Showing posts with label George Clooney. Show all posts
Showing posts with label George Clooney. Show all posts

Deceptive behaviour


Tending bar at the safari guesthouse, I serve a drink to a young American man who resembles the actor Robert Downey Junior. After exchanging a few pleasantries, he confides that he is a compulsive womaniser. We gorillas are used to hearing such confessions from humans, who often confuse us with their shrinks. 

“I pretend to be gay,” he says. “Women love having gay boyfriends who’ll go shopping with them and tell them their ass looks great. The gayness puts them off their guard and they soon start hugging and kissing me. After that happens, I just pick the right moment to stick my nose between their hooters.” 

“What if they object to being caressed in that fashion?” I ask. 

“They never do,” he replies. “Women are vain and can’t resist the idea of turning a gay guy straight. It makes them feel special.” 

“What a sly fellow you are!” I exclaim. “Don’t try it in the Congo, though. Pretty boys who pretend to be gay over here end up in the tent of a tribal chief.” 

I later reflect on the women deceived by this wily seducer. What went through their minds when the man-friend who said he was gay started nuzzling their jahoobies? Clearly, emotion and wishful-thinking must have clouded their judgement. The lesson for nubile women everywhere is clear: the man who talks gay but pets straight is not to be trusted. He is probably a devious bounder with dishonourable intentions. 

Having said all that, it is noteworthy that there are men in America who can feign gayness without feeling shame. This is a social advance to be applauded. Obviously, they must drop the act when they’re in a redneck bar or riding with the Hell’s Angels, but that’s just a matter of common sense. You don’t go for a swim in a pool full of sharks. 

Not so long ago, it was gay men who pretended to be straight. Some, like the cowboys in Brokeback Mountain, even married women to camouflage their true nature. Apparently, women who perform this function are called “beards”. I learnt of this terminology when Chris Martin (the pop musician) referred to Gwyneth Paltrow (his wife) as a great beard. He was obviously joking, but it was still an ugly slur. No A-list actress should be given an epithet which befits the bush sprouting from Brian Blessed’s chin. 

Do beards still exist in the modern world? Some people have jumped to the conclusion that George Clooney’s latest girlfriend is a beard, merely because she used to be a professional wrestler. That doesn’t follow at all. Being attracted to a female who can put you in a headlock has nothing to do with being gay, as any male gorilla will tell you. 

I do have a suspicion that Britney Spears is an unwitting beard, though. Her current boyfriend is a narcissistic fellow called Jason Trawick, who co-starred with Britney in her latest pop video. Their simulated sex scenes were so unconvincing that Britney had to grope a couple of pillows to portray her ecstasy. A man who allows pillows to steal his love-scene obviously isn’t performing with his first choice. 


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The dangers of bull seed


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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The Atkins diet


Silly scientists are claiming that we gorillas invented the Atkins diet. On behalf of the gorilla nation, I issue an official denial. The scientists who came up with the idea are a bevy of boobies and a caboodle of clowns. Pour scorn on this nonsense if anyone asks you about it. You can tell them you heard it from the horse’s mouth. 

The Atkins diet was actually invented by lions, who eat nothing but fresh meat garnished with tufts of grass for seasoning and decoration. Actresses copied the diet after noticing that lions never seem to get fat, even after gorging themselves on the equivalent of 67 wildebeest burgers. This may be true, but another consequence of their meat-addiction is chronic halitosis, making it impossible for them to kiss during mating. 

Thus, actresses who followed the Atkins diet maintained slim figures at the expense of getting lion breath. A good many subsequently got divorced because their husbands refused to kiss them and insisted on having sex in the “rodeo” position. Female performers are far too vain to be humped like lionesses, however how bad their breath is. 

My advice to actresses is to forget about dieting. You can’t develop your range if you keep on playing skinny women trying to catch the eye of the leading man. There were times in human history when it was fashionable for women to have some meat on them – consequently, the period drama is a bonanza for chubby actresses. Queen Victoria is the classic role for the small plump woman with a round bottom. Ann of Cleves, affectionately known as “The Mare of Flanders”, is suitable for the more heifer-like figure. In years to come, casting directors will be looking for someone to play Oprah in a biopic. Black women with the bodies of cheerleaders need not apply. 

I shouldn’t leave you with the impression that I have a particular animus against actresses. Male thespians are just as insecure, although less often about their weight. Take George Clooney, for example. He was so worried about what people would think, following his recent break-up with the gorgeous Elisabetta Canalis, that he got one of his flunkies to make a statement on his behalf: 

“I saw them together and I can say their love story was very intense,” said Manuele Malenotti. “You never know in life, and men are having an identity crisis, but I can tell you George is not gay.” 

I find this rather pathetic. Surely no one even imagined Clooney was gay before he started getting paranoid about it. Not being willing or able to settle down with a woman doesn’t necessarily mean you’re hungry for cock. Having said all that, one can’t help wondering about him now that he’s made such a big issue of it. And his use of interlocutors is cowardly and unconvincing. If George Clooney isn’t gay, he should say so himself instead of getting one of his boyfriends to deny it. (For the record, I think that he and Richard Gere would make an attractive couple.) 


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