Taxi drama

An unsettling item of news from the north of England. Unwilling to pay a cab fare of ten guineas, a Polish gangster invited the taxi driver to come indoors for a quickie with his wife. When the driver said he’d prefer cash, the gangster flew into a rage and brandished a machete with evil intent. Fortunately, the driver was fleet of foot and managed to escape into an alleyway before the gangster could exact savage retribution for the insult to his pride.

Now the crucial fact in this sorry incident is that the taxi driver had not seen the gangster’s wife before declining to have his way with her. His refusal was therefore an issue of principle rather than an expression of contempt for the woman’s physical charms. It follows that the gangster had no reason whatever to take offence at the driver’s reluctance to mount his missus. The vanity of which humans are capable never fails to astonish me.

I relate this story to a couple of Englishmen staying at the safari guesthouse.

“If I’d been the driver I would have taken my chances and shagged her,” says one of them. “Gangsters’ wives are usually drop-dead gorgeous like Michelle Pfeiffer in Scarface.”

“It’s gangsters’ mistresses that are drop-dead gorgeous,” corrects his companion. “Their wives are usually fat birds they impregnated when playing truant from school.”

“That wouldn’t surprise me,” I remark. “And even if she were a beauty, suppose the gangster wanted to watch while you enjoyed her favours? Hoodlums often indulge in peculiar practices of that sort. I believe it’s how they confront their fears.”

“You seem to know a lot about it, GB,” says the first man with a smirk. “Have you ever offered one of your females as repayment for a debt?”

“I have no debts, good Sir,” I reply. “But if I did, I would never offer one of my females as payment in kind. Even if she agreed to do it, she would then demand reimbursement for the value of the services she had rendered on my behalf. It is far better to owe money to a creditor with whom one can negotiate a repayment plan than a female gorilla who would hound me for an immediate settlement in hard cash or coconuts. Of course, if she actually wanted to get intimate with the fellow it might be different story.”

“How would you know if she fancied him, GB?” asks the second man.

“We silverbacks always know when our females are appraising a man as a potential sex toy,” I reply. “My ones usually grind their teeth furiously. Sometimes they crack their fingers like a concert pianist about to give a performance.”

“Bloody hell, GB!” exclaims the first man. “If I ever give you money it’ll be a gift not a loan!”

“As you wish, my dear fellow,” I say reassuringly. “I have no need of gratuities, so I’ll forward your donation to a worthy charity.

I don’t know why men are so scared of female gorillas. I should have told him not to talk until he’d tried it.

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