Reach for the sky

Dr Whipsnade’s chauffeur once tried to tease me about the final scene of that abominable movie King Kong.

“A gorilla climbing up the Empire State Building!” he jeered. “Very Freudian! Do you think it was penis envy, GB?”

“My dear fellow,” I replied, “the author of the screenplay was a man, not a gorilla. I suggest you delve into your own subconscious for the symbolism of that peculiar event.”

“Are you saying we have an unconscious desire for a gorilla to climb up our cocks?”

“Probably not as a rule, although most things are possible in human sexual fantasies. You are forgetting, however, that the building was quickly surrounded by warplanes, which the ape did his best to swat away. They were obviously the dreaded agents of a powerful castration complex.”

“But I don’t see how the gorilla fits into it.”

“It’s quite simple. The human male is terrified of mating in the open air, fearing that his penis will be bitten by mosquitoes or other flying insects. He imagines, therefore, that a benevolent gorilla (possibly a father figure) will defend his organ from their attacks.”

“You mean King Kong took all those bullets to save our dicks from harm? He’s even more noble than I thought!”

“Indeed, although this would never happen in real life. We gorillas have better things to do than protect a man’s penis. If you ever tried to satisfy your lust in the jungle, either with a willing partner or more probably through self abuse, there’s not a gorilla in Africa that would guard your groin. Your todger would have to fend for itself.”

“I’ll bear that in mind the next time I’m having sex in the jungle!”

I smiled at the man and pointed at Dr Whipsnade’s niece, who was waiting in the hallway to be driven to a social function. I might have added that an insect in search of a quick snack would have no particular reason to home in on a man’s private parts – there are plenty of other appetising targets on his body. But it wasn’t my job to deal with a chauffeur’s irrational psychosexual fears. The shrink must eat, just like the mosquito, and should not be deprived of an honest living.

I thought of the above conversation on learning that the Russians are planning to build the
tallest skyscraper in Europe, news which prompted me to scratch my chin in puzzlement. Isn’t the point of tall buildings to make the best use of scarce land in cramped conditions? Mother Russia is surely the one country on Earth where floor space is not an issue. One suspects this tower is intended to be a defiant virility symbol, signalling to the world that the Russian nation can still get it up.

It all seems rather vulgar and nouveau riche in a country famed for its suffering masses. Perhaps a more fitting monument would be a giant sphere made of candy for children and pensioners to lick. They could call it “Hitler’s Missing Ball” as an ironic reference to the Nazi dictator, whose remains are scattered in laboratories throughout Russia.

The problem with all these skyscrapers is that they’ve gotten too tall. I appreciate a good vantage point as much as the next ape, but if everyone at ground level looks like an ant you can’t see what the devil is going on. That’s why I have always been an ardent admirer of the blimp. These great gas-filled tits are wonders of the modern world, and it amazes me that everyone is so blasé about them. People go to football matches and say “Oh, there’s a blimp” as if they’re looking at a camel having a shit.

Maybe I should acquire my own Bananas Blimp. As well as using it for sight-seeing, I would hire it out for mid-air parties and orgies. For an extra fee, I would let the revellers fly over golf courses to jeer and moon at the players below in their silly checked trousers. There’s no point towering above people unless you can make them feel small.

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