I hear the authorities in Tennessee closed an interstate highway after several canisters of bull semen fell off a bus. Frustrated motorists accused them of overreacting, but I say it’s better to be safe than sorry. It only takes one mad woman with a bull-impregnation fantasy to create a Minotaur-like monster that would shock the world. Religious fundamentalists would claim a creature like that portended some dire prophecy, and incite their followers to make a hullabaloo. We don’t need a lot of excitable humans tugging their beards in wide-eyed fervour.
We gorillas are very wary of interspecies mating and the begetting of bizarre crossbreeds. Humans are fascinated by the idea because they’ve been misled by propaganda on popular TV shows. Consider Mr Spock of the Enterprise. He’s supposedly a Vulcan-human hybrid, yet is capable of anything a pure-bred Vulcan can do, while retaining the human ability to raise one eyebrow in ironic disdain. Real-life hybrids are nothing like as stylish or proficient. Mating a horse with a mule produces an ass, and no one in his right mind wants to be an ass.
Perhaps women who want to breed with a bull-like creature should ask Gerard Depardieu for a test tube of his man goo. He shouldn’t wish to deny them, as jerking off more frequently might alleviate his prostate condition. He claimed to have this infirmity after relieving himself in a plastic bottle on the aisle of a passenger jet. As the bottle wasn’t big enough for the contents of his bladder, the plane had to be evacuated while the carpet was shampooed.
Depardieu’s fellow passengers were naturally shocked by his exhibition and assumed he’d pissed in front them because he was pissed himself. Although this would be a reasonable presumption to make of a Frenchman, I prefer to put his behaviour down to desperation. The facts indicate that the cabin staff barred him entry to the lavatory because the plane was about to take off, which must have riled the pants off him. One shouldn’t expect a man to observe the normal decencies when his taut bladder is in a state of anticipation.
An actor whose prostate must be in tip-top condition is George Clooney. I say this because an ex-girlfriend of his has revealed that one of his favourite pastimes was sharing a hot tub with his men friends. Apparently they did it naked, in the style of the ancient Greeks. I don’t believe Clooney’s buddies would have risked such an intimate convocation if there was the slightest chance of underwater leakage from the great man.
Clooney has brushed off suggestions that there’s anything fishy about enjoying a naked soak with one’s boyfriends.
“I’ve always had really great friends on both sides of the aisle, so to speak,” he explained.
I don’t doubt this for a minute, but why does one side of the aisle get special bath-time privileges at the Clooney residence? I’m beginning to suspect he feels awkward in the presence of naked women.
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