FIVE FOR SILVER

This area needs a better class of animal Jock Strappers.

Cast you mind back to when I first started blogging. When we had those bison cunts causing problems during key celebrations? What a bunch of dicks. It hasn’t got any better since!

Remember that raucous little shit Bandit the Honey Badger?

Then there were the snakes. On one hand you have the living legend and chef extraordinaire Jerry THE Adder (too hard for hibernation) but on the other hand you had Big King Tom and Metal Face Mitch. They would bite you backside soon as look at you if you pissed them off – They had been bread in captivity remember?

Next up – Horses, (cunts) – Nuff said on that one.

This leads me to conclude on a group of animals that have caused me to have the most fucking problems, since I have come to settle round here: The birds.

Sure, Frank the peacock is one of my best friends. I worry about him when he’s on secret missions and I question his sanity when he shows great resolve against our enemies, by digging in, watching and waiting. Sometimes for days if not weeks!

However he is an exception. And to be fair so are most of the song birds. They generally get up with the light, chirp on, go about their business and are quite polite and well mannered.

However, some of the more prominent bird members of our community can at times just be all hashtag wtf?

Take Pickles The Pigeon – went crazy during the end of 2012. Once a safe pair of wings, a royal advisor no less! He is now totally shot to bits.

Speaking of shot to bits, lets recall Frosty Fabio the Frightened Pheasant. Moved down here all the way from Essex back end of last year, evading some sort of second hand car sales syndicate, only to be shot down over the neighbouring farm by some female pop star pseudoing it up from America, on a very expensive shooting weekend retreat.

Took a shot in the arse before figuring out just exactly what he was flying over. Must have had a death wish. Don’t think he was shouting down ‘Hit me baby one more time’ …..if you get my drift.

Then there are the magpies. Intense and intelligent. A deadly combination. Knuckles has always tried to fight against his dark thoughts, but for fucks sake he should just give into it and allow himself to be the magpie he is meant to be.

Sparkles is a passive aggressive bible basher. She puts out this cool and fresh approach, making it look like you can be religious and normal at the same time. The thing is you can’t be and people judge her. Because she’s a dick.

Princess Cara of Purbeck is too full on for anyone. I know I brought her back – more of that later, but underneath all her body slamming, jaw breaking and pile driving behaviours, she is still a royal. And don’t we fucking know it.

Then there are the birds of prey. Sparrow hawks generally tend to show up every once in a while and when they do they are usually too drunk to do any real damage to the native wildlife.

Kestrels kick off every now and then but they are usually way too involved with their gambling issues to be fair. Sometimes they may land and shout across ‘a dead cert’ to you before dashing off to the bookies.

Those two breeds are on the decline if you ask me. Addiction issues always seem to anchor Darwinian concepts of natural selection quite nicely.

Then there are the buzzards. They come in two forms. One: methodical, analytical and obsessive and two: milfs.

So Alan and Sharon Buzzard mirror this theory wonderfully.

And!

They fucking tried to abduct Jerry the Adder yesterday! All he was doing was trying to fix the barn roof, when they swooped in and tried to grab him and his hammer!

Luckily he downed tools with the speed of a ninja and bit Sharon Buzzard on the arse!

Bless him, Jerrie’s venom won’t kill ya, but your gonna need some Piriton asap, so Alan flew her home, in is his wings.

#metaphorically

Any way Franks still dug in, watching them. They don’t go out much. But now they have done another reckie round here it means they are up to something. So its time to strike.

Plans are currently being made as we speak for an all out assault on their caravan tree house.

Its gonna burn and they will perish.

Like I said, we need a better class of animal round here. We need brave, creative thinkers with epic power and spiritual balance. The five groups I have mentioned that are unrelated to us cows have done nothing but fight, have delusions of grandeur and generally cause a fucking nuisance!

I blame Lord Augustus. His stalling on managing this place properly has let things get out of control. Matt the farmer before him laid the foundations for this mess by experimenting with livestock options. Augustus has got the money and the power to put this right.

Maybe he needs to spend a bit of it, hire a game keeper to help Beth the Manager keep everything in balance, shoot the troublemakers and trap anyone else that gets out of line. He will probably do that for her since he is going through this phase of granting everyone’s wishes for them. All except for me that is, Jock Strappers.

Whatever.

I’m watching him and that’s all he needs to worry about for now.

This time next week the vermin will have been dealt with and Jerry will be safe to mend the fucking roof without any threat of abduction.

I decree: It is time to act