Beware the Chinese Star Signs - George and the Jungle Room

By Magnum – Amateur Astrologer, Professional Cuddle Monster, Witness to George’s Ongoing Madness

Now let me warn you in advance: this blog involves astrology, adult themes, and interspecies confusion. Strap in … or on. Whatever works.

So, this tale stars my old mate George, introduced to you in a previous blog where he perfected the extremely rare faked male orgasm. Yep. That George. A lovable bastard, emphasis on bastard. He’s my lifelong mate, possibly the reason I lost my business, my house, and … oh yeah … my wife. But still, love him like a brother with chronic judgment issues.

I caught up with old mate a few days back over some cold and frothies, and late into the night he leaned toward me conspiratorially, breathing that sour beer breath into my face. “Mate I never told ya about Baby George's mother did I” he queried, and I nodded that no he hadn’t. So, sitting back, I learned the incredible tale of his now adult sons’ beginnings.

Seemed George was in Southeast Asia on a R&R trip (that’s Retire and Root, if you’re not familiar), typical of the infamous late middle-aged, over sexed Ugly Aussie male. Although to be fair, like me, he is in fact a Kiwi who has lived in Oz now for decades.

I knew that George was a fanatical follower and true believer of Astrology. George had always lectured me that my wife and I were completely incompatible as I was a Libran and she was a Scorpio. His astrological theory eventually proved to be true, although it was likely more his constant leading me astray that destroyed the marriage.

A connoisseur of astrology, George doesn’t make major life decisions without consulting the stars. Now George, being a Fire Monkey under the Chinese zodiac, decided he’d only spend quality time with women born under a compatible Chinese animal sign. True story: he used to ring brothels and ask for “a Virgo with a dash of Dragon.” I suspect most receptionists either laughed or just told him what he wanted to hear. "Yes sir, all of our girls are Monkey-Goat hybrids. Very fertile."

Fast forward to one fateful night in some vaguely remembered Asian city. George books a lady using Chinese astrology compatibility criteria, only this time, he wants a female Monkey to match his male Fire Monkey energy. The receptionist enthusiastically confirms: “Yes, yes, Monkey lady available!”

Off he went into the night, a huge passenger in a tiny rickshaw racing down cobbled lanes arriving in the very early hours, much the worst for wear, as was the exhausted rickshaw peddler. George paid his fee, and the Mamma San led him down a murky corridor past the Elvis Room, past the Marilyn Room and to the door of the Jungle Room. In George stumbled and in the darkness of the room he saw her waiting for him her laid on the bed red hair glowing in the flickering candlelight. Without further ado, the big man launched his naked obesity at her and, from what he reported back to me, engaged in a wild few hours of almost primal sex. “Best kisser in the feeken world mate” he said “Didn’t say a word. Huge lips. Great strong body, except she never took her bloody itchy body suit off.” But George didn’t care and together they grunted their mutual way to the big drunken man’s orgasm…no faking with this babe.

George returned to Australia and resumed his life as usual—until, roughly a decade later, he received what was then still a common method of communication: a telegram. It read, “You have gift. Pick up Perth International Airport. One week.” Intrigued and slightly alarmed, George showed up at the terminal and, to his astonishment, was introduced to his ten-year-old son—soon nicknamed Baby George, or simply BG.

At first, it was the unmistakable red hair that caught George's attention, but it quickly became apparent that there was more to the story. DNA testing would later confirm that BG was, in fact, half orangutan. Shocked, George began retracing the events of that infamous night abroad, the raw, almost primal passion, the silent partner, the odd reluctance to remove what he had assumed was a novelty bodysuit. One vivid memory resurfaced: pulling a coarse, ten-centimetre red hair from his denture after his tryst. It became unmistakably clear … George had not just experienced a wild night; he had unwittingly spent it with an actual monkey! Well an Orangutan to be precise.

What a dreadful shock for Old Mate George. But he made the best of it, shouldered his responsibilities comforting himself that orangutans had 97 percent of human DNA, so a bit more than some of his other mates.  Every morning, he completely shaved Baby George, like all over, and sent him off to school with his oversized school cap and a packed lunch of bananas. BG excelled in two things at school. Climbing trees and playing halfback in the school rugby team. He was short but incredibly strong. If he couldn’t beat a bully in a fight, he scampered away bow legged and climbed a tree.

By the time I met BG he was all grown up and working as a scaffolder on a FIFO mine site in remote WA. He was very good at scaling heights. In the two weeks on site he let his hair grow, learning to twist it into dreads as far south as his wee hairy backside. But on the mine site, BG fitted in well and was soon leading a team of mostly Kiwis. I recall George asking me one time if I could pick BG up from the FIFO airport terminal, and I must admit that I had trouble picking him out from the other FIFO workers.

Look, I won’t invade the privacy of Old Mate any more than I have. But I suppose the point I am making in this very true Blog to the VIP Langtrees blog audience is this. If you are not Chinese, for Georges and your own sakes, don’t use the Chinese horoscope. There I said it.

Because if you ignore my wise advice and do, you might end up bonking a:  

• Monkey
• Ox
• Tiger
• Rabbit
• Dragon
• Snake
• Horse
• Goat
• Rooster
• Dog
• Pig

Regards

Author: Magnum (Libran whose moon arises in Uranum)
For: Langtrees.com

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