Stalin's Hamster

Like my staff I'm getting on a little now and we are beginning to share some of the same characteristics and habits. For example: I waddle, they waddle. I sleep a lot, they sleep a lot (when I let them). I have fur growing all over my body, they have fur growing all over their bodies. I inspect my bowel movements, they inspect their bowel movements. I eat some of my bowel movements, they eat at McDonalds.  Sleeping more obviously means that I dream more too and just lately I  dreamed that I had passed away and had crossed the Rainbow Bridge - the animal version of paradise.  Here there are no angels sitting on fluffy white clouds playing celestial music on harps and no seventy two virgins unless you count the snails who are hermaphrodites and are therefore relieved of the messy, noisy inconvenience of sex. No, the other side of the Rainbow Bridge is a delightful temperate glade where all the late animals mix and frolic together and not one of them eats the other because food is unnecessary; obviously because once you've kicked the bucket you're not likely to starve to death are you? 

I also dreamed that the only humans allowed to stay on the other side of the Rainbow Bridge are those whose animals want them to be there, but it's a little more complicated than that. In my dream I bumped into Blondi - Adolf Hitler's German shepherd and Stalin's Siberian hamster Neville.  Both of them said that their humans are allowed to visit them because even though they were total arseholes while they were alive they did at least love their animals.  They're not allowed to stay however. Neither Blondi or Neville seemed to know where their formers owners now reside, but they did mention that their moustaches often appear to be a little singed around the edges and that they always seem to smell of sulphur.

My staff were there of course. They were allowed to stay because they'd never done anything truly evil apart from trying to feed me cauliflower once. Bastards! I hate bloody cauliflower.  Anyway I'd requested that they join me over the Rainbow Bridge because I needed someone to change my bedding now and again. They're harmless enough in a bumbling, incompetent sort of way.

My late pals Boris and Badger were showing me around. Both had settled in well and were making lots of friends.  They were just pointing out the best place to curl up for a nap when I noticed a human wearing only a tiny pair of swimming trunks.

 Mr Abbott and Clive, his pet budgie.

  "Who's that creepy looking dude with the sticky-out ears and the small parrot down the front of his bathers?" I asked.
  "Oh him." Said Boris. "That's Tony Abbott, the Australian Prime Minister."
I was shocked. "When did he die?" I asked. Boris laughed, well wheeked actually.
  "He's not dead," said Boris "but he does spend quite a lot of time in Canberra which is probably the next best thing.  No, he's here as part of a delegation from the Australian government looking into the possible privatisation of the Rainbow Bridge."
  "What?" I cried, horrified. "He can't do that can he? The Rainbow Bridge is an essential service like electricity and water.  If you sell that to some private company they'll just set a charge for crossing the Rainbow Bridge and keep increasing the charge every year so that they can pay vast salaries to their CEO. They won't be accountable to anyone.  They'll probably sell half of this lovely glade to a developer to turn into a carp park or something.   In any case the Rainbow Bridge doesn't belong to the government it belongs to the animals who live here surely."

  "Well technically that's right." said Badger. "That never stopped Margaret Thatcher though did it?"  We see her sometimes by the way.  She's allowed to visit her King Charles Spaniel, Tebbit. She smells of sulphur too and her handbag always seems to be smouldering for some reason."
Badger continued. "It didn't stop old John Howard either when he flogged Telstra.  Honestly, humans are so stupid. They pay taxes for years and years thinking all the time that they own a telecommunications service, then up pops a dopey looking little short arse like John Howard who says No, you don't own it at all. I do, but I tell you what, I'll sell you half of it if you like. And can you believe it, the silly buggers fall for it and pay for it all over again.
 "Anyway," said Boris, "the sale of the Rainbow Bridge will be completely above board."  Mr Abbott says there will be an open tender process."
 "Hah!" Exclaimed Badger. "That just means whoever donates the most cash to the Liberal Party election fund will be the new owner. My money's on Gina Rinehart or Rupert Murdoch."
 "Great!" I thought to myself. "Soon we'll all be crossing the News Corp Rainbow Bridge."
 "I hope Gina Rinehart buys it" said Boris. I know she loves animals.  She purchased just over a hundred dalmatians the other day.
 "Yeah" said Badger. "I heard she was planning to make them into fur coats."
 "Whaaaaaaat!" I said. "You're joking!"
 "Of course I'm joking, she didn't make them all into fur coats." laughed Badger and I heaved a sigh of relief. "No," he continued. "She ate most of them."

Gina Rinehart explaining to the RSPCA exactly how many of the dalmatian puppies are left.

At that point I woke up with a jerk, which is of course something my female staff does every single day.

BACI'S BALONEY

I don't want to dye just yet, but wen I do I'll be abel to cross the Rainbow Bridge if I can afford it and polajize to my Uncal Boris. We yoozed to share a kage wen we furst came to live with Uncal Billy, but then I started byting Uncal Boris and wunce I even took a big mouthful of his fur. I spat it owt cuz it tasted horryball. Uncal Billy sed it was my teenage whore moans wat made me byte Uncal Boris.
Here's a pitcha of me and Uncal Boris when I was a baby.