KARDASHIAN'S BOTTOM

Joyous from their hunting trip, Yami and Tipo strode into a jungle clearing shouldering a haul numbering two monkeys and one tapir. The men belonged to the Mikopo tribe and, save from loincloths fashioned out of plant fibre, both were as naked as nature had intended.
Tipo, the sharpshooter of the two, had felled both monkeys with curare-tipped darts, while Yami's arrow saw to the tapir.

A Cessna droned low above the canopy and shortly afterwards a photograph, glossy and dappled with fingerprints, fluttered to the ground before them.

Tipo instantly took fright and scampered into the undergrowth, leaving Yami with one end of the bamboo pole resting on his collarbone and a pile of dead animals at his feet. Ever the bravest, he inched forwards in the manner of a bomb disposal expert, picking the photograph up before dropping it, fearing biological contamination from the outside world.
"What is it?" Tipo called out, his voice tremulous and uncertain.
"I'm not at all sure ... it appears to be an image of a goddess," Yami replied.

Little did he know, but the objet d'art, which he had again clasped in his hand, was a photograph of Kim Kardashian slathered head to toe in nothing but baby oil.

Tipo stepped over a monkey carcass to take a look. “Oh, her skin is so shiny, like that of a piranha."
"...And just look at the size of her bottom," added Yami.
"Indeed. Her arse is enormous," Tipo marvelled.
"Plus, she doesn't feel the need to wear clothes," Yami remarked, thinking her to be far more sensible than the few outsiders he'd met thus far.
"And let's not forget her shiny skin," Tipo reiterated, giving the celluloid an inquisitive sniff.
"So what shall we do with this incredible gift?" Yami pondered, absent-mindedly stroking his nostril stick for inspiration. "Yes! I have it! She will of course be able to stop the blue-eyes from building their dams and cutting down our trees."
"Or perhaps her bottom is full of fish?" Tipo speculated, "enough to feed the entire village!"
"For sure!" said Yami. "Though a goddess such as this would possess an intellect far greater than any human ... Perhaps we could exchange some of our botanical knowledge for just a little of her wisdom."
"Or maybe she might let us daub patterns on her buttocks?"
"Perhaps she might, Tipo, perhaps she might ... but, for now, let us celebrate our good fortune. Tonight we shall build a fire and drink caicuma!"
"Yes! And maybe eat monkey?"
"Of course we'll eat monkey!"

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Sure enough, that very evening, the menfolk left their small-bottomed wives to chat among themselves in the village longhouse while they sat under the stars, around a blazing fire drinking caicuma and inhaling hallucinatory snuff that sent them all into a merry trance.
Kim Kardashian came to them in a vision, dressed only in a handful of parrot feathers. She bedazzled the tribesmen with her perspicacity and teased them with her well-upholstered backside. In fact, such was the potency of her dance, the men's loincloths were soon hoisted as high as flags.

Everyone retired to their hammocks later that night safe in the knowledge that the supremely intelligent goddess with the shiny buttocks would soon arrive to be their saviour.


. . . . . THE END . . . . .