Wednesday, January 06, 2016
Old stars, new war
So it seems they’ve made a new Star Wars film called The Force Awakens. I never knew it had fallen asleep, but I suppose that’s what happens when the galaxy is at peace and there are no hostile spaceships to zap with a ray gun. The manager of the safari camp told me not to make jokes about Star Wars lest I offend any tourists who are fans of the never-ending space saga:
“They are more common that you might think,” he explained. “We once had a guest who called himself Jedi One Kenobi”.
“A name to scare the pants off any baboon who might be thinking of defecting to the Empire,” I remarked.
In truth, I wasn’t a great fan of the original movie. Han Solo was just a clichéd tough-nut adventurer who thought dames were a pain in the ass until Princess Leia penetrated the gooey substance inside his armour-plated shell. One would have expected better versions of the masculine hero to exist in the age of the spaceman. Chewbacca was a stupid braying teddy bear and Darth Vader clearly had some kind of throat infection. The only good thing was the light sabre, and I was surprised that no one got prodded in the posterior by one of those handy weapons. Wouldn’t it have been the obvious practical joke to play among the Jedi fraternity?
Although Carrie Fisher reprises her role as the princess in the new film, the female lead is played by 23-year-old Daisy Ridley, to whom Ms Fisher offered various pearls of motherly wisdom during the shoot:
“I told her not to go through the crew like wildfire,” she revealed on British TV. "When I was first in it, I never wanted anyone to have the anecdote, 'I slept with Princess Leia.'”
A wise precaution, but why would a leading actress fool around with lowly members of the production crew? Wouldn’t it be more tempting to have an affair with the leading man? Perhaps this opportunity never presented itself to Ms Fisher because of the unattractive hairstyle she had to adopt in the first movie. Like most women, she looks far more alluring with her hair down, and you couldn’t blame Harrison Ford for being picky with all the hoochies on set, ready to drop their knickers for him at the wink of an eye.
A fine example of what a good hairdo can do for a woman is seen in the example of Diane Rodriguez, Ecuador’s leading transgendered female, who is shown below with her transgendered husband. Could you honestly say who was who without the essential clue of their hairstyles? Ms Rodrigues recently announced that her husband was pregnant with her child, which could result in the first human baby to be breastfed by its daddy. From what I can see, mummy’s breasts look more appetising even though they contain no milk. Let’s hope this paradox doesn’t cause baby to bark up the wrong nipple.
Labels: breast-feeding, Carrie Fisher, Harrison Ford, Star Wars, tranny
Friday, April 09, 2010
Peaches and Face Cream
Poor little Peachy Geldof! The sharp-tongued denizens of New York City have been calling her “tranny” and other unpleasant names. This discourtesy has been provoked by Peachy appearing in public with several layers of foundation on her face. For some mysterious reason she acquired a queer fancy to mimic Boy George, the hermaphrodite singer of the 1980s. This aptly illustrates the danger of fame at too young an age – lacking a sense of decorum, one is tempted to indulge in grotesque displays. Young female baboons often smack their own bottoms to make them appear more swollen and red. It never impresses the males.
If I were Peachy’s guardian, I would send her to a convent until the age of 27. Mother Superior would be given strict instructions not to tolerate her conceits and caprices. She would be permitted to read classics of English literature such as Pride and Prejudice and Little Women, and expected to give a seminar on each book. Any inane opinions would be ruthlessly censured and derided by the nuns. She would only be allowed to leave the convent in the company of four strong-willed sisters, armed with coshes and mace sprays. By such means, she would be prevented from engaging in frivolous behaviour that might otherwise haunt her to her dying day. In the fullness of time, she would appreciate what I had done for her:
“My dear Uncle Bananas!” she might say to me on her wedding day. “What a headstrong filly I was, and how I needed to be restrained for my own good! What chance that I would have wed the honourable Chad Cadwalader without my corrective sojourn in a convent? I owe my good fortune to your timely intervention.”
Let me emphasize, in passing, that I have no issue with humans wearing make-up. If one habitually exposes one’s bare skin to the elements, there is much to be said for a little plastering and varnishing to fill in the cracks and cover the blemishes. As a former circus ape, I fully appreciate its decorative function as well. Fellow performers of both genders used cosmetics to beautify themselves before appearing in the ring. It made the women look like dolls and the men look like Freddie Mercury. I never needed to wear the stuff myself, of course – a gorilla’s noble countenance needs no decoration.
"What about clowns?" I hear you ask. They are a special case. The purpose of their face paint is to make them look like clowns, which it never fails to do. It amuses me that some humans actually find them frightening. It seems they are scared of the mask-like quality of the make-up, which allows the clown to hide its true emotions from the observer. Beneath the painted-on goofy expression, they fear that the clown may be glaring at them malevolently and planning to assault them in their beds.
I must say such thoughts never entered my head. My job was simply to kick the clowns in the arse, which I did repeatedly with considerable zest. We gorillas never over-analyse the intentions of a potential adversary. Ignore the attitude but watch the movements, as we say in the jungle.
Labels: clowns, convent, make-up, Peaches Geldof, tranny
