If you’re fishing for compliments, it’s better to choose a medium where your flunkies can give you instant admiration.
It’s actually a miracle that Playboy is still in business with all the free pictures of female flesh in cyberspace. There’s a blog with the strange name of Zyzzyz (adults only) that I recently became aware of. It is a journal of few words and many pictures, mostly of happy smiling ladies in various states of undress. I discovered this blog because The Japing Ape is one of several it links to. I view this as a compliment, even though the other linked blogs have a nudity or sex theme. A man can take only so much naked flesh before his brain hungers for the prose of a literate gorilla.
Returning to the subject of Hef, I’ll venture a guess that we’ll never see his like again. I’m not trying to kiss his butt here, because no one in his right mind would want to kiss that leathery old pumpkin. The point I’m trying to make is that there isn’t a young man-about-town you can point to say “He’s the new Hef”. What we have instead is fellows like Mischa Badasyan, a 26-year-old German “performance artist” who is planning to have sex with a different person on each day of the year.
“I hope my project entitled ‘Save the Date’ will challenge ideas of sexuality and homosexuality in the time of Tinder, Scruff and Grindr,” he explained.
He may call it art, but I call it a recipe for confusion, because he won’t remember most of the people he’s slept with. Tinder, Scruff and Grindr could sabotage his project by ravishing him in April and buggering him again in November.
Labels: Christina Aguilera, Hugh Heffner, nudity, Performance art
Wednesday, March 26, 2014
Scarlett's denial
Scarlett Johansson has said that she’s “not a nudist by nature” and I believe her. Exposing her soft, creamy skin to the elements would be a foolhardy pastime to practice on a regular basis. In my part of the world, the mosquitoes and leeches would be queuing up to taste her tender flesh and gorge on her blood, which doubtless tastes better than a tomato smoothie. If I saw Scarlett sleeping naked in the jungle, I would order a chimpanzee to fetch a box of cling film from the safari camp, so I could wrap her up like a slice of melon. Naked actresses are no less worthy of conservation than African wildlife, and I’m sure my friend Davy Attenborough would agree with me.
The intention behind Scarlett’s remark was to assure critics that the nudity in her latest film role was essential to the plot, and not a brazen attempt at titillation. In this film, Scarlett plays an alien femme fatale who kills the men she seduces in order to harvest their bodies. Not having seen the movie, I cannot explain the motive for these egregious deeds. One would hope those extra-terrestrial chicks aren’t like female spiders who make a hearty meal of the poor dope that impregnates them. I wouldn’t want to see Scarlett practising cannibalism on the big screen – it’s not a healthy dining habit and the African tribes that did it suffered from heartburn and halitosis. Stick to green vegetables and insects if you want to live long and prosper.
Let’s hope that no mentally disturbed woman engages in copycat behaviour after seeing the film. That could lead to tiresome lawsuits, which are the bane of humanity. I groaned and thumped my chest when I heard that Miley Cyrus is being sued by a workman who was hurt while erecting the giant tongue used in her stage act. One would have hoped he had more dignity than to claim he was injured by a tongue. My advice to Miley is to settle this quickly before the lawyers descend like vultures.
Back in my circus days, a clown once threatened to sue me for injuring his buttocks during our act. There was a little swelling, but nothing that couldn’t have been cured by sitting on an ice pack for a few hours. I offered him a month’s wages from my own pocket.
“Take the cash and I will moderate the force of my kicks,” I told him. “Otherwise be prepared to suffer for your art.”
He wisely took the money and got his arse massaged by a professional.
Much as I dislike lawsuits, I have no fear of testifying in court should the need arise. I was once called as an expert witness in a libel trial in London.
“M’Lud!” I declared. “No human in a gorilla suit could tempt a real gorilla into the unnatural acts described in the journal. The anatomies are incompatible!”
I’m proud to say that my evidence decided the case.
Labels: lawsuits, Miley Cyrus, nudity, Scarlett Johansson
Wednesday, February 19, 2014
Old man Clooney
George Clooney thinks he’s getting too old for acting. Silly man! Doesn’t he know that all the best character parts are written for craggy-faced dudes with interesting faces? What George really means is that he’s too old to play leading men who can make women perspire into their panties. This, I regret to say, is the mentality of a vain, strutting peacock. Why would I expect anything better of him? Because we gorillas have lofty ideals which we hope our human cousins will adopt.
Clooney should take inspiration from the example of Robert Redford, the former screen heartthrob, whom 36% of bored housewives fantasized about when their husbands were exercising their conjugal rights. Redford is now as wrinkly as a prune, but that didn’t stop him playing the leading (and only) role in a movie called All is Lost. After it was shown at Cannes, the audience burst into rapturous applause, acclaiming Redford as a cinematic legend whose feet they were not worthy to pedicure. It’s much easier to be admired for your acting when you don’t make the audience jealous or horny.
Things are not so easy for ageing actresses, of course. Shirley MaClaine played some charming old biddies, but whatever happened to Brigitte Bardot? I can’t remember her in a single role where she didn’t look like a fresh French tart. This must be a worry for Ludivine Sagnier, the aspiring French thespian who’s been hailed as the new Bardot. Her career took off when she took off her clothes in a film called The Swimming Pool – since then, all the Hollywood roles she’s been offered have required nude scenes as a matter of course:
“There is always on the brief written “naked part” or “naked scene”, and I don’t feel like that really connects with what I really am,” she explained.
I know how she feels. All the big screen roles I’m offered involve tree-climbing and chest-thumping. It goes without saying that there are lots of naked pictures of Ms Sagnier in cyberspace, but I’m not going to publish any of them here. When you’ve seen one perfectly-formed human female, you’ve seen them all.
I prefer women who expose their bodies without asking to be paid, usually to make an important statement. A recent example of such is 26-year-old Katarina Jovanovic, a former office worker in Belgrade. She resigned from her job by sending her boss a photograph of her naked body, tastefully obscured by an oilcloth with the Serbian words “I quit” written on it.
“I am not interested in sitting and working for one company until I get old and can retire,” explained Katarina. “It’s a mistake that everybody thinks that a paycheck and money are Man’s only purpose.”
This admirable sentiment makes her nakedness profoundly symbolic and meaningful, which is exactly what nakedness should be. Katarina plans to attend a weaving and pottery class, and is currently spending some time “experimenting”. I send her my best wishes and hope her experiments go well.
Labels: acting, actresses, George Clooney, nudity
Wednesday, February 05, 2014
Skin without fur
The manager of the safari camp is highly agitated about an actress called Lucy Watson, and thinks I should share his excitement.
“She’s taking off her clothes to protest against the fur trade,” he explained. “Aren’t you grateful that a gorgeous woman is exposing her body to protect furry animals like yourself? I’m grateful and I’m not even furry!”
“I am hairy, manager, not furry,” I replied. There’s a profound difference between the two. My fine body filaments are not suitable for making coats. The fuzz beneath your armpits would do a better job.”
“That’s just splitting hairs!” guffawed the manager, delighted with his own wit. He sauntered off with a big grin on his face.
Now what of Miss Watson? Her justification for appearing on posters in a state of undress is to inform the general public that she’d rather be naked than wear fur. It’s a preference that does her credit, but I doubt it will change many minds. Off the cuff, I can think of two groups of humans who would pooh-pooh her notion:
(i) those who live in cold climates;
(ii) those who have saggy bottoms.
The former will find her argument fatuous, while the latter will view it as smug and conceited. And let’s not forget men like the manager of the safari camp, who will ogle the poster without any real concern for the issue. I fear that displaying her naked body is more likely to harden opinions than win converts.
The plain fact is that you can’t credibly protest against skinning animals without expressing support for alternative fabrics. Making a fetish of nudity won’t do. If Miss Watson wants to nail her colours to the anti-fur mast, she should wear acrylic instead of running around naked. The Velcro vixens of the ‘Dykes on Bikes’ movement are doing more for the cause than she is.
The grey area between fur and man-made fabrics is wool. Is it wrong to shear sheep against their will? Although they don’t appear to enjoy it, they must feel better afterwards. If I were encased in a thick coat of wool, I would happily allow a beer-guzzling Australian lout to shave it off. Sheep are simply too stupid to know what’s good for them.
Fleecing sheep when they get too shaggy may be ethical, but it goes without saying that they shouldn’t be molested in the interim period. I was sorry to see a news report of yet another hoary old pervert who’s been arrested for sheep abuse. The judge had to scold the jury for giggling at the flustered witnesses who testified against him. You don’t appreciate how disturbing such incidents are until you’ve seen them with your own eyes.
The existence of men who find sheep sexually attractive is an enduring puzzle. Some say that the hindquarters of a ewe are seductive when she trots across a field, but I think her bleating is a likelier explanation. One has to pity a creature that can fake orgasms without intending to.
Labels: bestiality, fur, hair, Lucy Watson, nudity, sheep
Wednesday, December 04, 2013
Bare cheek
Does anyone know what happened to the Russian performance artist who nailed his scrotum to Red Square? I only became interested in his fate when the Russian authorities charged him with “hooliganism”. The injury to his nutsack is of no interest to me. When a man self-harms his genitalia, one has to assume that he’s weighed up the pros and cons. He’s no different, in principle, from Captain Dan, the circus dwarf who attached household appliances to his appendage.
I don’t know why the Russian government keeps over-reacting to these publicity stunts. I can’t think of a protest that would be easier to laugh off. Nor can I think of a crime that’s more obviously its own punishment. They should have hired a workman to extract the nail and sent the fellow a bill for labour and materials. No further action was required.
Some protests are no laughing matter, of course. I would never snigger at a woman who registered a complaint by taking off her clothes. Women are sensitive about their bodies and often have issues about being the wrong shape or size. If they choose to disrobe, for whatever reason, they should be ogled in respectful, sombre-faced silence. It is the height of bad manners to smirk at a naked woman.
An Egyptian maiden has caused a stir in her native land by baring her body in support of women’s rights. Alia al-Mahdi has mocked religious rituals by parodying them in the nude. The local turbans aren’t used to that sort of cheek and have reacted to her lampoons with outrage:
“This is pure heresy!” exclaimed Sheikh Nasser Radwan. “She should be tried for defaming religion and insulting the Divine Being!” he added.
Alia has wisely decamped to Stockholm, where she will be safe from the Divine Being and his vengeful minions. The colder climate has not discouraged her from further activism with her fellow feminudists in FEMEN. According to actress Amanda Banoub, she displays "genuine purity and modesty without a single layer of clothing". Having watched the video, I can almost see what she means.
The problem with stripping off, however, is that people might confuse your philosophy with exhibitionism. It’s an easy mistake for the unsophisticated to make. This explains why many humans prefer to blow a raspberry as a gesture of defiance. The aim is to imitate the noise of a fart, which can be highly unsettling if it catches you unawares. Oddly enough, a genuine fart is not considered to be an insult. However much it annoys the bystander, the farter is usually ashamed of the deed.
The good news for the flatulent is that a new type of underwear has been invented which filters out the pungent fart gases, so the discharge is completely odourless. It ought to be standard kit for humans of all races and creeds. I suppose a few sleazy types might miss smelling their own farts, but to hell with them. “Let them sniff cake,” as the Queen of France might have said.
Labels: fart deodorising underpants, fart noises, FEMEN, nudity, protest, raspberries, Russia
Wednesday, June 26, 2013
Hairy crab
I hope David Hasselhoff doesn’t sue the scientists who named a species of crab after him. They decided to call the creature “The Hoff” because it farms a colony of bacteria on its hairy chest. They surely aren’t implying the real Hoff grows bacteria on his chest, although it might occur by accident after he hugs his girlfriend. The Hoff is so tall that her mouth would be smooching his chest, causing a potential transfer of oral cooties. He could avoid this mishap by lifting her off her feet before clasping her to his bosom, but such precautions are easily forgotten in the heat of the moment.
If the Hoff ever runs short of cash, he should consider selling his chest hairs to the Chinese, who are manufacturing a new brand of anti-pervert pantyhose. These stockings are coated with real human hair, so that girls who put them on appear to have hairy legs. This allows them to wear hot pants and miniskirts without attracting the attention of dirty old men. The main disadvantage is that worthy gallants would also be discouraged from approaching them. Another possible drawback is unwanted attention from male chimpanzees (but not male gorillas, who only pursue females in oestrus).
The Japanese are a different race from the Chinese and far more advanced in their perversions. Their women have had to endure being groped by dirty old men for decades, particularly on crowded commuter trains. The latest deviant fetish to have gripped Japan is “oculolinctus” or “worming”, where people lick each other’s eyeballs. All the medical experts agree that the practice is evil, unhygienic and far worse than growing bacteria on your chest.
“No good can come of this,” declared Dr David Ganet of San Diego. “If a person hasn't washed out their mouth, they might put acid from citrus products or spices into the eye.”
He should have cautioned that washing out your mouth with a powerful mouthwash might cause the eye to dissolve. In truth, eyeball-licking is only safe for creatures like lizards, which do not eat spicy food or citrus fruit and never use mouthwash. What’s more, they only practice auto-oculolinctus – I have never seen a lizard lick the eyeball of another lizard.
These kinky news items from the Orient make the confessions of Hollywood celebrities seem very tame by comparison. In a recent interview, the actress Zoe Saldana told ExtraTV.com that she prefers to live life in the nude:
I’m always naked,” she said. “That’s why I have to be careful with whoever walks through the door. If I ever have my gardeners walking around, I always have to draw the curtains.”
I suppose this story might cause a few desperate people to wonder what her naked body looks like, but it’s not a revelation that provokes much excitement these days. If Zoe wants to stay in the limelight, she’ll have to do more interesting things than take her clothes off. She could start by licking something unusual and telling us about it.
Labels: crabs, hairy stockings., nudity, oculolinctus, The Hoff, Zoe Saldana
Wednesday, March 06, 2013
Naked vegan blog
Some bloggers from England sent me this email:
Dear Gorilla Bananas
We’d be honoured if you had a look at our blog and introduced it to your readers. It’s called Naked Vegan Cooking and we think a natural-living ape like you will like it. :) Drop in for dinner if you’re ever in Manchester and we’ll give you some gorilla-friendly dishes to eat!
Cheers
Naked Vegan Cooking team (nakedvegancooking.com)
So I visited their blog and found a number of food photos where the only meat on display was human. The picture shown above was one of the more tasteful ones and I’m not referring to the cooking. The following description appears in the ‘About’ page:
Naked Vegan Cooking is a blog full of delicious, easy to cook vegan recipes and beautiful, naked bodies and not an airbrush in sight. We believe in tasty food and positive body image.
A worthy mission statement, to be sure, but I cannot give the blog my unqualified endorsement. Although we gorillas shun meat, veganism is a step too far. There’s nothing wrong with eating eggs – by reducing the number of hungry chicks it preserves the balance of Nature. Far-sighted birds like chickens realise this. Only stupid ones like ostriches will peck the fur off your arse for stealing them.
Human nakedness is also something I’m ambivalent about. On the plus side, it keeps the sweaty regions of the human body well ventilated. The downside is that bare skin is a tempting target for mosquitoes and other blood-sucking varmints. I recently got an email from Katy Perry’s agent, asking whether she could spend some quality naked time with my tribe. I told him it could be arranged, but she’d have to let us smear her body with natural jungle ointments. We’re still negotiating the details.
The other problem with nudity is all too evident from the Naked Vegan blog – a lot of humans look better with their clothes on. It’s all very well talking about “positive body image” and such, but there comes a point when the gulf between image and reality makes it an exercise in self-delusion. Humans who want their bodies to be admired should expend the required effort in flesh-firming activities. A species designed for the hunter-gatherer lifestyle doesn’t get into shape by sitting on its butt eating Ritz crackers.
The dangers of body narcissism were aptly illustrated by a recent incident in a hotel. A naked man accidentally locked himself out of his room while putting some plates outside his door. Why he chose to perform this task in the nude is a mystery, but I suspect he was fishing for compliments from passers-by. He soon realised he wasn’t as beautiful as he thought when some guests ignored him. Eventually, he had to skulk down to reception with a plate over his groin.
In the light of this man’s misadventure, I offer a stark warning to the Naked Vegan bloggers: However many followers you acquire, the great mass of humanity will not give you admiring glances when you prance about naked. You won’t stop them eating eggs either. Never forget that your niche is anomalous.
Labels: blogging, eggs, nudity, positive body image, vegan cooking
Monday, July 09, 2012
The flame and the sausage
Hats off to the Lincolnshire mayoress who greeted the Olympic torch in a sausage costume. The fact that many onlookers mistook her for a phallus was not her fault. People with filthy minds will see what they want to see. She has earned my hairy esteem for treating this silly Olympic charade in the spirit it deserves. Ferrying a flame in fifty different directions so people can prance about conceitedly is not a spectacle to be taken seriously.
The Olympic Games are ridiculous, of course. Humans that run and jump for sport are pathetic wannabes – I could put together a team of chimpanzees that would win every track and field event. Why can’t humans play games based on their own survival skills? I am 100% certain that no ape could milk a cow as well as a human. Any chimp that tried to do it would probably squirt milk in his eye before getting a hoof in the mouth. Humans awarding each other medals for bipedal motion are like rabbits giving themselves prizes for landscape gardening.
At this point, you’ll remind me that the Olympics have a proud history going back to the ancient Greeks. What you forget is that the games of classical antiquity were conducted in the nude. Strict rules were required to prevent unsportsmanlike conduct – according to Herodotus, laughing at an opponent’s willy resulted in immediate disqualification. Be that as it may, the modern games have not kept faith with these hallowed traditions for purely pragmatic reasons. If they hadn’t dispensed with the nudity, my guess is that only Germany and Papua New Guinea would participate.
I say this because the Germans are famous for stripping off at the slightest excuse. A recent example of their fondness for doing things naked was seen in the town of Suderlugum, where a new supermarket offered a free trolley of groceries to the first 100 customers who did their shopping in the nude. They got more than they bargained for when half the town turned up naked.
“We were a bit overwhelmed,” said the manager. “We were expecting maybe 10 or 20, but absolutely everyone was in the nude. It was fun but I wouldn't want to do it every day, although it would cut down on shoplifting.”
Call me a suspicious ape, but the manager’s remarks sound evasive to me. A marketing exercise in which 100 customers get a windfall and everyone else leaves empty-handed doesn’t make sense. You’ve got to spread the goodies widely to make such promotions work.
His use of the word “fun” reveals the true nature of this offer. Let’s assume that 20% of Germans are exhibitionists, another 20% are voyeurs, and a further 20% are both. You don’t have to be a mathematical genius to see that any kind of naked event will be immensely popular, with or without free groceries.
All of which suggests that the Germans will use the Olympics as another excuse for group nudity. Anyone planning to go there for a holiday should expect to get invited to naked barbecues in which fat middle-aged men called Gunter will offer them flame-grilled sausages. Remember to blow on them before biting.
Labels: Germans, nudity, Olympics, sausages
Monday, February 20, 2012
Northern exposure
I had thought that nude hiking was an exclusively German pastime, but apparently it goes on in England too. A man called Nigel Keer has been arrested by an off-duty policeman during a naked ramble through the Yorkshire countryside. The policeman, who was fully clothed, made the cop after noticing the “disgusted face” of a woman walking her dog.
The policeman’s behaviour looks fishy to me. Why would an officer of the law apprehend a naked man because he saw a woman’s disgusted face? Wouldn’t the sight of his wobbly buttocks be sufficient grounds to take him in for questioning? I suspect this so-called policeman is either a nudist sympathiser or a closet nudist himself. He obviously has no objection to people running around naked unless they happen to upset women walking their dogs. The suspicion of police collusion dangles from this case like a limp piece of flesh. I hope the judge gets to the bottom of it.
The hiker has attempted to justify his unclothed caper by saying that he was unemployed and had nothing better to do:
“It was just something I did to pass the time,” he explained.
I have a certain amount of sympathy for his line of argument. If you’re out of work, going for a naked stroll is far better for body and spirit than watching daytime TV or playing marbles. And as Mr Keer pointed out, there’s a huge difference between honest, bare-arsed nudity and flashing. There was no reason at all for the dog-walking woman to frown disgustedly at him. If that’s how she reacts to a naked man minding his own business, what would she do if some foul wretch pulled down his pants and leered at her? Have a nervous breakdown?
Of course, it’s possible she was disgusted by the man’s body because she found it unsightly. I suspect there are many women who never look at naked men unless they are gazing at statues of Graeco-Roman gods, which exhibit a perfection of form that few real men can attain. It is also evident that these statues are quite modest in the todger department, which in the classical world was viewed as a sign of refinement. Artefacts retrieved from Pompeii indicate that the Romans thought big willies were ludicrous, befitting donkeys rather than men. I dare say there are still many English spinsters who have no idea how grotesque and droopy a man’s genitalia can be.
In view of these mitigating factors, I think Mr Keer is fully justified in appealing against the fine of 315 pounds sterling imposed on him. It’s all very well to sympathise with the woman he offended, but what about his feelings? It can’t be very nice to have someone frown at your private parts as if they were horrible deformed things. Perhaps the best solution would be for Mr Keer to meet the woman fully-clothed and assure her that he meant no affront. The court could then provide her with some photos to convince her that what she saw was nothing out of the ordinary.
Labels: nudity, phallic symbol, public nudity, todger, unemployment
Saturday, May 14, 2011
Literature appreciation
A correspondent draws my attention to a new stage production in which passages from great works of literature are read to the audience. To ensure customers get full value for the 20-dollar admission price, the reading is done by naked women who wouldn’t look out of place in the Playboy mansion. Those who can’t get hold of a ticket can buy a video recording for 19 dollars or an audio recording for 99 cents.
On watching a trailer for the event, I was shocked to discover that the girls aren’t actually very good at reading. Some of them can barely pant out the words without tripping over their tongues. Heaven knows how they get away with fobbing off the audience with such amateurish performances. I certainly wouldn’t let them read me a bedtime story until they’d been properly trained in oral exposition.
Perhaps the featured works are too advanced for their reading skills. Had I been directing the show, I would have made them read excerpts from children’s classics such as Puss in Boots, James and the Giant Peach and The Tale of Mrs Tittlemouse. These innocent fables would also avoid straining the brains of the audience, which are presumably more accustomed to processing visual data. The unlettered masses should feel their way into literature rather than jumping off at the deep end.
The show wouldn’t be my cup of cocoa whatever the nature of the reading material. When I pay 20 dollars for a seat at the theatre, I like to see action as well as dialogue. The only kinetic activity in ‘Naked Girls Reading’ is the flapping of lips, the wagging of tongues and the fingering of pages. The girls should be utilising the rest of their bodies to justify the admission price.
‘Naked Girls Singing’ would be an improvement, assuming it produced more activity in the chest region. ‘Naked Girls Playing Ping Pong’ would be better still, involving plenty of agitation in all areas of the anatomy. When I asked the manager of the safari camp what he’d like to see, he unfocused his eyes and went into a trance for a minute:
“Naked girls sucking ice lollies and removing the sticky juices that dribble onto their bodies by licking each other,” he said eventually.
I told him that a title of that length would never work and I had reservations about the content as well. Women are not cats, and making them lick each other would merely replace one kind of sticky fluid with another. Using moisturising wipes would be a more hygienic option under theatre lights.
On the subject of health and safety, I have deliberately not opined on whether it’s appropriate for women to perform in the nude. The naturists believe it tones the skin and allows the pores to breathe, but they are not an impartial source. All I will say is that I wouldn’t let them do it in jungle. Not without first rubbing them from head to toe with insect-repellent, anyway.
Labels: Literature, nudity, ping pong, reading
