Sex Trade Explodes

I spend a lot of time reading newspapers.  There's nothing I like better than scratching about in my straw, finding a long forgotten bean, then settling down for a good old chew and a relaxing perusal of the papers that line the bottom of my cage.  This can be a little frustrating because I don't always get the full story.  It is however more often than not very entertaining, although I must say that I have never been impressed with the standard of Queensland's journalists, many of whom seem to be semi-literate at best.  For example, how often have we seen a report of a car accident that told of a vehicle careening across the median strip?  One does not careen across the median strip.  Careening is what you do to a boat that is in need of repair.  If anything, one careers across a median strip.  In fact many people do in Queensland because the standard of driving is almost as abysmal as the standard of journalism.  This is just one of dozens of examples of mangled English (or Manglish as I like to call it) one can find every day in our fair state's printed media.  Now I know my own grammar is not all it could be at times but then I'm a guinea pig, not a university graduate earning a decent salary and with one eye on a Pulitzer Prize.

Having got all that off my furry little chest I have to say that I am full of admiration for whoever came up with this Sunday's Sunday Mail headline.  "SEX TRADE EXPLODES" it screamed.  Sadly I couldn't read the story because it was on the downward facing page, but the headline was so inspired that I didn't have to;  my vivid imagination readily filled in all the gaps.  My brain conjured up an image of a cloud of dust settling across a street devastated by a huge explosion. 

There are emergency service personnel rushing around, appalled at the carnage caused by the explosion. Tattered corpses of blow-up dolls litter the street, their red painted lips open in the horror of sudden violent death, their washable, vibrating wassnames stilled for all eternity.  Across the road a dazed man is staggering about with a large black dildo protruding from a horrible wound in his shoulder, and everywhere people are bleeding from shrapnel wounds inflicted by razor sharp shards of shattered love eggs.  Condoms of various colours and flavours decorate nearby traffic lights and street signs and almost every vehicle within fifty metres of the blast has a peephole bra or a pair of split-crotch panties flapping jauntily in the breeze from it's radio aerial.  Meanwhile a score of dirty old men in grubby brown raincoats are scrabbling about on the pavement frantically scooping up armfuls of tattered porn.  A cop with a lacy red see-through teddy draped across his hat is desperately trying to keep the crowd back.  "Move on, move on!" He yells.  "There's nothing to see here."  He's waving his truncheon, except it isn't a truncheon at all - its a thirty centimetre, skin pink dildo.   Like hell there isn't.

In the end I was glad that I couldn't read the article because is was probably something very boring like the discovery that two more brothels have opened in Brisbane.  I much prefer the version produced by my imagination and that wouldn't have been possible were it not for such dire headlines.  So I guess it's not all bad.  And if you want to know how a cavy knows so much about the contents of sex shops - mind your own business.    

Fruitcakes of a Certain Age

What a splendid idea - a stroke of absolute genius.  Australia has just suffered the greatest climate related disaster in its history and the government decides to cut initiatives likely to alleviate climate change to pay to repair the damage the disastrous floods have wreaked.  It's the greatest idea since Hitler said "I know what.  Let's invade Poland."  It's enough to make a cavy sarcastic.  Pea reckons it's enough to make him vote for Tony Abbott.  See, I told you he was a fruitcake.

Anyway, all that's by the by because my main topic today is technology and the extent to which it is embraced by different age groups.  For myself - a young, thoroughly modern guinea pig technology poses no great threat, indeed I utilise as many aspects of it as I can.  I have this blog, a Facebook page and a rather good website which I can thoroughly recommend.  Visit http://billythepig.yolasite.com/ as soon as possible.

When Pea and Chook have gone to bed and the house is dark and quiet (except for the snoring budgies) I often sneak into the office and work on Pea's laptop.  My little paws are very dexterous as I tap out my blog or post stuff on Facebook.  I must say I often wonder what Pea thinks of the bush chocolate I occasionally leave behind on the keyboard.  Some nights I just can't eat it all.  So far I have managed not to widdle on the computer and so have avoided shorting the thing out or frying myself.  So you see these things come easy to me.  And yet Pea and Chook, being fruitcakes of a certain age are utter technophobes.

Just the other day Pea was on the phone to a help desk regarding something to do with his lap top.  He had the phone on speaker because he has to get his tongue in the right position in order to type and he can't concentrate on doing that, use the keyboard and hold the phone to his ear all at once, so I couldn't help but overhear the conversation.  Each party was getting irritated with the other.  Pea was cranky and frustrated because the techno-dude kept using highly technical jargon like "hard drive", "browser" and "cursor".  Pea thinks a cursor is someone who swears a lot; like him when his computer won't work.  Then the techno-dude told Pea to press any key.  There followed a moment or two of soft but urgent muttering and then Pea, fighting to stay calm said "I don't have an "any key".  I have Caps Lock, Tab, Shift, Ctrl and Enter but no Any.  It was at that point that I thought I heard a muffled gunshot, but it may just have been the techno-dude hanging up somewhat abruptly.  Chook is no better either.  She thinks a megabyte is something you're likely to get from a great white shark and that AppleMac is some revolting concoction your can find at McDonalds.  Come to think of it she's probably right about the latter at least.

It's not all bad though, they are at least learning.  Glacially maybe, but they are learning.  If only governments around the world were catching on that quickly when it comes to climate change. 

   

Australia Day

Despite what it says above this blog the date is 27 January - the day after Australia Day.  It might only be 26th January in the good old USA where Google are based,  but here in Oz it's definitely the 27th.  If only the States were just one day behind most of the rest of the world in political maturity instead of thirty years.  Still, you can't have everything can you?  Anyway, Pea and I have spent a lot of time watching the cricket today.  Actually for much of the time we were watching separate crickets.  Pea was watching the one on TV involving several men dressed in pretty colours and I was watching the one on the deck.  Quite a big one he was, and quite energetic too, hopping all over the deck like a ............cricket on a hot deck.  That is he was until Bubble appeared.  Bubble is one of Pea and Chook's tame butcher birds and a well known murderer of insects and arachnids.  I've often seen her sitting on the deck rail with her beak full of huntsman spider - legs wriggling like a forkful of animated spaghetti.  Yuk!  Give me bush chocolate any day.  Anyway, my poor cricket didn't stand a chance and he hops no more.  Bubble made short work of him so I had to join Pea in watching the silly men on the telly.  In a typical Pommie display of bad sportsmanship England beat Australia.  Any self respecting cricketing nation would have let the Aussies win on Australia Day, but what can you expect from a nation that used to make a living by pinching other people's countries.  Never mind, they've handed most of them back now and the Empire consists of a small pork pie factory in the Mediterranean and a three star beach resort in the Caribbean.

Pea says it wouldn't be Australia Day without some geezer in a battered akubra hat appearing on the telly arguing that "Waltzing Matilda" should be our national anthem.  Let's think about that for a moment shall we.  For a start it's a British tune written in the early nineteenth century.  How many Aussies would want a national Anthem written by a Pom.  At least the words are Australian and their author Andrew Barton "Banjo" Paterson was born in our fair country, near Orange in New South Wales.  But, do we really want the national anthem of Australia to be about the demise of a suicidal itinerant sheep thief?  Probably not.

Chook, sticking up for her country of birth says that it's all about being the underdog and the struggles that go along with that.  "Bollocks!" Said Pea, rather harshly.  "Aussies also idolise Ned Kelly as a so called underdog and he was just a common dumb crim who stole from rich and poor alike and kept the bloody lot for himself.  He wasn't exactly Robin Hood - more like Robbin' Everybugger.  You Aussies reckon his actions were due to the persecution of his family by the colonial powers of the time, but thousands of people suffered the same oppression - and worse, without feeling the need to rob and murder innocent citizens."
Chook then mumbled something about the Poms being just as bad in their admiration for Dick Turnip - the highwayman or whatever his name was.  Pea said.  "That's different."
  "I thought it might be." Replied Chook.

Yes indeed friends, Australia Day in Pea and Chook's house was not peaceful, but at least I've learned the meaning of the phrase "Australia Day Fireworks."  I can't wait for next year.  Meanwhile I suppose I'll just have to wait for another cricket to turn up and entertain me.

Strange & Complex Creatures

I've had letters from some of my many fans recently, voicing their concerns that Pea might one day decide to have yours truly for dinner.  I am pleased to report that I really don't think that's going to happen.  When it comes to animals Pea is as soft as a piece of fresh bush chocolate.  He's been know to burst into floods of tears of grief and remorse having accidentally trodden on an ant.  I therefore think that he is more likely to chew his own arm up to his elbow than he is to chow down on me, but I guess you never know with lapsed vegetarians.  It's a bit hypocritical isn't it, being so concerned about causing pain and suffering to animals and yet being so willing to eat them as long as someone else kills them?  Ah well, humans are strange and complex creatures, beyond the understanding of a simple cavy.

Also beyond the the understanding of this particular simple cavy is the price people are willing to pay for a cup of coffee made with beans that have passed through the digestive tract of an Asian palm civet.  I was sitting on Pea's lap yesterday having my fur brushed when I saw an advert for Kopi Luwak in the newspaper at his side.  This stuff is the world's most expensive coffee. It sells for about US$54.00 for 200 grams and that's on Ebay where bargains are supposedly found.  What intrigues me is why anybody thought it a good idea to drink anything made from something that has recently popped out of an animal's bum.  Okay, I know I eat my own bush chocolate but hey, at least I know where it's been.  How did it happen?
Perhaps a couple of blokes were walking through an Indonesian coffee plantation one day when one of them said.  "Hey look.  There's a pile of civet shit.  Lets have a cuppa."  Now of course my next worry is that Pea and Chook will see this as an opportunity to make money by feeding me coffee beans and then waddling along behind me to collect the finished product before washing it (hopefully), bagging it up and flogging it off to Coles.  You can probably expect to see bags of "Billy The Pig's Cavy Crap Coffee" on the shelf of a supermarket near you very shortly.  That's fine with me as long as some of the royalties come my way in the form of juicy green beans. 

Another letter I had recently concerned the quality of my writing. "What's wrong with your grammar?' They asked.  To which I replied "Nothing.  As far as I know.  She's alive and well and living in Cuzco, but thanks for your concern."  It has also been pointed out to me that I have been using exclamation marks incorrectly and that they should only be used at the end of a quote which was intended to be shouted.  Well what do you expect - William frigging Shakespeare?  I'm just a guinea pig for crying out loud! 

Stupid Tennis

Hold the call to the RSPCA.  For the moment I'm fine.  I'm neither guinea pig goulash nor cavy curry.  Keep their number handy though, just in case.

Boy did we have some excitement last night!  For the last couple of evenings while Pea, Chook and I have been sitting watching telly there have been strange rattling noises coming from the exhaust above the cook top.  The general consensus was that an antechinus had managed to get down the flue from the attic - not for the first time .  Now I had no idea what an antechinus was, but it sounded ominously like a bat.  Apparently it is a type of carnivorous marsupial mouse.  Then last night Pea and Chook were sitting in front of the TV watching the tennis.  (What a pointless game that is!  If the men with the guitar shaped things are so anxious to be rid of the ball why don't they just give it to the nice man sitting in the kids high chair to dispose of in an environmentally friendly fashion instead of just whacking it to each other.  Very childish!)  I was having a bit of a snooze, I had just finished my dinner and was feeling very relaxed and mellow when suddenly Pea yelled "There he goes!  It is an antechinus."  I woke up just in time to see a little brown thing hopping incredibly quickly like a tiny kangaroo into the bathroom hotly pursued by Pea and Chook who both reached the door frame together with the resulting congestion.  "This is going to be better than a Laurel and Hardy movie." I thought to myself.

Pea grabbed an empty ice cream container and Chook managed to trap the vicious brute in the shower cubical.  I helped by sitting on top of my little red shelter squealing like a girl.  Oh well, there goes another New Year's resolution.  Now the bathroom door was shut and I could only hear voices from within.

"Quick grab it!"
"You grab it."
"I did, but I didn't want to squash it so I let it go."
'Well that was stupid.
"What if it bites?'
"Your tetanus shot's up to date isn't it?  What's the problem?"

There was a muffled yell from the bathroom and the little brown thing hopped through the gap between the floor and the bottom of the door.
"Duck, duck duck duck duck!  The ducking thing has ducked off under the ducking door" it sounded like Pea was saying.  My God! I thought, the bathroom is full of waterfowl.  The door was flung open and once more Pea and Chook reached it together and after a moment's strain popped through together in pursuit, Pea somewhat flushed and brandishing his ice cream container and Chook frantically waving a piece of stiff cardboard.  They both disappeared in the direction of the dining room where there seemed to be another flock of waterfowl from what I could hear of the conversation.

Ten minutes later they returned defeated - the ice cream container remained empty.  They sat down to watch the tennis again.  "It could be anywhere now." Said Chook.  Minutes passed, the men on the telly with the guitars were still unable to dispose of the ball.  Then suddenly Pea piped up.  "What if it's in the bedroom?  I don't want to wake up at two in the morning with an antechinus on my face.  Do you?"  With that he leapt to his feet and dashed of towards the bedroom with his ice cream carton.  Moments later he returned, a look triumph on his face.

"He was there," he said to Chook.  "On the bed, on your pillow, washing his face.  I snuck around the back of him, opened the screen door and then rushed at him.  He jumped off the bed and out of the door - problem solved."  I could see how that tactic would work.  I'd have leapt out of the door too if I'd seen that great ape charging towards me with a food container.

The whole thing reminded me of another laurel and hardy-esque incident when Pea and Chook had found a small brown snake in the house.  In an almost perfect display of well practised teamwork Pea opened the screen door and Chook flicked the snake towards it with a long stick.  Unfortunately Pea had not vacated the open door.  He was standing there like a Premier League goalkeeper between the posts, except that he was dressed only in his underpants.  The snake hit him in the groin and fell to the floor, sadly for entertainments sake, without biting him.  Presumably it was too shocked by it's sudden and unexpected capacity for flight, albeit somewhat uncontrolled.  I laughed so hard that I fell of my little red shelter.  Who needs stupid tennis for entertainment.

Illicit Bananas

Ha!  I knew it wouldn't last.  Pea ate a large hunk of pork last night.  His two month stint as a herbivore is officially over.  He's been whinging about being tired and listless for a couple of weeks and things came to a head yesterday when he was so fatigued he had to have a "nanna nap" in the afternoon.  As a consequence he ate half a pig and immediately proclaimed that he felt better.  On the other hand I feel rather nervous.  I really don't like the way he drools when he looks at me.  Actually he drools a lot anyway.  I think its his age. Nevertheless, he has me worried and the fact that he asked Chook if she thought guinea pig would taste like chicken certainly did not help.  If this turns out to be my final blog will somebody please call the RSPCA.

Well, first it was the Israeli spy vulture, now it's the Colombian "narco-pigeon."  Yes, that's right.  Narco pigeon.  One of the stories on the newspaper lining my cage says that the Colombian police have arrested a pigeon for attempting to smuggle 45 grams of marijuana and cocaine paste into a prison at  Bucaramanga.  The police reckon the load was too heavy for him and he crash landed before he was able to fly over the wall with the stuff strapped to his back.  Personally I think he was set up by a stool pigeon.  Either that or the cops were tipped off from the inside by a jail bird.  I'd use the one about being hauled up before the beak again but I don't like to repeat myself.  You have to admit I'm pretty good though.

I find the increasing employment of animals in both legal and illegal activities rather alarming.  I might be the next one pressed into slavery.  There are seeing eye dogs, hearing dogs, cadaver dogs, drug detection dogs, explosive dogs, they even have dogs at the airport that can tell if you've eaten an illicit banana in the last month.  There are sheep dogs, gun dogs, police horses and army ants - not sure what they do.  In Laos and Cambodia they even use giant rats for mine clearing.  What happened to animal rights?  Does this cheap labour have a union?  In Peru my ancestors belonged to PUSSI - Peruvian Union of Socialists Serving Incas.  Mind you, a fat lot of good it did them.  They all ended up working for a pittance in restaurant kitchens either washing up or as an entree. 

So, adios until next time.  If there is a next time, Pea has got that carnivorous glint in his eye again.
Remember to call the RSPCA if you don't hear from me again within a week. 

Michael Bolton In Drag

Chook tells me that Pea is a travel agent and that he earns a poultry living.  I can only assume that means he gets a bag of bird seed every week.  Not that I care as long he makes enough to buy me a few green beans now and again.  I'm not even sure what a travel agent does, but it has to be better than spending all day outside in all weathers in a health field like Chook.  I think he might be some sort of reverse people smuggler.  Foreign people smugglers send refugees to Australia and Pea sends Australians to fill the gaps left by the refugees.  It all seems pretty pointless.  Wouldn't it be simpler if everyone just stayed where they are?  I wish my Peruvian ancestors had, then I wouldn't be stuck here with these two fruitcakes!

Apparently Pea specialises in Africa and Chook says he's always buggering off there and leaving her to feed all the animals.  As if looking after me is a chore!  You'd think she'd be grateful to have my company to herself now and again.  He says that dung is very important in Africa and for some reason it's vital to know the difference between black rhino poo and white rhino poo.  (How hard can it be?  One's black and one's white, surely?)  He seems to spend most of his time overseas inspecting doo-doos and thinks it's fascinating to hold a fresh elephant turd in his hand, feel it's warmth, break it open and examine whatever it was the elephant had for lunch.  Yeah right!  Sounds riveting.  Why can't he just go to Bali for a week like everyone else.  I just hope he washes his hands before he cuts up my carrots.

He says that the little impala pellets that he sees liberally scattered about the African bush are called "bush chocolate" by some of the locals and now that phrase has been appended to the offerings of my own bottom passage.  I don't mind that.  I sometimes hear Pea say to Chook "There's some bush chocolate under your chair."  It sounds nicer than "That hairy rat has crapped on the floor again."  I try my best to look innocent but with Pea being such a crap expert there's no way he's going to blame it on the budgies and Chook isn't a realistic suspect either.

Anyway, all this talk of crap reminds me that we all sat up and watched "Troy" on telly the other night.  God it was awful.  Chook said that Brad Pitt made his character Achilles look like Michael Bolton in drag.  She reckons that 007 Daniel Craig would have been far better and she has a point.  I can see him in the role.  "My name is Illes, Ach-Illies."  She also said that she quite likes Tommy Lee Jones and that he would have been good as Hector instead of Eric Banana or whatever his name is.  Chook then got that far away dreamy look in her eyes and sighed, "Brad Pitt is too pretty, I like the rugged outdoors, action man type."  Pea brightened considerably despite the woeful acting and the never ending commercials.  Then Chook added "But I'm still glad I married you anyway."  For some reason he looked a little deflated and went to bed shortly afterwards.

People Kill People

Just this morning I was scratching around in my straw bedding in search of a piece of carrot I had misplaced yesterday, when I came across an interesting headline on the newspaper that lines the bottom of my cage.  "Shooting Fractures America" it shouted.  I read on, as any guinea pig would.  The article concerned the pleas of America's Irish president - Barry O'Barmer, for all Americans to heal the fracture in society caused by the most recent mass shooting in Arizona which killed six people.  Heavens above!  I nearly choked on my carrot. (Which, by the way I had discovered inside one of my toilet roll innards.)  This alleged fracture in American society can only mean that a sizeable proportion of the population must think it a good thing that some total fruitcake has picked up a gun and shot a whole load of innocent people,  including a nine year old girl.

The line of those lovely gentle folk at the National Rifle Association is that "Guns don't kill people, people kill people."  That may be true but people wouldn't kill half as many people if they didn't have such easy access to guns.  I assume that the NRA would have no objections to people having their own nuclear arsenal because people kill people, nuclear weapons don't.  Ye Gods!!  What a crock,  as you Americans like to say.  Yeah, yeah, yeah.  I know the right to bear arms is enshrined  in the constitution's second amendment, but for Christ's sake why doesn't someone have the guts to change it.  They'd have to have guts too because once they'd stated their opposition to the right to bear arms they'd be as dead as a guinea pig in a Peruvian McDonalds.  In fact I'm expecting a friendly visit from the NRA myself.  Probably a McDonald's lawyer too, come to think of it.

Actually, it is a little known fact that The Right To Bear Arms is in fact a misprint.  It should actually be The Right to Bare Arms and is in fact meant to enshrine people's right to wear short-sleeved shirts, but with all those gun-toting maniacs around nobody dare point out this simple typing error.

Meanwhile, still in the Home of the Free and the Land of the Brave I see that a prisoner in the Nassau County Correctional Centre is suing the county because he had his willy bitten by a rat whilst in prison.  The defendants are saying that it wasn't a rat, but a mouse - like that makes a difference!  The article goes on to say that he had to be treated for rabies - though it's not clear whether they mean the man or the rodent. I'd also like to know how he reported the incident.  You couldn't just whip out your "old feller" and shout "Hey Warden!  Take a look at this!"  You'd be doing a further six months for indecent exposure before you could say "a rat bit my willy."   Only in America, as they say.  Although it does give me one or two ideas for the next time my male staff has me on his lap brushing my fur.



 

Floods & Flatulence

As you know, I have the misfortune to live with a couple of harmless nutters called Pea and Chook.  Pea is a Brit or POM as we Peruvian Aussies like to call them.  POM of course stands for Person Of Malodourousness and in Pea's case it has been particularly apt since he became a vegetarian a couple of months ago.  Why the sudden change in his diet?  How come he's gone from being a carnivore to rival the tyrannosaurus rex to a flatulent, lettuce and bean munching bunny rabbit?  He claims it has something to do with a goat that was slaughtered for himself and Chook by a Balinese village leader.  Apparently the poor thing cried all morning as if it knew what it was in for.  Well, wouldn't we all under those circumstances?  Actually I suspect that the real reason behind his sudden conversion is that he's too bloody tight-fisted to pay the price they're asking for meat these days.

Of course the price of meat and probably Pea's precious vegetables will be soaring even higher soon.  The damage wrought by the floods on Queensland's farms will see to that.  Still at least that might mean that Pea loses a bit of weight, he's getting a bit porky lately, so you see there is a silver lining to every cloud.  Which reminds me, as I sit here on top of my little red shelter looking out of the window beyond the telly, the rain has eased to showers and a guinea pig like myself has a lot to be grateful for.  I am dry and well fed.  My home has not been washed away or filled with stinking mud unlike thousands of poor people and animals in so many parts of Queensland.  I am alive and kicking and have not lost any friends or relatives.  Even a cavy can spare a thought for those less fortunate.

Pea came in from the garden yesterday, (his first sortie out there since the rain eased) astounded by what the rain had done to the slope down by the dam.  Part of the slope, he said, had just dropped a metre as though there had been an earthquake.  There was no sign of a mudslide.  A twenty metre stretch had just dropped.  He says it must have been saturated and just given way in a neat line.  He took Chook down to see it and they both returned shaking their heads in disbelief.  A couple of large trees had also come down (Maybe that means fewer bats - another silver lining.) and that upset Pea more than anything as it means he'll have to spend hours sawing up the wood, getting hot and sweaty and probably covered in leeches.

I wonder if this extreme weather will change the minds of some of those climate change sceptics.  I guess it might if they are among those who have had their houses inundated with muddy water.  Meanwhile Pea is not helping the situation at all.  He seems to be one of the leading sources of greenhouse gasses at the moment and as such has no right to complain about global warming.  

Pachyderm Poo

Given my current predicament I don't like to mention the "B" word, but Chook has recently put two coloured rubber balls in my cage.  I'm not really sure what I'm supposed to do with them so I've rolled them into my little red shelter where they are out of sight and hopefully won't remind Pea and Chook of my dangly bits, which they seem determined to deprive me of.  Honestly!  First it was a mirror, which terrified me, now its rubber balls which just confuse me.  Its as though Pea and Chook are trying to work out what sort of creature I am by process of elimination.  I fully expect to wake up one day with a cage full of catnip.  Mind you, Pea and Chook aren't the only ones to be dumbfounded by my singularly gorgeous looks.  A little while ago Pea brought a Maasai friend of his home.  He looked into my cage with widening eyes and exclaimed "My God!  Is it a mongoose?"  Frankly I find it all a little insulting.

Meanwhile here in South East Queensland the rain continues to fall.  I heard Pea tell Chook that he measured eight inches this morning.  I assume he was talking about precipitation, but you never know with Pea.  He's always prone to bragging, not to mention wild exaggeration.  I've lost count of the number of politicians who have appeared on the telly claiming the floods here to be of biblical proportions.  I guess they're referring to the flood that caused Noah so many problems a few years ago.  Two of my ancestors were on his ark and the stories I've heard of their ordeal makes my fur stand on end.  Imagine being a small animal stuck on a little boat wondering when and where the next dollop of elephant, hippo or rhino dung was going to fall.  To be honest I think I'd rather drown than be buried under an avalanche of pachyderm poo!

Anyway, obviously my ancestors survived the ordeal, but it still mystifies me how two guinea pigs managed to make their way from the ark at the top of Mount Ararat to the Peruvian Andes where they lived happily ever after and had a squillion offspring.  But then who am I to question what is written in the Bible?  What do I know? I'm just a cavy.  I just wish someone would tell Pea and Chook that, so that they stop filling my cage with budgie and dog toys.

Readers of my last humble offering - "The Israeli Spy Vulture" will have seen that I have convinced myself that in a past life I was a person of great influence and intellect.  Ronald Reagan maybe.  Well, he had influence, or at least Nancy did.  I'd like to think that I have a lot in common with Henry Kissinger and Nelson Mandela but since neither of them have shuffled off this mortal coil I'm guessing that they're still using their souls.  A real possibility is John Howard.  Yes I know he's still alive, but Pea often says what a soulless bastard he is - maybe I've got it.  If I have any further thoughts on this subject I'll be sure to let you know.  

The Israeli Spy Vulture

Well, I still have my testostricles.  At least I did last time I looked.  In a mis-guided attempt to alleviate her erroneous  perception of my pining for company Chook put a mirror in my cage.  What does she think I am?  A bloody budgie?!  Anyway it scared the living daylights out of me.  For a moment I thought that there was another guinea pig as gorgeous as me.  I hid in my little red shelter and pretended it wasn't there.  A little denial never hurt any of us did it?

Now, on a less serious note than the fate of my genitals.  I have suspected that humankind is utterly insane for some time.  I'm reminded of that every day living with Pea and Chook.  However I had my suspicions confirmed today whilst watching the news on the telly.  The Saudis have arrested a vulture on a charge of spying for Israel.  Yep.  That's right.  What are they going to do?  Haul him up before the beak?  Ha ha! Get it, get it?  Behead him publicly in Riyadhs Chop Chop Square?  Can you believe it?  Everyone knows that the Israelis can't even control their own armed forces.  Look what happened at the Sabra and Shatila refugee camps in Lebanon in 1982, also in their last Lebanese adventure and that heavy-handed attack on that Gaza peace flotilla in May last year.  (Yes I know all about those events.   I may be just a guinea pig with endangered reproductive organs now, but I'm certain that in a previous life I was someone of influence and intellect.  As soon as I find out who, I'll get Pea to write my biography and make a fortune.  At least Pea will make a fortune.  Maybe then he'll buy me a game boy.)

So, anyway.  As I was saying.  How can a nation that has no control over it's own armed forces be expected to control a vulture who would much rather be pecking the eyes from a dead camel than soaring above the Empty Quarter taking snap shots of Saudi nuclear plants?  Doesn't seem likely does it?  Release the Vulture I say.  Just don't release it in my direction.

Here in Queensland the rain keeps falling and idiots keep driving onto flooded causeways and the like.  Aren't humans supposed to have some sort of superior intelligence?  I thought Queensland was supposed to be "The Smart State."  From now on I'm going to call it "The Land of the Rising Damp."

Horny Pig

There have been one or two worrying conversations taking place in our household lately.  I don't much care for the direction in which they are heading.  Pea and Chook have been discussing whether I am lonely or not.  Bear in mind that these discussions take place in front of me as though I was not present.  How rude is that?

"Do you think he's happy?" Said Chook gazing at me while I sat on top of my little red shelter chewing my bedding.

"I'm sure he's fine." Replied Pea.

"What if he's lonely?"

"Do you want to get him a friend?"

Chook sighed.  "Maybe.  We could get him a little girlfriend but what would we do with all the babies?"

Pea said,  "Well we can't get another male they'd probably fight.  We could have him fixed, then we could get him a girlfriend."  This made my ears prick up as you can imagine.  Pea almost whispered the word "fixed" and I detected a slight wince in his voice as he said it.  Oh great! I thought.  First they drag me away from my family, now they're plotting to cut of my dangly bits.  So it looks like I'm in few a few sleepless nights while they decide what to do with my private parts.

I must admit I quite like the idea of sharing my cage with a chicky-babe.  I have been getting as horny as hell lately and I'm embarrassed to say that the cardboard toilet roll innards that Pea and Chook give me to play with are just too big to be of any use if you know what I mean.  However, any benefit I might get from sharing my cage with a lady pig would be somewhat negated if I were to have my wedding tackle "fixed."  If Pea could only speak Cavy I would remind him of the old saying "If it ain't broke, don't fix it."  And I can assure him that it ain't broke!

Anyway I've been trying to distract myself from these worries by watching the cricket with Pea.  Apparently the England team have retained something called the Ashes which for some reason has put Pea in an unusually good mood.  A state of mind enhanced by the fact that his favourite football team - West Ham has not lost for four games.  These two events combining as they have is about as infrequent as an ice age Pea says, so he's making the most of it.  For my two American readers West Ham play football with a proper round ball - that's "saah-ker" as you like to call it.  As for myself, at the moment I like to keep quiet and not mention balls of any sort.