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.