A scholarship application

A university student called Amanda DeZilva has sent me the following email:

Dear Mr Bananas

I have been trying to sell a kiss for £10,000 to fund my masters degree in England. The highest bid I received on e-Bay was only £500. I have been reading your blog and you seem like a generous ape who likes to look after females. Would you be interested in sponsoring me?

Sincere regards


I am always intrigued to hear from my secret readers. Last year, I got an email from a fellow who wanted to be squeezed by a female gorilla. Women wrestlers and body-builders just weren’t doing it for him. When I explained that my females would probably break his bones, he said it was exactly what he wanted. Did you ever hear of such madness! I naturally refused to collude in the satisfaction of his grotesque and macabre craving. Gorilla Bananas does not cater for the fetishes of the lone nut. What would we have done with him afterwards?

An application for financial support is quite mundane by comparison. A bit of googling has enabled me to
confirm the veracity of Ms DeZilva’s story. It seems that she has refrained from kissing anyone for a whole year to make her lips more appealing. All the same, ten thousand pounds sterling seems a hefty price for one smooch. I’m sure courtesans such as the lovely Miss Brooke would kiss a client until her lips were numb for half that amount of money. Indeed, she would probably insist on doing it in the nude with her hand on his groin to uphold professional standards.

While I am pleased that Ms DeZilva has been reading my blog, and has acquired an appreciation of my chivalrous nature in doing so, I’m not convinced of her argument that I should be her benefactor. “What’s in it for me?” would be a curt response to her request. She is surely aware that a gorilla does not play kissy-face with human females. I suppose if I visited her in England she might call me ‘Uncle Bananas’ and let me feed her sweets by hand. An agreeable intimacy to be sure, but not something I am in the habit of paying for.

All the same, I think I should offer her something for her trouble. One does not want to be denounced as a hairy Scrooge with the Christmas season looming. Perhaps I’ll send her a souvenir from my circus days. One of the goosing batons I used on the clowns ought to fetch a handsome sum on e-Bay. Who knows, she might even keep it as a memento of our correspondence.

I will also advise Amanda to put a few more goods on the table in her own fund-raising activities. Enticing though her lips may be, the paying customer expects a lot more for his money these days. I wouldn’t give a woman my cash unless she offered me an evening of song and dance, followed by a bedtime story.

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