Depp leaves Paradise

I hear that Johnny Depp has split up with Vanessa Paradis, his former long-term girlfriend. Am I the only gorilla in the Congo Basin who never knew they were an item?

“You big hairy ignoramus!” jeered my females. “You only find out about celebrities’ private lives when they’re mentioned on the BBC website. Some of us hear things on the grapevine and read Hello magazine.”

“An ape with my responsibilities doesn’t clutter up his head with trivia,” I replied. “I leave such menial tasks you.”

They responded to my lofty retort by blowing raspberries and wiggling their hips (a gesture of respect).

A sadly predictable feature of this unexceptional story is that Johnny was lured away from his mistress by a younger woman. Miss Amber Heard, who co-starred with Depp in his latest picture, is now playing the part of temptress and Jezebel. She is universally described in the news coverage as a “bisexual actress”, as if that were a relevant detail. What are they implying? That she won Johnny over by promising to share her girlfriends with him?

Of course, there are other reasons to prefer a bisexual woman. A man who’s bored of conventional role-play might want to experience things from the female perspective. Today’s thespians pride themselves on their fluid and flexible approach to gender identity. I’m sure a seasoned performer like Depp would relish the challenge of throwing himself into a new position and adapting to its demands. All the same, I think he should make a statement so we know what to expect. If Johnny intends to be the future Mrs Heard, his fans deserve to be told.

A interesting feature of their courtship is that Johnny bought Amber a horse. It makes me wonder whether Amber is one of those women who find riding on horseback sexually arousing. I disapprove of humans using other species in this way, but I don’t suppose the horse would complain, even if it knew what was going on. Let’s hope she still has energy for Johnny after bouncing up-and-down on her headstrong mount.

The relationship between horses and humans is a strange one for gorillas to fathom. On the face of it humans idolise their steeds, pining for a partnership like the Lone Ranger and Silver. Yet likening a human to a horse, either in mannerisms or appearance, is invariably perceived as a deadly insult. I remember getting hate mail for calling Princess Anne ‘The Horseface of the Apocalypse’, even though I meant it as a compliment.

That’s why I felt a pang of sympathy for the English comedian who was cautioned by the police for making a horse joke. All he did was upload a photograph of a female traffic warden on Facebook and encourage his readers to ride her like a horse. Not the most gallant remark to make about a woman, but people who do unpopular jobs should expect a few lampoons. If I ever saw that woman in a car park, I would barrack her with neighing noises. 

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Tree surgery

Serbian druids have discovered an infallible cure for a variety of chronic ailments including back pain and nipple rash. The sufferer must squeeze his body between two trees, hugging one trunk while being goosed by the other. Not any old trees, I should hasten to add. The ones with healing powers are located in a sacred grove where magical substances are sucked up through the roots. This creates a mystical energy field which cleanses the body of its maladies and toxins.

A chap called Branko Lazic is one of hundreds of patients who have been cured in this way:

"I've had crippling back pain for years and the doctors couldn't do anything to help me,” he said. “But all I had to do was pass between these two trees and the pain faded away. It's a miracle."

You don’t get endorsements more ringing than that one. Although I’ve never suffered from a bad back, being blessed with the supple spine of a jungle primate, I rejoice in Mr Lazic’s deliverance from this aggravating affliction. It would have been all too easy for a man in his position to hire an oriental maiden to walk on his lumbar region. But such addictive remedies only provide temporary relief. It takes real faith to follow the advice of druids and make yourself the meat in a wood sandwich.

It also gladdens me to hear of a natural cure that doesn’t involve drinking a potion containing bats’ urine or some other obnoxious fluid. I’ll be sure to mention this to our local witch doctor the next time he concocts one of his medicinal brews.

If squeezing your body between two trees can heal you, could squeezing your body between a pair of topless women have the same effect? Before you accuse me of asking a fatuous and ignoble question, let me refer you to an incident on a golf course in America, where two 40-something women have been charged with public indecency. It is alleged that they went around hugging golfers with their chests exposed.

“The officers didn’t witness them golfing, they witnessed them pulling their shirts up,” said Mike Dixon, sheriff of Madison County.

Regrettably, few of the golfers appreciated being embraced in this way, perhaps believing it was a sly attempt to put them off their game. These facts notwithstanding, I would like to hear the ladies’ side of the story before rushing to judgment. It’s quite possible that they’d read about the Serbian healing trees and were trying to provide a similar form of therapy. One must be lenient to those who act with philanthropic intentions.

Whether the bosoms of these (or any other) women actually have healing powers is an open question. My suspicion is that even without proven medical benefits, the placebo effect would be very strong. After current legal issues are resolved, I would hope the prodigal pair go on a grand tour of America, offering their unique remedy to the sick and needy. Blessed are they who use their assets in a good cause.

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Madonna lets it hang out

Madonna has deliberately displayed her breast at a concert in Istanbul, provoking wild screams of delight from her delirious fans. The antics of a desperate woman. Or do I mean “the antic”, given that only one boob was exposed? Singular or plural, I’m not impressed. I’ve seen baby baboons emit more dignified cries for attention.

The reaction of the audience was entirely predictable. Any diva can drive her fans nuts by exposing her flesh. If Madge really wants to prove something, she should show off her rack at a dairy farmers’ convention. Men who milk cows for a living know a high-class udder when they see one.

A naïve chimpanzee once asked me why Madonna didn’t just retire on all her millions and live on an island paradise, gorging on fresh fruit and sitting on her boyfriend’s face.

“What a naïve chimpanzee you are!” I exclaimed. “No amount of money can replace the thrill of live performance in front of adoring fans. Adulation like that makes you higher than a parrot!”

“How come you know so much about it?” asked the chimp impertinently.

“Because I used to perform in a circus, you impertinent chimp!” I replied. “I assure you my fans were no less devoted than those of Madonna.”

Dumbfounded by my answer, the chimp fingered his navel and wandered off.

Don’t get the wrong idea about my circus act. The hero-worship I got was not achieved by displaying an organ or gland. We gorillas are mellow apes who shun behaviour that might provoke a hysterical reaction.

The manager of the safari camp thinks Madonna’s eccentric behaviour is a response to her rivalry with Lady Gaga.

“She looks at Gaga and sees a younger version of herself,” he declared. “People her age don’t like that. It reminds them of their own mortality.”

“That’s an unusually perceptive remark from you,” I remarked. “Have you been reading something?”

“Yeah, The Complete Idiots’ Guide to Psychology,” he confirmed.

To my way of thinking, any rivalry that provokes a 53-year-old woman to bare one of her breasts is a destructive one. It can’t be helping Gaga either, who is a confused young woman in need of a good role model. The world of popular entertainment doesn’t need a tit-flashing competition between two of its leading lights.

If you ask me, Madonna should end this pointless feud with a bold and generous gesture. Let her offer to adopt Miss Gaga as her daughter. Rather than exposing her bosom on stage, make it a comforting resting place for Lady G’s troubled head.

Becoming family would allow them to perform together, by which I mean singing duets rather than doing anything lewd or incestuous. Would it make them the first mother-daughter band in history? Apparently not. An informed source tells me that a country music duo called ‘The Judds’ has that honour. No matter. They could always break new ground by inviting Bieber to join them in a mother-daughter-puppy combination. The sight of little Justin frolicking with his mistresses would tug the heartstrings of every pet owner.

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Brazen blondes

The manageress of a dating site for adulterers is claiming that blond women are the most successful cheats:

“They know what they want and are seizing life by the horns,” declared Rosie Freeman-Jones of ‘Intimate Encounters’.

Does that mean life is a bull or a pair of cocks? The metaphors of a dating-site madam are unfathomable to a simple gorilla like me. In any case, I’m not convinced by her suggestion that blondes are a breed apart. She seems to have forgotten that women can dye their hair. For all she knows, the biggest trollops on her client list may be bottle blondes.

There is no solid evidence that men on the prowl for floozies prefer natural blondes. Consider the case of La Cicciolina, the Hungarian-Italian porn star, who famously offered her body to Saddam Hussein as a bribe for withdrawing his forces from Kuwait. Although her flowing locks were bleached, she never bothered to dye her dark eyebrows the same colour. Her admirers knew she was a fake blonde but they never gave two hooters about it.

As for the lady garden, my old friend Smacker Ramrod told me that even natural blondes tend to have pubic hair which is several shades darker.

“Yellow beavers look unnatural, even when they’re genuine,” he explained. “That part of a woman’s body is meant to be dark and mysterious.”

I took his word for it at the time, but now I’m not so sure. Could differences in lighting and shade account for the apparent mismatch? For many blondes, of course, the modern fashion for the depilating the cha-cha has made this question moot. There is very little mystery left in a woman’s undercarriage these days – it must be one of the most photographed areas of the human body.

It actually surprises me how conventional fornicating women are in their choice of cosmetics and dyes. I would have thought men who wanted to cheat on their wives were bored and looking for something different. Whatever you say about blond hair, it isn’t very different.

To my way of thinking, the enterprising hoochie should adopt a new and exciting look to entice men into her web of sin. A good place to look for ideas would be Star Trek (the original series), where Captain Kirk was continually putting his phaser on stun for some weird and wonderful alien chick. Although these damsels in distress were always humanoid, they usually had some exotic feature which made them especially alluring. I recall a particularly raunchy green one, who gave every indication of being a tigress in the sack.

The broader question, of course, is whether a dating site for cheaters is ethical. My own view is that it’s better for adulterers to commit adultery with other adulterers than deceive people genuinely looking for love. Such an arrangement is less likely to result in anguish, turmoil or dire revenge. Sometimes it’s safer to let the guilty wallow in their guilt than endanger the peace of the realm.

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Police dildo raid

News arrives of another police blunder in England. This one was inspired by a spurious report of a man brandishing a pistol in his living room. A squad of armed heavies was immediately dispatched to the address, where they found a couple playing with a dildo. After confiscating the sex toy at gunpoint, they arrested the man for “possession of an imitation firearm”.

“I think this is what you might call a classic cock-up,” said a neighbour, exaggerating for comic effect.

The police should drop this charge before they make complete assess of themselves in court. The dildo would have to be produced as evidence, resulting in their inevitable ridicule. If I were the defence counsel, I would ask the arresting officer to examine it in the witness stand.

“Does that look like a pistol to you?” I would say, as the judge scratched his wig pensively. “Perhaps you could oblige us by pulling the trigger.”

After sniggering all over their faces, the jury would vote to acquit. It’s an infallible principle of English law that the barrister who gets the most laughs wins. That’s why Rumpole of the Bailey never lost a case.

Another reason to drop the charge is that the arrested man has already been punished enough. The shame of the affair must have nipped him like a ferret in the trousers. There is simply no explanation for possessing a dildo that reflects well on a man. It either means his own equipment isn’t functioning properly or he's a fan of the prostate massage.

There is nothing wrong with women owning dildos, of course. If I saw a woman clutching one, I would advise her to keep it well-oiled and bid her a good day. The full potential of the dildo as a sex aid has been demonstrated by Tiana Lynn (the “squirt queen”), who is a dab hand with the trusty glass phallus. There are video clips of her practically torturing herself with pleasure, but I don’t intend to link them here. Not many women can watch her in action without feeling jealous, and it is not my purpose in life to make women jealous.

I’ve often wondered what happens to ladies who have worked in the adult entertainment industry when their careers come to a natural end. I would hope they use their savings to finance a college education and subsequently apply for jobs at IBM or General Electric. Such giant corporations are full of business school types who’ve had limited exposure to the rich diversity of human experience. Recruiting people with fresh ideas might invigorate their working practices and inspire innovation.

There’s also much to be said for retired porn stars joining the police force. Making suspects assume “the position” before frisking and handcuffing them has much in common with their previous line of work. They also have a wealth of knowledge and experience that could be used to good effect. Their ability to distinguish between dildos and deadly weapons would be a particular boon to law enforcement.

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Scurrilous talk

A Brazilian woman has been fined a hefty sum for ridiculing the sexual performance of her husband. It probably serves her right, although one can’t be certain without knowing the sordid details. The ridicule would have been entirely justified if he’d attempted to pleasure her with a cucumber, like that dirty old eunuch in Malaysia. But I doubt that sort of thing goes on in Brazil. Such dastardly deeds tend to happen in countries where wives are too embarrassed to make a fuss about husbands who penetrate them with vegetables.

In all probability, the man just didn’t know what she wanted. I have no sympathy for women who complain to third parties about such frustrations. I remember, back in my circus days, hearing words of discontent from a female acrobat about her boyfriend’s erotic endeavours. You might think it was a strange confidence to share with a gorilla, but it’s often easier for humans to discuss such personal matters with someone from a different species. I’m sure many cats are bored to tears by similar revelations from their mistresses. Anyway, my response to her grievance was devoid of pity:

“There’s no point complaining to me about it!” I declared tartly. “Have you given him precise instructions? Have you drawn helpful diagrams? Have you shown him articles in Cosmopolitan describing what modern women want in bed? You can’t expect a dog to perform tricks without proper training.”

The girl was forced to accept the logic of my argument, and proceeded to give the fellow a crash course in how to satisfy her desires. I was led to believe that he passed with flying colours.

Now, the motives of the Brazilian woman in belittling her husband were clearly much darker. She couldn’t have been lashing out in frustration, because the record indicates that she was fornicating with her driving instructor at the same time. A woman who is receiving expert service from a tradesman has no reason to complain about her husband’s lack of prowess. If you’re getting your oats from Tom, it shouldn’t matter that Dick is unable to provide them. I suspect she was using her husband’s alleged ineptitude as an excuse for her own misdeeds. A cuckold receives no mercy from those who have wronged him.

It’s an ugly habit of humans to cast aspersions on others to divert attention from their own peccadilloes. It reminds me of J. Edgar Hoover investigating the sex lives of the Kennedy clan when he himself was dressing up like a fairy queen and fluttering his eyelids at any square-jawed special agent in the vicinity. If only he’d had the courage to say:

“Yes, I like to wear women’s clothes and consort with men who treat me like a lady. It is my free choice as an American. In admitting this, I immunize myself against blackmail from villains intent on emasculating my determination to bring them to justice!”

A statement like that, from the director of the FBI, would have made America a safer country for its citizens.

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