A tourist at the safari guesthouse speculates about the size of Charlie Sheen’s testicles.
“I’m guessing they’re bigger than golf balls,” he says.
The evidence he offers for this conjecture is a news report about a weekend the actor spent in Las Vegas, where he allegedly copulated with prostitutes on a revolving-door basis. I tell the tourist that such feats of debauchery, although impressive in their own terms, do not amount to conclusive proof.
“The source you cite mentions that Mr Sheen was ‘coked out of his head’,” I point out. “The aphrodisiac effect of that narcotic might enable a man with gonads the size of grapes to spend a weekend skewering whores.”
“You could be right,” agrees the tourist, “but without big balls he’d be firing blanks pretty soon. I guess you gorillas don’t have to worry about that.”
“We conserve our ammunition and try to make every shot count,” I reply modestly, resisting the temptation to boast or exaggerate. “The animals with the biggest ones in relation to bodyweight are a species of grasshopper. They enable the male to impregnate scores of females in a frenetic spree of hop-on, hop-off action.”
“Grasshoppers!” exclaims the tourist. “Who’d have thunk it? I’ll remember not to keep them as pets so I don’t get an inferiority complex!”
“You could eat them to get a superiority complex,” I suggest.
I later regret having discussed the issue of ball-size with the tourist. Although one should always be civil to guests, there’s no need to feed their delusions about the importance of a well-packed scrotum. For, as we say in the jungle, the proof of the bollock lies in the potency of its seed.
One man who has no deficiency in this regard is Mr Becks, having recently impregnated Victoria Spice for the fourth time. This happy news was greeted with joyous celebrations in the African bush – the elephants blew their trumpets; the rhinos swished their horns; the crocodiles thrashed their tails against the rumps of lounging hippos.
My females did their “squat-and-grunt” dance, offering prayers that the new arrival would emerge from the orifice that Nature intended, rather than being surgically extracted in the manner of its siblings. We gorillas are traditionalists on the question of childbirth, believing that a baby should come out the same way it got in. While it’s true that Victoria’s figure is not ideal for squeezing them through the birth canal, there are ways of preparing her for the required exertions. A tub of Vaseline and a zucchini can achieve great things in the right hands.
What I admire most about Victoria is the way she always manages to get knocked up when some floozy is claiming to have slept with her husband. It’s as if a sixth sense tells her when her marriage is under threat, prompting her to jump on Mr Becks while he’s doing the junior crossword puzzle. I don’t for one minute believe the scurrilous tales of infidelity in the gutter press, but it’s nice to see a wife who knows how to remind her man where his virile juices belong.
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Charlie Sheen /
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Victoria Spice
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