Wednesday, January 10, 2007

Lady and the Trump

I’m still puzzling over Donald Trump’s decision not to fire Tara Conner, the reigning Miss USA. She clearly wasn’t doing her job and made a mockery of her title by snogging a girl in public. Yet the tough-minded tycoon showed a forgiving side to his nature which he had previously been careful to conceal.

“Frankly, I have a lot of compassion for this young woman,” he said on Fox TV.

I bet he has. Gorilla Bananas is no cynic, but even he can detect a possible ulterior motive in Mr Trump’s avuncular concern for a blonde bikini model reputed to have perkiest boobs east of the Rocky Mountains. Miss Conner, of course, was very thankful for her second chance.

“You'll never know how much I appreciate Mr Trump for saving me on this one,” she sobbed at a press conference in New York.

I expect she’s right, although Mr Trump might be lucky enough to find out. The sight of a 60-year-old billionaire with a racoon pelt on his head soliciting the gratitude of a 21-year-old beauty queen will no doubt provoke strong emotions in middle-aged fathers throughout America. “Disgust” would be a possible description of their feelings – “envy” might be a more accurate one.

Human beauty pageants have never captured my imagination. To be honest, I find them degrading. A bunch of girls, most of whom would look attractive enough walking down the street, are forced to wear high-heeled shoes and strut about on a stage like storks. Their smiles are forced, their conversation is inane and their bathing suits might have been designed to show their bottoms to maximum disadvantage. The whole thing is obviously an ordeal for them, which is why they often break down in tears at the end. Even a gorilla knows that the human female will never shine in such a tense and unnatural environment. Women need to be wooed, amused, chased and tickled before they exhibit the most attractive qualities of their gender.

Beauty contests are depressingly trivial. I would much rather see young women competing for a real crown. There are surely nations that have wearied of republicanism and would welcome the idea of a well-spoken lady hosting state banquets, christening gunboats and reminding people of their place. Opinions differ on what the most important regal qualities are – my own view is that a queen should have sufficient presence of mind to make her virtually unshockable. Let us imagine that she is being served breakfast by her butler when a naked man rushes before her while she is munching on her toast.

“Gawd bless yer majesty, may yer reign be longer than me cock!” he shouts.

How should a queen respond? Any woman who screamed, giggled or even blushed could be disqualified immediately. A true queen would say nothing until she had finished swallowing her toast – as queens do not speak with food in their mouths – and then address the man in a calm, measured tone:

“It is most kind of you to say so,” she would say. “Tibbs, would you fetch this gentleman a pair of britches – he seems to have forgotten to put his on.”

After putting on the trousers, the man would be offered a cup of tea in the kitchen and sent on his way with a brace of pheasants and a framed photograph of his sovereign.

A queen does not come cheap, and her toiling subjects would doubtless groan at the taxes required to keep their monarch living in the splendour essential to her role. But wouldn’t that be better than forcing her to earn her lavish stipend by stroking the squirrel on Donald Trump’s head?

I made a rule as a model- to my agent's displeasure (I was supposed to trust her implicitly and do as she said)- that I would wear a swim suit on the beach if necessary, but not in a studio. And to strut one's stuff in front of an audience would have completely demoralised me. Fortunately as a photographic model I never had to face even a cat walk which I know I would have fallen off.
"Stroking the squirrel" sounds like a definite euphemism, so I looked it up on Wikipedia but there's nothing there.

In this day and age, in post-carry-on-Britain, I find it amazing that such a phrase is being left unused by the wider public.
Hear! Hear! I say what ho old chap!
Frightfully British of you to suggest that indeed.
One would presume that such a vile and base subject would have already received a right stern seeing to by the beefeaters even before getting within a barge pole's length.
As for that combover merchant Trump and those supposedly perambulating strumpets, one can only hope that they will burn in hellfire for eternity because of their vacuous behaviour.
Kim, try stoking the squirrel. Or perhaps smoking the squirrel.

Bothering the beaver?

What am I doing? I've got work to do.
Sam and Kim: Remember the film Cousins starring Ted Danson and Isabella Rosellini? Ted Danson's son says "kiss my squirrel" to his stepmother.

Pi, I've seen your youthful picture and you certainly had film star looks.

Tarzan, me old mate, I definitely read it somewhere. I'm sure you don't need me to get you pictures of girl-on-girl action.

Don't mock the Brits, Zuba. Unlike you Aussies, they never actually voted to remain subjects of the Crown.
"Women need to be wooed, amused, chased and tickled before they exhibit the most attractive qualities of their gender"

Great understanding of the female race, glad I stopped by for a visit. . .
Are there such things as ugly pageants? What about bland contests? There should be.
The photo of Mr Trump seemingly fellating a corgette means I shall not be cooking the meal I'd planned for this evening.
Personally, I always thought gladiatorial combat was a better way of weaning out the best mates.
Just to shed some light, we didn't vote to stay a part of the monarchy, we voted against the pathetic and flawed model of a republic, which our tits on a bull prime minister ( who happens to be a staunch monarchist! ) put forward.
The republic isn't dead!!!
I say we revolt!!!
We didn't vote to have British nuclear weapons tested here either, but that happened too.
I love the Brits, as long as they keep handing us the Ashes and insist on getting themselves blind and drowning on Bondi Beach. ;)
GB, shouldn't that be 'stroking the head on Donald Trump's squirrel'?
please elaborate, how did she get to have the 'perkiest boobs'????
By cherishing the squirrel!!!
It took the nipples, looked at them; then it raised the head and exclaimed: "It is a squirrel; I see it; it looks at us as if it made fun of us." El looked it in and saw a pretty small squirrel, with a superb tail raised in plume. It was cleaned with its small legs of front; from time to time it looked at it, "That I would like to have this squirrel! she says. As it is nice and as I would have fun to play with him, to walk it, to look after it.
Did I include/understand the direction well?? In a friendly way
I don't know, Treespotter. Perhaps she is just lucky. Do you know anyone east of the Rockies with perkier boobs?

Monsieur Dip-dop, I cannot disagree with a single word you have written.
I wonder if PETA has ever attacked Trump's head with spray paint? I mean the outrage shouldn't end with JLo's furs, you know? Be consistent, PETA.
Nice idea, Kara, but Trump would probably argue that his fur is still attached to a contented and well-fed animal.
By Jove, Mr Gorilla, You're a cheery cove, I say.
As regards the comment above this, "Trump would probably argue that his fur is still attached to a contented and well-fed animal."

If he's so mangy that his pelt is sticking to her, a trip to the veterinary is indicated. I think maybe topical cortisones? or more fresh fruit?

Having just moored my blog-archipelago discovering vessel in the Congo river, I leave this note in appreciation of your textual advice.
I'm bound into the jungle, on a tickling expedition, I may get lost, or forget the passage of time. If the boat is still there in a month, I wonder, would you do me the kindness of pushing the green button above the chart-table, it activates the homing beacon, and will assist my return. In the meantime, feel free to enjoy the cognac, and any provisions not readily available in your jungle, lounge on deck, (or in the rigging) browse my library, and so on.
(I came here via Ms Buckley's blog)
I need to ask: how, dear Gorilla, did you come to learn so much about what human female needs - wooing, tickling, chasing and all that - btw, are you quite sure about the chasing? You have clearly been researching humanity for much longer than I have. Perhaps we should compare notes.
Mr Soubriquet, I will endeavour to follow your advice. I am keen on cruises, but prefer to exercise on the railings (rather than in the rigging).

Ms Atyllah, I studied the human female for many years in the travelling circus I performed in. Here is a relevant anecdote.
Oh Gorilla, you poor thing, you were in a circus - how awful! Tell me, you didn't perchance have designs on Cecile yourself...
Oh no, Ms Atyllah! The dreaded King Kong myth rears its ugly head! We don't fancy women unless they deliberately try to confuse us by (a) not shaving their legs and (b) shaking their bottoms suggestively. Act like a lady and your honour will be safe with the hairiest and rudest of my brothers.
i am afraid of donald trump. particularly when he is carrying a courgette.
Yes with the queen idea, I will be queen of america, I believe they are a republic no? I will be more wrathful than your toast swallowing one though, off with there heads, we are not amused etc.
The dicks of America will cower and shrivel in your presence, Your Majesty Helga von Porno. Unless, of course, you are with one of your lovers.
Well, fortunately, I'm a chicken, not a woman, so I reckon I'm safe anyway.
I had a great laugh at this one. But really I didn't know that people still watched beauty pageants anymore. Anachronisms, thankfully...
They still hold them, Saaleha, but maybe they're not televised anymore.
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