The manager of the safari camp has been asking me for advice on natural jungle aphrodisiacs. Every Valentine’s Day, his wife makes him choose between taking her to Paris or being her sex slave for the day. The Artic weather conditions now prevailing in Europe argued against the Paris trip, so he resigned himself to gigolo duty, an assignment which requires him to wear a loin cloth and rub his body with oil. The expression on his face made me think of a weary old bull being driven into a paddock where an insatiable cow awaited him.
I told him that although I knew of a herbal stimulant that works well for apes, I wasn’t sure of its effect on humans. Maybe it would help him rise to the occasion or maybe it wouldn’t. Nor could I rule out side effects.
“You don’t want to be a guinea pig on V-night,” I cautioned. “Suppose you started having convulsions when your wife was sitting on your face? She might give you a karate chop.”
“Well, I’m not using Viagra,” he mused. “When I took one of those pills last year, it was like inflating a tyre with too much air. My organ ached for days.”
“A grievous affliction to be sure,” I remarked. “The only other thing I can suggest is a Valentine’s Day dish invented by an entrepreneur in England. His company is marketing a bull testicle pie which he promises will invigorate the loins and make the bedsprings creak. It’s so potent there’s a health warning on the packet.”
“Where can I get the recipe?” asked the manager.
“The recipe isn’t important as long as you ingest the active ingredient.” I replied. “I believe there’s a cattle ranch in the Umbogo district which gives them away free if you bite them off yourself.”
“I’ll try the meat market in Brazzaville,” said the manager cautiously.
What can one say about Valentine’s Day? I’ve always thought it was an occasion for needy women to pretend they were adored by a man by pressuring him into jumping through some well-advertised hoops. During a circus tour of Costa Rica, I remember seeing hundreds of teenagers canoodling in a public square on 14th February. They reminded me of the brainwashed followers of a kooky religious cult participating in a mass wedding. I have nothing against one or two couples smooching in a public place, which adds a little sugar to the scenery. But when a whole herd of them does it, we're moving into rabbit-farm territory.
I wonder what Taib Seferovic has been doing on Valentine’s Day? For those who haven’t been following the news, he is a 61-year-old Bosnian man with 49 ex-wives, fervently hoping to get hitched for the 50th time.
“My wives have never asked for alimony because they know I have no money," he explained.
I suppose he must have spent it all on chocolates and flowers. He sounds like a great catch for some lucky spinster.
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