Christmas tree

The manager of the safari camp was terribly disappointed when the Australian Jesus declined his offer of a free holiday in the Congo. I heard the fellow make his excuses on the speakerphone in the manager’s office:

“Screw you, mate!” he snapped. “I’ve cut my hair and shaved my beard so that bastards like you will leave me alone!”

I naturally did what I could to console the manager, who looked rather crestfallen after this ungrateful outburst.

“I don’t think the guests would have liked him,” I said. “Jesus was a baby at Christmas, so it wouldn’t have suited the nativity theme. Why not get your wife to play Mary instead? She’s always telling me how much she misses being a virgin.”

“I’ve got a better idea: why don’t you play King Herod?” retorted the manager. “He obviously modelled himself on a gorilla.”

“You’re only saying that because he had hair growing out of nostrils” I replied. “This is not, in fact, a gorilla trait. Look at my nose.”

It goes without saying that we gorillas have nothing in common with King Herod, a man so evil that he died of a disease called Herod’s Evil. It is said that he suffered an agonising death, with maggots breeding in his todger. Serves him right for being such a blackguard, I suppose.

I’ve always liked the nativity story, mainly because of the prominent role played by animals. There were cows and goats in the stable, sheep in the pastures outside, and three wise apes to provide post-natal care. The species of each ape can be deduced from the gifts they brought. The bearer of gold must have been a vulgar orang-utan who thought bling was a suitable present for a baby. Myrrh was used as an aphrodisiac by the ancients, which suggests the involvement of a randy chimp. And a thoughtful gorilla must have brought the frankincense, which being an air-freshener would have been sorely needed in the stable.

The person I feel sorry for is Joseph, who got a pretty raw deal when you consider the facts:

1. Marries a virgin but isn’t allowed to have sex with her.

2. Gets cuckolded by God, whose child he is forced to bring up.

3. Busts his hump making tables and chairs while his adopted son plays hooky doing miracles and stuff.

On the plus side, he doesn’t get crucified and acquires a nifty collection of oil lamps.

This being the season of goodwill, I should end by offering words of heartfelt sympathy to the broken-hearted. One who might appreciate them is the Indian man now living in a tree after catching his wife fornicating with a local lover-boy. He won’t come down until his wife apologises, which she has stubbornly refused to do.

“If this is how humans behave, I’m going to live like a monkey,” he told the police when they asked him what he was up to.

I feel your pain, my friend. If you wish to continue your simian pilgrimage in the Congo, I’ll reserve a sturdy tree for you.

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Revenge of the lipstick lesbians

Some good-looking lesbians have made a video threatening to marry the boyfriends of women who oppose gay marriage. They are supremely confident of their ability to carry out this insidious threat, believing they have qualities that men dream of in a wife. I don’t know whether their bravado is justified, but they certainly made some very persuasive arguments in the video. Women with eligible boyfriends would be well advised to keep their opposition to gay marriage between them and their shrinks.

When the manager of the safari camp saw the video his eyes lit up.

“Do you think they’d have an affair with a man whose wife was against gay marriage?” he asked eagerly. “I don’t know my wife’s position on the issue, but I might be able to convince her it’s not a good idea.”

“Cuckolding married women who would deny them their rights is entirely consistent with their strategic outlook,” I replied. “But it might not be advisable for you to encourage them, given your wife’s propensity for sadistic revenge.”

“Good point,” said the manager glumly.

Whether or not one approves of punishing a woman for her reactionary views on gay marriage, I don’t think the lesbians have thought this one through. Their proposed plan of action is a classic example of cutting one’s nose to spite one’s face. A woman whose boyfriend jilts her for a lesbian would certainly be humiliated and quite possibly heartbroken. But in time she would get over it and find another suitor. There aren’t enough lesbians in the world to steal the boyfriend of every heterosexual woman who lacks sympathy for their cause.

The fate of the avenger, by comparison, is far more intractable. She would be lumbered with an unwanted husband who would insist on sleeping with her. Switching off the lights, as the girls in the video suggest, would not be an effective remedy if the fellow made obscene and triumphalist remarks while exercising his conjugal rights. I fear that such conduct is far from unlikely in a man who would impose himself on a lesbian.

For all their feisty eloquence, these lesbian ladies have yet to master the art of delivering a credible ultimatum. There’s no point threatening to do something contrary to your own nature and ambitions. You don’t make your enemies back down by promising to blow your brains out on their carpet. What they should have said was “If you continue to vote against our right to marry, we will put on our strap-ons and chase you into the nearest cathouse.” The prospect of being pursued by a swarm of agitated lesbians intent on ravishment should persuade most women to reconsider their views.

As a gorilla, I am all in favour of giving lesbians everything they want. The appropriate response to a lesbian insurrection is unconditional surrender. Let them marry, wear trousers and wrestle with crocodiles if they want to. The lesbians of the Earth should roam free and wild as Nature intended. Preserving such wonders enriches the ecosystem.

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Bad vibrations

I arrive at the safari camp for lunch with the manager, our first meeting of the year since his return from holiday. As we sit down to dine, I notice a wart on his nose.

“A bad omen,” I think.

“Don’t worry about my wart,” he says, touching it with his forefinger. “I’m getting it seen to this afternoon.”

“Why would I worry?” I reply nonchalantly. “I barely even noticed the little noseberry.”

“Oh?” he remarks quizzically, raising his eyebrows. “You don’t think it’s a bad omen?”

“Poppycock!” I exclaim. “It takes more than a bean on the beak to spook a gorilla. I’ll send round a chimpanzee tomorrow to check you’re OK.”

I leave the safari camp, pondering the year ahead. I won’t deny occasionally having strange gut feelings (other than wind), but I never let them affect my plans. Let the premonitions of ape and man stay in the large intestine, where they belong. I remain confident of a bountiful year in the jungle. The barometer of my well-being is set fair, and will remain so unless I am ogled by a vulture laying an egg, which won’t happen.

I expect 2008 to be an eventful year. My dear human cousins will be holding their Olympic Games (heh!) to show the world what wonderful runners and jumpers they are (heh!). And Sassy Miss Kara, the Feisty Filly of the Far-west, will be attending her 10-year high school reunion. Speaking as a gorilla, I don’t quite see the point of these get-togethers. If I haven’t kept in touch with someone for 10 years, there’s normally a good reason for it – a lack of common interests, perhaps, or the failure to establish a friendly rapport. I see no reason to re-acquaint myself with such people, and disapprove of those who do so in a spirit of one-upmanship. We gorillas despise all forms of gloating and never hesitate to ostracise the gloater.

With former high-school classmates there is another complication. Their past association occurred within a mixed-gender group engaged in the rituals of first-time courtship. This is a setting in which rivalries, jealousies and intrigues are surely rife. Can girls who competed for the attention of the same beefcake footballer truly let bygones be bygones and happily swap recipes for savoury pies? And what about high school sweethearts who severed relations because one of them was tempted to philander with a classmate? I can’t see why a cuckold would want to catch up on old times with the person who did the cuckolding.

We gorillas know all about cuckolding, of course. Any alpha male with a harem is going to get cuckolded from time to time, so he may as well learn to live with it. He can’t watch his females 24 hours a day, and there are bound to be occasions when an audacious young ape slips one past him while he’s busy patrolling the estate. Even so, inviting your cuckolder for an amiable rendezvous would be out of the question, even after a hiatus of 10 years. The only possible reason for such an encounter would be for the purpose of ramming a pineapple up the cuckolder’s hairy arse.

I’m not suggesting that these issues have any personal relevance for Miss Kara. She doesn’t strike me as the kind of young lady who goes around cuckolding people, and I can’t imagine anyone daring to cuckold her. Yet it would surely be bad for her soul to hobnob and gossip in an assembly where such discontents are seething beneath the surface. She would be well advised to heed any ominous portents before electing to participate this event. Beware of women with moustaches…and men with warts on their noses.

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