Wednesday, December 16, 2015
Pants down incident
Whenever I hear of a human having a clothing mishap it makes me glad to be a gorilla. Ivan Zvonimir Cicak, pictured above, is a Croatian human rights activist whose trousers fell down at the precise moment he accepted an award from the president of his country. The last time I saw something like that happen was back in my circus days, when the clowns dropped their baggy pants as a joke. Not all jokes are funny, of course. I certainly wouldn’t have laughed at Mr Cicak’s involuntary debagiture, although I might well have applauded. It isn’t everyday that a man in boxer shorts is honoured by the president of his country.
Mr Cicak is probably too old to let an incident like this get him down. With any luck, his wife will tell him what a sexy pair of legs he has and slip a Viagra pill into his bedtime drink. If I were his publicist, I would put out a statement saying that the mishap occurred because he had burned off his belly fat after cycling through the hills of Krapina. Far better to let your pants fall down than be a fat slob who slouches in front of the TV eating Big Macs and McNuggets.
A very different type of sartorial malfunction has bedevilled Ms Rita Ora, who is strangely blasé about the fact that her breasts have frequently popped out at public events.
“It's fun,” she insists. “It has happened to me lots so I am not paranoid about it any more. You end up losing track of them.”
Reading between the lines, I detect a woman who is exceedingly proud of her puppies and wants the world to admire them as much as she does. There’s nothing wrong with that, but I don’t personally like it when they bounce out unexpectedly. The sudden exposure of external organs can easily be mistaken for threatening behaviour in the jungle. A snake would certainly hiss at a woman’s jahoobies if confronted by them at close quarters.
You are probably wondering whether a free-living, laid-back ape like me ever wears clothes. Well I did perform in a pair of scarlet pantaloons in the circus, but I never really felt comfortable in them. A gorilla likes the air to circulate around his nether regions. Since then I have been pantless, although I do sometimes wear a waistcoat to reassure the tourists at the safari guesthouse that I’m not the sort of beast who would punch their lights out if they expressed themselves too freely. The manager of the safari camp uses such occasions to make what he considers to be amusing quips:
“I say, m’lud, will you be taking tea in the conservatory?” he once asked me in a poor attempt to mimic an English butler.
“I shall be taking my tea in your mistress’s bedchamber,“ I replied. “She has complained of a lumpy mattress and would like me to install a hammock.”
“My arse you will!” exclaimed the manager heatedly.
Labels: Breasts, jahoobies, pantaloons, pants down, waistcoat
