Wednesday, November 02, 2016
Emerging talent
I’m wondering whether to buy a collection of songs by Tove Lo, the up-and-coming Swedish singer. Although it’s unlikely I’ll listen to them very often (if at all), one must do what one can to encourage young talent. She has been kind enough to make a video for one of the songs freely available. Most of its scenes show her writhing on the roof of a car or straddling a glass coffin. Apparently she was performing some kind of mating dance:
“To me, music and sex are very connected,” she declared. “I’m a very sexual person.”
Miss Lo has called her new album ‘Lady Wood’. If you think that’s the name of a forest where upper class women have picnics, you’d be wrong. She revealed the true meaning of the title in a recent interview with Vogue:
“It’s kind of like saying a chick with balls, but since we don’t have balls, it’s lady wood. It’s almost like saying, ‘Don’t be a pussy’.”
Call me a confused ape, but this explanation seems to have a hole the size of the Grand Canyon in it. Yes, women don’t have balls, I agree with her on that point. But unless I have been gravely misinformed about the anatomy of the human female, they don’t have anything woody down there either. And why is she using the word “pussy” to mean a weak and pathetic person? A woman who is standing up for her gender should reclaim the kitty word to signify something divine and delicious. Perhaps Miss Lo needs to go on a feminist empowerment course run by Gloria Steinem or one of her disciples.
One has to make allowances for that fact that she is from Sweden, of course. English is not her mother tongue, while Swedish is the tongue of her mother. Ambiguous words like “wood” have deceived the greatest linguists. Back in my circus days, we once hosted an acrobat from Finland, visiting on an exchange programme.
“Happiness is the most important thing,” I said while showing him to his trailer.
“Yes, I hab penis,” he replied with a nervous grin.
I nodded and left him to his devices.
Once she sorts out her issues with the English language, Miss Lo has every chance of hitting the big time. Fans of pop music haven’t heard a Swedish voice in full-throat since the long-lamented demise of ABBA, so her act should have plenty of novelty value. I would advise her to save her sexiest material for prime time audiences. Miley Cyrus played a goody-two-shoes character before launching her twerking exhibition on the world and it propelled her to instant stardom. Sticking your tongue out and wiggling your bottom only makes a big splash when it’s totally unexpected. No one would have batted an eyelid if Madonna had done it. I just hope Miss Lo hasn’t jumped the gun by humping a glass coffin in her pop video. As any lioness will tell you, timing is everything if you want to make a kill.
Labels: Miley Cyrus, Sweden, Tove Lo, twerking
Wednesday, October 21, 2015
She said she said
Yoko Ono has revealed that John Lennon wanted to sleep with men but was too inhibited to explore his queer side:
“John and I had a big talk about it, saying, basically, all of us must be bisexual,” she recalled. “And we were sort of in a situation of thinking that we’re not doing it because of society.”
In evaluating Yoko’s claim, let us note that she is 82 years of age and no less batty than she was in the sixties, when she was organising “bottomfests” in Germany. Her “big talk” with John might have occurred in a hallucination fuelled by Siberian ginseng. It’s well known, of course, that the Beatles’ manager was gay and probably wanted to sleep with all four of them. But Brian Epstein was a private man who was terrified of getting caught with his pants down in an era when “gross indecency” could land you in prison. His intimate encounters were conducted anonymously with rent boys and Mediterranean gigolos.
If John Lennon really wanted to sleep with a man he would surely have made a pass at his song-writing buddy Paul, who was pretty enough to be a gay beauty queen. Maybe he secretly wanted to. The only sure way of getting to the bottom of this mystery would be to ask our local voodoo witchdoctor to convene a séance where he would allow Lennon’s spirit to take possession of his body. Before you snort in incredulity, please note that he has successfully channelled a number of dead singers, including Elvis Presley and Perry Como. I can reassure Elvis fans that their idol had no desire to sleep with a man, although it’s quite likely he wanted to sleep with his mother. I’d say that was pretty normal for a white boy from Mississippi.
But enough of tittle-tattle. As a gorilla who prides himself on fair-dealing, especially in jungle fruit, I disapprove of telling tales about the dead. If you want to know something about show business performers, have the good manners to ask them directly, preferably when they’re still alive. In some cases, of course, the performers will answer the question before it’s been asked. Did Miley Cyrus wait for people to inquire whether she and Stella Maxwell were munching their mutual macadamias? Not a bit of it! The couple staged a bean-flicking show so the media could obtain the photographic evidence. There’s nothing like pre-emptive disclosure to kill all the malicious gossip.
To prove that she’s still fond of men, Miley is planning to give a concert with an all-male band that I’ve never heard of called The Flaming Lips. The gimmick will be that both she and the band will perform in the nude while being sprayed with a milky liquid that may, in fact, be milk. Obviously they are many questions one could raise about this event, but why should we ask them now? Miley will tell us everything we need to know before milk is dry on her shapely little boobies.
Labels: bean-flicking, gossip, lesbian, Miley Cyrus, The Beatles, Yoko Ono
Wednesday, August 26, 2015
Short shrift
A British woman has been given a “suspended sentence” for stabbing her boyfriend in the shoulder. Apparently this means she won’t go to prison. She has also patched things up with her boyfriend, who after recovering from his injury has resumed his courtship of her. Fortune favours the furious female, as we say in the jungle.
In fairness to the woman, the stabbing was not unprovoked. During one of their arguments, her boyfriend had called her “a dwarf and a midget”. Although she is undeniably short in stature, she had a right not to be called names by one who professed to be her lover.
The picture of the couple above displays the disparity in heights. It’s remarkable that she managed to reach the man’s shoulder. She must have plunged the blade while jumping in the air, which is no mean feat for a novice in the art of batto jutsu. It would have been much easier to deliver a wound to the belly or groin, causing untold damage to the man’s vitals. Maybe this was one of the mitigating factors that persuaded the judge to treat her leniently.
Another interesting aspect of this case is that the boyfriend initially told the police he had been attacked by an unknown assailant. The truth only came out after the couple had a brief separation. Did he reverse his decision to shield her from justice after getting dumped? If so, he is a man of weak character. You can’t go back on a decision to forgive a woman just because she won’t sleep with you. That’s behaving like a whiny little bitch.
Now it goes without saying that a petite woman is nothing like a dwarf. I speak as one who worked with dwarves during his circus career. Dwarves are bow-legged creatures with big heads who are sexually attractive to fetishists and masochists. Petite women are generally well-regarded and admired by the wider community. Some might say Miley Cyrus is an exception to the rule, but I wouldn’t agree with them. Look at the number of fans she has.
My favourite petite woman is Charlene Tilton, who played Lucy Ewing in Dallas. I remember some insufferable TV critic calling Lucy “the poisoned dwarf”, a nickname which sadly caught on among the boorish and the insolent. In my estimation she was the best character in the show, courageously fending off the sarcastic barbs of JR and the others while single-mindedly pursuing her own passions amid all the scheming and skulduggery.
It’s also worth pointing out that Charlene is no waif. Unlike Miley Cyrus, she has a remarkably full figure. On balance, I would say that it’s better for a petite woman to have an ample bosom. Otherwise, she might look too boyish and attract the wrong sort of man. Could this also explain why Charlene never had a bi-curious phase in her life? Maybe I’m wrong about this, but women who experiment with same-sex dalliances never seem to have big boobs.
Labels: Charlene Tilton, dwarf, Dwarves, lesbian, Miley Cyrus
Wednesday, July 15, 2015
Full moon
Justin Bieber has produced a state of rapture in his fans by posting a picture of his bare bottom on Instagram. You’ve got to give him his due for that. Not since the Prince Regent’s accession to the English throne has an arse been greeted with such acclaim.
“OMG can I like this 1,000 times?" wrote one delirious devotee.
When I showed the picture to my females, they asked me whether Bieber was inviting people to pinch his bum.
“Pinch it?!” I guffawed. “Not on your nelly!”. A world famous pop-brat doesn’t expose his behind for a big hairy paw to leave red marks all over it! You might be allowed to kiss it if you could convince him you were genuine fans!”
My females sucked their teeth in amusement, possibly reflecting on the fact that they have never kissed anything which they didn’t bite one second later.
As for the manager of the safari camp, his main talking point was the lack of tan on the Bieber tush.
“Why would anyone want to show the world his arse was paler than the rest of his body?” he said. “It looks like an Easter Egg that someone forgot to paint.”
“The colour contrast does catch the eye, though,” I observed. “If you’re going to moon, you may as well produce moonlight.”
The exposure of the human buttocks is a funny old custom. In the film Braveheart, the Scottish clansmen mooned the English before charging into battle, implying that their enemy was not worthy of conventional repartee. They certainly got no verbal response from the English. If you talk to someone’s bottom, the only reply you can expect is a fart.
Although Bieber has been discourteous on a number of occasions, I doubt he intended to be so this time. His moon has more of a narcissistic quality about it, as if he genuinely expects people to love his butt cheeks as much as he does. One has to pity the pathetic toadies who actually met his expectation. Hero-worship is one thing, but when you start venerating your hero’s arse you’ve turned into an abject nincompoop.
Perhaps we should thank Miley Cyrus for redressing the adulation by savagely mocking Bieber’s butt picture, even to the point of posting of a photo-shopped version with a grossly inflated posterior. Her own fans were suitably delighted with her wit:
“omg. You are too funny. Love u girl.” wrote one of them.
Now Miley is famous for horsing around, but maybe she was also hinting that male tail is no longer her cup of tea. The gossip sites inform us that her new paramour is a model called Stella Maxwell, three years her senior. Apparently Miley can’t keep her hands off her. I personally think they make a lovely couple, but I hope Miley grows her hair long so she doesn’t look like the butch one. What’s the point of lesbianism if one of the lesbians has to behave like a man?
Labels: butt cheeks, Justin Bieber, lesbian, Miley Cyrus, mooning
Wednesday, May 20, 2015
Having it both ways
After getting jilted by the vile Schwarzenegger sprog, Miley Cyrus is now hinting that she’s bisexual:
“I never want to label myself,” she declared. “I am ready to love anyone that loves me. I am open!”
If I were Miley’s pater familias, I would advise her against being too open. The world is full of cunning opportunists looking for tempting openings to infiltrate and exploit. I’m not saying she should keep herself closed, but it’s possible to compromise by being slightly ajar. A girl must be ready to batten down the hatches if anything untoward tries to poke its head in.
Now, bisexuality is common in Nature. It works best in creatures like snakes, which can mate without getting into fixed positions where one is on top of the other. Whether humans can achieve this is debatable – I should imagine it’s possible on a friction-free surface with plenty of lubricants. A nimble waif like Miley should be more capable than most, but that doesn’t mean she should rush into any sort of wriggly manoeuvre. Recovering from a broken heart is not the best time for willy-nilly experimentation.
It’s good to see that the temporary lull in her private life isn’t stopping her from pushing the artistic envelope. Consider her recent appearance at the “Adult Swim Upfront Party” in New York City. Miley arrived at the event in an innovative butterfly costume, her small but shapely breasts covered with attractive nipple plasters. Before singing a bawdy song, she had the good manners to banter with the guests:
“Are you guys drunk yet? Are you guys high yet?” she asked. “No?! You’re going to be at a show where I’m dressed as a fucking butterfly and not be high? I’m down to share.”
I’m not sure what the last sentence meant, but the tone of her remarks is positive.
Returning to the subject of bisexuality, I wouldn’t be surprised if most powerful women were endowed with such inclinations. You don’t get to be a powerful woman without being competitive, and why would a competitive woman deny herself something a man can have? If we look at the contemporary political scene, our eyes are inevitably drawn to Mrs Clinton, who is more than capable of returning our stares. I don’t know whether Hilldog has said she’s running for president, but I’m happy to endorse her in advance of the announcement.
The question no one has thought of is this: If Mrs Clinton becomes president, who will be the first lady? It can’t be Hillary herself, because that would give her two roles. Bill is probably hoping to have the job, but the thought of him hosting official functions in an evening dress is too horrible to contemplate. The only solution I can think of is for Hillary’s mistress to move into the White House, putting her nose to the grindstone for the good of the nation. But how can this happen until we know who the blessed woman is? The ball, I believe, is in Mrs Clinton’s court.
Labels: bisexual women, Hillary Clinton, Hilldog, Miley Cyrus
Wednesday, March 25, 2015
Gaga gets hitched
So Lady Gaga is getting married. I don’t know anything about her fiancé, but I predict the marriage will fail if he possesses an iota of machismo. The merest morsel of manly pride must be crushed like a pomegranate seed if he’s going to succeed as Gaga’s official bed-warmer. That’s the way it has to be when the queen bee elopes with a drone. He should get into the habit of thinking and acting like a lesbian in a man’s body. If he does that, he might yet make a good fist of it.
Gaga herself is as happy as a lark, fluttering around the globe with a gooey smile on her face, like a fairy princess whose frog has just turned into a prince. When Taylor Swift tweeted a few wistful words about Gaga’s enviable predicament, the bride-to-be reassured her that “your prince charming will come”. She must be suffering from the giddy vapours to write such drivel.
Now I don’t deny there are real-life examples of a successful marriage between a show-business queen and a beta male. Some time ago I discussed the nuptials of Kate Winslet, who had pledged her troth to an oafish-looking swain called Ned Rocknroll. If anything he was an omega male, yet Kate recently praised him as the perfect husband:
“I have a wonderful man in my life who is so incredibly supportive that makes it possible for me to have those experiences,” she said.
The “experiences” she refers to were related to her movie career rather than any kind of kerfuffle in the marital bed. Be that as it may, the couple had their first child on 7th December 2013, a son whom they named “Bear Blaze”. No boy should have a father whose name is sillier than his own.
Maybe the secret of their blissful union is that everyone knows their place. Ned is so far down the pecking order that he doesn’t bother trying to compete with Kate, meekly accepting his role as concubine and comic sidekick. One can imagine him happily strumming his electric guitar in the playroom while Kate is in the lounge, discussing her next film with the moguls of Hollywood. It could actually be a similar type of relationship to the one Paris Hilton had with her pet chimpanzee.
Let’s hope Miley Cyrus learns from Kate’s experience. Her romance with Patrick Swarzenegger is currently on the rocks because he was photographed canoodling with a floozy. The blighter is now begging Miley to forgive him, but the episode should have taught her that he’ll never be a suitable consort. His famous name has given him the delusion that he’s someone of note, rather than a superficial young rake of no distinction whatever. He’ll constantly be trying to compete for the limelight if Miley accepts his suit.
Will another Ned Rocknroll come along to give Miley the unconditional service and succour she requires? If not, she may have to marry her butler.
Labels: giddy vapours, Kate Winslet, Lady Gaga, marriage, Miley Cyrus
Wednesday, December 17, 2014
Bum news
Victoria Spice has admitted to being a “pain in the bottom” without revealing whose rump she has troubled. That shouldn’t stop us from making an educated guess. I’d wager a ripe bunch of bananas that the bum in question belongs to Mr Becks, her devoted spouse. As a former footballer, his buttocks should be able to bear plenty of punishment before beads of sweat start appearing on his forehead and his groin. It’s a small price to pay for keeping the spark in your marriage alive.
Unfortunately for Mr Becks, Victoria is the type of woman who can dish it out but can’t take it. There’s not nearly enough meat on her tush to satisfy a man’s healthy appetite for butt bongo. If I were her husband, I’d be looking at Miley Cyrus with envious eyes. Miley is petite, but her rump is fleshy enough to be slapped around like pizza dough. Unfortunately for those who dream of pummelling her posterior, she has recently started dating one Patrick Schwarzenegger, son of the former Governator.
I’d like to know why this Schwarzenegger sprog is qualified to be Miley’s beau. Being the son of a famous pair of pecs shouldn’t give you the right to romance the cheekiest nymphette of our age. I hope Miley won’t consider marrying him until he proves himself worthy of the honour. Let him show the world what he’s made of by twerking with Madonna and kicking Bieber’s ass. An alpha male should acquire a reputation of his own rather than basking in the fame of his more illustrious mistress.
Whoopi Goldberg has recently reminded us that not everything associated with the bottom is good. She farted loudly on a TV chat show and had the class to accept responsibility for the deed. This would never have happened back in my circus days, when it was standard practice for humans to blame their farts on someone else. The clowns were constantly doing it and often accused me of creating their flatulence. I was generally content to give the accuser a scornful stare without issuing a formal denial, which would have compromised my dignity.
On one occasion I was forced to respond. After emitting a horrible little guff that sounded like a party horn and smelled like poison gas, a clown feigned to look at me with sad, reproachful eyes:
“Oh GB!” he whined. “Whatever have you been eating?”
“What?!” I thundered. “You accuse me of producing that pathetic little squeak?” “This is what a real gorilla fart sounds like!”
And rising to my feet, I turned my back and gave him a blast of wind resembling the base note of a trombone.
This is why I hope more humans will follow Whoopi’s example and be upfront about breaking wind. If your bowels are feeling turgid, make an announcement to the effect that you need to blow some gas out of your butthole and run to the nearest window. If you're going to fart, do it with dignity and concern for the innocent bystander.
Labels: butt cheeks, buttocks, fart noises, farting, Farts, Miley Cyrus, Mr Becks, Victoria Spice
Wednesday, September 24, 2014
Liberated women
Marianne Faithfull says she is proud to have escaped the “straitjacket” of being Mick Jagger’s girlfriend. She makes it sound like a feat worthy of Houdini. It’s quite possible, of course, that Jagger did tie her up while attempting some devilish perversion. The 1960s are remembered as a decade of feverish experimentation, particularly for pop stars who spent the greater part of their leisure time as high as a kite. Yet, he doesn’t strike me as the possessive type in his relations with the fairer sex. Why would he chase after fallen apples when he could pluck a new one from the tree?
Whatever Mick did to her, she couldn’t have enjoyed it that much, because she cheated on him with Keith Richards, describing her debauchery as “the best night ever”. Keith had been eager to seduce her after his own girlfriend had been ravished by Jagger, and he later rubbed salt into the wound by claiming that Mick’s todger was too puny to have satisfied Marianne. There is truly no honour among cuckolds.
Ms Faithful may think of herself as a liberated woman, but her behaviour seems quite dated to me. Hopping from the bed of one famous man to another is what Helen of Troy did to secure her place in history. While it’s true that Marianne had her own musical career, her fame was obviously fuelled by her antics with the Rolling Stones. Her status was never comparable to that of Lady Gaga or Miley Cyrus, who are queen bees rather than concubines.
Miley has recently been in the news for having her bottom spanked with a Mexican flag. It must have been a token spanking, because a piece of cloth cannot smack a lady’s rump with the required force. Her stunt has nevertheless outraged the Mexican authorities, who have threatened to prosecute her. They are too easily offended if you ask me. Isn’t it obvious that Miley’s gesture was a submissive one, generously declaring her peachy posterior to be the property of Mexico? If the Mexicans don’t want it, there must be a dozen other tortilla-eating nations that would be delighted to claim it as a national asset.
Maybe the Mexicans are annoyed because Miley is an American, whom they subconsciously blame for the loss of Texas and California. Those festering wounds were later aggravated by scores of Hollywood westerns depicting them either as helpless peasants or bandits with bushy moustaches. It’s well-known that most Mexicans of that era were actually like Zorro – fearless swordsmen of noble birth whose moustaches were curly rather than bushy.
Let’s hope that Miley avoids a jail term for her well-meant stunt. Perhaps she could make amends for the unintentional offence she caused by starring in a movie showing Mexico in a positive light. I’d like to see her play an Aztec queen who eats tortillas and beans while being spanked with fly whisks made from the plumage of exotic birds. After watching a film like that, I would salute the Mexican flag whenever I saw it.
Labels: Marianne Faithful, Mexican bandit, Mexico, Mick Jagger, Miley Cyrus, spanking
Wednesday, July 02, 2014
Getting her back
Robin Thicke, the singer who twerked with Miley Cyrus, has made a pop video beseeching his wife to return to him. I never knew the fellow had a wife – apparently he married a famous beauty called Paula Patton. She recently left him, reported to be cheesed off by a string of indiscretions, which may or may not have included the twerking episode with Miley.
The peculiar thing about the pop video is that it features a scene where Thicke is having his chest hairs groomed by a comely young wench. If he were a gorilla, this might signify nothing more than an extended delousing session, but the torso of a man is too naked to be stroked for non-erotic reasons. Given that this is so, why would a video intended to persuade his wife to return to the marital bed display the very behaviour that caused her to leave it in the first place? I can think of three possible reasons:
1) The man is a halfwit.
2) The man is a moron.
3) The man is a halfwit and a moron.
Having said all that, who is to say that she won’t go back to him? Women are very unpredictable in the way they react to cheating husbands. When Tiger Woods’ missus found out about his philandering, she attempted to drive him down the freeway with a long iron. No question of forgiveness there. Yet even an ultimate power-dame like Hillary Clinton decided to grit her teeth and persevere when the whole world knew that her husband’s appendage was a popsicle in Monica’s mouth. Did she exact her vengeance by taking her own lover, like a Russian queen? I am tempted to search for rumours using google, but that would open up a whole new plate of oysters.
What sort of woman is best-equipped to deal with a cheating spouse? My shortlist would include the actress Taylor Schilling, pictured below. The first thing to say about her is that she’s played a lesbian in a popular TV drama – this sends a powerful “Who needs your dick anyway?” message to any man who might be tempted to play fast and loose with her.
The second point to note is that she’s been cuddling the actor Zac Efron in a very public way, even though Master Efron is believed to be gay by those who speculate about such matters. This suggests the emotional fluidity of a woman who doesn’t pine for the attention of a macho man. If the hound chases after bitches, she’ll just turn her back on him and canoodle with the poodle.
Miss Schilling has yet to marry at the age of 29, and when she does announce her nuptials let us hope her future husband will be as faithful as the night is long. But if worst comes to worst, she has my permission to party with the lesbians and snuggle with the gays before finding a new spouse. It’s what her fans will expect of her.
Labels: Miley Cyrus, Robin Thicke, Taylor Schilling, twerking, Zac Efron
Wednesday, March 26, 2014
Scarlett's denial
Scarlett Johansson has said that she’s “not a nudist by nature” and I believe her. Exposing her soft, creamy skin to the elements would be a foolhardy pastime to practice on a regular basis. In my part of the world, the mosquitoes and leeches would be queuing up to taste her tender flesh and gorge on her blood, which doubtless tastes better than a tomato smoothie. If I saw Scarlett sleeping naked in the jungle, I would order a chimpanzee to fetch a box of cling film from the safari camp, so I could wrap her up like a slice of melon. Naked actresses are no less worthy of conservation than African wildlife, and I’m sure my friend Davy Attenborough would agree with me.
The intention behind Scarlett’s remark was to assure critics that the nudity in her latest film role was essential to the plot, and not a brazen attempt at titillation. In this film, Scarlett plays an alien femme fatale who kills the men she seduces in order to harvest their bodies. Not having seen the movie, I cannot explain the motive for these egregious deeds. One would hope those extra-terrestrial chicks aren’t like female spiders who make a hearty meal of the poor dope that impregnates them. I wouldn’t want to see Scarlett practising cannibalism on the big screen – it’s not a healthy dining habit and the African tribes that did it suffered from heartburn and halitosis. Stick to green vegetables and insects if you want to live long and prosper.
Let’s hope that no mentally disturbed woman engages in copycat behaviour after seeing the film. That could lead to tiresome lawsuits, which are the bane of humanity. I groaned and thumped my chest when I heard that Miley Cyrus is being sued by a workman who was hurt while erecting the giant tongue used in her stage act. One would have hoped he had more dignity than to claim he was injured by a tongue. My advice to Miley is to settle this quickly before the lawyers descend like vultures.
Back in my circus days, a clown once threatened to sue me for injuring his buttocks during our act. There was a little swelling, but nothing that couldn’t have been cured by sitting on an ice pack for a few hours. I offered him a month’s wages from my own pocket.
“Take the cash and I will moderate the force of my kicks,” I told him. “Otherwise be prepared to suffer for your art.”
He wisely took the money and got his arse massaged by a professional.
Much as I dislike lawsuits, I have no fear of testifying in court should the need arise. I was once called as an expert witness in a libel trial in London.
“M’Lud!” I declared. “No human in a gorilla suit could tempt a real gorilla into the unnatural acts described in the journal. The anatomies are incompatible!”
I’m proud to say that my evidence decided the case.
Labels: lawsuits, Miley Cyrus, nudity, Scarlett Johansson
Wednesday, March 12, 2014
Kiss of death
Katy Perry is denying that she intended to kiss Miley Cyrus on the lips:
“I just walked up to her to give her like a friendly girly kiss, you know, as girls do, and then she like tried to move her head and go deeper and I pulled away,” waffled Katy. “God knows where that tongue has been. We don't know! That tongue is so infamous!” she added.
Frankly, I think Miss Perry should be prosecuted for malicious slander and being a nasty hussy. Of the two tongues, hers is the more evil by far. If I were the presiding judge, I would sentence her to a 3-month term as Miley’s slave girl and concubine. It’s an experience that might teach her the value of discretion.
A lot of people think you can say anything you like in America because of the First Amendment and all that. If you look at the legal fine print, however, this doesn’t seem to be true. The town of Grand Rapids, for example, has an ordinance making it an offence to “wilfully annoy another person”. It’s a pity they are now planning to repeal it. This sensible by-law must have deterred all manner of vexatious deeds, including the making of obscene noises and insults beginning with the words “Yo mama”. Grand Rapids will be a rowdier and less congenial place without it.
As far as I know, it is perfectly legal for a woman to breastfeed a puppy in America. I mention this because a woman from Colorado Springs has admitted suckling a runt that refused bottle milk:
“He just wasn’t taking it. I didn’t know what else to do, I was desperate and I just couldn’t bear sitting there watching it die,” she said.
The women asked for her identity to be hidden when she was interviewed on TV, fearing that her act of mercy would expose her to the wrath of the multitude (to say nothing of lewd requests from “adult baby” perverts). Breaking a sacred taboo can be as dangerous as breaking the law, although one has to wonder why the woman made a public confession if she was so worried about it. Who would have ever found out if she’d maintained an inscrutable silence? The puppy certainly wouldn’t have squealed, except possibly in gratitude or excitement. Much as I admire her generous deed, there is something weirdly exhibitionist about this woman.
It goes without saying that there is no justification for abominating a woman who breastfeeds a baby animal. It’s a despicable double-standard when you consider that human infants have been nursed by mammalian surrogate mothers in the most hallowed myths: Romulus and Remus were suckled by a she-wolf; Tarzan took milk from his beloved ape mother; Zeus was wet-nursed by a nanny goat. There is nothing special about the human titty – it’s just a rounder and less hairy version of a female gorilla’s udder. It might also be softer, but I’m not going to stick my neck out on that one.
Labels: breast-feeding, free speech, human titty, Katy Perry, Miley Cyrus
Wednesday, January 08, 2014
Butt plug prank
The young lady pictured above is Jennifer Lawrence, who is supposedly a talented actress. I say “supposedly” because I have never seen her act. Fame spreads slowly in the African jungle. No one had heard of Charlton Heston until he said “Take your stinking paws off me, you damn dirty ape!” I never held a grudge against him for that – actors are paid to speak lines and the apes in that movie were impostors.
I am displaying a picture of Miss Lawrence because I wish to comment on an anecdote she told on a chat show. What happened was that someone sent a goodly number of butt plugs to her hotel room as a joke. She immediately hid the appliances under her bed so the maid wouldn’t find them. Alas, she underestimated the thoroughness with which these industrious hotel employees attend to their duties. After finding the implements, the maid placed them on her bedside table.
Now I don’t blame Jennifer for hiding the butt plugs. A lady should be discreet about the possession of such toys, particularly to strangers who might be tempted to gossip. But once they were discovered, she shouldn’t have allowed the incident to pass without comment. In her position, I would have made a point of thanking the maid for her diligence.
“I see you found the butt plugs and put them on the table, doubtless after giving them a good polish,” I would have said. “Thank you for arranging them so neatly – do you like them?”
The maid, out of politeness, would have answered in the affirmative, prompting me to insist that she took one as a gift. “Take this purple one and enjoy,” I would have said, pressing it into her hand. The generosity of a gorilla is never refused by any animal smaller than a rhinoceros.
I hope Miss Lawrence will take heed of my advice – she is evidently a comely lass with a bright career ahead of her, but must learn how to improvise in awkward situations.
A young actress whose fame has spread rapidly in the jungle is Miley Cyrus. This is mainly thanks to me. I have made it my business to tell everyone about her bold and brazen deeds, including the use of her rump as a bongo drum.
The latest news about Miley is her participation in same-sex coupling after splitting up with her boyfriend.
“Miley is definitely bisexual,” said a well-informed snitch.
And I am definitely pleased to hear about it, because it’s certain to help her career. Remember Anne Heche, the former girlfriend of Ellen Degeneres? She wasn’t a great actress by any means, but still got starring roles because everyone was interested in private life. As she was obviously the ‘femme’ partner in the relationship, her credibility in playing the love interest of leading men was not damaged.
I personally can’t wait to see Miley starring in a film role which exploits her talents to the full. I could write the script myself. The working title of movie would be ‘My Ass!’
Labels: Anne Heche, butt plug, Jennifer Lawrence, lesbian, Miley Cyrus
Wednesday, November 27, 2013
Bum rap
Miley Cyrus is starting to impress me. I won’t say I’m her fan, because fans are silly toadies, but she’s beginning to earn my admiration. Note that I say “earn” and not “excite”. We gorillas don’t get excited by things we can’t smell.
Miley’s latest exploit was to let some fellow play the bongo drums on her butt cheeks. I don’t think he was anyone special – just an aspiring percussionist proficient in patting the posterior. The rich, meaty sounds he extracted from her behind were a revelation. The buttocks don’t make noises like that unless they’re prime quality rump-steak.
The other thing to admire was the way Miley reacted to the tapping of her tush. It was pure nonchalance – the attitude of a seasoned campaigner who rents out her arse to a rumba band. Not even baboons are that casual when they’re being spanked.
I wonder if Miley is interested in becoming a movie star. I hope she acts in French films, because she’s too unconventional for Hollywood. The French are kinky devils and would fully exploit her lack of inhibition and general lewdness. Whatever they came up with, I would expect to be surprised. It might be a scary surprise, like being hissed at by a snake, but I’m willing to take my chances.
Don’t be misled by my praise of Miley. I don’t think she’s a great human – not yet anyway. She’s got a long way to go to match Shirley Bassey, and I doubt she’ll ever attain the greatness of Bill Gates. We Africans can vouch for the good being done by Bill’s billions. Never has the mosquito met a more determined enemy. As a native of the Mother Continent, I look forward to the day when those pesky little insects have been annihilated by the Gates foundation. When that happens, I’ll hire a chimpanzee to carve a wooden statue of Bill in the jungle. All the gorillas will pass water on it as a sign of respect.
Another worthy cause that Bill is throwing his cash at is the promotion of safe sex. A lot of men are reluctant to wear condoms because they say it’s like paddling in Wellington boots and their dick gets frustrated. Consequently, a few randy reprobates are spreading their deadly jism with reckless disregard for the consequences. Rather than telling people to resist their urges (like the silly old Pope) Bill has given $100,000 to scientists trying to develop a wonder condom made of graphene. This is a substance so strong that you can make a sheet one atom thick without being able to punch a hole in it.
A graphene condom would hug the contours of a man’s appendage like a second foreskin (or a first one for the circumcised). It would be like paddling with a coat of watercolour paint on your feet. I just hope it gets developed in time for Bill to try out on the lovely Melinda. They don’t need to use condoms, of course, because they would never cheat on each other. But Bill would test it anyway just to make sure his money had been well spent. He’s that kind of guy.
Labels: arse, Bill Gates, bongo, butt cheeks, butt pat, condoms, Miley Cyrus, philanthropy, safe sex
Wednesday, October 09, 2013
Exposing Hillary
A cry-baby movie director is complaining that no one will help him make a biopic about Hillary Clinton:
"When I approached people for interviews, I discovered that nobody, and I mean nobody, was interested in helping me make this film,” whined Charles Ferguson.
He sounds like a frustrated village gossip who’s annoyed because all the local snitches are shunning him. In his opinion, this refusal to spill the beans is a betrayal of American democracy:
“I don't think it's a victory for the media, or for the American people," he declared pompously.
The man is an ass and I’m glad his insidious project has been scuppered. You can bet your bottom’s last dollar that the film would have shown Hilldog in compromising positions with other women, which would have brought aid and comfort to the enemies of the United States, who are the last humans on Earth who deserve to be aided and comforted.
Speaking as a gorilla, it wouldn’t worry me at all if Mrs Clinton were a Velcro vixen. If any woman has earned the right to be a lesbian, it’s her. When you’ve been publicly cuckolded by a succession of empty-headed floozies, you’re fully entitled to a few private dalliances of your own, be they Sapphic or otherwise. But that doesn’t mean a Nosey Parker film maker should pry into your personal affairs and tell lurid tales to the world and his wife.
In any case, these Hollywood directors can’t be trusted to give an accurate depiction of the facts. The accursed Oliver Stoned served up a giant barrel of buffalo piss about the Kennedy assassination, which the ignoramuses of our time lapped up like cream from the she-elephant’s udders. The human masses have had their fill of fictionalised political codswallop and don’t need a film about Hilldog to shave further points off their waning IQs.
Oddly enough, the Republicans are also against the film, because they think it would give the former first lady unfair publicity for her next presidential bid. Now I’d like to see a woman in the White House as much as the next ape, but surely Hillary has missed the boat. She’s beginning to look like a crotchety old spinster whose finger shouldn’t be on anyone’s nuclear button. And don’t forget about Bill, who would insist on moving back with her so he could scent-mark his former territory. It would be like a remake of Debbie Does Dallas with the same cast as the original.
Of course, you’ve got to give Hillary credit for inspiring women to get into politics. Even a girl like Miley Cyrus, who is a novice in political affairs, is talking about her plans for world domination. One has to wonder what office of state she plans to hold, given that she’s telling everyone what a bad bitch she is. If I were president I’d appoint her Chief Dominatrix to make sure all the whips and nipple clamps were being used correctly. She could start by giving lessons to the Senators’ wives.
Labels: gossip, Hillary Clinton, Hilldog, lesbian, Miley Cyrus
Wednesday, September 04, 2013
Circus act
If you’d mentioned the name “Miley Cyrus” to me 10 days ago I would have scratched my head. When I hear it today, I scratch my armpits (a gesture of amusement in gorilla society). I am pleased to report that her recent twerking exhibition brought whoops of delight from the jungle primate community, apart from a few envious baboons who thought she was stealing their thunder. The girl is funnier than Fabio Fucini, the legendary circus clown who could fart in his own face.
Her human critics have predictably focused on minor aspects of her routine, such as the booty-wiggling and the hand-to-crotch activity. These are simple manoeuvres that most apes master before puberty. I was spellbound by her face. Her eyes reminded me of a she-hyena in heat, and her tongue might have been attached to a hungry lizard looking for insects to feed on. If I owned a restaurant, I would invite her to lick all the plates clean before putting them in the dishwasher.
The most intriguing part of her act involved the glove with the big pointing finger, which she poked and prodded the man in the striped suit with, before thrusting between her thighs like an imitation phallus. My females thought she was pretending to be a man, but I was quick to correct them:
“She is pretending to be a woman with penis envy,” I said. “The glove is actually a condom, because the human finger is an infamous cootie-magnet that goes every place it can. Singers must be mindful of the safe sex message in front of their impressionable fans.”
All-in-all, it was an inspired performance. If I were Miley’s manager, I would encourage her to develop a comedy pole-dancing act that would upstage all the boring displays you see in titty bars.
I shouldn’t give the impression that I’ll encourage anything for a laugh. Jokes can backfire, as the artist who painted a picture of President Putin in ladies’ underwear found out. The painting was immediately confiscated and the artist had to flee to France to avoid arrest. There’s no sense in mocking a humourless tyrant if he has the power to pulverise your paintbrushes and stick the splinters into your tender parts.
I’m the last one to defend President Putin, but it has to be admitted that the picture does not flatter him. He makes a very unattractive woman, and is a salutary lesson for men who think that slipping into a sexy negligee will make them gorgeous. If you don’t want to look like a hideous old transvestite, you’ve got to go the whole hog with hormone therapy and cosmetic surgery.
This isn’t to say that everything looks good on a real woman. I certainly don’t approve of the enormous rose-bush tattoo that a woman called Cheryl Cole put on her backside. Rose petals may be fragrant, but they don’t belong on the human rump. There is something very suspect about a woman who tries that hard to make people sniff her bottom.
Labels: Cheryl Cole, cross-dressing, Miley Cyrus, Putin, twerking
