Wednesday, November 03, 2010
Lessons from a lady
Although I generally eschew favouritism in my relations with humans, I will admit to having a soft spot for the schoolmistress. My love affair with the breed began at the start of my circus career, when the proprietor, Mr McDougall, summoned me to finalise the details of my contract.
“You’re a great talent, Bananas,” he said, “but you’ll need to improve your diction so you can mingle at ease with the VIPs who’ll want to meet you. I’ve hired a teacher to give you elocution lessons. She’ll have you speaking the Queen’s English in no time.”
He wasn’t wrong. As well as showing me how to enunciate my vowels, Miss Emily Honeysuckle instructed me in all the social graces. I don’t just mean kissing ladies’ hands and eating soup without slurping. She also taught me gorilla-specific skills, such as combing my chest hairs and giving women piggy-back rides without making them flustered or over-excited.
Miss Honeysuckle tutored me for the best part of a year, and would have doubtless continued for the best part of a decade had I not gently prodded her to conclude our business.
“My dear Emily!” I said (for we had grown rather close). “You have taught me everything I need to know with patience and tenderness and sweet sugar dumplings. Your work here is now complete, and armed with my glowing reference you will surely find a position at a prestigious school. Perhaps you will meet a handsome young geography master, who will beguile you with tales of exotic landscapes bearing luscious fruit and extra firm vegetables.”
“Oh GB!” she cried, shedding bitter tears. “I knew this day would come, yet now that it has arrived, my heart aches like an abandoned puppy!”
“There, there, Emily!” I said, pulling her gently to my bosom with a long hairy arm. “You must be brave and fulfill your destiny as a pedagogue and a woman.”
The reason for sharing this rather touching anecdote with you (apart from enhancing your capacity for empathy) is to explain my concern for a schoolmistress in England, who has been unjustly suspended from her job. Miss Kirsty Cook-Bell was dealt this harsh blow after publishing a few holiday snaps of herself on Facebook. The photos show her baring a little flesh (as ladies are wont to do in sunny climes), and the school is worried about the effect this will have on her pupils.
I can’t see what the problem is. Boys in her classroom will now pay her more attention, which is precisely what they should be doing. Perhaps the school is worried that some of these boys, in the privacy of their bedrooms, will use the photos as an aid to self-abuse. To address this particular concern, I will pass on some intelligence from my friend Smacker Ramrod, the circus vet. He once told me that the onanism he practiced as a boy fell into two distinct categories:
• the Who’s Your Daddy? wank, aided by pictures of unknown women in girlie magazines;
• the Darling I Love You wank, inspired by fantasies of women he was acquainted with, such as school teachers and mothers of school friends.
He confided to me that the second variety was (a) superior in the physical elation it produced and (b) more conducive to emotional well-being in the aftermath.
If Smacker’s experience is typical of schoolboys, Miss Cook-Bell should be reinstated forthwith, with a generous raise in her salary.
Labels: Queen's English, schoolmistress, self abuse, Who's your Daddy?
Wednesday, April 28, 2010
The Pope forgives again
Pope Benny is behaving like a man who is desperate to change the subject. In his latest digression he declared himself a fan of The Beatles, lamenting the 40th anniversary of their break-up, and graciously forgiving them for their “drug-taking and blasphemy”. This has failed to impress Ringo, who noted that being forgiven by the Pope puts you in rather dodgy company. I personally won’t believe Benny is sincere until he reverses Yoko Ono’s excommunication for “witchcraft, satanic incantations and lewd exposure of the pudenda”. The Catholic Church will never be a moral voice for the acid-trippers and headbangers until it can distinguish the eccentric from the diabolical.
Meanwhile, the Pope’s ever loyal supporters have been walking on eggshells to avoid embarrassing him. Take the recent papal visit to Malta. The mayor of a small town wanted to tear down a much-loved phallic symbol lest the High Pontiff should accidentally gaze at this monstrous affront to ecclesiastical dignity. Commonsense prevailed after the creator of the monument told the mayor he was a philistine and an ignoramus.
“Rome, where the Pope lives, is full of columns, but I don’t see anyone complaining and asking for them to be removed!” he thundered.
A very good point indeed. Benny must have seen a veritable forest of oversized dicks in his long career of holy service – why would one more offend him?
If the Pope is determined to pardon child-abusers, he should start with those outside the priesthood guilty of the most venial sins. I was dismayed to hear of yet another schoolmistress getting arrested for seducing a teenage boy. The most dispiriting aspect of this case was the willingness of her 16-year-old pupil to testify against her in open court. Although the jury sensibly acquitted her of all wrongdoing, prosecutions like this send a terrible message to the young. A generation of schoolboys will have learned that kissing-and-telling and ingratitude are commendable forms of behaviour.
It seems to me that this schoolmistress is a good-natured and obliging young lady who made an unlucky choice. Call me a fanciful ape, but I feel that she and others like her belong in a religious order. They remind me of the pagan goddesses of antiquity who would bestow the ultimate favour on their most loyal devotees. What a happy position the Catholic Church would now be in if it had made these women priests instead of all those nasty paedophiles. Pope Benny, alas, is far too timid and reactionary to consider their ordination, but they could always offer their talents to another church. There are many progressive sects that encourage women to serve God in all positions.
Perhaps they should start by approaching the Mormons, who are rich enough to pay them well and weird enough to appreciate their unorthodox pastoral techniques. Before becoming priestesses, they would have to be trained to distinguish the deserving from the undeserving. Generosity is the finest of virtues, but it loses its heavenly aura if you toss it around indiscriminately.
Labels: phallic symbol, Pope Benedict, schoolmistress, The Beatles
