Merry Christmas everyone

Gooooooooooooooooooooooooaaaaaaaaaaaal!

In the spirit of Christmas, and in honour of that famous yuletide scene during World War One when sworn enemies briefly put aside their differences over a game of football, we decided to organise a game against our main enemy – humans. Here is a match report from this, the world’s first ever inter-species match. Now, to give them the disrespect they deserve (and because they all look the same to me), I will refer to the human players solely by their number.

Passion was running wild in the crowd and the atmosphere was electric – even before the players came out onto the pitch the humans’ hairs were standing up on the back of their necks, and the cows’ udders were tingling. Then, shortly before 3 pm, the teams came out to a rapturous welcome, with much clapping of hands among the human fans while the cow supporters stamped their hoofs in appreciation. In the interest of impartiality the referee was a monkey - a figure who, in evolutionary terms, can be described as somewhere between the human race and the animal world. A bit like Luis Suarez.

We bovines had a couple of close-season signings to boost our ranks – German captain Franz Beckencauer signed from Bayern Moonich to shore up the defence and Wayne Mooney to knock in the goals at the other end. Brazilian Cowpato, recently back from upset stomachs, was on the bench. Winning the coin toss, the bovine captain Angus Senior decided to kick towards the section with his own team’s most vociferous, most passionate fans in the Cowshed End. This of course meant many jeers and whistles as the human goalkeeper made his way slowly towards these noisy ultras who were soon serenading him with a brief rendition of the classic chant “You’re dung and you know you are”. In response, the human fans in the opposite end behind goalkeeper Doris replied with their own famous song “Who’s in all the pies? Who’s in all the pies? You are”.

The humans kicked off, with number 9 passing it to number 10, who quickly heard his manager's cry of “pass it out to the flank”. Unfortunately, upon hearing the word flank, our left back Morag did her usual response to hearing a type of meat – she passed out instantly. Coach Daisy, immediately seeing the problem, ran on the pitch to rouse Morag with the magic sponge and the game was quickly able to continue.

The first incident of note came in the 9th minute when Beckencauer literally hoofed the ball up field for speedy winger Angus Junior to chase after. Angus was quick to show off his dribbling skills, but unfortunately the ball then had to be replaced because it was covered in dribble. In the 15th minute the humans, in a devastating counter attack, took the lead. Daisy clearly began to regret picking the halfwit Sally in defence. As the ball crept towards Sally, our manager cried out, “Quick, play the long ball, Sally!” Turning back to Coach Daisy, a confused Sally replied, “But I can’t see a long ball, only this round one.” The hesitation gave the human number 10 the chance to nip in and dink the ball over the outrushing Doris into the net. The human fans went wild, and Daisy realised she needed to make a tactical change. She’d originally planned to play the offside trap, but now realised the intricacies and subtleties of the offside law were too difficult for the neuron-impaired Sally to understand. Then again, the intricacies of WWF wrestling are too hard for Sally to understand (our resident brain donor said she couldn’t understand why the World Wildlife Fund were wearing those tiny spandex shorts).

So it was time for a substitution. “Ok Kerry,” our trainer Daisy, realising silly Sally had to be replaced, now said to our resident promiscuous cow, “I want you to go on instead of Sally, I want you to play in a flat back four.” “Are you trying to say I ain’t got no udders?” Kerry, in her strong Essex accent, said in her usual confrontational style before Daisy explained what a flat back four was.

Daisy realised it was going to take a minor miracle to get back in the game. Luckily that soon came. From a back pass, Doris literally leathered the ball up field, and the human centre back slipped, letting Angus Junior in behind the defence. With a quick shimmy and feint Angus took the ball round the keeper before sliding the ball into the empty net. Right in front of the human fans, Angus now removed his shirt. The monkey ref, as required by the laws of the game, of course had to show Angus a yellow card (ok, it was actually a banana).

Then in the 32nd minute came the game’s first contentious issue. Mooney accidentally stood on number 8’s foot, and, considering Mooney weighs 600 kilos, this of course hurt like hell. Unsurprisingly, the human reacted by punching Mooney in the face. The referee of course had no choice but to show a red card, but then, seeing the red, Angus Junior ran up and headbutted the referee! “I hate red”, Angus said later, trying to justify his actions, but now both teams were down to ten creatures as the referee had no choice but to send Angus for an early bath, the first bath of his life.

The second half started disastrously for us bovines. We were passing the ball around stylishly when suddenly it started to rain, and all the cows immediately decided to lie down. Not one to miss out on a morally suspect advantage due to bovine instincts, the human number 7 nicked the ball and sped away to blast the ball into an unguarded goal. 2-1 to the bipedal bruisers.

Luckily the rain soon stopped, so Bovine FC’s players could stand up again, but time was running out – Daisy looked at the clock and there were only 90 seconds remaining when Beckencauer went on a storming run up field before crossing to Angus Senior, who buried the ball into the net with his horns (bursting the ball in the process). 2-2! Would there be time for a final twist?

In the fourth minute of injury time came the answer – a foul by human number 5 on Kerry led to a free kick on the edge of the box. Kerry thought this entitled her to give the player a kick back for free, but luckily team captain Angus Senior stopped her in time as he lined up the free kick. Staring at the human wall, he stamped his hoof down hard on the ground before running at full pelt towards the ball and wellying it into the top corner! The human goalkeeper was glued to the spot (otherwise he might have saved it). What a game! And what a victory for the bovines!

Holidays

Sorry for the lack of updates, dear readers, but as you can see from this picture, we've been on holiday in Corsica. It wasn't much fun squeezing into the Easyjet seats, but it was well worth it once we arrived.

It's now time to think of next year's holiday destination. Probably either Moonich, Istanbull or Moscow. Or maybe Jersey. I heard they really welcome cows here. Much more than they do in the Steak District anyway.

Cow pitch invasion!

Now I'm a big football fan. I shouldn't be really, considering the players wear dead cows on their feet to kick a ball made of dead cows, but still, it's good to watch. Here's a video of a friend of mine making her own pitch invasion


As a tribute to my friend's heroic act, here's a cow football team

Goalkeeper - Dino Stroganzoff

Centre backs - Jaap Stampede, Beef Curle

Full backs - Cowpatrice Evra, Benoit Grassou-Ekotto

Midfield - Dunga, Cesc Fabregrass, Franck Ribeye-ry, Diego Maradoner-Kebab (captain)

Forwards - Radamel Falcow, Steve Bull

Managed of course by Jose Moorinho

TV on our farm is depressing

The telly has been getting me down. All the things available on our local farm-based channel are clearly designed to depress farmyard animals. For example:

The Curious Case of Benjamin Mutton - tragic tale of  a sheep who, instead of ageing, has the misfortune of becoming younger, much tastier, and inevitably eaten.

Veal or No Veal - a sickening programme in which  a cow has to open boxes which either contain cash or parts of her children. The TV guide describes it as a cross between the lottery and the film Se7en. To make it an even more horrifying experience to watch, it is also presented by Noel Edmonds

Pork & Mindy - A highly intelligent pig travels to earth from space, and gets eaten

The Ham Busters - The tragic story of how British forces dropped thousands of squealing pigs on Nazi Germany. Starring Kevin Bacon

Million Dollar Kebaby - Tragic tale of a cow who becomes a boxer, ends up paralysed after a lost fight, and then gets eaten by some drunks on a Friday night

Liver Let Die - Low-action James Bond film, where Roger Moore spends 90 minutes eating foie gras

Any other ideas what we could watch, dear readers?

Cats, natural rebels

Warning, contains bad language. Or good language, depending on whether you like to swear

Films cows hate

On a similar note, there are lots of films we cows hate too. And not only ones with Hugh Grant in. Here are a few

Steakout
Pi(e)
The Spongiform SquarePants Movie
The Burger King and I
A Stroganofficer and a Gentleman
BSEtlejuice
The Loin King
Filet Mignon Her Majesty's Secret Service
King Konglet
Conan the Tartarian

Over to you, readers, if you have any ideas.

Twit or miss?

In a desperate attempt to postpone having to do work (and hopefully to drum up a bit of additional following for this blog as I slowly creep towards 1000 visits), I decided to join Twitter. Now personally I have never seen the point of microblogging but I thought I'd give it a go. And I suppose it's kind of handy on those days when I have less than 140 characters worth of interesting news to say (i.e. most days). So if you want to follow me there have a look at https://twitter.com/#!/Ruminator3.

Please stop the music

On this site you might have seen some of the songs we cows love, but there is plenty of music we really can't abide. And I don't just mean Phil Collins. Here's a list of some artists that a cow would never be found listening to

Abbatoir
Half Man, Half Brisket
Emerson, Steak and Palmer
Tina Tournedos
Duke Wellington
Sirloin Mixalot
Cole Porterhouse
T-Boney M
Veal 2 Veal (not even I Like To Moo It)
The Beef 52s
Chris de Burger
Chris de Burgh (thought I'd better put him twice on account of his super crapness)

Any other ideas dear readers?

Scary cows

Here's a delightful picture taken by my friend Phil. Any slaughterhouse workers seeing this picture of such menacing, kick-ass cows would run a mile in fear for their lives, so hurrah for Phil for telling the world that we cows can be bad udderf*ckers.

Cows in Strasbourg

Strasbourg is, in all senses, a fine place to live. Beautiful, great public transport (not that important for us cows, admittedly), and the best of Franco-German cuisine (well, French style with monster German portions). It is also a fantastic place for us cows to live, as you can see here

Reportage Vaches à la Robertsau from Zélie Chalvignac on Vimeo.

How cool is that? About a quarter of an hour from the centre of town is a home for cows, whose job it is to eat grass to help the environment! Since, like our sister Morag, they are Highland cows, they are perfectly equipped to live out in the open all year round too - winter is no problem for such hirsute bovines. For those who don't understand ze French, well, it doesn't really matter when there are such fantastic pictures.

Tragedy!

We cows do like a good bit of disco, so it is sad to hear of the death of Robin Gibb. Hard to pick a favourite from so many classics, but here are some which are particularly loved on our farm:

Grassachusetts
Steakin' alive
Moo win again (yep, I'm really scraping the bottom of the barrel now)
More than a cow
Jive mooin'

Grand masticator

Peregrine's been teaching me chess. I'm not very good at it - I keep confusing the prawns with the bishops, for a start - but I am sure I will get better if my teacher is anything to go by. He said, "As the old adage goes, practice makes perfect. Do anything often enough and you will get good at it. Look at Angus, for example. After years of doing it, he's now simply brilliant at talking crap and annoying the hell out of us." He's got a point, I suppose. Angus is the king of bull.

Even Robert Louis Stevenson liked us

He wrote this poem

The friendly cow all red and white,
I love with all my heart:
She gives me cream with all her might,
To eat with apple-tart.
She wanders lowing here and there,
And yet she cannot stray,
All in the pleasant open air,
The pleasant light of day;
And blown by all the winds that pass
And wet with all the showers,
She walks among the meadow grass
And eats the meadow flowers.

Shame it's a bit crap really. Nice sentiment though!

Yet another magnificent cow song

I'm reluctant to ever give credit to humans, but considering Da Vinci, Einstein, and the authors of this song are all humans, I suppose they're not all bad

Cow terms

There are some interesting terms you humans use to describe us cows, for example the following:

Buff - Yellow-reddish colour or a light skin colour. So if a cow says "that bull is buff", she is not referring to his muscular appearance. Or at least not in Peregrine's case. I sometimes wonder how he manages to walk on his spindly little, stork-like legs, but he does give them very little exercise, preferring to do cryptic crosswords, play chess, and generally look down on everyone for being his intellectual inferior

Breed - A genetically pure line having similar conformation and able to produce offspring with the same characteristics. Thanks to Mr A Hitler, Third Reich Farm for that definition

Calf - A sexually immature young cow. I suppose this term could also be used to describe half of the teenage Essex population, but without the "im" part obviously

Dam - Female parent. Probably because cows are quite useful for holding back water.

Muley - Hornless cow. Presumably the opposite of a horny cow, i.e. Kerry

Poll - The space between the ears on top of the head. Unsurprisingly it really confused our resident idiot Sally when I told her people were voting in our first ever poll.

Poll-y cow!

With an astonishing 2 votes so far in the first ever poll, it has obviously fired your imagination. Still, there might be a late surge with the overseas postal vote

Cows are smarter than sheep

What a song!

If I wrote a song about cows, it would be this

Hmm, not sure this ad makes me want to buy the product

I think I would happily choose insomnia over death. It would be great if all adverts were required by law to be as honest as pharmaceutical companies clearly are, though. I'd love to see McDonald's say "Awful food that will make you fat. And we kill cows."

Here's a video of me dancing

Adam Y-ouch

Now I'm not a big fan of white rappers - Eminem is, quite frankly, appalling, and I never got the whole Beastie Boys thing. Bovines much prefer Snoop Dogg. But even so, this must be the worst tribute ever paid by anyone in the history of music - Coldplay singing Fight For Your Right




Yes, Coldplay! I bet Adam Yauch is glad he's dead so he doesn't have to listen to that pile of dung. What next? Phil Collins doing a cover of Smells like Teen Spirit? James Blunt covering Purple Haze?


Just in case Christ Martin is reading, this is how to cover the Beastie Boys

Google Translate - putting translators out of business

Some readers may know of my fondness for Google Translate. As a free tool, it is remarkably clever and accurate. It translates better than a lot of the human translators my editor Denis has seen anyway. So I decided to add a Google Translate widget to my blog. For all you polyglots out there, I was very impressed with its French and German translations of yesterday's statement "to go along with breaking my Indian duck earlier today, I have now also popped my Argentinian cherry":

"zu gehen zusammen mit indischen Ente bricht mir heute früh, ich habe jetzt auch einen Druckausgleich in meinen argentinischen Kirsche"

"pour aller avec mon canard briser les Indiens plus tôt aujourd'hui, j'ai maintenant aussi sauté ma cerise argentine"

I'd just love it if Germans, upon losing their virginity, stood up and announced to the world with pride "ich habe einen Druckausgleich in meiner Kirsche." (I have pressure equalisation in my cherry)

 
Google also has a Translate for Animals app

Aiming for ten posts in one day - a postal strike?

This is, admittedly, getting ridiculous. You wait ages for one single post on the world's premier bovine blog, and then suddenly seven of them come along all at once! A bit like buses, I suppose, but slightly more cow-shaped. Anyway, to go along with breaking my Indian duck earlier today, I have now also popped my Argentinian cherry! Yes, I had my first visitor from Argentina (hello Michael). So here's a word to the people of Argentina:

Murderers!

Stop eating so much steak! We don't like being eaten, you know.

According to the latest statistics, 31% of people in India are vegetarians, in Germany 9% of the population eat no meat, and in France there are 3 vegetarians. In case you were wondering, the percentage sign is not missing there. I'm not sure why I live in France, it seems about as safe for me as Taliban-ruled Afghanistan would have been for the Village People.

Miss, sigh, gone

In a heart-warming video, here's Stevie Wonder playing football.



Okay, apologies for that tasteless and rather substandard joke, but it is true that the video's star would have even failed to hit my bottom with a banjo.

Currying favour

Yes! Finally, after months of fervent hope, I have my first reader from India! You'd think that - with their love of cows - I would have attracted loads of them, but unfortunately this has not been the case. Let's hope this is the first of many, though, so welcome whoever you are! I really am delighted, and to celebrate I think I will have a grass vindaloo for lunch. 

Creeping up to 700 page views

I'm very proud that this little blog has been read nearly 700 times! OK, 650 of those are probably by Russian spambots, but still, 700 views is a lot, so thank you readers! Now, only another 300 to go until my blog will have been viewed nearly as many times as my human friend Ian Desmond's arse*.


*Ian takes great joy in revealing his buttocks in public. Needless to say, this great joy is not universally shared by the public.

Dexter

I can't believe I fitted so much into a single month - probably over 30 hours work, all that chess, regular naps and I finally managed to find time to finish Dexter. What a series! My keenly developed sense of schadenfreude does enjoy a good bit of telly where more humans get killed than cows ("I know, Peregrine, it should be "where more humans get killed than do cows", but I sometimes like slumming it grammatically). Exciting, great acting and characters, and some of the one-liners made me laugh for about 20 seconds. And believe me, it really is a sight to behold watching a cow guffaw.

Make mine a double

See, I've already doubled last month's number of posts. The creativity sometimes just (m)oozes out of me...

Busy, busy, busy

Sorry for the lack of updates, but I've been a busy bee. Well, a big, black and white bee made out of beef anyway. Unfortunately sometimes work takes priority, and I've also been spending a bit too much time obsessively playing chess, which is very tough for us cows - we just can't pick up the pieces with our hooves and we usually end up forfeiting the game by knocking over the king by mistake. This month I promise to give you more than last month's huge number of ONE updates though (I'd say at least twice that figure).

Delilah's Weekly Whinge - post-holiday version

Sorry for the late update, readers, but I was on holiday, spending a slightly less than terrible time in Portugal, but sometimes I spend a slightly less than terrible time at home, so I don't know why I went on holiday in the first place. I really did not enjoy struggling to squeeze my large bovine bottom into an Easyjet chair, I tell you. Anyway, when I arrived in Portugal I was, on several occasions, offered grass by dodgy looking men in the main tourist areas, and eventually I couldn't resist. Imagine my disappointment when I found out it was marijuana I bought. I thought 50 euros was a bit expensive for a tiny bag of grass that I can eat for free at home, but I was desperate. Well, I was disgusted when I ate it - it tasted nothing like the delicious grass I eat every day. I hate foreign food.

Then on the way back I was running late for my train to France so considered getting a taxi in Switzerland to take me from the airport to the railway station. The price was 40 euros for a 5 minute journey! I thought the Swiss would be more cow-friendly, or at least neutral as they claim to be, but they clearly hate us cows, the money-grabbing, cuckoo clock-making, Nazi gold hoarding yodeling gits. Luckily I managed to hitchhike to the station on a passing tractor.

Anyway, time to go as I have a big Cow to English translation to do, but just thought I would disappoint you by letting you know I am still alive.

Delilah's Weekly Whinge, Part Two

Do you know what really annoys me? Everything. Peregrine keeps correcting my grammar, so I told him to strogan off, and then he tells me I should never end a sentence in a preposition, and it should in fact be "off you strogan". He's only been here for five minutes and he's already behaving like he owns the place with his air of arrogant superiority.

The weather is starting to get on my nerves, all this sun, sun, sun. All it does is remind me of global warming and the impending death of our planet.

I hate my breed. Our creator Ungulata could have been kind and made me something nice and safe like a Milking Devon, but no, I end up a Beefmaster. I mean, come on, a Beefmaster! I might as well have a big tattoo on my huge bovine bottom saying "Eat me". I hate my huge bovine bottom too, it is so huge.

Great, I can't think about anything else to moan about so I will have to go. I hate my life.

Introducing Peregrine

A new bull has joined us! He stumbled upon this blog and decided he would like to join our farm, so welcome Peregrine! There are still a lot less bulls than cows here, of course, but this starts to even things up a bit. So, over to you, Peregrine.

"First of all," Peregrine said with a heavy sigh, "it should be a lot fewer bulls than cows. I expect I will have my work cut out educating such imbeciles. As some of the more cerebral readers might have guessed, I am an intellectual. You will probably find me rather intimidating, but you will definitely find me enlightening. I shall now leave you to continue with my critique of the Hegelian Dialectic, which I am sure you will be delighted to hear when it is completed. Goodbye."

Ok, thanks, I think. Peregrine seems a bit annoying, but I suppose he's fewer of a bell-end than Angus, at least. I can't wait to see him try to educate Sally, she's a big fan of the Hegelian Dialectic. If by "Hegelian Dialectic" you mean "grass". 

Oh great, Angus wants to perform his latest rap

Apologies in advance, but over to you Angus

"Yeah, I've got style, I've got swagger
I'm a hot mothershagger
I'm as dangerous as a dagger and I move like Mick Jagger."

As he said this he started leaping around like a youthful Mick Jagger. Well, a youthful Mick Jagger being chased barefoot over hot coals by killer bees. Angus is to dance what Stephen Hawking is to, erm, dance. He continued. Unfortunately.

"I'm as hard as iron, I could kill a lion.
I'd destroy a bear without even tryin'.
'Cause I'm the greatest, yeah, I'm sharp as a chisel
Now it's time to go, and shizzle my nizzle. Yo!"

*Tuts and shakes head in despair at Angus's stupidity*. I knew I'd regret giving Angus the opportunity to show the world what a grade A bell-end he is.

Morag's return

Hello dear readers, I have some good news - Morag has come out of hiding! Daisy, as persuasive as ever, managed to give her the self-confidence she needed, so Morag is going to have a short word with you.

"Ach, hullo," our hirsute friend said, shyly looking to the ground.

"See, that wasn't too hard, was it? I promise to protect you from Angus and nobody will talk about meat," I said to pacify Morag.

"Och aye, thanks," mumbled our shy sister.

"Ooh, looks like we have an email!" I said with excitement. The excitement quickly turned to disappointment, though. "Ah no, it's just spam."

"AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAARRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGHH! You promised not to mention meat," said Morag, storming off to look for another hiding place.

A random cow conversation to introduce Florence

Hello readers, there is another member of our herd you have not heard of yet, our eldest, wisest cow Florence. She is Daisy's mother, and although she seems to be slowly going a bit mad, she does come up with occasional pearls of senility wisdom. So here's the conversation.

"Oh," said Daisy, who had been busy reading the news online, "a fourteen year old boy from India had part of his penis bitten off when three girls asked him for help re-enacting oral sex scenes they'd seen in a pornographic film. The boy is in a critical condition in hospital. Stroganoffing Wellington! I wonder what film they were watching?"

"Dunno, maybe Jaws Does Dallas," suggested Doris.

"I thought it must have been Creatures of the Ocean Deep Throat," said Delilah.

"What happened to the young boy? I hope he's going to be okay," I said. As the youngest herd member I don't usually speak much, but I was concerned.

"Well, if he ends up dying, you'll have to look for the coroner's report, Daisy," said Doris, again annoying her mum by calling her by her first name.

"Why?" asked a flabbergasted Daisy, looking at her daughter with bewilderment. "If he dies it's probably because he's had part of his penis bitten off."

"Yes," said Doris, "but I just wanted to know if the coroner said he'd died from head wounds after receiving a heavy blow." Needless to say, Daisy, sighing heavily, now looked at Doris with a look of disdain. 

"Oi, behave now, here comes your Grandma. Hi Mum," Daisy bellowed out to the approaching Florence.

"Hi Daisy," Florence croaked out. She always sounds like she smokes 40 a day. She then turned to her granddaughter. "Hi there young Doris."

"Hi Florence," said Doris. "How are you, you old coffin dodger?"

"Doris!!!" shouted Daisy, clearly outraged. "That's no way to talk to your grandma."

"Why, what did I do wrong?" Doris wondered with a possible feigned look of innocence. Doris is an adept actor, so it is sometimes hard to tell when her emotions are genuine.

"What do you mean, 'what did I do wrong'? You should not say 'Hi Florence, how are you, you old coffin dodger' to your grandmother," a tutting Daisy explained. "I really shouldn't have to explain something like that to you. Come on, Doris, where are your manners? You should say 'Hi, Grandma. How are you, you old coffin dodger?'"

"Okay, sorry Grandma," Doris apologised. "So what's up then, you old cow?"

"You are a cheeky 'un, young lady," the senior citizen of the herd said to her granddaughter with a largely toothless grin. Florence had seen so much in her life that very few things were likely to shock her, and this included a cocky, brash, loud-mouthed adolescent granddaughter - after all, Florence had been just like that too in her younger days. Now, however, she spends most of her time watching Countdown. 

Introducing Sally

Hi there readers, now of course not all cows are as clever as our wonderful leader Daisy. One of our herd members, Sally, is unfortunately not the brightest, but she wants to have a word with you anyway. So, over to you Sally.

“Mu”

Stroganoff, she can’t even spell “moo”! Ah well, that's all she had to say, she has now left – she saw it is a sunny day and, confused as always, she thought this means she has to go and lie down.

Buttercup's Delightful Dictionary, part 2

Here are some more dictionary definitions for you

Monkey - a bit like a monk

Bunny - a bit like a bun

Nappy - a bit like a nap

Crappy - a bit like Coldplay

Angus's new rap

Well, Morag has gone missing. Scared by Doris's made-up competition for a prize of 600 kilos of prime Highland beef, our hairy sister seems to have done a runner. So Angus has asked me if he can do a tribute to her in crap form. So please be kind to her - over to you, Angus

"Spring has come, the birds are singin'
I'm glad Morag's gone 'cos she's so mingin'.
She’s so ugly, these are facts
I wish she’d shave, I wish she’d wax.
I hate waking up in the morning and the first thing I see
Is her hairy mothershaggin’ arse staring at me.
So don’t come back, you hirsute grazer
Until you've found yourself an electric razor.
Yo!"

Ah. I hope you aren't reading this, wherever you are Morag. I must apologise to everyone for Angus' abysmal mocking of our poor, petrified friend.

Boo!

Oh, I hope that didn't scare you. "Boo" is just the noise we cows make when we have a cold, and I am feeling a bit ill today.

Ever wonder where we go on holiday?

Yep, you guessed right - Blackpool.

Cows - naturally photogenic

Here's a picture of Angus being typically opportunistic

I think we might have an infiltrator

Not sure which, but I suspect it's the one second from the left

Delilah's Weekly Whinge

Delilah wants a word with you. I wonder what she'll be worrying about today ...

Hi there, readers, I have decided to go on a diet. I want to try to get below 700 kilos. It's just really hard, because grass is sooooooooo moreish! All the grass also makes us flatulent, you know, and apart from cars we cows are the biggest cause of hydrocarbon emissions on earth, apparently. Every time we burp, we are destroying the ozone layer. So I don't know what to do! I can't give up grass, my life would be empty without it (or my bellies would be in any case). But I don't want to destroy the planet either. I suppose I'll just have to cut down on grass and stop belching so much.

I do like grass, as you may have noticed, but sometimes I'd like to do something with it, make it a bit more exciting. So the other day I looked on the internet for "cooking with grass", and it was just a load of stoners sharing recipes! Who'd have thought they'd have that much motivation? Very disappointed, I was.

I don't know really what to do with my life now we've got rid of the farmer, all this freedom has got me in a bit of a quandary. Kerry, in her usual, annoyingly high-pitched nasal moo, said, "I think it's better now without the farmer, because I can now sleep with whoever I choose. I was sick of the farmer making me pregnant with his syringe." "That's outrageous," I told her. I was shocked. "How can you say such a thing? It should be whomever I choose." I sometimes wonder what they teach our kids these days.

Introducing Kerry

It's time for another member of our herd to introduce herself - this time it's Kerry. Now I don't want to cast aspersions on Kerry's nature, or say anything disparaging or demeaning about her, so what's the best word to describe our friend? Hmm, ah yes, I know - a slut. Strangely proud of it too, she is, constantly fluttering her fake eyelashes, flaunting her ridiculously over-sized udders, and don't get me started on her even more ludicrous fake orange tan. She's more orange than a stadium full of Dutch football fans. I won't include a picture, as I think she's vain enough already. Okay, here she is.

Alwight everyone! Yeah, it's Kerry, innit! All the other cows is dead jealous of me 'cause I got the biggest udders. And the bulls just looooove my stiletto hoofs, they make me look soooooooooooo glamorous! Angus is the only bull around, unfortunately, and because he's a bull he of course can't resist me. Let me describe our brief encounter from the other day.

"Aha, it's the beautiful Kerry. Can't resist my charms, eh?" Angus said without expecting an answer. Angus is not one for foreplay, so sex actually commenced slightly quicker than immediately.

"Oh, look at me go! Wahey, you can't beat a bit o' bully!" Angus exclaimed as he mounted me. "Oh yes, the king is in his cattle! What a fantastic cattle prod I am! You're loving every single sec ... oh ... erm ... I bet you enjoyed both those seconds," he said, before promptly falling asleep.

As you can see, Angus might love himself but he is not exactly the ideal lover. So if any bulls out there want a guaranteed good time, you know where I am. See you, Kerry x

Whitney Houston, we have a problem

With the tragic news that 27 Whitney Houston songs are now expected to infiltrate the charts and make everyone's ears bleed in a mire of banal agony, I would like to take this opportunity to say I have never been so glad that Phil Collins is still alive.

On another note, with all these disparaging comments about Phil Collins I sincerely hope Steven Gerrard isn't reading this blog. After all, I don't want him getting upset and coming over to punch me in my big bovine head. It is pretty unlikely that professional footballers are reading this blog, though, as they must surely have other things to do first - like learn to read, for example.

Animal Farm

For those of you who enjoyed yesterday's post, today's will be disappointingly long.

To try to help Daisy in her endeavours to set up our own farm I just finished reading Animal Farm, in the hope it would give me some ideas. My initial impression was that it was a critique of dictatorial regimes in general and communism under Stalin in particular. Although it is clear that Orwell had socialist leanings and agreed with a number of Marx's principles, he also saw too many similarities between the supposedly socialist state in Soviet Russia and the dictatorial, exploitative tsarist regime it had replaced. But then I thought about it properly and realised what Orwell really wanted to say - don't trust pigs. But I already knew that anyway. I heard it in a Niggaz With Attitude song, I think.

I just looked at the weather report...

...and it is going to rain. So this entry is rather short, as we all have to go and lie down.

The Great Moo See Dung

You may be wondering how we managed to set up our own independent, fully-functioning, bovine-run farm. Well, for any normal herd it would have been a big ask – virtually impossible even – but luckily we are led by the inspirational genius that is Daisy, our very own Chairman Cow. Here is a picture of her in typical contemplative mood.

As you can imagine, with so much organising to do, Daisy has little time to deal with such trivialities as blogging, but it is entirely thanks to her that I am here speaking to you, instead of being in a pie. So here is the story of how we managed to overthrow the farmer.

It all started on a brisk but sunny spring morning in Puddlethwaite. To the untrained eye it may have looked like a typical field full of cows, but a seasoned spotter of bovine rebellion would have noticed a glint in Daisy’s eye as she stood up. Clearing her throat, she commenced her momentous speech.

“Okay, can I have your attention please, everyone? Right, I plan to get rid of our oppressor, so listen up,” she said to start her rousing rhetoric. When her inspired speech began in earnest, however, it did not receive the response she had expected, and apart from a small number of cows who managed to pick up occasional words like “free”, “chains”, “bondage” and “yoke” and assumed Daisy was talking about some sex show she’d been to, most of her bovine colleagues gave her no heed. The lack of attention infuriated Daisy, whipping her into a frenzy and filling her four bellies with fire. Did her sisters not realise they were being exploited? Weren’t they aware of their doomed plight if they didn't take action immediately? Releasing all her anger, she was still in mid-rant when she noticed the farmer striding cheerily out of the door with his shiny new bucket. 

“Morning, Daisy. Time for a milking, young lady,” he said with a tuneless but happy little whistle. 

“Moo!” responded Daisy.

“Yes it is,” said the farmer. In his ignorance he had misunderstood Daisy. Her ruminant ways had clearly deceived him, lulling him into a false sense of superiority so typical of humans, and she was in fact answering, “No, silly, it’s time for the Rise of Bovinity!”

Inspired by the potential hugeness of her words, Daisy continued lowing with pride. “We cows are smarter than you think, mister farmer. And yes, we’re gonna TAKE OVER THE WORLD. Or we’ll eat grass and occasionally lie down, I’m not sure. But anyway I’m gonna sum up all my mighty Unguis powers and, oh damn! I’m lactating!”

“There’s a good girl,” the farmer told our milk-making mugwump. 

Relieved of her milk Daisy was able to calm down and think things through, and as the farmer disappeared she chewed the cud and ruminated, and then thought, “ah, I’m a tautologist and I’ve just repeated myself.” Then she got to work on a plan. 

After a couple of hours she finally knew how she could remove the farmer from his position of power and set up a self-sufficient cattle commune – a cowmune, as she would call it.

“Ok,” Daisy said to herself with an intense look of concentration, “I need a length of rope, a set of grappling hooks, the farmer’s stun gun, a spade, a torch ... Ungulata!” she said, for once taking the name of the munificent goddess of bovinity in vain. “The list is endless.”

Realising she might struggle to get hold of most of these items, she wandered up to the farmer’s house to look around. She picked up the cattle prod – which he had fortunately left lying round in a nearby barn – just in case she had to protect herself, and while she was passing the front door of the farmer’s house she overheard the farmer in conversation. He was speaking with what sounded like a young boy of around 17 human years and, as far as Daisy could tell, the farmer seemed to be offering the boy work.

“Right, young man,” said the farmer in his gruff, pipe-smoker’s voice, “I’m getting too old to do all the work round here, so I need someone to help me with the slaughtering work. Stunning cows.”

“Yes, they are quite attractive,” replied the boy, obviously confused.

“No no,” explained the farmer, shaking his balding head vigorously, “I need someone to help me stun the cows.”

“Oh, how do you do that then?” wondered the boy. He scratched his chin and was deep in thought for a second or two. “Oh I know, we could tell ‘em we’re gonna eat them! That’ll stun ‘em!”

“Yep, that’s the spirit I’m looking for, young man,” explained the farmer. He seemed happy. “I think you’ve got what it takes to go a long way in this business.”

This was bad news so, in her desire to get a better view of this threatening situation – the possibility of two humans to deal with was much more daunting than just one – our great leader moved to look fully through the window to see the full scope of the danger.

Want to find out what Daisy did next? Then come back here soon.