Yesterday was a really boring day.
Louis Theroux was following me around with his crew all day for his new documentary (you are not supposed to know that! Shhhh….), and I had a photo shoot for my upcoming book.
That’s me, in the blue chair being interviewed, in case you are wondering. Well. I am actually underneath it, minor detail.
Brekkers was so-so, so the waitress had to be spoken to. Plus ça change.
Then I had a snooze, and some veggies, then a snooze and some hay, then I had a big snooze. By then it was about 11 am, so a pretty productive day, if uneventful.
Anyway. I don’t have much to report, I did warn you it was boring. I am off for a snooze now methinks.
From our reporter – No arrests have been made over the assassination of Bouffe in the early hours of this morning. Multiple theories exist about what is believed to be the murder weapon, a slipper.
Who killed Bouffe?
It is a question plastered across newspapers and billboards across the world today, as forensic experts work to establish ownership of the suspected murder weapon, a slipper found on the crime scene. One theory is adamant: the slipper belongs to Vladimir Putin, and the assassination is politically motivated. Another has it that Putin’s heavies are to blame, and it is them behind the murder: they all wear Kremlin-issued slippers.
While forensic investigators were combing the site of the gruesome crime against lagomorphs, crowds gathered outside to lay carrot wreaths and light candles, while a spontaneous rendition of Bright Eyes spread across the mourners.
Haas and Katrijn have appealed for privacy and space for the investigation to take its course. A statement from Haas read:
“Bouffe was mah mate, yeah, orrite, so buzz off wif yer drones flyin’ ova mah manshiun takin’ pishiurs, else Ah gets mah bazooker aht. Nuff said”
Bouffe’s waiting staff was said to be distraught and unavailable for comment.
Chers amis et amies!
In my new series explaining how you can bypass cumbersome procedures and get straight to the point, I proudly present Life Hacks Part I: Toys.
Lately a whole new industry has sprung up aimed at ‘breaking boredom’ and ‘training’ us lagomorphs. Amazon is awash with educational toys and YouTube with instructional videos on kaninhop and the like.
I say: vive la résistance!
Do not give in to your waiting staff’s latest fad, because we all know what we really want is to laze about all day when we are not scoffing food or bunstructing cables/personalising footwear.
So here is Life Hacks Part I: how to deal with those idiotic boredom breaker toys in 10 seconds flat. Enjoy!
Well, mes chers amis, things have been busy of late. As you know I have a lot of responsibilities leading BAFFLED Labs to greatness while also managing my terrible-but-improving staff at home. Then there is of course the responsibility to counsel and support celebrities – thankfully shared with my dear friends and colleagues Haas and Katrijn – and being a full-time head tilt practitioner.
Busy times, but everybody is having fun. Mostly. Not sure I can vouch for waitress some mornings though. Quite inexplicably she get her grump on at times while serving me brekkers.
Non, the real reason I have been quiet of late is because I have been busy doing lagomorph diplomacy at international level. You all know who I’m talking about, right?
Putin. Puters. El Puterino. The Pute. Putain. He whose whose name is spelled in poo-coloured font.
Now, Puters here has been badly behaved of late. You all know about his antics, I am not going to encourage him any further by expanding on these, because I know he is an avid reader of the Bunnington Post and the man doesn’t need his ego stroking by more media attention.
Plus, it upsets his heavies, still living in our garden shed, feeling much more comfortable now that it is winter and we enjoy frosty nights. They’re a homesick bunch of which I have become strangely fond. Their weekly press conferences are getting a bit out of hand, though.
No, it’s the bombers that are starting to annoy me, see. Last week, I sent my waitress on an errand to buy me some Miffy toys and a couple of Chantenay carrots from the Albert Cuyp market.
While she was flying over the Oxfordshire Mountain Range about to descend into London Oxford Airport, guess what she saw?
Tout à fait unnecessary to bother my staff thus.
Get this, Putain, as much as my waitress enjoys the spectacle of bare chested men showing off, her tastes do not run to megalomaniac dictators with a personality deficit.
Keep your your birdies in their cages, I thank you. We invite you to think of something a little bit more interesting than sending your bombers around to Cornwall.
Or perhaps not. Hm…
Whose name shall henceforth only be spelled in poo-coloured font.
If Gorby texts ter say a new Col’ War is on da books, take da man seersly, yeah.
‘e ended da las’ one while you were still tryin’ ter control yer testosterone levels by pullin’ pafe’ic pranks at da Bullin’don Club wif yer measly ma’es.
An’ while we’re on da topic: A cold war is no’ anova photo oppertuni’y ahead o’ da general elecshiuns, orrite?!
An’ get sum readin’ glasses. Ah would jus’ like ter know dat you will in fac’ spot da small print Putin likes ter put in treaties an’ suchlike. Geddit?
Jus’ in case, Ahm takin’ sum precaushiuns mahself. No offence. Fanks.