CHIN UP MAV, YOU'RE STILL A GREAT FIGHTER PILOT!

I have never been one for relationships. I have to fuck cows all day and I love it. I love making your dinner! My children give you the protein you need to train longer, harder and better.

Cows are a pain in the arse. They are generally quite stupid and the breeds that are here on the farm at the moment are no exception to this. Any way, I have not always been a smooth, seductive sex machine. I was born and grew up on a farm near Wimborne in Dorset and it was there that I experienced true love for a time. I guess the fall out from what I’m about to tell you directly impacted on the bull I am today.

Back then I couldn’t give a rats arse about the taste of meat. Ignorance was bliss and as long as you covered a steak in enough creamy peppercorn sauce all was good! You could pretend it had flavour whilst your mouth tasted the flames of the pepper and all you got from the meet was the substance. Back then life was great. The farm had balance and tractors had soul; (with proper gears, griizly engines and everything).

I met a cow there called Jo who was a jersey but born in Dorset like me. We instantly clicked. Culturally we had been born into two different breeds yet we both felt proud of our Dorset heritage too. Other’s on the farm back then couldn’t get their heads around us being together though.

We had a great relationship. She produced milk fit for Cleopatra to bath in, which made me proud to be around her. Her butter was creamy and what she could do to a bowl of cornflakes was truly off the rickter scale! I was in love, hook line and sinker. Unfortunately it was diversity that killed this ultimate bond as the farmer brought in the fucking French. – And they are cunts. With their supposed ‘superior flavour’ and arrogant attitude as a consequence, it didn’t take long for this prick Limousin bull called Thierry to move in on Jo and steal her from me.

I was a broken bull. During the fall out I realised that me and Jo couldn’t be friends. I certainly couldn’t live with seeing them together. His arrogance was enough to enrage me. The only way to beat him was to produce more youngsters than him tasting far better. I was proud of my potential. I knew my black ass could produce a superior flavour and I knew I could pump cattle so hard, I could raise an army of product and single handily keep Burger King in business. So I moved farms, did a deal with the new farmer and implemented a policy of mass produced, great tasting steak. I’m knackered most of the time with all this fucking, as I even fuck for other farmers too and sometimes for free, just to spite Thierry.

Every now and then it still gets me down a bit though. Top Gun Kes is probably the best person on the farm to deal with during these sour moments. Kes drives a massive John Deere and is really good at perking me up. She takes things to an extreme, which is cool. Not long ago I was so down about it that she drove out to my home farm and bull rustled the French cunt.

I really am not proud of what we did to him that night, when she got him back here. Knuckles The Magpie cut his tongue out, proper Native American style. He painted Thierry’s face red, put a leather jacket on and then inserted a totem pole up is arse. I shot some video of Knuckles doing this and then killed him. Kes had left the John Deere running so we butchered the motherfucker and cooked us some T-bones on the engine manifold.

The fucking drag is he tasted so good. What a cunt. Even pisses me off when he’s dead. I still cant decide weather to get Kes to go back and rustle Jo The Jersey too. Guess she’ll be living in fear for the rest of her life any way, which is just as good as cutting her up I guess.

This is why I don’t do relationships. I get drawn in, get fucked over and then get bullish. I know I killed him, but us bulls – and all other wild animals don’t have the same moral code or punishment system as humans do, so it’s OK! Ah well, in hindsight it seems as though it’s Survival of the fittest but maybe not the tastiest. You French cunt. 

MAGNIFYING FRANK'S BIRTHDAY

So it was Frank The Peacock's birthday last week. He’s not doing too badly for an old fella I guess and recent estimations show that he may even have been 31.

I didn’t know what to buy him and this was proving to be a real dilemma for me. I’ve only known Frank a year and he moved to the farm in strange circumstances. He’s a very open chap. In fact he’s almost too open for an ex private detective and MI6 field agent. He said that the government always liked his style of hiding in plain sight, you know; being really loud and blatant. He talks often about his private clients from when he did surveillance. He followed people suspected of having affairs mainly. He has some really good photos left over, they are in plastic wallets.

He was results driven and managed to do well out of it. He still does a bit now so that’s why it dawned on me to get him a magnifying glass. Literally the day before his birthday I had that idea, so nipped into town to get one from the independent hard ware shop that is still going strong! I love to see private retail flourishing.

Frank loved his present and also loved the birthday bash we held for him on the farm. We hired out one of the barns and had a riot. Frank is one loud mother fucker at the best of times but get some drink in him and its carnage! At the end of the night though, he got into an argument with Top Gun Kes over the specification of an F-14 fighter jet. Frank claimed to have seen one close up perform a negative G  vectoring dive, back when he was following the captain of an aircraft carrier, suspected of claiming fraudulent child tax credits for a Vietnamese Pot Bellied Pig.

Kes maintained this was not possible under any circumstances as it would cause the aircraft to stall, and go into a flat spin. Kes went onto explain in very drunken and bulshy manner, that only a handful of planes in the world had technology advanced enough to perform such a daring manoeuvre. Frank became increasingly impatient with Top Gun Kes’ ignorance and after another few minutes of throwing fast jet stats at each other argumentatively; they began fighting.

Well you can imagine what happened next. All the characters were there and by now and everyone was royally pissed up. I was merely sat in the corner observing as I had done two of the farmers wife’s diazepam mixed into a mojito with some co-didromol on the side. I was fucked and not a position to represent. So I just got my phone out and video’d the fight of justice. The Bison herd had got there late and had clearly been drinking before hand. They just ripped into everyone mercilessly throwing and tossing them around like hay bales. It wasn’t until Dave the piercer shouted ‘enough’ that the pandemonium seemed to settle. Bad move for him as one of the more hardcore Bison planted him on a weather vein, on the farm house roof. Dave now faces North all the time and cant make a noise when he farts.

After the Bison had dealt with Dave everyone seemed to turn on them and discover some deep down strength to even things up. Even Spastic Wayne managed to connect some punches as by now the inside of the barn was smashed to pieces. The make shift bar had been stampeded and there were broken spirit bottles everywhere, straw all over the place absorbing up all the alcohol and smashed up farm machinery littering the floor.

It was just then the barn door was flung open. Every one turned around and immediately stood still as if they were frozen in ice… (like off of  drama when you were at school)… fists in the air and penises still erect.  All you could hear was leaking alcohol coming out of the spirit bottles rolling around the floor. If you thought things couldn’t get any worse you would be wrong. There stood in the shadowy entrance to the barn in a black trench coat and a lit zippo lighter was Knuckles The Magpie.

“Ive fucking had enough of you bison and now you're gonna burn” he said in scarily direct manner.

Then he dropped the lighter to the ground, and whooooof! The whole place went up and we were all on fire. Nice one knuckles you cunt. Most of the Bison burnt to death but all us lot miraculously got out fine, not even a singe!

It was like we were there one minute and not the next. Oh well. The barn burnt to the ground and the next Morning Frank was first up, chirping on about what a great birthday bash he had. Top Gun Kes had a bad head and a new tattoo of 51^st squadron on her wrist. All in all a good night. We didn’t get Dave The Piercer down for a few days. Thought we would leave him impaled by the arse on the weather vein to fester a bit for generally being a dick. Frank then took his new magnifying glass, made a fake ginger moustache from a dead fox at the side of the road by the entrance to the farm and went off on a private detective job for a very nice Russian gentleman who goes by the name of Terrance……

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AN INSIGHT INTO THE LIFE OF A CHAMPION ABERDEEN ANGUS

My life seems to have gone viral. I have decided to join the rat race and get me a twitter account. Besides I need to put a few things straight as I keep getting misunderstood and I fucking hate Facebook, so Twitter it is.

I am a top whack Aberdeen Angus stud bull with absolutely massive balls and a truly monumental penis. My job is to shag cows on a daily basis so they can make calves, so you can eat burgers. Fair deal. Although I keep getting misrepresented. My racial heritage is one that was built for flavour. I say built… as us blackies have been socially engineered over the years and I’m guessing some Scottish cunts had the last word on our lineage.

I am not Scottish. I’m not a big fan of Scottish people and if you asked me to eat a battered mars bar I would feed you to Knuckles The Magpie… which brings me on to another reason for joining Twitter: To take the fucking piss out of my mates, down on the farm; in Dorset. Yep I’m Dorset born Dorset bread strong in the rump in great in bed!

Currently I enjoy hanging out with Top Gun Kes, Dave The Piercer, Cut n Paste Wayne, Handsome James, Fat Fuck Farmer and his red thong wearing-orgasm faking wife, Frank The Peacock and of course Knuckles The Magpie. Speaking of which, Knuckles is one truly dark bastard…He will have the rings off your fingers in no time and once even tried to steal my fucking nose ring! Any way Top Gun Kes called the police and he had to do a three month stretch as he had previous, which he won’t disclose; the fucking nonce.

The farm is massive and has an impressive fleet of John Deere tractors. I once ate my own body weight in magic mushrooms and then thought the tractors were actually alive and called John. When they didn’t reply – or move, I buried them thinking they were dead. Then Fat Fuck Farmer got arrested for insurance fraud and was made to dig them up. He lost 3 stone that weekend. He’s still fat.

The farmer likes to diversify his business as agriculture is a rapidly changing industry. He now has a heard of bison. I though they would be really cool and up for a laugh, but they are complete fuck wits. I was in their field the other night wanting a kick about, but they just wanted to play rugby. Gaylords.

Just out of the farm there is a quaint little village. I go down there from time to time stampeding. It’s ok down there but not a whole lot of laughs. I once shagged the vicar’s wife… to be fair I thought she would be better. I think I will try the vicar out later this summer, possibly after harvest.

So as you can see I have plenty to Tweet about. Shit happens on a daily basis on this farm and what with me being black and having a massive cock, I get into loads of trouble. Just remember I’m from Dorset and not Scotland and we will get on just fine. – Someone tried to put a Scottish tartan hat on me once – with a ginger bobble – said the pattern was ‘representative of my clan’. He now looks and pisses himself like Stephen Hawkin.