Badger and I had to spend the entire flight from Singapore to Dubai in our staff's seat back pockets because they didn't want a repeat of us chewing cables that made the plane go round and round in circles. We were comfortable enough but neither of us could see the movie screen. Instead we had to watch our staff sculling down litres of wine and goodness know much how much airline food. At least they fed us the odd bit of carrot and lettuce now and again.
Let me tell you. Dubai is a bad place for a hairy guinea pig, and not great for a little black, heat absorbing guinea pig like Badger either. This place is seriously hot and seriously humid. It's like being in an oven in which someone has left a bucket of water. (Probably my female staff - knowing her cooking.) My fur is as limp as a six week old lettuce and Badger is sweating like a.........well, like a pig actually. Anyway, we were all very tired by the time we arrived at our hotel. Our room is long way up with a big window that looks out across some roof tops towards the Burj Al Arab Hotel and the Gulf of Arabia beyond that. You might remember the Burj Al Arab Hotel. It has a helicopter pad on the roof from which Tiger Wood once hit a golf ball into the Gulf. Of course that was before his testostricles exploded and he went utterly insane and started cheating on his Scandinavian bikini model wife. I'm glad they didn't pick my male staff to hit the ball into the Gulf - he'd have missed for sure. Mind you, having said that, he would lose half a dozen balls in the water every round he played, so perhaps he wouldn't have been such a bad choice after all.
We'd barely settled into our hotel room when my female staff dragged the rest of us into the humungus shopping mall next door. Shopping malls have the effect of making my male staff's wallet shrivel up in the same way that my testostricles do when my staff mention the vet. Nevertheless despite much whining from him, Badger and myself we quickly found ourself surrounded by designer label shops like Tommy Hilfiger, Breitling and Calvin Klein - where you can buy a pair of undies for the price of a small car. There was Christian Dior and Armani too. Try as they might my staff couldn't find a K-Mart. Walmart or Target store. What they did find however was a four hundred metre ski slope with real snow. This came as something of a surprise since it was forty-two degrees centigrade outside and a ski slope is not really what you expect to find in a shopping mall anyway.
It was facinating. The place had a proper ski lift and everything. There was even a cafe called San Moritz which had a synthetic log fire and served fondu. In a way, it summed up what Dubai is all about - artificiality. Never mind. Badger and I had a lot of fun. My male staff hired a snow board for us, took us to the top of the slope and gave us a shove. Badger closed his eyes and prayed, while I wheeked at the top of my piggy voice. Close to the bottom of the slope we ran into a lady in a burqa which sent us flying into a snowdrift - pigs really do fly. We were stuck fast, buried up to our hind legs which we wiggled frantically in a bid to get free and shot out bush chocolate like a couple of furry gattling guns. After what seemed like hours my female staff pulled us out and brushed the snow out of our fur. Boy did my male staff get a death stare from Badger. I wouldn't like to have been on the receiving end of that. We really have something to look forward to tomorrow. My male staffs says we're all going out to see the dessert. I can almost taste the strawberries, grapes, bananas, blueberries and watermelon already.
Sunday, September 11, 2011
Friday, September 9, 2011
Next Stop Dubai
So, after an hour or two frantic last minute packing we finally set off to England to see my male staff's poorly Mum. I've refused to travel in the checked in luggage so Badger will be in my female staff's hand baggage and I'll me in my male staff's. You may remember my last trip to England. I was in the checked in luggage then, which wasn't too bad on the way out. But coming back was rather unpleasant as I had to share a case with a big pile of dirty underwear and socks. I still can't get the smell out of my fur. Badger was jet lagged before we reached the airport, at least he had all the symptoms - puckered mouth, staring eyes, swollen backside. Mind you he always looks like that so who knows.
The flight stself was fairly uneventful. My staff let us out of their hand luggage so that we could scuttle around on the floor between people's feet. It was fun because many of the ladies had removed their shoes and squealed surprisingly loudly when they found small hairy rodents nibbling at their feet. I guess airline passengers don't often get that - not even on Qantas let alone a reputable airline like Emirates. We also whiled away the hours and assuaged our hunger by gnawing at some cables that Badger found. I think one of them might have been connected to the rudder because we went round in circles for ages before we finally landed in Singapore. I've been there before, remember? http://pemery.blogspot.com/2011/05/human-teenager.html
We had a short layover at Singapore Airport. Well, it was supposed to be a short layover, but my stupid staff didn't tell me we were only supposed to be there for an hour, so Badger and I decided to explore. Mostly because we were hungry. There was not a single vegetable to be seen on the plane (Apart from my male staff.) All Badger and I had to eat on the seven hour fllight from Brisbane was a handful of our own bush chocolate and some dead skin from people's feet. Anyway the airport was no more fruitful, but we had a nice time running up and down the vast expanses of carpet. We lost track of time though unfortunately. Well, how were we to know that our staff had most of Singapore Airport's security team out looking for us. They went through every passenger's bags, hoping to find us hidden within. They x-rayed each and every suitcase, but we were nowhere to be seen. My staff pleaded with the cabin crew not to let the captain take off without us. In the end they found us behind the counter at the Subway restaurant vacuuming up bits of lettuce that had fallen out of people's foot long thingies.
Jeez! What a fuss everyone made. The captain glared at us and tutted while tapping his watch, and the look that the other passengers gave us as we boarded the plane would have soured a cucumber. We were only four hours late for heavens sake. How were we to know that the silly airline has something it calls a schedule.
It didn't faze Badger in any case. He made sure he gave every single passenger an extra cold death stare before settling in the the seat back pocket in front of my male staff. Whoo Hoo! Next stop Dubai.
The flight stself was fairly uneventful. My staff let us out of their hand luggage so that we could scuttle around on the floor between people's feet. It was fun because many of the ladies had removed their shoes and squealed surprisingly loudly when they found small hairy rodents nibbling at their feet. I guess airline passengers don't often get that - not even on Qantas let alone a reputable airline like Emirates. We also whiled away the hours and assuaged our hunger by gnawing at some cables that Badger found. I think one of them might have been connected to the rudder because we went round in circles for ages before we finally landed in Singapore. I've been there before, remember? http://pemery.blogspot.com/2011/05/human-teenager.html
We had a short layover at Singapore Airport. Well, it was supposed to be a short layover, but my stupid staff didn't tell me we were only supposed to be there for an hour, so Badger and I decided to explore. Mostly because we were hungry. There was not a single vegetable to be seen on the plane (Apart from my male staff.) All Badger and I had to eat on the seven hour fllight from Brisbane was a handful of our own bush chocolate and some dead skin from people's feet. Anyway the airport was no more fruitful, but we had a nice time running up and down the vast expanses of carpet. We lost track of time though unfortunately. Well, how were we to know that our staff had most of Singapore Airport's security team out looking for us. They went through every passenger's bags, hoping to find us hidden within. They x-rayed each and every suitcase, but we were nowhere to be seen. My staff pleaded with the cabin crew not to let the captain take off without us. In the end they found us behind the counter at the Subway restaurant vacuuming up bits of lettuce that had fallen out of people's foot long thingies.
Jeez! What a fuss everyone made. The captain glared at us and tutted while tapping his watch, and the look that the other passengers gave us as we boarded the plane would have soured a cucumber. We were only four hours late for heavens sake. How were we to know that the silly airline has something it calls a schedule.
It didn't faze Badger in any case. He made sure he gave every single passenger an extra cold death stare before settling in the the seat back pocket in front of my male staff. Whoo Hoo! Next stop Dubai.
Sunday, September 4, 2011
Driving Around The World
What with all our vet visits lately Badger and I have been spending quite a bit of time in the car. It's a frightening place to be let me tell you. You'd be amazed at just how many awful drivers there are out there. I don't include my male staff amongst those. He's very careful, especially when Badger and I are onboard. He never drives any faster than a guinea pig can run so that we don't get carsick. The other motorists obviously really appreciate his careful driving because many of them queue up behind him to get a better view of what he's doing. I suppose they want to learn from him. Some of them toot their horns in support. We're very proud of my male staff.
Anyway I got to wondering how humans get the right to drive. What is the minimum requirement to obtain a driver's licence? For example, it used to be that to obtain a licence in Egypt, you had only to drive forward twelve feet and then reverse twelve feet. I did a little research concerning driving tests in various countries, and this is what I discovered.
Minimum Requirement for a Drivers Licence.
AUSTRALIA - The ability not to get dizzy while doing donuts. On no account should you attempt to reverse park. Drivers must be able to simultaneously control (In order of importance.) an open can of beer, a spliff, a mobile phone and the steering wheel. One must also be sufficiently dexterous to bend one's radio antenna into the shape of Australia.
GREAT BRITAIN - Must wear a flat cap at all times whilst driving. Also must possess a wife with blue hair. Elderly drivers must not be able to see over the steering wheel and must drive the wrong way around a mini-roundabout, preferably without indicating.
USA - Must be able to see at least as far as the end of the hood/bonnet (A bloody long way.). Must be able drive with at least two elk strapped to said hood/bonnet. Must be able to tell the difference between a car backfire and a hand gun shot.
SAUDI ARABIA - Must be in possession of a penis. Offenders caught driving without a penis will be stoned to death for adultery.
ITALY - Drivers must have at least one arm with which to gesticulate, preferably the left one so that it can be waved through the drivers side window.
INDIA - Drivers must have 20/20 hearing so that horns can be clearly heard. Vision is optional. Sanity is a definite disadvantage.
LUXEMBOURG & LIECHTENSTEIN - Must know the road rules of every other county in Europe.
RUSSIA - There is a strict sobriety test for potential drivers. Anyone blowing below .08 on a breathalyzer is banned from driving and taken to the police station canteen, where they are plied with vodka until they are unable to walk along a straight line ten metres long. Once they have achieved this level of inebriation they will be permitted to drive.
BELGIUM - Must have a high boredom threshold.
ANYWHERE IN AFRICA - Drivers must have the ability to improvise. For example it may be necessary to use chewing gum when wheel nuts have sheered off. It may also be necessary to bribe a baboon to sit on the bonnet and wipe your windscreen if the wipers break down. A bag of bananas should be kept in the vehicle at all times for such an emergency.
I hope you've all learned something from this, and if you're one of the nice people behind my male staff's car, admiring his careful driving while Badger and I are onboard, give us a friendly toot.
Anyway I got to wondering how humans get the right to drive. What is the minimum requirement to obtain a driver's licence? For example, it used to be that to obtain a licence in Egypt, you had only to drive forward twelve feet and then reverse twelve feet. I did a little research concerning driving tests in various countries, and this is what I discovered.
Minimum Requirement for a Drivers Licence.
AUSTRALIA - The ability not to get dizzy while doing donuts. On no account should you attempt to reverse park. Drivers must be able to simultaneously control (In order of importance.) an open can of beer, a spliff, a mobile phone and the steering wheel. One must also be sufficiently dexterous to bend one's radio antenna into the shape of Australia.
GREAT BRITAIN - Must wear a flat cap at all times whilst driving. Also must possess a wife with blue hair. Elderly drivers must not be able to see over the steering wheel and must drive the wrong way around a mini-roundabout, preferably without indicating.
USA - Must be able to see at least as far as the end of the hood/bonnet (A bloody long way.). Must be able drive with at least two elk strapped to said hood/bonnet. Must be able to tell the difference between a car backfire and a hand gun shot.
SAUDI ARABIA - Must be in possession of a penis. Offenders caught driving without a penis will be stoned to death for adultery.
ITALY - Drivers must have at least one arm with which to gesticulate, preferably the left one so that it can be waved through the drivers side window.
INDIA - Drivers must have 20/20 hearing so that horns can be clearly heard. Vision is optional. Sanity is a definite disadvantage.
LUXEMBOURG & LIECHTENSTEIN - Must know the road rules of every other county in Europe.
RUSSIA - There is a strict sobriety test for potential drivers. Anyone blowing below .08 on a breathalyzer is banned from driving and taken to the police station canteen, where they are plied with vodka until they are unable to walk along a straight line ten metres long. Once they have achieved this level of inebriation they will be permitted to drive.
BELGIUM - Must have a high boredom threshold.
ANYWHERE IN AFRICA - Drivers must have the ability to improvise. For example it may be necessary to use chewing gum when wheel nuts have sheered off. It may also be necessary to bribe a baboon to sit on the bonnet and wipe your windscreen if the wipers break down. A bag of bananas should be kept in the vehicle at all times for such an emergency.
I hope you've all learned something from this, and if you're one of the nice people behind my male staff's car, admiring his careful driving while Badger and I are onboard, give us a friendly toot.
Thursday, September 1, 2011
Squelchy Underwear
Almost every day since he was sixteen years of age my male staff has run an average of five kilometres. Lets say he has two days off a week. That means he's run a total of forty eight thousand two hundred and eighty five kilometres since he started. If you're really smart and really bored you can work out from these figures how old my male staff is. Last Monday's run was apparently one of the more eventful ones. His current running route takes him through some woods and as he was jogging absent mindedly along a large snake fell from a tree into the grass by the side of the track. He says it was a six-footer, but couldn't say whether it was a taipan or an eastern brown, not that it matters, you don't want either on your head. Both can kill you before you can stagger to the nearest house for help. Anyway, it was all good in the end because he did a personal best time, despite having squelchy underwear.
Another man who evidently suffered from SUS (Squelchy Underwear Syndrome) was Lieutenant Colonel Paul Revere. I've been helping my male staff to read "The Fort" by Bernard Cornwell. I have to help because he has trouble with big words like "The" and "Fort". In any case I don't mind because he lets me chew some of the pages after we've read them. He says it doesn't matter because it's only a library book. Mr Cornwell's research led him to discover that this so called hero of the revolution - The War of Independence - was an utter plonker. Not a brave plonker either, but one with a broad yellow streak running down from the nape of his neck and disappearing into his butt crack.
Most school kids know Paul Revere as the man who rode from Boston to Concord to warn of the arrival of the British. Except he didn't make it. Other in his group completed the ride but he was captured. The only reason he became a much revered (If you'll pardon the pun) hero is because Henry Wadsworth Longfellow wrote a poem about him forty years after his death. This in itself is one hell of an irony because the afore mentioned poet's maternal grandfather was Brigadier General Peleg Wadsworth - the only senior officer to come through the total balls-up that was the siege of the British fort at Penobscot Bay with any credit to his name. Lieutenant Colonel Paul Revere was there, commanding the artillery. Apart from Wadsworth, the other two senior officers were Commodore Dudley Saltonstall and General Solomon Lovell. To Wadsworth's unending dismay decisions on how to conduct the siege were put to a vote, and Saltonstall, Lovell and Revere all voted that they didn't like the idea of being shot at. Revere was the keenest of the three to give up the siege, which would undoubtedly have successfully defeated the British had they stormed the fort early in the piece instead of endlessly discussing the matter over cosy cups of tea.
It didn't help that Revere's artillery was so inept that the fort was barely damaged during the entire siege and then when finally British reinforcements arrived and the rebels fled in a most undignified manner Revere refused to rescue a group of his own stranded men because he didn't want to run the risk of the British capturing his personal baggage. Eventually he abandoned his men altogether and returned to his home in Boston where he immediately put the kettle on, donned a comfy pair of slippers and turned on the telly hoping to catch up with what had been happening on "The Bold and the Beautiful".
Not surprisingly, an inquiry into the whole fiasco at Penobscot Bay found Revere guilty of cowardice, but over the following years he hounded the inquiry committee so much that they succumbed and said that he had performed as well as any of the other commanding officers. Which, as Mr Cornwell points out, is not saying a great deal.
There. I bet you didn't expect that from a guinea pig blog. Next week - Why Davy Crockett spent part of his life with his head up a raccoon's bottom passage.
Another man who evidently suffered from SUS (Squelchy Underwear Syndrome) was Lieutenant Colonel Paul Revere. I've been helping my male staff to read "The Fort" by Bernard Cornwell. I have to help because he has trouble with big words like "The" and "Fort". In any case I don't mind because he lets me chew some of the pages after we've read them. He says it doesn't matter because it's only a library book. Mr Cornwell's research led him to discover that this so called hero of the revolution - The War of Independence - was an utter plonker. Not a brave plonker either, but one with a broad yellow streak running down from the nape of his neck and disappearing into his butt crack.
Most school kids know Paul Revere as the man who rode from Boston to Concord to warn of the arrival of the British. Except he didn't make it. Other in his group completed the ride but he was captured. The only reason he became a much revered (If you'll pardon the pun) hero is because Henry Wadsworth Longfellow wrote a poem about him forty years after his death. This in itself is one hell of an irony because the afore mentioned poet's maternal grandfather was Brigadier General Peleg Wadsworth - the only senior officer to come through the total balls-up that was the siege of the British fort at Penobscot Bay with any credit to his name. Lieutenant Colonel Paul Revere was there, commanding the artillery. Apart from Wadsworth, the other two senior officers were Commodore Dudley Saltonstall and General Solomon Lovell. To Wadsworth's unending dismay decisions on how to conduct the siege were put to a vote, and Saltonstall, Lovell and Revere all voted that they didn't like the idea of being shot at. Revere was the keenest of the three to give up the siege, which would undoubtedly have successfully defeated the British had they stormed the fort early in the piece instead of endlessly discussing the matter over cosy cups of tea.
It didn't help that Revere's artillery was so inept that the fort was barely damaged during the entire siege and then when finally British reinforcements arrived and the rebels fled in a most undignified manner Revere refused to rescue a group of his own stranded men because he didn't want to run the risk of the British capturing his personal baggage. Eventually he abandoned his men altogether and returned to his home in Boston where he immediately put the kettle on, donned a comfy pair of slippers and turned on the telly hoping to catch up with what had been happening on "The Bold and the Beautiful".
Not surprisingly, an inquiry into the whole fiasco at Penobscot Bay found Revere guilty of cowardice, but over the following years he hounded the inquiry committee so much that they succumbed and said that he had performed as well as any of the other commanding officers. Which, as Mr Cornwell points out, is not saying a great deal.
There. I bet you didn't expect that from a guinea pig blog. Next week - Why Davy Crockett spent part of his life with his head up a raccoon's bottom passage.
Sunday, August 28, 2011
Flabby Offspring
As you know, Badger and I went to the vet last week for the first of a series of anti-mite needles. We have to have three altogether. Our next one is on Wednesday. I'm not sure how these needles help, unless Dr Friggin' Doolittle is stabbing the mites with them. If that's the case we must only have three mites each, and why not stab all three mites on the same day and get it over with. It would save us from having to keep coming back. I'll never understand humans' attitude to medicine. Did you know, for example, that the ancient Incas believed that rubbing your naked body all over with a live black guinea pig could ward of certain diseases, including rheumatism? Who the hell first thought of that one? Can you imagine. "Oooooo, my joints are a bit achy this this morning dear. Pass me the guinea pig will you............... No, the black one." Modern humans are no less strange. Fancy thinking that rhino horn can make your willy go stiff! It's just keratin for crying out loud, just chew your fingernails for heavens sake - it's exactly the same stuff. It still won't give you a stiff willy but it'll save you a fortune.
Then there's homeopathy. It's amazing how many humans believe that a drop of whatever it is they're allergic to diluted in a hundred and fifty gallons of water is going to cure them of their allergy. The power of auto-suggestion is mighty indeed. Or "mitey" in my staff's case. They started scratching like crazy as soon as we were diagnosed as having mites. So far neither of them are losing any hair though. Humans can be very naive. Quite a few still think that George Dubya ordered the destruction of the twin towers. As if his administration would have been competent enough to organised such a complex operation without being found out. Until he was eight years old my male staff thought "shagging" was something that only those rude Americans did and that it involved two naked people rubbing their butts together. At that age he had no idea where babies came from apart from vague images of storks and gooseberry bushes implanted in his feeble brain by his mother. Remember he was eight years old. Most guinea pigs have karked it by that age, and have produced several dozen offspring. Further evidence, if any were needed, of the superiority of the almighty (all-mitey) cavy.
Talking of being superior. We animals never blame anyone else for our actions. Neither do we blame circumstances or try to make excuses for our behaviour. You don't see a dog pointing at his owner when he's just taken a dump on someones precious lawn do you? "It wasn't me guv. It was the two legged bastard at the other end of this lead. And anyway, even if it was me, it would be because he made me do it. He led me to your lawn, so it must be his fault" It's amazing what gets blamed on others by humans. Here in Queensland, it is apparently the state government's fault that most school kids now weigh about the same as a medium sized car and cannot fit two side by side down the average supermarket shopping aisle. Why? Because they didn't ban junk food commercials. Apparently it's no longer legal for parents to say no when their kids ask for a supersized jumbo triple slop McCrap burger with extra lard and a bucket of fries. Any parent answering their brat's request in the negative is likely to find themselves on a charge of child abuse, and possibly being sued by their flabby offspring for neglect.
Then there was the case of the dopey man who got sloshed in a pub one night, then staggered into the road to be hit by a passing car. He sued the pub - successfully - for selling him alcohol. For Christ's sake! It's a pub. Hardly a day goes by when my male staff doesn't go to a pub, gets hammered and run over by some sort of vehicle. But does he complain? Well yes actually, but only about his hangover the next morning. He doesn't sue the pub for giving him the alcohol he asked for. Wouldn't it be nice if the human race were to re-learn the art of taking responsibility for their own actions. Too much to ask? Probably.
Then there's homeopathy. It's amazing how many humans believe that a drop of whatever it is they're allergic to diluted in a hundred and fifty gallons of water is going to cure them of their allergy. The power of auto-suggestion is mighty indeed. Or "mitey" in my staff's case. They started scratching like crazy as soon as we were diagnosed as having mites. So far neither of them are losing any hair though. Humans can be very naive. Quite a few still think that George Dubya ordered the destruction of the twin towers. As if his administration would have been competent enough to organised such a complex operation without being found out. Until he was eight years old my male staff thought "shagging" was something that only those rude Americans did and that it involved two naked people rubbing their butts together. At that age he had no idea where babies came from apart from vague images of storks and gooseberry bushes implanted in his feeble brain by his mother. Remember he was eight years old. Most guinea pigs have karked it by that age, and have produced several dozen offspring. Further evidence, if any were needed, of the superiority of the almighty (all-mitey) cavy.
Talking of being superior. We animals never blame anyone else for our actions. Neither do we blame circumstances or try to make excuses for our behaviour. You don't see a dog pointing at his owner when he's just taken a dump on someones precious lawn do you? "It wasn't me guv. It was the two legged bastard at the other end of this lead. And anyway, even if it was me, it would be because he made me do it. He led me to your lawn, so it must be his fault" It's amazing what gets blamed on others by humans. Here in Queensland, it is apparently the state government's fault that most school kids now weigh about the same as a medium sized car and cannot fit two side by side down the average supermarket shopping aisle. Why? Because they didn't ban junk food commercials. Apparently it's no longer legal for parents to say no when their kids ask for a supersized jumbo triple slop McCrap burger with extra lard and a bucket of fries. Any parent answering their brat's request in the negative is likely to find themselves on a charge of child abuse, and possibly being sued by their flabby offspring for neglect.
Then there was the case of the dopey man who got sloshed in a pub one night, then staggered into the road to be hit by a passing car. He sued the pub - successfully - for selling him alcohol. For Christ's sake! It's a pub. Hardly a day goes by when my male staff doesn't go to a pub, gets hammered and run over by some sort of vehicle. But does he complain? Well yes actually, but only about his hangover the next morning. He doesn't sue the pub for giving him the alcohol he asked for. Wouldn't it be nice if the human race were to re-learn the art of taking responsibility for their own actions. Too much to ask? Probably.
Wednesday, August 24, 2011
For Your Eyes Only
Listen very carefully. I will say this only once. If you repeat any of what I'm about to tell you I will have to kill both you and whoever you told. I haven't worked out how I'm going to do this yet. It may surprise you to learn this, but guinea pigs are not known to be amongst the world's deadliest predators. However, if you're a bloke, at the very least I'll run up your trouser leg and bite your dangly bits. If you're a chick, well, I'll think of something unpleasant. Maybe I'll hide in your bra and bite your nipple when you put it on. Anyway, what I'm saying is that what I am about to say is strictly confidential - between you and me only okay?
My staff took Badger and I to the vet today. We have an infestation of mites which are making us itch and giving us bald patches on our bottoms. Not a good look. Not everyone wants a Brazilian you know. Some of us like the hairy look. Anyway, the vet - Dr Doolittle - or whatever his name was said we had to have a series of three needles. Badger must have misheard because he volunteered to go first. perhaps he thought old Doolittle had said we had to have a series of three nectarines or something. Anyway, he sat there quietly while the vet jabbed the needle in him and clipped his toenails and returned to my male staff's lap with a very smug look on his face.
So then it was my turn. My female staff held me on the table and I gritted my teeth as Dr Doolittle approached wielding a needle that was obviously meant for a rhinoceros. Man! I'm telling you it was huge. Far, far bigger than the tiny thing Badger had. I was so brave though. You'd have been proud of me. I should have been awarded the Pigtoria Cross. Not a single squeal passed my piggy lips as the murderous vet plunged his monstrous, razor sharp spear into a fold of skin at the back of my neck. Then suddenly it was all over and I felt very pleased with myself as I waited for my female staff to pick me up off the table. Then Dr Friggin' Doolittle said "Okay, let's do Billy's nails now." What! Haven't you tortured me enough you heartless bastard. I thought. Then out came the nail clippers, well, that was it. I squealed like a girl and wet myself. Fortunately it all soaked in to the front of my female staff's jeans, so that it looked like she'd had the accident not me.
As we returned to the crowded waiting room, my male staff attempted to alleviate my acute embarrassment by announcing "Look out please. Incontinent woman coming through." He's still got a couple of nights sleeping on the couch to go before he's allowed back into their bed. In any case, if you repeat any of this you're a dead human. Do I make myself perfectly clear?
My staff took Badger and I to the vet today. We have an infestation of mites which are making us itch and giving us bald patches on our bottoms. Not a good look. Not everyone wants a Brazilian you know. Some of us like the hairy look. Anyway, the vet - Dr Doolittle - or whatever his name was said we had to have a series of three needles. Badger must have misheard because he volunteered to go first. perhaps he thought old Doolittle had said we had to have a series of three nectarines or something. Anyway, he sat there quietly while the vet jabbed the needle in him and clipped his toenails and returned to my male staff's lap with a very smug look on his face.
So then it was my turn. My female staff held me on the table and I gritted my teeth as Dr Doolittle approached wielding a needle that was obviously meant for a rhinoceros. Man! I'm telling you it was huge. Far, far bigger than the tiny thing Badger had. I was so brave though. You'd have been proud of me. I should have been awarded the Pigtoria Cross. Not a single squeal passed my piggy lips as the murderous vet plunged his monstrous, razor sharp spear into a fold of skin at the back of my neck. Then suddenly it was all over and I felt very pleased with myself as I waited for my female staff to pick me up off the table. Then Dr Friggin' Doolittle said "Okay, let's do Billy's nails now." What! Haven't you tortured me enough you heartless bastard. I thought. Then out came the nail clippers, well, that was it. I squealed like a girl and wet myself. Fortunately it all soaked in to the front of my female staff's jeans, so that it looked like she'd had the accident not me.
As we returned to the crowded waiting room, my male staff attempted to alleviate my acute embarrassment by announcing "Look out please. Incontinent woman coming through." He's still got a couple of nights sleeping on the couch to go before he's allowed back into their bed. In any case, if you repeat any of this you're a dead human. Do I make myself perfectly clear?
Sunday, August 21, 2011
Disorganised Rabble
I really enjoy chatting to my friends on Twitter. They are many and varied. I have human friends, guinea pigs, donkeys, capybaras, dogs, cats, squirrels, hedgehogs, rabbits, turtles, horses, goats and even a gecko, though I haven't heard from him lately. I have a horrible feeling that one of the cats ate him. It's so sad when one of your animal friends dies. Even though you don't know them personally you feel as though you do. Animals share some quite intimate things when they're tweeting - humans do too for that matter. So far I've lost two guinea pig friends and a cat friend to the big animal sanctuary in the sky. Word quickly gets around the twitterverse and soon animals and humans are tweeting sympathy messages. It's quite touching really. People and animals who have never met each other offer best wishes and support. It's good to see that social media can be used positively as well as for organising riots.
Well, it took a few months longer than expected, but Mr Gaddafi finally appears to be on the way out. Even as I type this with my little furry paws it seems as though the rebels are closing in on his stronghold. Right now they're pulling their trousers down and mooning him as he peers down from one of the windows. The fact that Gaddafi held out for so long is a testament to the excellent support and weaponry that NATO has offered him over the past few years. NATO's next challenge will be propping up the disorganised rabble that looks set to depose the ugly old old bastard, and to keep the more rabid Islamists from gaining power, as seems quite likely in Egypt. What a bloody mess! Jeez you humans are hopeless. You really shouldn't be left in charge of the world. Maybe the animals could stage a bloodless coup and take over. Then the world would be a much happier place, just like in George Orwell's "Animal Farm". Er, okay.....bad example.
Still on the subject of disorganised rabbles, the Australian Federal Government is in more trouble. One of it's MPs allegedly used a union credit card to pay for rude ladies when he was a union official. He denies the allegations but is under pressure to resign or be sacked. This outcome seems unlikely since the government has a majority of one (assuming enough independents vote their way). Just imagine what would happen if this guy's penchant for rude ladies brought down the government. Tony (You can't measure carbon) Abbott could be Prime Minister. Worse still, but only just, Barnaby (Six sheep plus 2 sheep is 11 sheep) Joyce could be Deputy Prime Minister. The current government may be a disorganised rabble, but they are at least a sane-ish disorganised rabble. They do at least believe in science not creationism. Where climate change is concerned they take their cue from the internationally respected CSIRO (Commonwealth Science & Industrial Research Organisation) not loopy, obnoxious shock jocks like Alan Jones and deranged British aristocrats like Lord Monckton.
Can you imagine the USA under President Sarah Palin? Taxes would be outlawed, gun ownership would be compulsory, as would bear hunting, and it would be illegal to drive a motor vehicle without at least one elk strapped to the hood/bonnet. Well similarly here in Australia under a government lead by Abbott and Joyce the average Joe and Joanne would be forced to pay air polluting big businesses to stop polluting. And yet there are plenty of humans out there willing to vote for that sort of thing. If Tony Abbott wins the next general election and my staff have to pay some bloody multi-national mining company to stop polluting it'll give them an excuse for saying they can't afford to buy me fresh vegies. If this happens, I'll blame the government for being such a disorganised rabble.
Well, it took a few months longer than expected, but Mr Gaddafi finally appears to be on the way out. Even as I type this with my little furry paws it seems as though the rebels are closing in on his stronghold. Right now they're pulling their trousers down and mooning him as he peers down from one of the windows. The fact that Gaddafi held out for so long is a testament to the excellent support and weaponry that NATO has offered him over the past few years. NATO's next challenge will be propping up the disorganised rabble that looks set to depose the ugly old old bastard, and to keep the more rabid Islamists from gaining power, as seems quite likely in Egypt. What a bloody mess! Jeez you humans are hopeless. You really shouldn't be left in charge of the world. Maybe the animals could stage a bloodless coup and take over. Then the world would be a much happier place, just like in George Orwell's "Animal Farm". Er, okay.....bad example.
Still on the subject of disorganised rabbles, the Australian Federal Government is in more trouble. One of it's MPs allegedly used a union credit card to pay for rude ladies when he was a union official. He denies the allegations but is under pressure to resign or be sacked. This outcome seems unlikely since the government has a majority of one (assuming enough independents vote their way). Just imagine what would happen if this guy's penchant for rude ladies brought down the government. Tony (You can't measure carbon) Abbott could be Prime Minister. Worse still, but only just, Barnaby (Six sheep plus 2 sheep is 11 sheep) Joyce could be Deputy Prime Minister. The current government may be a disorganised rabble, but they are at least a sane-ish disorganised rabble. They do at least believe in science not creationism. Where climate change is concerned they take their cue from the internationally respected CSIRO (Commonwealth Science & Industrial Research Organisation) not loopy, obnoxious shock jocks like Alan Jones and deranged British aristocrats like Lord Monckton.
Can you imagine the USA under President Sarah Palin? Taxes would be outlawed, gun ownership would be compulsory, as would bear hunting, and it would be illegal to drive a motor vehicle without at least one elk strapped to the hood/bonnet. Well similarly here in Australia under a government lead by Abbott and Joyce the average Joe and Joanne would be forced to pay air polluting big businesses to stop polluting. And yet there are plenty of humans out there willing to vote for that sort of thing. If Tony Abbott wins the next general election and my staff have to pay some bloody multi-national mining company to stop polluting it'll give them an excuse for saying they can't afford to buy me fresh vegies. If this happens, I'll blame the government for being such a disorganised rabble.
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