Polar bear dispute

A lot of ignorant people are calling David Attenborough a hoaxer for using footage of zoo-dwelling polar bears in his latest nature programme. I bet these foolish hypocrites have enjoyed countless action movies in which stuntmen pretend to be Bruce Willis or Daniel Craig. What D.A. did was far more justified because: (i) there are no A-list actors in the polar bear community and (ii) all polar bears look the same to humans. Television viewers who want to see close-ups of real wild polar bears should piss off to the North Pole with a pair of binoculars. 

I have to be honest and declare a personal interest here. D.A. is a personal friend who has often asked me about gorilla etiquette. He once hired me as a consultant for a film shoot in the Congo. 

“Is it OK if I grunt and make eye-contact with the females?” he asked. 

“Not advisable with wild females, Davy,” I said. “They might think you were making a pass at them and end up sitting on your face. I suggest you shoot the scene at London Zoo. The female gorillas there are used to men flirting with them and know it’s just pussy-teasing.” 

Davy did as I suggested, and the BBC obtained some brilliant footage of him chatting up a female gorilla as she pouted and fluttered her eyelids. One of the most enthralling scenes ever filmed in a natural history show. 

Humans often ask me whether I approve of wildlife documentaries. It’s the sort of question that makes me want to lie on my back and scratch my chin with my toes. Like many things in life, they have their pros and cons. A positive feature is that the sex they contain is suitable for family audiences. Because let’s face it, most human parents are far too embarrassed to tell their children how babies are made. It’s much easier to let them watch animals do it and put two-and-two together. 

This is why documentary-makers should exercise discretion in the species they select for their hard-core scenes. Definitely not baboons. After watching them mate, boys might think that having sex involves drilling away for 10 seconds like a woodpecker and then running off to boast about it to their buddies. Elephants are not advisable either. The size and shape of a bull elephant’s appendage makes me clench my anus, so heaven knows how innocent girls would react. 

So much for the sex, but what about the violence? In my view, it gives modern humans the same kind of kicks that the Roman amphitheatre used to provide. Why are lions the most popular wildlife attraction? Because people want to see them chase down a zebra and bite chunks out of it. As a vegetarian gorilla, I find it pretty sickening, but at least lions don’t combine their violence with sex, like in a Tarentino movie. Can anyone explain why the black crime baron got raped by the white gimp-handler in Pulp Fiction? If that’s entertainment, I’m a duck-billed platypus.

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Lone Knut

A mentally disturbed polar bear in Berlin Zoo is getting a lot of sympathy from animal rights groups. Raised by the Germans since he was a cub, Knut quickly learned to perform stunts that went beyond sniffing another bear’s arse. His audiences grew to love his zany antics and hurrahed him wildly in the traditional German manner. Unfortunately he got addicted to the adulation, and now gets nervous tics whenever his fans are absent. PETA has demanded his de-knackering to calm him down. These animal rights activists know the meaning of tough love. 

What Knut really needs is a kick up the backside. He reminds me of circus performers I knew who suffered withdrawal symptoms when they weren’t showing off in the ring. For my own part, I saw the off-season as an opportunity for philanthropic work. I spent a fair amount of time at Dr Whipsnade’s finishing school for aspiring young ladies, where I gave classes in repartee and self-defence. Hundreds of girls from all walks of life were tutored in the Bananas technique. I got this email from a former pupil last week: 

Dear GB, 

Your invaluable training served me grandly when some pot-bellied navvies wolf-whistled me today. In exactly the way you taught us, I gave them the gorilla stare and the crush-your-bollocks hand gesture. Their manhood seemed to shrivel before my very eyes.

I’m still practising the toe exercises and getting better at them!

Hope to see you next time you’re in England. 

Love and more love 

D****** 

I don’t consider myself to be an unduly emotional ape, but this warm tribute from a grateful student made my heart soar like a lappet-faced vulture. The next time we meet I shall challenge her to a friendly toe-wrestle – I might even let her win. 

Another hobby of mine was archaeology. After dirtying my hands in most of the digs in south-east England, I soon became adept at identifying fragments. When dilettanti volunteers got excited on unearthing a piece of bone, I was the one who congratulated them on discovering the mortal remains of one of Colonel Sanders’ finest. My greatest find was a gladiator’s jockstrap, dated to the reign of Antoninus Pius. I believe Russell Crowe wore a smaller replica in his famous film role. 

Getting back to the polar bear issue, it seems that Knut is one of 30 in Germany with behavioural problems. Could the Germans themselves be to blame? History suggests they have a weakness for idolising over-the-top performers who end up losing their marbles. It can’t be easy for a polar bear to bask in the acclaim of thigh-slapping crowds during the day, only to be left alone with a bucket of fish in the evening. 

These neurotic bears should be moved to a country where the zoos are visited by lumpen elements who taunt and heckle the animals. It has to be Wales, hasn’t it? Whatever you say about the Welsh, their yobbos can be trusted to keep a polar bear’s feet on the ground. 

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