OPERATION RANCH HAND

The following shenanigans have not been developed to portray a glamorous allegory to the horrific events that formed ‘Operation Ranch Hand’ in 1962, Vietnam.

Jock Strapper’s, please trust me that this is not in any way a humorous take on the most vile and aggressive example of chemical warfare in modern times.

The effects of ‘Operation Ranch Hand’ have caused great pain and suffering to hundreds of thousands of people.  Ranch Hand involved the application of 76 million litres of herbicide defoliants, sometimes known as ‘Agent Orange’ over the vast jungle areas of southern Vietnam between 1962 and 1971.

If you decide to research this further (especially online), some of what you read and see will be truly horrific, - Devastatingly horrific.

I love to watch work in progress. And when I saw a new out building being constructed to facilitate my jerky dream and save my job I felt a total sense of relief.

We have, over the last few weeks manipulated the new farm manager into keeping me banging beef, breakfast brunch and beyond in order to create the UK’s first large scale beef jerky production facility!

The farms new owner, Lord Augustus didn’t want livestock here since he took over as he viewed total crop production a much more profitable enterprise.

But with the help of Handsome James and my wingman TGK, we made the manager believe that more cash was ready to be had jerking it up, than planting it up and thus saving the nation by allowing them to consume healthy protein rich snacks in abundance.

Beth the Manager showed true grit as she fended off health and safety officers after some buzzard twats grassed us up.

I had evicted them black bully style after they had moved into the area to take advantage of the unmanaged and unbalanced countryside. They would have been dog meat had we still had the Security Snakes! But hey, kay sera sera and all that!

As a last resort we put Frank the Peacock on alert, hiding out in the woods ready and waiting to drop bombs. If I didn’t get my way and my redundancy was finalised, the plan was to go out in a drastic way.

Sounds complicated I know, but it was a real prospect for a time and I wouldn’t be able to cope if I had to leave this place, with all my amazing friends!

Frank had stocked up on a deadly supply of Agent Orange; off of N’aam and that.

Therefore, if I had to leave, the farm would be leaving too, as in its entire essence.

All the months I’ve been posting on here and you have been getting to know me, you would think that it would be my a certain batshit friend of mine that would end up pressing the button right?

Yes siree ‘Knuckles the Nutter’ aka ‘The Dark One’ aka the zippo wielding, spats wearing, parascending legend: Knuckles the Magpie. Well, Knuckles had fucked off on his honeymoon after re-marrying some born again Christian wench and left it to me to do all the batshiting. And that is what I vowed I would do.

That’s what I nearly did……

All was going swimmingly until we were in the yard at the weekend, cooking up the jerky when who else but the fucking BBC rocked up!

Fuck.my.life

Some journo bitch busts in and starts giving Beth the Manager the third degree about animal exploitation!

Reckoned she’d been hidden in a cherry picker at the side of the road opposite for the past week, dressed as an electricity board operative!

Reckoned she had proof of snakes in food sheds and farm workers shouting at animals inappropriately!

(TGK is can't multitask, accept when in combat situations). So when I beat her at pontoon I mocked her for days after. Any way, she eventually snapped last Friday, let rip and shorted out her rape alarm on my nose ring. Nice one Kes, little did you know you were about to get me deported!

                                          BBC: Will go to any length

Any hoo, this journo said she had proof of large scale wrongness. Said she was gonna do a whole story on it across multiple bbc platforms! We’re talking South Today, local radio and a segment by that fucking cunt who used to be on blue peter – now on Countryfile!

It would surely be aired on BBC America, Lord Augustus would see, cut short his hunting expedition, come home at once, turf us all out and boom! My life is in ruins.

I know for a fact Jock Strappers this is the doing of those fuckjng buzzards!

I needed to think on my feet, act fast and deliver final absolution.

I charged over to the journalist who introduced herself as ‘Solent Jen’. She had a big smile on her face and was quite accustomed to calling the shots and throwing the shit so to speak.

Beth the Manager ended up running off in quite an agitated state. She sort of kept her cool, but you could tell she was bottling something up, god help the person she takes that out on! #ruined.

This Solent Jen then proceeded to call me ‘champ’ patted me on the head and complimented me on my silver nose ring,

Patronising bitch, its platinum! So I let her have it cow style! Yep that’s right, I just moo’d back!

Didn’t see that one coming did ya?!

I thought I best lead old Solent to trust me, I even ate some of her barley sugars. I know!!! Never take sweets off a stranger! Especially one with bright blonde hair, dressed an SSE engineers jump suite, but with incredibly fair cleavage. I might even facebook that later.

When she thought I wasn’t a threat she proceeded to tell me that I was going to be ‘rescued’.

Apparently I was going to be taken to a relaxing 'place back at home' in the Highlands as all the abuse I have incurred on this farm must have caused undue anxiety.

Apparently going back to my routes will make me 'feel better' and be a 'necessary therapy'.

Apparently fucking Matt Baker and that even bigger twat Adam Henson (off of the ‘Adams Farm’ segment of Countryfile), had been doing all the leg work behind the scenes to make it happen! Solent then starts tickling my chin and making baby noises!

So Jock Strappers……Back to Scotland eh?

That was the final straw.

                                Erm: No!

So  as they say…. straw, camel and back to the woods ASAP! I galloped at an incredible speed…..

First up, as I arrived in the canopy I came to Handsome James’ Shepherds hut. I donkey kicked the side to get him out but nothing happened!

Then I walked around to the front and noticed his tie, knotted to the door handle!

FFS!

I’m not gonna lie, a rammed the whole fucking thing down big bad wolf style!

There wasn’t enough time to even think, he may of come out if I shouted. But if you think in these sort of situations, you’re dead.

As the carnage from its collapse subsided, wooden panels were accurately dispersed around what was left of the middle, with Handsome James sat up and wearing a university professor's gown with…. B’  uut that’s another story. Some use he was gonna be, he looked fucking ruined!

Besides, he couldn’t talk his way out of this media frenzy. Countryfile, local radio AND South Today?! Plus he would of had that cleavage to deal with and then it just wouldn’t be happening. He’d probably end up helping me on to the lorry….with promises of an intimate human-interest story. Standard Handsome. Fuck him. I needed a true friend!

I frantically moved on to Frank the Peacock's woodland shack. Looked him in the eye as he stood on a rusty barrel and said

“Mission is a go”

To be fair, I wasn’t quite ready for the soliloquy that ensued but in true jungle fashion it was beautiful. Frank replied:

“I can make the sun go down with this old friend. I can make it set, in a murky sea of deep, dirty orange. You see; I’m an all or nothing guy, if you call me in, its total apocalypse or bust”.

It may be worth pointing out at this stage if you didn’t already know that Frank doesn’t fly. Literally, he crashed and burned one time by drunkenly landing in a bonfire. it scarred him. Poor Frank. But on this occasion he couldn’t let me destroy the land I loved the most, he peacocked up and fought his own fear.

He took off with the orange juice strapped to him, ready to deploy it like a Bouncing Bomb ejecting from a Lancaster, all low level like as the yonder hill rolls innocently into the farmyard entrence

His ascension was awe-inspiring.

I jogged back to the farm with a deep swagger as he flew low and menacingly over head.

But then… the worst thing happened….

The poor cunt was attacked mid air by those two fucking buzzards!

It was a well-orchestrated intercept. It was like Migs to a Vulcan, clinical and decisive. Alan Buzzard cut in on his harness, detaching the Agent Orange barrel and letting it plummet to the ground.

The barrel kept itself together on impact but gained momentum as it started to roll down yonder hill, heading for the farm!

Sharon Buzzard then speared poor Frank mid air! He lost control and got into a flat spin, the buzzards then both bugged out as Frank hit the ground generating an impact haze of detaching blue feathers!

He was still alive and managed to shout out heroically. I stopped jogging -  I mean, stampeding to the farm and out the corner of my eye clocked the buzzards to my side, in the air, one banking left, one banking right! They were coming in for one final strike on Frank!

As they began to line him immediately prior to impact Frank stood up, resurrected his blue ass and re-charged!

He managed to reverse round house Alan Buzzard right on the beak sending spinning out of eye shot at rapid speed towards the woods. I looked back round and saw that the drum gaining more momentum, rolling down the field towards the farm!

I didn’t know what to feel? Nervous anticipation? Excitement? Regret? Fuck knows!

Frank then ordered me to gather the beef herd together for a final stand stampede on the farm! He said he would woad them up a little bit and give them RPG’s! kinda like Brave Heart meets The ExpendaBULLs! Sorry.

I looked down towards the farm once more. Just as the chemical barrel was about to enter the yard five suited up environmental health officers assisted by Sharon buzzard rugby tackled it. It all came to an abrupt stop. Camera crews descended on them but I could see Sharon buzzard attacking them and trying to shield her face. Fair play on that aspect, cougars caught mid aggression without make up is never a result!

I looked on, into the yard as Frank the Peacock limped to my side. TGK was surrounded by TV cameras and her mighty 7280r was being towed away with a replacement New Holland arriving on scene at the same time.

It was over.

Its was going to be a cereals farm with shit tractors and no animals.

It looked like Frank and I had to make the long walk back to the yard to face our destiny.

Frank was defiant to the end, as we started walking he was plotting a pincer attack, going on about the flanks and booms.

It was futile.

It was over.

I walked into the yard to a very fake BBC hero’s welcome. Also, I’d just like to point out that Management and trade union where nowhere to be seen, No last ditch effort from them two to save the day. #tooruined

But then I heard a voice…. A voice from the heavens, a holler from hell and the clouds…. Well, they began to darken...

...Just as Solent Jen undid the front of her over’alls some more, April ‘O Neil style -just as they were about to ‘go live’

TGK then looked up to the sky and said to people quite rationally that maybe they ought to forget this and go inside.

They just looked at her as if she was trying tot do two things at once.

So TGK and Frank booth shimmied towards the bull pens. They are safest buildings on the farm, enforced with concrete. Designed for me, when I’m in a mooooood.

-        Sorry.

Just then out of the sky and onto the farmyard floor with a mighty thud landed a golden zippo. 

Thank fuck for the cavalry.

As the dark clouds encroached Knuckles the Magpie, glided in riding a white swan, sporting some John Lennon sunglasses and wearing a Che Guevara t-shirt.

He calmly said:

“You voyeuristic journalists sicken me. And now your gonna burn”

Thank fuck for that, he’d finally made his heel turn and was intending to bring the pain.

Knuckles calmly dismounted the swan, picked up the zippo and lit is as if by magick… (As he doesn’t have hands or fingers, because he’s a magpie)

Silence fell on the yard. Solent Jen whispered to some prick intern...

“Are we getting this on film”

But the camera man it would seem, had dropped his camera to the ground and was stood there all Narniafied like a stone trapped inhabitant off of the witches spell in the Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe.

                                Tupolev Tu 160: AKA White Swan #blesstherussians

Just then Sparkles the Magpie made her approach!

This one had somehow commandeered a fucking Albertros! I mean for fuck sake, what they flying in Wiltshire these days? Too much Fleetwood mac on the radio still. Clearly digital obviously hasn’t made it there yet.

The landing was a little shaky, but she came out of it still looking quite fabulous I must say.

Then she started on him, harping on about how all things were sacred, how it can only be by peaceful means that we take the farm back and how the balance of things is out of our control.

                                                       Standard Wiltshire

Knuckles and I slowly turned to each other, he raised an eyebrow and I smiled

I’m sure you know Knuckles well enough by now Jock Strappers ;-)

Touch paper lit, lets do this....

I’ve said it before and ill say it again, Knuckles the Magpie is one dark bastard! And any dark bastard ought to lead by example. Knuckles did this incredibly by going straight for Solent Jen’s cleavage.

With a hot burning zippo lighter!

Ouch!

I felt her pain as it fell achingly through an SSB jump suite

So there was me thinking Knuckles was going to lay into everyone here all Matrix style, but after looking around, it would seem as though the dark little cunt had turned everyone to stone!

With one flick of a zippo!

Woah!

Talk about a magick wand!

Knuckles went on to explain that when the stone wore off the production team and gay presenters would have forgotten where they were and why there were there. All except Solent Jen, who was all-alone in our little secret of talking animals and tasty jerky cooked by adders.

She vowed to prove it to the world; all soapboxed up, saying it was her quest for eternity…

Yeah >  Whatever love.

Sharon buzzard cracked out of her stone cast first, gasped for air, pissed herself and collapsed. Standard cougar spell victim.

Knuckles then picked up the Zippo from next to Solent’s foot and threw it to TGK who had emerged from the bull pen. She flicked a flame and tossed it at the New Holland parked in the yard, engulfing it in a rich sea of orange. She then made a pledge to go after her beloved 7280r before cutting her palm with a knife she drew from her flight suite. Powerful stuff.

                                          Holland's gonna burn!

You see, strange things happen here on the farm Jock Strappers. They always culminate in a climax of catastrophic proportions. Its usually quite far fetched too. But we reserve the right to have each other’s backs here in the most intensive of ways.

I belong here and management need to know that.

So let this be an open blog to you: Lord Augustus. When you return to take up the reins of your new venture, there will be no bull shit, you will change nothing.

By then You may have found yourself a Big Foot for protection my friend, but I’ve got a devastating dark one – and no, not in a magpie way ;-)