“Women and shoes. It’s like giving a pyromaniac a part time job at a petrol station and access to a box of matches.”

The evil ‘Begbie’ squirrel (from B3ta’s QOTW archive):

I’m sat in my room next to the window, overlooking the back garden and road next to our house. I’m sat here working on my thesis, now due in exactly three weeks and beginning to prey somewhat on my mind. I have been living, eating, sleeping (and possibly sh*tting) my thesis recently. As you can imagine life has been very, nay, ultra boring. To top off the fandango of enjoyment that has characterised my grey and dull existence the girl I love is not interested, making the whole past month or so an exercise in heart-wrenching academic futility.

So, to set the scene, this is the somewhat despondent, possibly even pessimistic, frame of mind that I currently inhabit. Next to a window.

Through this window I can see a tree in our back garden. This tree is not a paragon of trees. In fact its rather nondescript. The tree equivalent of Alastair Darling, rather than a racy sycamore, or a hippy willow. In the tree live a family of grey squirrels. The squirrels are in the habit of frolicking in the garden and generally doing squirrelly things. I’m sure that Squirrel Nutkin himself would be proud to call these squirrels his compatriots, proud in the knowledge that for nose twitching, acorn burying, tree climbing and general bushiness of tail these squirrels are at the forefront of the squirrelverse.

Anyway, I digress. My house mate just came back from class. As usual he brought his bike into the back garden, rolled it over to the squirrel tree, and started to lock it in place.

At which point a squirrel dropped out of the tree, like some squirrel version of Rambo, and clung on to his bike helmet with all its tiny tiny might. My house mate was somewhat perplexed by this unforeseen turn of events, and began flapping at his own head to remove his new squirrelly appendage.

This merely enrages the Die Hard Squirrel, which began attempting to chew through the helmet. My house mate takes this somewhat amiss and, becoming slightly concerned, begins to scream oh so softly. The squirrel doesn’t really like this shrieking manikin it appears to have attempted to bring down, and so redoubles is effort to gain unlicensed access to his brain. Now panicking, my house mate, with an audible toot of the sphincter, drops to the ground and rolls around the wet grass, trying to crush the squirrel. This, fortunately for him, works. The squirrel abandons ship post haste, and retreats, probably swearing, back up the tree. My house mate staggers inside covered in grass and mud, swearing he will kill the squirrel.

I’m pretty sure I can see the thing now, on a branch at the same level as my window. My bored mind posits that its sat there, a rolled up cigarette dangling from one corner of its mouth, swigging from a can of stella, flexing its arm muscles…the crazy Begbie squirrel of our garden.

Poland! are you joking? (again from B3ta’s QOTW archive):

But I’ll get in trouble..
No you won’t it’s only little and no-one’s looking.
Yeah but, if Neville finds out he’ll shit on me head!
What’s wrong…. you chicken?
No, it’s just that!
Gay chicken! Gay Chicken! Gay chicken having bum sex with other gay and bi-curious chickens!
Fine I’ll invade fucking Poland, honestly Goebbels you can be such a cunt-monkey sometimes.

And that is the true story of how World War 2 started.