Putin’s bombers

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.

Bouffe chilling

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.

Bouffe's mess

Et alors…?

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.

That one.

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?

Putin flying an eagle

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…

2014 in pictures

January

HaasKatrijnWot

In January we kipped. If Putin got enough sleep, he’d be a lot less cranky.

In January I ate my initials.

In January I lost a bet from Haas and so I had to eat my initial. Putin’s ego could surely never recover from such an indignity.

February

In February we explored.

In February we explored. If only Putin didn’t.

 

In February all was good.

In February all was good. Except in the Ukraine.

In February we enjoyed romantic meals in.

In February we enjoyed romantic meals in. If only Putin did the same.

March

In March I was attacked by a rogue hay sprig. (I was OK after counselling)

In March I was attacked by a rogue hay sprig, suspected to be an assassin sent by Putin.

In March I lolled in my hay box. If only Putin did the same.

In March I lolled in my hay box. A Putin-free zone.

This is the last picture of me sans head tilt. Quality time on the sofa.

This is the last picture of me sans head tilt. Quality time on the sofa. Putin was not invited.

 

In March I opted for the fashionable head tilt. If only Putin took a sideways glance at himself sometimes.

In March I opted for the fashionable head tilt. If only Putin took a sideways glance at himself sometimes.

In March we played in the garden.

In March we played in the garden. If only Putin stuck to his own garden too.

April

In April I enjoyed some daffodils. Not that I ate them or anything.

In April I enjoyed some daffodils. Not that I ate them or anything. Putin did.

 

In April I practised my judo rolls. Like Putin.

In April I practised my judo rolls. Like Putin.

In April I invented the selfie. Unlike Putin.

In April I invented the selfie. Unlike Putin.

in April we dined in the garden without telling Putin.

in April we dined in the garden without telling Putin.

May

In May the garden was hot. No thanks to Putin.

In May the garden was hot. No thanks to Putin.

In May I perfected the banana pose without Putin.

In May I perfected the banana pose to annoy Putin.

June

In June I patrolled the garden to make sure Putin's heavies stayed out.

In June I patrolled the garden to stop Putin from invading.

In June we hid from the paps and Putin's heavies.

In June we hid from the paps and Putin’s heavies.

July

In July we received a box of Loftys from Cousin Neville's waitress. But not from Putin.

In July we received a box of Loftys from Cousin Neville’s waitress. But not from Putin.

 

In July I had my tail measured. It's bigger than Putin's.

In July I had my tail measured. Mine is bigger than Putin’s.

August

in August I slept without drools on my pillow. Putin drools all the time.

in August I slept without drooling on my pillow. Putin drools all the time.

In August I groomed Katrijn's ears which had been bent by Putin.

In August I groomed Katrijn’s ears which had been bent by Putin.

In August we ate the willow branches we beat Putin's heavies with.

In August we ate the willow branches we beat Putin’s heavies with.

September

In September we trialled a new prison for Putin's heavies, instead played in the garden with it.

In September we bought a new prison for Putin’s heavies, but instead played in the garden with it.

In September I ate the lavender harvest. I left nothing for Putin.

In September I ate the lavender harvest. I left nothing for Putin.

October

In October I made a mess, just like Putin.

In October I made a mess, just like Putin.

In October I defied Putin. As in January, February, March, April, May, June, July, August and September.

In October I defied Putin. As in January, February, March, April, May, June, July, August and September.

November

Ulike Putin, in November I played footsie.

Unlike Putin, in November I played footsie.

In November we went out into the cold, and didn't like it. We're not like Putin.

In November we went out into the cold, and didn’t like it. We’re not like Putin.

So we went back inside. Our hutch is better than Putin's.

So we returned to some warmth because we can, unlike Putin.

December

BDec14Footsie

In December Putin still had not caught up on the footsie trend, so the Russian economy collapsed.

In December I was a bah humbug, but not as bad as Putin.

In December I was a bah humbug, but not as bad as Putin.

Dec14ChristmasTree

Our Christmas tree is bigger and better than Putin’s.

 

The Bunnington Post Award for Vilest & Most Revolting Politician of the Year 2014 goes to

Vladimir Putin

Whose name shall henceforth only be spelled in poo-coloured font.

 

May 2015 bring freedom and justice for man and beast regardless of the continued interference of people like Putin

Cold War II

Dave, ma’e.

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?!

DaveTxtMsg

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.

Bouffe’s Halloween costume

Chers amis,

Merci beaucoup for your pictures of you dressing up as me at Halloween. Unfortunately, there are too many to post here! It is very nice to know I have been such an inspiration to my loyal following this year.

With many apologies for the delay: I hereby present you with my costume as worn at Halloween. I went as my favourite brekkers!

 

Bouffe's Halloween costume

 

I decided not to go trick or treating because of the disruption the journalists and paps would cause to my neighbours if I did. It does get tedious, what with helicoptres and drones overhead day in and day out, but they bear the burden of having celebrity neighbours very well!

 

Ha-Ha-Ha-Halloween

The Bunny on the Tube (final part)

What you see is what you get.

Sometimes, maybe once in a lifetime,
you’ll experience an epiphany.
A revelation of some sorts.
A deeper insight into your very own self.

Having analysed this funny bunny,
being oh so content with my witty analysis,
going on with life, as anyone does,
and not suspecting the coming black swan,
I was completely caught by surprise,
by this sudden sledgehammer slam.

Thinking it was me looking at the bunny,
I simply overlooked the fact that the bunny was looking at me!

It was me who started this series to begin with.
It was me buying the tube.
It was me brushing my children’s teeth with this neuro-toxin.
It was me buying the tube again!

What you see is what you get,
and it’s me, that’s what you get.
This bunny isn’t staring into the headlights.
It’s staring at me!

The staring
The giggling
The boozing
The drugging
The gossip

it’s all on the tube.
For all to see.

So thank you dear bunny!
For pointing out my own insanity.
I can see now clearly who you really are.
You’re the bunny of the brave!

As for me,
I guess I just couldn’t see
the forest for the trees.

BunnyontheTube6

Exclusively for The Bunnington Post by Michael Forest
© Michael Forest 2014

The Onesie

KatrijnBed

Haas, what are you doing?

Come to bed, Katrijn is waiting for yououou…

Lovehearts

Orrite mah lovely, jus’ a sec yeah

Jus’ ge”in’ meself a onesie, case Ahm goin’ ter need one