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, November 19, 2014
Beatle for Sale
“Money can’t buy you love, but it sure can buy you a Beatle,” he remarked wryly.
“Paul is a vegetarian and a friend of the gorilla nation,” I replied haughtily. “I will not believe gossip about him until I have researched the matter to my own satisfaction.”
My investigations have since confirmed that the story is well-founded, although there are several qualifications to add. A million dollars is pocket money for Paul, so he was clearly there to network and promote his own investment ideas. Many of those fund managers will soon be putting money into sea cucumber farms. They were also ardent fans of his music:
“I love you Paul!” screamed one investor, jumping up from her seat the moment he appeared.
I’m not the least bit envious of these people. The truly lucky ones were those who heard the Beatles rehearse in the studio. The Beatles themselves were incredibly lucky to have heard themselves play when they were playing.
Although I did not attend the famous rooftop concert at Savile Row, I am proud to reveal that a couple of chimpanzees were among the onlookers. Having been hired to appear in a TV commercial, they were being measured for suits in a nearby couturier when the music started. Quick as a flash, they scarpered out of the shop and bounded up the tallest building in the street to get a panoramic view of the action. The Fab Four’s hirsute appearance affected them as deeply as the music, which they danced to in the traditional arms-forward-bum-backwards style.
People often wonder why it took the police over 40 minutes to end the concert, which was causing major traffic jams as well as annoying several old farts in the vicinity. I can now clear up this mystery. When the Beatles started playing, a retired army colonel phoned the police to demand that they “stop that bloody din” coming from the roof of a nearby building. He put his phone receiver outside his window so the duty sergeant could hear it for himself, and this witless Plod, being no aficionado of pop music, told a couple of fresh-faced constables to “get the Monkees off the roof”. This caused the hapless Bobbies to waste half an hour trying to evict the chimps from their vantage point (an impossible task given the comparative gymnastic abilities of humans and chimps). It took another phone call from the irate colonel to make the sergeant realise his error and redirect his troops to the Apple studios.
To be honest, I don’t blame Paul for preferring to hang out with rich people like himself. His fingers and toes got badly burned by Heather Millstone, who not only fleeced him for 30 million bucks but aired a lot of dirty linen that should have remained in the laundry basket. As we say in the jungle, if you swim with the crocodiles it might cost you an arm and a leg.
Labels: chimpanzees, money, Paul McCartney, sea cucumbers, The Beatles
Wednesday, May 22, 2013
Happy birthday Yoko!
Yoko Ono is 80! Her birthday was actually in February, so I’m offering her my belated best wishes. I hope she’ll understand how difficult it is to keep track of celebrity birthdays in the rainforest. I only really notice the passage of time when the crocodiles start humping.
What a fascinating human being Yoko is! People have often wondered how a demur, soft-spoken Japanese woman could be so barmy. I blame it on the American military occupation of Japan following World War 2. When a teenage girl used to a diet of steamed rice and vegetables suddenly starts binging on chocolates and Coca-cola, it has a similar effect on her brain to LSD. She later did take acid, of course, and her disordered mind began to make weird connections, such as noticing the humour in men’s private parts. Did she laugh at John Lennon’s dick? It wouldn’t surprise me, but I doubt it damaged their relationship.
I once made the mistake of discussing the break-up of the Beatles with the manager of the safari camp. I said it wasn’t Yoko’s fault because the lads had already grown apart and were following diverging paths. This provoked a furious response:
“Of course it was Yoko’s fault, you ignorant ape!” barked the manager. “You don’t have a clue what was going on behind the scenes! She put a hex on the band and made weird mewling noises when they were rehearsing. If it wasn’t for her interference, John would be alive today and the Beatles would be playing in the Cavern!”
There was no point arguing with an irrational outburst like that, so I turned my back on him and farted before returning to the jungle.
The good news is that Paul has settled the issue by stating that Yoko didn’t break up the Beatles. What a nice thing to say after all the spiteful words that ping-ponged between them. Paul must have realised that there were bitchier women than Yoko on the face of the Earth after his divorce from Heather Mills. Whatever nasty things Yoko said about him, she didn’t cost him 30 million bucks. Let’s hope he goes to watch her perform at this summer’s music festival in London, where she’ll be singing the songs that John recorded shortly before he was assassinated by the mad assassin.
Another person who ought to go to the concert is Bjorn Ulvaeus, who praised the Beatles in a recent interview. When asked whether the Abba girls got annoyed when their husbands were chased by groupies, Bjorn replied:
“You may find this unbelievable but we never really had them.”
It does surprise me that neither Bjorn nor Benny attracted a single groupie at the height of their fame in Abba. But “unbelievable” is a strong word, particularly after looking at old photos of the band. If Bjorn says there were no groupies, I will accept his statement as factual if he gives me his word as a gentleman and a Swede.
Labels: Abba, groupies, laughing at John Lennon's dick, Paul McCartney, The Beatles, Yoko Ono
Wednesday, July 04, 2012
Back in the USSR
Paul McCartney phoned me the other day to moan about the injustices of the world. Apparently, some Russian bureaucrat has blamed the Beatles for the boom in recreational drug use.
“It was 45 ruddy years ago when we admitted taking stuff!” snorted Paul. “Why can’t they blame Amy Winehouse or someone? I wish I hadn’t given that concert in Red Square now, the ungrateful cunts!”
“Don’t let it bother you, Paul,” I replied. “He probably would have blamed Amy Winehouse if she were still alive. The Russians are superstitious buggers and wary of provoking the spirits of the departed. In any case, you ought to be glad that the Beatles are still considered so influential. You wouldn’t get a Russian official complaining about Cliff Richard’s effect on the younger generation.”
“Not unless the younger generation had taken a vow of celibacy after dating a butch tennis player!” quipped Paul.
“He-he-hoo!” I hooted. “What cheeky Liverpudlian waggery!”
In truth, I can’t assess the validity of this Russian fellow’s argument. He seems to be saying that the Beatles’ brief sojourn in the Maharishi’s ashram convinced many young Russians that psychedelic drugs were the answer. It seems idiotic to me, but who am I to say what Russians would believe? They believed in Communism a few years ago.
Whatever their issues with narcotics, the Beatles did set a good example in other aspects of their conduct. Unlike many other millionaire pop stars, they were never obsessed with busty women, which is something they deserve credit for. I can’t think of a single Beatle girlfriend or wife who possessed an enormous pair of hooters. The better known ones were medium at most.
I think this explains why silicone implants didn’t take off until the Fab Four split up. The modern generation of nymphettes simply has no idea that the Beatles were nuzzling small bosoms in the heyday of their fame and fortune. Nowadays, it takes something akin to a Damascene conversion to persuade a woman desirous of a bigger bust to be satisfied with what she’s got.
Such miracles do occur, though. I was heartened hear of Olivia Landin, a waifish English girl who was persuaded to enter a beauty contest before a planned boob job. She won the first prize a mere 48 hours before her appointment with the cosmetic surgeon.
“I never expected to win; it was unbelievable,” said Olivia, aged 20. “As soon as I got off stage I had second thoughts about changing anything about me.”
I’ve never had much regard for beauty contests, but the cancellation of Olivia’s breast enlargement operation proves they can be a force for good. Before drawing any firm conclusions, I would like to know how the judges came to their decision. If they noticed Olivia’s pert little jahoobies and gave them high marks, she is a worthy champion. But if they disregarded her bosom in a politically correct way, her victory would be a hollow one. A beauty pageant in which the boobs are ignored is not an authentic competition.
Labels: beauty content, breast implants, jahoobies, Russia, The Beatles
Wednesday, April 28, 2010
The Pope forgives again
Pope Benny is behaving like a man who is desperate to change the subject. In his latest digression he declared himself a fan of The Beatles, lamenting the 40th anniversary of their break-up, and graciously forgiving them for their “drug-taking and blasphemy”. This has failed to impress Ringo, who noted that being forgiven by the Pope puts you in rather dodgy company. I personally won’t believe Benny is sincere until he reverses Yoko Ono’s excommunication for “witchcraft, satanic incantations and lewd exposure of the pudenda”. The Catholic Church will never be a moral voice for the acid-trippers and headbangers until it can distinguish the eccentric from the diabolical.
Meanwhile, the Pope’s ever loyal supporters have been walking on eggshells to avoid embarrassing him. Take the recent papal visit to Malta. The mayor of a small town wanted to tear down a much-loved phallic symbol lest the High Pontiff should accidentally gaze at this monstrous affront to ecclesiastical dignity. Commonsense prevailed after the creator of the monument told the mayor he was a philistine and an ignoramus.
“Rome, where the Pope lives, is full of columns, but I don’t see anyone complaining and asking for them to be removed!” he thundered.
A very good point indeed. Benny must have seen a veritable forest of oversized dicks in his long career of holy service – why would one more offend him?
If the Pope is determined to pardon child-abusers, he should start with those outside the priesthood guilty of the most venial sins. I was dismayed to hear of yet another schoolmistress getting arrested for seducing a teenage boy. The most dispiriting aspect of this case was the willingness of her 16-year-old pupil to testify against her in open court. Although the jury sensibly acquitted her of all wrongdoing, prosecutions like this send a terrible message to the young. A generation of schoolboys will have learned that kissing-and-telling and ingratitude are commendable forms of behaviour.
It seems to me that this schoolmistress is a good-natured and obliging young lady who made an unlucky choice. Call me a fanciful ape, but I feel that she and others like her belong in a religious order. They remind me of the pagan goddesses of antiquity who would bestow the ultimate favour on their most loyal devotees. What a happy position the Catholic Church would now be in if it had made these women priests instead of all those nasty paedophiles. Pope Benny, alas, is far too timid and reactionary to consider their ordination, but they could always offer their talents to another church. There are many progressive sects that encourage women to serve God in all positions.
Perhaps they should start by approaching the Mormons, who are rich enough to pay them well and weird enough to appreciate their unorthodox pastoral techniques. Before becoming priestesses, they would have to be trained to distinguish the deserving from the undeserving. Generosity is the finest of virtues, but it loses its heavenly aura if you toss it around indiscriminately.
Labels: phallic symbol, Pope Benedict, schoolmistress, The Beatles
