Through an unfortunate series of circumstances, our family has grown yet again.

Where once there was one guinea pig, now there are two.

Fizz is an orphan, and was pining for her mammy who died last month.  So in a fit of utter foolishness I agreed to let her move in with Minnie.

Minnie is used to having friends who are ten times her size, and she is having some difficulty with a peer who is the same diminutive size as her.  She’s not quite sure what to make of Fizz.

When they were first introduced to each other, there was quite a racket as each thought the other was a predator or something.  There was a certain amount of territory establishment but they soon quietened down.  Minnie obviously had a long think about the situation, and unfortunately came to the conclusion that this new arrival was in fact a sex toy.

Minnie is a female, as is Fizz.  I have that on good authority.  Minnie apparently hasn’t been told that she is a female and promptly tried to shag Fizz’s brains out.  Fizz wasn’t impressed.

When that didn’t have the desired effect, Minnie rethought her position and decided she was the one who wanted a good rogering and started offering her services to Fizz.  Fizz isn’t interested.

Minnie is a randy little sod.  She gets The Urge roughly every hour and we get loud whirring noises as Minnie screams “fuck me” and shoves her arse in Fizz’s face.  Fizz, who obviously went to finishing school and kicks with the right foot, retreats to the bed and will have nothing to do with her.  Minnie eventually tires of this and goes and eats Fizz’s dinner.

Life never seems to be quite straightforward in Head Rambles Manor.

*sigh*

No sex today, please.

What the fuck is it with you lot?

I explained yesterday that the head was a bit fuzzy, and while I wasn’t looking for any sympathy, I at the very least assumed you would understand if I didn’t write anything.

But no.  It’s coming up to four in the afternoon and I’m starting to get the snarky comments about the fact that I haven’t written today.

Are your lives so pathetic that you can’t last a full day without reading my stuff?  Are your lives that empty?  Are my musings that important in the scheme of things?

Have you tried doing something else instead?  Like living?

Just think about it from my perspective.  I’m sitting here with a blank mind, nicely relaxed, yet I am supposed to worry about what to write?  I mustn’t let my pathetic readers down must I? Am I supposed to worry about you sad people constantly pressing your refresh button in the hopes that I have published?

Well, today my response is “tough shit”.

I’m going to shut my eyes now and have a wee doze.

You lot can fuck off.

I’m not going to write anything today.

I have a bug.

I haven’t mentioned it before, because frankly it’s none of your business, and the only reason I am mentioning it now is that I AM PISSED OFF WITH IT.

It has been lurking around in my head and chest for the last three weeks or so, and if it doesn’t go away soon, I am really going to get annoyed.

I am sick of the stuffy head and the headaches and the cough and the aches.  I am tired of sweating when the central heating is off, and shivering when the heating is on.  Worst of all, I can’t think straight.

No.  On second thoughts, that’s not the worst part.

The worst part is the sympathy.

I fucking hate sympathy.

Herself is doing her best to ingratiate herself by trying to feed me Manuka Honey and shite like that.  She can grovel all she likes but she is not getting shoes for Christmas.  Barefoot was good enough for our forefathers, and it’s good enough for her.

The only time sympathy has an upside is when the lads down in the pub buy me a whiskey for the chest.  I make sure to cough loudly when I first enter, and that usually has the desired results.  With some judicious hacking I can get a full nights free whiskey out of the sympathy card.  The downside of that is that I have probably passed the bug on to everyone, so I will be drinking on my own in a couple of weeks time, or worse still – I’ll have to buy everyone else whiskeys out of sympathy.

I don’t know what the bug is.  It’s the first one I have had since I left work eight years ago, as I had no need for sick certs since then.

It’s probably the Pig Thing.

If it is, it’s no big deal.

Except that it won’t fucking GO AWAY.

Her elf ha  gone and fu ked up her keyboard.

he went and  pilled  ome of her gin on it whi h wa  a bit  arele  .

It i  a  trange thing, but gin and keyboard  ju t don’t mix very well, a  wa  obviou  by the wee  loud of  moke that aro e.

Lu kily it didn’t do mu h damage. The laptop  till work  a  well a  before ex ept of one  mall matter – the letter  ” ” and ” ” don’t work any more. Thi  will be fine a  long a   he doe n’t u e any plural  and  ho e  all other word   arefully.

In fa t, I’m u ing her laptop now ju t to  how her how ea y it i .

In my day, we went around the houses collecting apples and nuts on Halloween.

Nowadays it’s all this fucking “Trick or Treat”.  Another ghastly American import.

In my day, we made do with an old sheet thrown over our heads.

Now it’s all Star Wars costumes.

*sigh*

I was thinking of laying on something special for any kids who dare to call tonight.

I think I’ll invite Great Uncle Josh around.

He’s an amiable bloke, and he likes children.

He can answer the door to them, and show them what Halloween is really all about.

He’s been dead this last fifty years.

There was a time, not so long ago when I could switch on my old ‘puter in the morning and have a flood of stuff to read on all my favourite ‘blogs’. [I still hate that word].

I have around two hundred sites in my reader, ranging from the impossibly esoteric, to the brilliant rantings of a foul mouthed guinea pig.  No one can accuse me of being narrow minded.

On an average morning, I would find twenty to thirty articles to read and that would keep me happy for at least five minutes.

Now what do I find?

If I am lucky, there will be ten.  And that’s on a good day.

Where the hell is everyone gone?

Has everyone said everything there is to say?  Is everyone too wrapped up in trying to stay alive during ‘our current financial blip’?  Or have people just gotten bored with the whole business?

Is the on-line scribbler a dying breed? 

Am I an endangered species?

Hello?

If a certain young piss artist had read this,

Then this wouldn’t have happened.

I have just been flicking back over some of my favourite topics over the last couple of years.

I used to take swipes at my local council for digging up the local roads.  They don’t do that any more.  I suppose they are broke and can’t afford to.

I used to go on about America, but since they dumped Dubya, things have gone very quiet over there.  No harm in that, but it has dried up a well of great material.  Or maybe they finally took heed of what I had to say, and decided I was right and are keeping themselves to themselves?

I used to go on about tourists, but they are a rarity now.  Maybe the antics of the Irish Tourist Shooting Association have put them off?

The only thing I have to give out about now is our government, but there are only so many ways you can call them incompetent, lying, thieving scum.  There comes a point where it becomes repetitious.

Apart from the government, there are fewer things annoying me.

Have I really set the world to rights?

Am I really that influential?

Wow!

I have nothing against pets.  After all, I have a dog and a guinea pig [both by accident rather than design].

I was a little miffed the other day to discover there is yet another pet in the house, that was there without my knowledge or permission.

That fucking guinea pig has adopted itself a pet.

It’s the first case I have come across where a pet has a pet, but there is a first time for everything.

Minnie has adopted a fly.

It’s not one of your average house flies, nor is it a midge.  It’s just a tiny fly.  A sort of minnie-fly.

The two of them are inseparable.  Minnie will occasionally sit on the window sill admiring the rain outside, and the fly will sit on her head and they can enjoy the view in mutual silence.

I asked Minnie what it was called and she said she had called it Zit.  Not a name I would have chosen, but it’s not my pet.

Apparently it’s a male, which goes a little way to redress the gender imbalance in the house.

I just hope he doesn’t want to talk about football all day.