Scrabble subterfuge

Humans often remark upon my extraordinary vocabulary. “What’s your secret?” they ask. The answer is that I used to play Scrabble in my circus days. Initially with the clowns, who taught me only dirty words, but later with my mentor Dr Whipsnade, who exposed me to a broader lexicon. I do not play much in the jungles of the Congo, where word games are viewed as a sissy pastime, but in a few days time I shall be visiting London for the holiday season. It is there that I am scheduled to play a friendly game with the world champion. 

Some of you may not be aware that Scrabble has a world champion. The current holder of the title is a transvestite called Mikki Nicholson, who wears a pink wig. I do not expect to win, even though I am an accomplished player who could beat the pants off most humans. A gorilla’s pride can bear defeat to a world champion. 

I asked Dr Whipsnade to arrange the game as a means of enlisting Mikki in a noble cause. I hope to persuade her to apply for a job as a Playboy Bunny at the club that will open in London next year. My sources tell me that Mikki has all the required skills for the job, being attractive, polite, friendly and able to balance drinks on a tray. If they turn her down for the position (as we expect), we will sue Hef for unlawful discrimination. Our intention is to win punitive damages that will substantially lighten the silk-lined elephant scrotum that Hef uses for a money pouch. 

Please don’t think that I’ve hatched this plot because I’ve got it in for Hef. On the contrary, I have his best interests at heart. Hef, you see, is a man who has grown accustomed to making a gigantic anus of himself. The older he gets, the more anus-like he becomes. If he continues on his current path, he will be all anus and no cheeks. This will make him the terrestrial equivalent of a black hole, sucking passing bodies into his vortex and transporting them to the parallel universe inside The Playboy Mansion. Only by draining the anus of its cash supply will it be sapped of its lethal power, allowing Hef to live out his final years in dignity and peace. 

To prove that I’m not motivated by malice, I am sending Hef a Christmas present he will surely appreciate. It is a new version of the Kama Sutra without the famous drawings of sex positions. As Hef is only capable of getting into those positions with the aid of a harness, it should not diminish the practical value of the gift. He will be able to absorb its timeless wisdom without constantly revisiting the dirty pictures like a randy old goat. 

Let us never forget that the Kama Sutra was originally intended to provide “advice for a courtly gentleman on how to live a well-rounded life”. As Hef will shortly learn, there’s more to being well-rounded than imitating an anus. 

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