My eyes lit up when a man on safari described Victoria Spice as an “airhead”. Having just read a fascinating article about her lineage, I was well-placed to refute his ignoble assertion.
“I think not, my good man!” I declared. “A genealogist has discovered that her great-great-great grandfather was a radical artist who hung out with Karl Marx. Whatever you think of Marx, he didn’t waste time hobnobbing with airheads.”
“What does that prove?” retorted the man. “The total number of great-great-great grandparents is 32. Her other 31 must have been straw-chewing yokels and buxom wenches. Any brain-juice from Marx’s pal would have been diluted with a gallon of doofus syrup.”
“What shocking bigotry!” I protested. “Are buxom wenches necessarily dim-bulbs?”
“Name one that isn’t,” he challenged.
”Kate Winslet,” I replied instantly.
“Decent pair of jugs but no Einstein,” he remarked coarsely.
I parted company with the fellow, shaking my head and tut-tutting. Had I wished to continue the debate, I would have pointed out that buxom wenches were not likely in Victoria’s family tree, given that her own figure is somewhere between slender and cadaverous.
Human genealogy is a fascinating subject though. The further you go back in time, the more likely it is you’ll find some phenomenal breeder with millions of modern-day descendants. Half the human race has either King Solomon or Genghis Khan as an ancestor. The lucky ones are related to both. If you see an angry fellow who likes horses, swords and concubines, you know where he gets it from.
Geneticists have proved that the entire human species is descended from a woman who lived in Africa about 200,000 years ago. This mysterious über-mother, whom scientists have named Eve, eclipsed all her rivals in the mating and child-rearing stakes. What was so special about her? The scientists have no idea and assume she just got lucky – maybe she was having a dirty weekend on Mount Kilimanjaro when a massive tsunami struck.
Another possibility is that Eve had some kind of biological advantage. The manager of the safari camp is convinced that her breasts were exceptionally large. As well as providing a plentiful supply of milk for her considerable brood, they would have made her irresistible to potential suitors. The men of that epoch were not very subtle and tended to focus entirely on a woman’s jahoobies. It wasn’t until the great cultural awakening of the Cro-Magnon period that more diverse tastes developed and men began to notice a lady’s thighs and buttocks.
Yet such theories have little relevance to Victoria Spice, who was not put on Earth to be gawked at for her fleshy adornments. I remain convinced that the woman has hidden intellectual depths, invisible to the naked eye, but perceptible to the de-waxed ear. No wonder the odious Simon Cowell has refused to employ her as a judge on his tawdry talent show. He is just the sort of the conceited TV pundit that Victoria would upstage with her shrewd little comments.
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Karl Marx /
Mitochondrial Eve /
Victoria Spice
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