Wednesday, August 28, 2013
Romantic fiction
Some oaf in North Carolina has persuaded a girl to marry him by writing a ridiculous book about a gorilla and a giraffe:
“We spend a lot of time going to zoos and the giraffes are her favourite part,” he explained. “I am clumsy and big like a gorilla, so I played off that in my writing.”
Looking at a picture of the fellow, I would say he is clumsy and big like an overweight human who has eaten too many donuts. He asked his girlfriend to read the book to him, the story being about a gorilla who woos a giraffe (hah!). He then confessed to being the author and got down on one knee to propose. Rather than spurning him for writing such tosh, the sentimental floozy consented to be his wife. Good luck to her – having made her bed she must lie in it, however lumpy it turns out to be.
Fortunately only ten copies of the book have been printed, which will limit the spread of its zoological delusions. It is physically impossible for a gorilla to mate with a giraffe. We aren’t even tall enough to perform oral sex on them. What’s more, those long-legged herbivores are notoriously cranky and will lash out at anyone who tries to molest them. Any gorilla foolish enough to approach one with a step ladder would end up with a hoof in his mouth.
On the subject of fanciful tales, it seems that Batman and Superman will be teaming up in a new movie. I worry about Batman getting an inferiority complex, given that he can’t fly or stop express trains by puffing-out his chest. The one place he could compete with Superman is in the boudoir. Imagine the sparks that would fly if he seduced Lois Lane – Superman, Catwoman and the Boy Wonder would all be seething with jealousy! Superman might then abandon his uptight sexual ethics and get some poontang for himself, preferably with a bad girl who’ll teach him all the tricks. A superhero ought to know what he’s doing when he’s pleasuring a woman.
Someone who might make a good mistress for Superman is a 46-year-old Russian woman who offered herself to her boyfriend on a flight of stairs. Unfortunately her head got stuck in the railings during the coupling, after which her cowardly and ungallant lover left her to fend for herself. A neighbour eventually found her naked on the staircase and called the emergency services.
I don’t know the woman’s name, but if someone sets up a charitable fund on her behalf I would make a generous donation. She evidently acted from the best of motives in trying to “spice things up” for her man. Her judgement may have been faulty, but I won’t condemn her for that. We all make mistakes.
I hope this mishap will convince her never to engage in such acts without a bottle of lube, which she could have used to grease the railings and free herself. Never be too proud to bring a bottle of lube with you.
Labels: Batman, giraffe, gorilla, lube, marriage proposal
Wednesday, January 23, 2013
Another porn addict?
So a female chimp in a Spanish zoo keeps on switching her TV to the porn channel. Whatever. She probably thinks she’s watching wildlife documentaries showing the oddities of Nature. There is no evidence that she found any of it titillating. As a gorilla-anthropologist, I’ve watched a fair amount of human porn myself. I’d be lying if I said it had no entertainment value, but my tits were definitely not lated.
I was sorry to hear that a professor in Montreal had to abandon a research project investigating the impact of pornography on young men. The problem was he couldn’t find any fellows who didn’t watch porn, whom he needed for his control group. Hard luck, Mr Professor, it must be terribly frustrating to have your passion for scientific enquiry thwarted by the single-minded depravity of the male population. I believe Dr Johnson encountered a similar obstacle when he tried to examine the effect of masturbation on the moral character of the legal profession. Some questions, it seems, are destined to be beyond the grasp of empirical science.
A lack of scientific evidence doesn’t stop us from making educated guesses, of course. I’m not the kind of ape who refrains from postulating until a boffin gives him hard data. I should think it’s pretty self-evident that watching pornography from the age of 10 has convinced most young men that women love it when you come in their faces. My ape intuition tells me they are almost certainly mistaken. A man’s jism was not designed by Nature to be a face cream, although it may well provide limited protection against mosquito bites. I would hazard a guess that the first thing a porn actress does, after the director says “cut”, is reach for a box of Kleenex.
This doesn’t mean that facial-jizzing is, or should be, an issue for feminist activism. Some problems are best dealt with on an ad hoc basis. I remember a male baboon who was always trying to do it to his females. He never once succeeded, because they always managed to duck at the critical moment. Women are no less adept at evasive manoeuvres with a bit of practice. Any fool can point a weapon and shoot – it takes genuine skill to hit a moving target.
Anyway, I’m certain that the female chimp in Spain would not be watching all this ugly human cock-spurting if there were better options on TV. If I were running that zoo, I would give her a channel featuring re-runs of the old Batman series. The show has a huge following in the hairy primate community. My favourite character is Catwoman, who made Batman look like the pompous eunuch that he was. There is something particularly fascinating about a woman who dresses up in a skin-tight costume and gives us a glimpse of the animal within. Had we ever met in Gotham City, I might well have allowed her to scratch my hairy back. You need sharp claws to penetrate a gorilla’s fur.
Labels: Batman, Catwoman, facial-jizzing, pornography, titillation
Friday, July 06, 2007
Job dissatisfaction
Quite a few humans seem to be disgruntled with their jobs. I‘ve recently heard complaints from Sassy Little Kara, Moping Lord Milky and even some of the overpaid cokeheads who come on safari. It makes me thankful for my own career as a circus performer. Entertaining an audience has its pressures, but at least your fate is in your hands. As long as the crowds keep cheering, you don’t have to bother with buttering up the boss or humouring your workmates.
I could do pretty much as I pleased in my off time. I snoozed in my trailer when celebrities came to visit and farted loudly at staff meetings. I flirted with the ringmaster’s wife and conspired with her in intrigues against her philandering husband. I goofed around during rehearsals, pulling off the clowns’ wigs and stuffing them down their baggy trousers. And if the ringmaster ever raised his voice to me, I would cordially invite him to pucker his lips and smooch my big hairy butt – or words to that effect.
So what is a good boss? One who can separate the trivial from the important. If I were in charge of humans working in an office, I’d tell them precisely what they had to do for their payslip at the end of the month. As long as they managed it, I wouldn’t worry about them coming to work dressed as Batman, or discussing the latest vice from Amsterdam, or using sex toys in the office toilets. Caesar said his soldiers fought just as well when stinking of perfume. But if they failed to give satisfaction without good cause, I would not hesitate to bestow the Order of the Boot.
“What of sexual harassment in the workplace?” I hear you ask. “What of it?” I reply. These problems arise from poor communication. I would ask each member of staff to submit a confidential list of workmates whom they fancied. I would then privately inform each employee which of their co-workers they were allowed to grope. Mutual fanciers would obviously be given carte-blanche to molest each other. Problem solved.
Insecure human bosses don’t realise that imposing pointless rules doesn’t earn you respect. Nor does playing the court jester like that donkey David Brent. Your underlings must know that without your guidance they’d be floundering like seal pups before the cull. As well as being superb at your own job, you’ve got to make them aware that you’d be better at their jobs as well. Once in a while, the shrewd manager comes out of his cubicle and fills in for one of his minions, flaunting his superior admin skills and flashing his stylish accoutrements.
The one thing a team leader can never tolerate is treachery behind his back. I once left a young gorilla in charge of my band when I was away on a cruise. When I got back, I found that the coconut stash had disappeared and two females were pregnant. I chased that hairy rascal right out of the jungle. He would have starved if he hadn’t found some ostrich eggs, which he managed to steal at the cost of having his arse hairs pecked out. On returning to the forest, he wisely never showed his ugly face near my patch again. I celebrated my rout of the interloper with a gala chest-thumping party. An ape does good business when he rids himself of a turd.
I could do pretty much as I pleased in my off time. I snoozed in my trailer when celebrities came to visit and farted loudly at staff meetings. I flirted with the ringmaster’s wife and conspired with her in intrigues against her philandering husband. I goofed around during rehearsals, pulling off the clowns’ wigs and stuffing them down their baggy trousers. And if the ringmaster ever raised his voice to me, I would cordially invite him to pucker his lips and smooch my big hairy butt – or words to that effect.
So what is a good boss? One who can separate the trivial from the important. If I were in charge of humans working in an office, I’d tell them precisely what they had to do for their payslip at the end of the month. As long as they managed it, I wouldn’t worry about them coming to work dressed as Batman, or discussing the latest vice from Amsterdam, or using sex toys in the office toilets. Caesar said his soldiers fought just as well when stinking of perfume. But if they failed to give satisfaction without good cause, I would not hesitate to bestow the Order of the Boot.
“What of sexual harassment in the workplace?” I hear you ask. “What of it?” I reply. These problems arise from poor communication. I would ask each member of staff to submit a confidential list of workmates whom they fancied. I would then privately inform each employee which of their co-workers they were allowed to grope. Mutual fanciers would obviously be given carte-blanche to molest each other. Problem solved.
Insecure human bosses don’t realise that imposing pointless rules doesn’t earn you respect. Nor does playing the court jester like that donkey David Brent. Your underlings must know that without your guidance they’d be floundering like seal pups before the cull. As well as being superb at your own job, you’ve got to make them aware that you’d be better at their jobs as well. Once in a while, the shrewd manager comes out of his cubicle and fills in for one of his minions, flaunting his superior admin skills and flashing his stylish accoutrements.
The one thing a team leader can never tolerate is treachery behind his back. I once left a young gorilla in charge of my band when I was away on a cruise. When I got back, I found that the coconut stash had disappeared and two females were pregnant. I chased that hairy rascal right out of the jungle. He would have starved if he hadn’t found some ostrich eggs, which he managed to steal at the cost of having his arse hairs pecked out. On returning to the forest, he wisely never showed his ugly face near my patch again. I celebrated my rout of the interloper with a gala chest-thumping party. An ape does good business when he rids himself of a turd.
Labels: Batman, Caesar, David Brent
