A piglet squeals

I’m going to nominate Britney Spears’ former bodyguard for the ‘Sissy of the Year’ award. He has recently been telling tales about Britney in court, claiming that she pranced around naked and made him watch her play with herself. He believes this entitles him to sue her for “sexual harassment” and obtain ridiculous damages. If I were Britney’s lawyer, I would ask the jury one simple question: How could a man who protects people for a living behave like such a snivelling wuss? 

Now I don’t dispute that Britney did behave like a sex-crazed vixen in need of a good seeing to. One wouldn’t expect anything different from the woman. Nor am I saying that the fellow should have jumped on top of her the minute she wiggled her naked butt-cheeks – that sort of behaviour is for the goats and baboons. But a man who expects to be financially compensated for being propositioned by a nubile woman has forfeited the right to own a pair of testicles. 

There is always a polite way of declining a woman’s favours without making her feel like a heifer whose udders are unfit for milking. When holidaying in England, a few years ago, I had the privilege of reading the memoirs of Lieutenant Cornelius Wagstaff of the Royal Navy, whose journal was an heirloom in a stately home I visited. In its pages, there is a description of an incident that occurred during shore leave in Naples, when the Contessa di Napoli invited Wagstaff to her palace to examine some artefacts of the late Lady Hamilton. 

When Wagstaff arrived, he found a home empty of servants apart from a maid, who gave him directions to the Contessa’s bedchamber before leaving herself. On arriving, he found that both the door and the Contessa were wide open. As the latter sprawled naked on her bed, arching her back like a pussycat about to be stroked, she addressed her guest as follows: 

“Here I am and this is what I offer you.” 

Like a true officer of the King’s Navy, Wagstaff composed himself before responding to the challenge of an enemy vessel. Taking a deep breath, he said: 

“My lady! Your body is an exquisite temptation which causes my sturdy loins to surge with manly desire. Yet I cannot succumb, for I am betrothed to a woman who at this very moment clasps my portrait to her tender, yearning bosom!” 

“I see,” said the Contessa. “Shall I dress and show you the palace?” 

Wagstaff chewed his lip and frowned before replying to this question: 

“Rather than dressing, my lady, let me join you in your unveiled simplicity as we tour this majestic domicile, that you may witness your effect on my manhood. You have shown me yours, so I must show you mine.” 

So the Lieutenant and the Contessa walked around the palace as innocently and as nakedly as Adam and Eve on their first day in Paradise. The Contessa was satisfied that her physical charms had not been scorned, and Wagstaff had turned what might have been an untoward incident into a triumph for British diplomacy. 

Is there a man alive today with the manners and discretion of Lieutenant Cornelius Wagstaff?

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High seas heroes

A Royal Navy vessel has confiscated £240 million worth of cocaine from a boat off the coast of Columbia.

“We’re absolutely delighted about the operation,” said the skipper of the Iron Duke.

Apparently they caught the drug smugglers off-guard and pounced on them before they could brush the dust from their moustaches. I hope they showed no mercy to those wretched villains. Walking the plank would have been too good for them.

My advice to Captain Stacey is to handle the captured booty with care. Don’t let the crew snort it all at once, but ration it like grog in the days of Lord Nelson. Double the quota on special occasions like the Queen’s Official Birthday, or the date that Lady Hamilton was requisitioned for Royal Navy service.

We gorillas never take drugs, of course. If I want to get high I climb a tree. But we make no judgements about those who do, and will act as facilitators for humans who dope themselves up in a responsible manner.

My ancestor Bo’sun Bananas volunteered to serve on a Royal Navy ship before the Battle of Trafalgar. HMS Tightbore had been ordered to patrol the West African coast to intercept any French men ‘o war fleeing to the Cape. Many mariners have taken fright at the sight of big British guns shooting off in the heat of battle. After weeks of pleasant sailing in balmy tropical waters, the supply of alcoholic beverages was running low.

“The blasted crew will mutiny if we don’t find a port to re-stock!” exclaimed Captain Ignatius Porthole.

“The problem is easily solved, Iggy,” said Bo’sun Bananas. “All I need is a day’s shore leave to collect some ingredients from the Congo Coast. When these sea dogs have swigged my jungle punch they’ll forget they ever tasted rum or beer!”

Captain Porthole did as my noble forebear suggested, and five barrels of the finest jungle hooch were duly prepared. The crew lapped it up like cream on a harlot’s nipples, and performed their duties with greater diligence and efficiency than ever before. The impending mutiny having thus been averted, everything seemed to be shipshape. However shortly after putting out to sea, the captain accosted the bo’sun while he was reading Moll Flanders in the gun deck.

“Bananas, you hairy varmint, the crew have gone mad!” he thundered. “They’ve replaced the White Ensign with the first lieutenant’s britches and are watching it swing in the breeze, grinning like village idiots. I’ll be hanged if it’s not your damnable concoction that’s scrambled their wits!”

“Watch your language, little lady,” replied my venerable progenitor coolly. “The liquor I rustled up contains an extract from the Wanga plant, which sharpens perception and imagination as well as improving dexterity. If the crew want to fly the first lieutenant’s britches on the mast, it’s probably the best place for them.”

Captain Porthole stomped away grumbling and cursing, knowing better than to tangle with a gorilla. He was eventually persuaded to take some of the brew himself, which immediately calmed his turbulent disposition. He later relinquished command to the first officer so he could wander around barefoot on deck, singing sentimental ballads with his toenails painted red.

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