Saturday, 4 September 2010

Post # 4: The Dog-Days Are Over (No Copyright Infringement Intended) WARNING: SCENES OF VIOLENCE

Right, I'm going to regret this. As I said in Post # 1 (why can't you just look it up, it's on the bottom of the page anyway, it's not in Narnia) I might blog when I'm either overtired or drunk. Well, tonight I'm both (though haven't even left the continent. What's going on?) and I'll try to amuse you in this manner, in this way, with both arms and legs (metaphorically) tied against my ribcage (I know, difficult, but it can be done) with you expecting (rightly) gallons of mirth (I'm having second thoughts on actually doing this blog now. I mean, even Houdini died on the job. And I've never heard of any (wannabe) comedian dying on the job (with the exception of Michael Palin's war-winning joke-writing causing imminent death by comedy in a very early Monty Python episode) in a very much non-metaphorical fashion. Oh yeah, Tommy Cooper. But that didn't have any connection to the job on hand, did it? (we can't know, according to wikipedia, who (wisely) have concealed the hows and whys of Cooper's death). Let's leave this paragraph until I get into even further trouble.))) Yeah...

So, yeah. That's how we roll. The reactions I got from this blog have thus far ranged from compliments and exaltated joy to outright contempt (from some who hadn't even read it but were just ridiculously amused by me doing this thing on the internet), so far no modest words of support (which confirms that what you're doing in inexorably shit and you and every word you ever spoke will burn in hellfire for allway (plagiarism there; Lee & Herring, somewhere in the nineties. What was there thing with fire and brimstone preaching? Did they live in 1371? Or did they get stuck during the same bit of 'Portrait of the Artist..." as I did (note utter smugness there. Reading a book. Lah-di-dah.))) which must mean it´s both a very stupid idea as something that may one day be of value to someone.

So what I'm trying to say is: I´ve been thinking of the concept of guilt by association.

Yeah, comedy time, bitchaz... (insert fashionable hand-gesture of the day)

What does it mean? I mean, we use it on an averagely bi-daily basis. If you're near something, you must be the cause of it. Or on the same continent. Or alive at nearly the same time as the thing you've supposed to have cause. Even though you were basically opposed of everything it entailed. Basically, I'm saying that Anne Frank is to blame for World War Two. Yes. Cos she was a human; and WW2 was a total war? And a total war is Humans fighting?

I told you I was going to regret this.

No, indeed. It doesn't make sense, but it has survived through time, so in Darwinist terms it has succeeded and is therefore relevant. So why would people blame stuff on others? In basic biological terms: if a group of wolves is annoyed with one of its pack (the aptly titled underdog, usually. The weakest one) and have another failed hunting session; they might choose to take out their anger on the weak one, so they chase him away (at best) to die of hunger somewhere while the pack moves on towards somewhere with better chances for survival of their now reduced numbers. If not, they'll eat the puppies.

And that's basically how human nature works too.

Killing puppies.

No one ever said life was fair.

Certainly not puppies.

Look at them, they're cute, aren't they?

But would you eat them? Only if you could get them well done.

It's great fun to speak to dogs. Especially, as you're rubbing them behind the ears, recommending them a good Korean restaurant.


Today I saw a dog kill a rat.
(we might get to some comedy soon, hopefully. It depends on how funny you find rodents being killed. If so, take a comfy chair, and get ready to get your funny bones rumbled, you sick bastards).

My gran lives on a farm. Her dog had seen a rat in one of the sheds some 6 weeks ago. Since then the small fox terrier had been obsessed with the hunt. Every day, at the opening of the door, it would jog towards the shed, waiting for the moment it would open. It would then stare for several hours to the corner of the shed where it had seen the rat. It would only give up its post for meals and nights -but today was different.

Today, my uncle was working on the ceilings of the shed; then down fell a big furry thing with tail. The small dog ran up to it, chased it outside and (with lightning speed) bit it behind the head, shook it and walked indoors, to my gran, to show her the booty of the hunt.

I wasn't there at the time. I was picking apples then (yeah. Imagine it. Me picking apples. You like that rustic stuff, doncha? Hrrr, etc). I saw a dog behind a fence, looking forlorn. I freed it, not knowing what she (it's a girl) had done to the rat just moments ago. She did look dirty, tough.

20 minutes later I was in the shed too, as my uncle was clearing out the rotten polystyrene foam plates that he had placed on the beams and proper ceiling 25 to 30 years ago. As was the small dog. Out fell baby rats, onto the floor, one by one. My uncle tried to coax the dog to kill the squeaking, running baby rats. The dog lacked the zeal she displayed earlier that day in killing the mother. She merely picked up the two small grey-pinks squeaky things and lay them on their backs, apparently helpless. As they lay there flailing, squeaking at their mother (who at the time was quite busy disintegrating in a bin), I thought of London. How there's supposed to be a rat within six feet of you, where-ever you are (though we can discount the bits of sky, since rats have still not developed flying skills. Lazy rodents) and how much better a chance they would have than they have now, as the hard bit of a shovel was quickly approaching their skulls.

My uncle said the big rat looked really fat and was possibly pregnant when killed. I said this might mean extra points bonus points for the dog. Who is now sleeping in a basket, utterly satisfied.

Sorry for the deathy bits in this one. But hey, David Attenborough (and if anyone's ever going to make an overblown comparison, let it be me, making this one, now) is known to have said: Nature is Wise.

He is wrong, but alas...

+ I didn't actually see a dog kill a rat today. My uncle is a person. And the shovel is not even animate. You're an idiot.

Until next time! Bye!

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