RESPECTED REPRESENTATION

The weekend before last was ruined. Saturday morning I received a letter stating “Notice of potential redundancy” on a fucking Saturday morning!! The farmer is thinking of getting rid of the beef heard and investing more into cereals, as they seem to be more of a cash cow at the moment.

I thought to myself that If this goes ahead I’ll give him a cash cow he’ll never fucking forget, the fat prick.

I have listened to the advise of Handsome James. He is the farms union rep and he is one slick son of a gun. He is one of those clever wheeler-dealer sorts with the academic cred to back up his swagger. Straight away he pointed out the original contract I made with the fat cunt when I moved from east Dorset and how it’s quite tight. But The farmer argues that it’s the beef heard that’s got to be affected in this decision as he is only half way through his farming diversification strategy and cant pull the plug on it now.

Well, we wall know about the diversification strategy…. The heard of bison’s. The same bison’s that burnt to death on Frank’s birthday. Subsequently, there is only half the heard left. It just doesn’t make sense. This farm needs some aggressive management. I didn’t want to be too heavily indebted to that dark bastard Knuckles the Magpie and it’s not sensible to ask him too many favours. So I thought I’d deal with this issue myself.  Handsome James keeps pushing for a more modest resolute approach; to “diplomatically iron out the farmers thinking and persuade him that the industry appreciates the full flavour of his beef herd”. Well He can fuck off.  I’m sure I can persuade him to come round to my sort of thinking….I will put his powers on the back burner for now.

So I sat down with an ants nest the Monday after to draw up some battle lines. Ants are fucking intelligent. Do not doubt them. We decided to use the same strategy they use when they are playing in majour chess tournaments: attack to defend.

This left me with no option but to call in the heavies. Soldiers of fortune, hard as nails mercenaries from a bleak land far away. They are armed, ready to battle, completely dead to emotion, fear and consequence. That’s right folks, I had a problem, I needed some ruthless motherfuckers to fix it and I have hired…..some Welsh Badgers.

I got them on the cheap as they are fleeing the governments proposed badger cull. They are well known in the welsh valleys for acting like full on Celtic cunts, generally ripping up the country side and all that lives peacefully in it.

Normal badgers will eat your young livestock, terrorise your cats, rip up your fields and generally be a fucking pest. They are vermin at the best of times need to be destroyed. However, Welsh Badgers do the same but by turning on the style and dominating like a Welsh Dragons. They work as a pack, just like when they play rugby. If you try and tackle a welsh badger in a rugby match you will bleed before he does, fact. They will pile drive their way through this farm and I am going watch like Mafia Don; relaxed, focussed, modest and in fucking charge.

The redundancy wasn’t official when I got that letter. It was proposed. But I couldn’t let the situation escalate. I had to go in guns blazing and if Handsome James wants my help with tracking down any more tractor export scams he can fucking cop on and help me with this approach too.

So last weekend I deployed the Welsh badgers onto the farm and all hell was let loose. Firstly they raped, mutilated and set fire to all the domestic badgers in the local area. That was literally only a morning’s work for them and it allowed them to establish their superiority. Kinda like taking out the enemy’s air infrastructure during the first stages of a war. Those calculating Welsh bastards certainly know how to send a message of intent. After that they focussed on the remaining bison and literately disembowelled them whilst they were still alive. At the same time they cut their lips off with garden sheers, then began to list the lips on eBay.  Then they started cutting into their bellies with fossilised Velociraptor claws, which they stole after raiding the American Museum of Natural History a few years back. As each bison drew its last breath they were sadistically allowed to watch the listing of their lips being confirmed on eBay, which was just sick; but I fucking loved it.

Buy buy diversification strategy.

Then they turned their attention to the arable land. Their plan was to call in some Irish Gypsy badgers and build a road on it, thus ruining this year’s crops and making the farm a logistical entanglement of concrete similar to Spaghetti Junction. At this point Fat Fuck Farmer stepped in. he was crying like a baby and had clearly soiled his trousers.

One of the badgers chirped up and said in very broad but croaky welsh accent  >>

“ We’re representin the bull and we are ready to negotiate”

And that was the redundancy situation over. I’ve now had a pay rise and some new, tight cunted, fresh faced and foreign lady cows are on their way for me to start a new line of tasty steaks. Handsome James feels a bit shit, as he couldn’t sort the situation out for me. But sometimes you have got get a bit serious, call in some terrorists and really take the bull by the horns. 

NEXT WEEK: CRIME IN THE COUNTRYSIDE WITH A PESKY RURAL RUSSIAN!

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