Unrequited love story

There’s nothing like a female in distress to stir the chivalrous instincts of a male gorilla. I was quick off the mark to counsel Laverne, the yogic Canadian mom, when she appealed for help in her blog. Apparently, a walrus-like woman at her place of work had been invading her body space and whispering sweet-nothings into her happily-married ear. As Laverne put it:

“She’s VERY friendly, stands a little too close, her face turns red when she sees me, she kind of leans on my desk and she sort of softly says ‘Hey you’ when she sees me.”

I always give the same advice to women who find themselves in this situation: if Sugar Mama tries to force her attention on you, don’t resist or fight back. Allowing Miss Heffalump to play with your goodies is a lesser evil to getting bitten or scratched. Let nature take its course. It’s not as if she’s going to get you pregnant or give you AIDS. Just lie back and think of Ricardo Montalban.

Of course, it’s a good idea to make a mental note of everything she does to you. And after you’ve made a mental note, write it all down somewhere. Publish it in your blog, in fact, so there are witnesses who could later back you up. And don’t worry about what your husband or boyfriend will think. No man with balls in his sack would consider Sapphic acts with another woman to be cheating. The female gorillas in my harem are constantly fooling around with each other and it doesn’t bother me in the slightest.

For some reason, Laverne was not impressed by this advice. If memory serves, she used expressions like “You’re grossing me out, GB!” and “Stick it up your big hairy butt!”. Before I could protest that I had spoken in good faith – and that she was free to seek a second opinion – she fired off a telling question:

“What do you do to turn women off?” she asked pointedly. “I’m sure you have lots of experience with that.”

She had me there. When I was performing in the circus, you’d be amazed at the number of women who propositioned me backstage. They had these crazy fantasies of rough and hairy sex with a gorilla. Needless to say, it would have been a serious breach of professional ethics to have obliged them. Through trial and error, I discovered a foolproof method of cooling their ardour. I will let you in on the secret on condition that you apply the knowledge with restraint and discretion.

What I did was take one live locust and display it to the woman, holding it squirming between my thumb and forefinger. This would prompt her to say something like “Eeeuw! Make it go away!”. In deference to her request, I would then drop the locust into my mouth and eat it raw. This would invariably cause the woman to run away screaming, sometimes with her finger in her throat. It doesn’t matter how horny the woman is or who she has the hots for. If Russell Crowe himself were to devour a live locust, his most devoted female admirer would run for the sick bag.

Laverne seemed to give this idea serious consideration before rejecting it in favour of an alternative strategy involving her husband. She would get him on the phone when Miss Dikeypoo was standing nearby, and address him with endearments such as “big boy”, “honey hunk” and “daddy pie”. Her same-sex suitor would then surely realise that she was strictly a one-man woman and back off.

I wasn’t sure about this. Hell hath no fury… as the saying goes. So I advised Laverne to carry some pepper spray in her purse as a second line of defence. When desire festers in the bosom of the she-elephant, the park ranger keeps his rifle loaded.

UPDATE!: Laverne's husband came to the office on Valentine's Day and got his buns squeezed by his wife in full view of Miss Heffalump!
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