The Ghost of Charlton Heston

My first task today is to thank all my friends who sent their condolences for the death of my poor little feathered brother Biggles the Budgie. Thanks also for the best wishes and get well soon messages I've received for Paolo the Budgie - my other feathered brother. He's still doing very well and looks like making a full recovery from the same disease that killed Biggles.

Now then. With apologies to my readers in the USA whom I have warned before about their silly gun laws. Click on the link below to see the post in which I explained their confusion on matters such as gun control.
 http://pemery.blogspot.com.au/2011/01/just-this-morning-i-was-scratching.html

In the USA it seems that the more dangerously nutty you are the more likely you are to be granted a gun licence. Of course it also helps if you work for the Post Office, and if you happen to be both nutty and a post office employee - or even better, a recently sacked one then you can have as many guns as you like. Just pop into "Rocket Propelled Grenade Launchers R Us" and take your pick. Folks outside of the USA read the headlines of yet another mass shooting and shake their heads in disbelief that nothing ever seems to be done. This time a Korean born loony by the name of One Goh is the latest to flip out, shooting seven innocent people dead at Oikos University in Oakland, California.

Why are normal, everyday Americans not demanding change to gun laws? I know that there are some normal everyday Americans. Many of them are my friends, and I know that most of them haven't shot anyone for ages. I think I know why they don't say anything too. I expect they're worried they might get a friendly visit from their local NRA branch. The ghost of Charlton Heston looms large. Well, as I said, I've warned you for the last time. Now I'm going to write to Margaret Thatcher and ask her to go to America and confiscate all your guns. No arguments! You're obviously not grown up enough to be trusted with them, or anything more dangerous than a butter knife. She'll be bringing her handbag too, the blue leather one with the steel studs. Yep, the very same one she bashed Argentina's General Galtieri with in 1982. The same one that she threatened to poke up John Major's bottom passage in 1990. It's a bit battered these days but, still deadly when wielded by a grocer's daughter with big hair and a strident, condescending voice.

On a lighter note, my male staff tried to remove his thumb with a pair of secateurs yesterday. He did quite a good job too until it started hurting and the blood began to run down his arm and drip onto the floor. In fact he was trying to cut a perch to size for Paolo the budgie's cage. I got a look at the wound before my male staff bound it up and drove into town to see the doctor. It was not very long, less than an inch, but it was satisfyingly deep, with what appeared to be a blob of fat hanging from it. My first thought was to say to my male staff that he should save the bit of fat for Thomas the kookaburra, but I thought better of it. He seemed a little tetchy. An hour later he was back with a huge bandage wrapped around his thumb. He appeared to be upset that the doctor hadn't thought it was worth a stitch. I just though to myself "If he can do that much damage with a pair of secateurs, thank heaven we don't live in the USA where he'd surely be insane enough to qualify for a gun licence.

BADGER'S FOOTNOTE
I'm not going to let Billy's male staff anywhere near my feet.