Baby Gaga

I arrive in London to discover that a new brand of ice cream is the talk of the town. Its unique selling point is the milk it’s made from, freshly extracted from the udders of lactating women. The principal supplier of this essential ingredient is Victoria Hiley, a 35-year-old mother from Leeds, who has been trumpeting the tastiness of her tata juice. 

“There’s nothing more natural than fresh, free-range mother’s milk in an ice cream,” she declared. “My boobs produce far more than my baby needs and I love having them squeezed. If other mothers realised how delicious their milk was, we’d put the cows out of business!” 

I’m glad to hear that the milk is free range. In my ignorance, I had thought that the breast-feeding mothers of England were cooped up in suburban lounges with barely enough room to wiggle their arses on the settee, mooing peevishly while voracious human babies sucked them dry. It’s good to know that they are allowed to roam freely in patios and conservatories as Nature intended. I’m sure the extra cost of providing such facilities is amply repaid in the quality of the milk. 

Nor can I refute the other assertions made by Ms Hiley. The milk from human females is unquestionably natural, and I dare say many women could feed a crèche full of babies, judging by the size of their jahoobies. As for the taste, I will accept Ms Hiley’s assurance that it is excellent in every way. The suckling woman is not a rare sight in Africa, and I have yet to witness a baby spitting out her secretions in disgust. 

Now let’s move on to the question that’s on all of your minds. Will Gorilla Bananas, a noted aficionado and connoisseur of ice-cream, sample a tub of the much-heralded Baby Gaga and appraise it for the benefit of his curious readers? Let me assure you that I have given this question much thought, examining its merits from every conceivable angle. After carefully weighing the pros and cons, I have decided against. 

My reasons are not what you might suspect. I have no time for silly people who think that consuming a woman’s milk is “yucky” or “sick”. It is certainly no more disgusting than drinking the milk of a cud-chewing herbivore that defaces grassy meadows with its dung and farts like thunder with a stupid expression on its face. Drinking human milk is a perfectly wholesome activity provided that the decencies are observed and one doesn’t attempt to take it from the teat like a greedy piglet. 

The reason I won’t be tasting the product is because of all the hype. Call me an old-fashioned ape, but I don’t like having the delectable qualities of a dessert rammed down my throat. In particular, the self-laudatory chirping of the lactatious Ms Hiley has left a sour taste in my mouth. There are few things less ladylike, in my view, than a woman who boasts about the flavour of her bodily fluids. The negative impact of all this hoopla on my taste buds would make it impossible for me to savour the ice cream with an unbiased tongue.

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