Phone Sex

Take a look at Twitter. It's full of late teens and twenty something women  (If you are to believe their profile photographs) offering the rest of the world advice on how to live their lives. Most often this is done through the medium of other people's quotes, as though they don't have an original word to say themselves. Indeed many of them look like they haven't been on the planet long enough to have thought of something original to say. I make a point of not following such people. I also wonder if these girls with the attractive photos are the same ones who advertise phone sex in the newspapers. I can't help thinking that these phone sex women are sixty years old, called Ivy or Hilda, sitting in a dreary lounge somewhere in suburbia, chain smoking, swilling gin and wearing loose fitting tracksuit pants, making a bit extra on the side while giving desperate men a not-so-cheap thrill.

One advert I saw ringed in red ink in the newspaper that lines the bottom of my cage (My male staff asks me to deposit my bush chocolate and bush lemonade on such ringed ads so that my female staff doesn't see it.) read "My name's Candice. I'm lonely and hot. Call me."  What the ad doesn't say is that she's lonely because she has the looks, the smell and the personality of a garbage truck, and she's hot because she can't afford air-conditioning.

It's funny, but in Australia at least it always seems to be female humans offering the phone sex service, never males, which is rather a shame really because I'm sure phone sex with a typical Aussie male would be a real treat for a lonely lady. I can just picture it.

The lady dials the appropriate number.

  "G'day. I'm Shoyne. Ahyagahn?" The man greets her.
  "Betchyiz can't guess what oi'm wearin'. Oi've got me best blue singlet on, an' real tight shorts and a pair of thongs on me fark'n feet. Jeez, they could do wiv a wash but. Me feet, not me fark'n thongs I mean. Oi wish yiz could see me donger. It's so big that if I sucks in me beer gut oi can almost see it. So, yizwannaroot or what? "

I think you ladies would find the experience subtly seductive and surprisingly erotic.

However, having said all that, there is one quote that I am particularly fond of, and as an animal I like to remind humans of it's significance to us helpless creatures.

It came from Mohandas Gandhi and goes like this.

The greatness of a nation and its moral progress 

can be judged by the way in which its animals are treated.

I hold that the more helpless a creature, 

the more entitled it is to protection by man from the cruelty of man.

Take a look at your own nation. How does it stack up? Does it allow hunting for "pleasure"? Does it allow clearance of endangered animals' habitat?  Does it permit live cattle or sheep exports to nations who don't give a piece of rat's bush chocolate about animal welfare? Are it's abattoirs as humane as they can be. Do anti-animal cruelty laws exist? And if they do, how rigorously are they upheld?

Here in Australia our dopey humans have cleared acres and acres of trees and built endless dull suburbs. Then when our native flying foxes no longer have anywhere to roost except the local park, the dumb humans start whinging about the smell and the noise and want the city council to move them on. Move them on to where, you daft buggers? You've already destroyed their natural habitat. Do you expect them to fly endlessly over the ocean? I have to admit feeling a sort of solidarity with the flying foxes. After all, they are just guinea pigs with wings.

Some people do care. Five rescued baby flying foxes.

BADGER'S FOOTNOTE 

I'm seriously thinking about starting a phone sex business for people with a foot fetish. And by the way I resent being compared to a flying fox. Do I look like a flying fox to you?