Wednesday, July 26, 2017
Can a gorilla be held in contempt of court? The manager of the safari camp warned me that a judge could send me to a zoo for a couple of weeks if I called him an idiot. He’d first have to find me, of course. There are regions of the dense Congo jungle that even witch doctors fear to tread. In any case, I have no intention of calling anyone names. There’s a big difference between denouncing a dubious decision and likening the fellow who made it to an ass or a donkey. A judge who refuses to tolerate such criticism is a judge that has grown too big for his boots.
I make these remarks because of a couple of legal rulings I feel obliged to comment on. The first one concerns Madonna, who went to court to prevent the auction of various “intimate items” she claims are hers. Apparently, she had an affair with a rapper and convicted felon called Tupac Shakur in the 1990s. Among the items for sale are a letter he wrote to her and some underwear he mysteriously obtained.
Madonna claims the items were stolen and I’m inclined to believe her regarding the letter. Unless Mr Shakur had forgot to post it, it must have been removed from her possession without her consent. But on the underwear, I’m not so sure. Even if she never gave them to the rapper, she might have carelessly left them in his house. Once you do that, it’s finders keepers. A woman can’t expect to retain control of her panties if she takes them off and neglects to retrieve them.
Madonna is no doubt worried that people will attempt to humiliate her by sniffing the panties and saying they smell like tuna fish, but a woman who has given her underwear to a gangster cannot credibly claim she has a reputation to protect.
The other legal judgement that piqued my interest concerns the Electoral Commissioner of Papua New Guinea, whose name is Mr Patilias Gamato. Mr Gamato got very upset when a blogger started calling him ‘Mr Tomato’ and published pictures of him with his head replaced by the said fruit.
“He made some defamatory statements and also called my surname 'tomato',” said Mr Gamato. "I don't look like a tomato, I'm a human being.”
The judge took pity on him and issued a court order preventing the blogger from making any more tomato gags.
As one who is named after a fruit, I have little sympathy for Mr Gamato. There is nothing wrong with being associated with a much-loved salad ingredient. I would have advised him to change his name to ‘Tomato’ to pre-empt any jokes.
I can see the judge was trying to be kind, but too much kindness can turn a man into a blithering ninny. Anyone that thin-skinned will be a target for wags until the cows come home. Mr Gamato, I fear, will soon discover that there are worse insults than being called ‘Tomato’.
Wednesday, July 19, 2017
King of the druids
A British tourist asks me to sign a petition on behalf of ‘King Arthur Pendragon’, a self-appointed 'druid elder', who is in dispute with an organisation that manages historical sites in England.
“My dear fellow,” I reply. “I could not possibly sign a document without knowing the particulars of the case.”
“English Heritage want to charge visitors £15 for parking their cars at Stonehenge,” he explains. “This violates the religious freedom of druids, who have been praying there for 5,000 years without parking charges.”
“Is that so?” I reply. “Well, worthy though this cause may be, a gorilla cannot take sides in a quarrel between humans. Nevertheless, you may tell King Arthur that I fully support his right to freedom of worship.”
“Hum,” says the man, frowning. “I’ll try my luck with the humans.”
I later find a newspaper report about the dispute, which clarifies a number of issues. It seems that the aggrieved druid changed his name to ‘King Arthur Pendragon’ because he thinks he is a reincarnation of the original King Arthur. However, the original King Arthur was a Christian, not a druid. And he wouldn’t have made a fuss about paying a parking charge of 15 pounds sterling. A king does not trouble himself about such trifling sums.
All of which suggests that this modern-day ‘King Arthur’ is a colossal ignoramus, who is more likely a reincarnation of Chico Marx or Meadowlark Lemon. I’m glad I didn’t sign the petition supporting his cause. Rather than being allowed to park free at Stonehenge, he should be banned from visiting the site altogether. The place is rapidly becoming a campsite for bearded charlatans and New Age cultists, which is spoiling the experience for bona fide tourists with cash in their pockets.
In truth, no one knows what Stonehenge really signifies. The prehistoric men who built it left no manuals or user guides. Everyone assumes it’s some kind of pagan religious site, but it actually looks like a pile of baby bricks assembled by a giant baby. Who is to say that it wasn’t used as a leisure facility? There are many games that humans could play at Stonehenge, including hide-and-seek and peek-a-boo. If baboons lived there, they would play a game called “pissing-down-on-people-from-the-top-of-a-boulder”. The neo-druids and baboons could contest their rival claims to the site in a sporting event. My money would be on the baboons.
Religion, of course, is a touchy subject for many humans. If any druids were to read this post, they might think I was mocking their faith, which could provoke them to leave a hostile comment. In reality, I know nothing about the neo-druidic religion. It must very different from the religion of the ancient druids, which included many practices that would now be illegal or grossly indecent. The modern druids may simply be harmless eccentrics who like wearing robes and chanting spells. If they’ve got nothing to hide, they should come out and make their case in a public forum. You won’t win anyone’s trust by lurking in the shadows like a thief.
Wednesday, July 12, 2017
I’m no fan of snakes, but I confess to a sneaking admiration for the rattlesnake that bit a man from Florida in the face. This incomparable oaf had tried to kiss the rattler for reasons that remain mysterious. His neighbour claims that he had boasted he could “kiss the Devil” and get away with it. Evidently, the rattlesnake was made of sturdier stuff than Satan and sent the audacious nincompoop to hospital with a life-threatening dose of venom. He is no longer in critical condition, but his frontal lobes remain impaired.
Now we jungle apes have an inborn aversion to snakes, but it has to be admitted that the rattlesnake is a far more honourable foe than most of the crawly characters that infest my neighbourhood. For one thing, it advertises its presence with a sinister noise, giving you the chance to decline combat and make a hasty retreat. And the above-mentioned incident proves that it shows no mercy to lecherous men who attempt to seduce it with kisses. If Donald Trump had tried to grab a rattlesnake by the pussy, his tiny bitten hand would have quickly swollen to a medium-sized one.
Sadly, not all snakes are as brave and defiant as the resourceful rattler. Google images contains a surprising number of pictures of snakes being embraced by naked women. I think the images are supposed to be erotic, but the hapless serpents don’t look as if they’re enjoying themselves. What is the point of forcing them to pose in those unnatural positions? I don’t see anything sexy about a snake being fondled by a woman.
Snakes are not the only animals that have fallen prey to the deviant carnal appetites of humanity. Does anyone remember the man from Sudan who was forced to marry a goat he had taken advantage of? It was a shotgun wedding that punished the poor animal more severely that its abuser. The bearded bride died two years later from undisclosed causes. Maybe it committed suicide to end the agony of its marriage.
We gorillas, of course, are not immune from the attentions of infatuated humans. The King Kong syndrome is alive and well in giddy young ladies of a certain disposition. Back in my circus days, I received a number of requests from women who wanted me to shower them under a waterfall. I generally told them I was too busy and gave them a brochure about holidays in Niagara Falls. On one occasion I agreed to cool off a sweaty-looking girl with a garden hose. A few women attempted to grope me, but I never pressed charges – one has to make allowances for overexcited fans.
The hope for the future is that animal sex robots will satisfy humans with the urge for cross-species love. It shouldn’t be difficult to construct something that looks and sounds like a sheep or a goat. A replica gorilla would be a much greater challenge, though. I’d like to see the robot that can grab a pair of maracas with its toes.
Wednesday, July 05, 2017
The manager of the safari camp is away on a business trip, so his wife is advising me on what to blog about. She suggests I comment on an article about a scientific study investigating what type of breasts men prefer:
“They found that most men desire women with perky boobs,” she tells me. “As a gorilla, you know very well that the real test of a tit is how much milk it produces. Why don’t you educate your readers about the foolishness of men?”
“A most fascinating topic,” I reply. “But I try to avoid preaching sermons in my blog. You can’t really blame people for their likes and dislikes. A lot of people find it strange that I like unripe mangoes.”
“Are you telling me that you prefer perky boobs?” she asks suspiciously.
“No, not a bit of it!” I protest. “As you say, it’s their ability to produce gallons of fresh milk that matters. I’ll study the piece and see what I can make of it.”
After reading I the article, I manage to acquire a grasp of the underlying theory. The scientists argue that men are finely attuned to a woman’s fertility indicators, presumably because they can’t determine whether she is in oestrus by sniffing her coochie (as we apes do). They argue that fertile women have more attractive breasts:
This is supported by evidence showing that women with larger breasts tend to have higher estrogen levels; breast size may therefore serve as an indicator of potential fertility. However, breasts become less firm with age and parity, and breast shape could thus also serve as a marker of residual fertility.
Thus, the perky boob hypothesis postulates that women with pliant bosoms are likely to remain fertile for a longer period, which makes them more desirable. Even men who don’t want to make babies are attracted to such women because their brains are hardwired that way. This is why they lust after women like Sharon Stone rather than Dolly Parton (or Chesty Morgan).
This is an interesting theory, but there is one detail that looks fishy to men. The men whose opinions were surveyed were from four countries – Brazil, Cameroon, the Czech Republic and Namibia. Are those countries really representative of the global population? Call me a suspicious ape, but I wonder whether the men of those nations are obsessed about jahoobies to an unusual degree. Brazilian beaches are certainly a notorious haven for bosom oglers. If so, there may be places where men test the fertility of women in other ways. Sniffing and tasting is usually more reliable than staring and groping.
I’m not saying the study is definitely wrong, of course. Perhaps men from all parts of the world do appreciate a perky pair of titties. However, I know for a fact that many men are more interested in the thighs and the rump. So I’m keeping an open mind on this one. You can’t make sweeping generalisations until all the data are in.