Free Diary of a Dork - Articles of Sarcasm and Irreverence by Michael Cargill Page B

began to make
some sort of sense to him. He was now starting to understand the
concept of origins, where things came from, where those other
things came from and why and how. This was his 'eureka' moment. He
was on the verge of a defining personal moment, going through the
same initial stages of philosophical discovery that Plato and
Confucius went through.

    Unfortunately a
fox had been creeping up on Geoff so the poor little rabbit got
torn to shreds and eaten.
    *****

Badgers are
bastards

    Correct me if I am
wrong but they don’t do anything fun, interesting or helpful. EVER.
Lazy fuckers. You can't get milk nor honey from them, neither a
kind word or an ironic cuss and heaven forbid if you decide to take
it upon yourself to skin one for it's fur.

    I saw a
documentary on them once and all they do is dig holes, eat worms
and get into fights with foxes. They are the chavs of the animal
world and as far as I am concerned they can piss the shitting hell
off. Apparently when they are bored they sneak around fields and
forests really quietly and mumble to themselves saying “badger
badger badger badger” over and over again – for NO DISCERNIBLE
REASON. Why must they persist with such an aggravating habit?

    As an example of
how dastardly they are there are no actual badgers at all in the
story of Watership Down but the nasty rabbit character – General
Woundwort – is based on a real-life badger who terrorised the local
animal and insect population of Cambridge way back in the
17 th century. That is until Oliver Cromwell got wind of
what was going on. Never a man to duck out of a fight Cromwell got
on his horse, rode up alongside the badger and took an immediate
dislike to the grunting little beast. Being the Lord Protector of
the kingdom he decided that something had to be done so he got an
axe and took the rude little shit's face off with it and that was
the end of the matter.

    Rule Britannia and
all that.
    *****

Dear
diary

    This week has been
fairly unspectacular really. I was fixing a puncture on my bike and
got thinking about how great it would be to be a caterpillar for a
day. Think of all the adventures you could have! They are small so
things would look REALLY MASSIVE and everything. You could crawl
into small spaces you couldn’t normally even see and eat leaves and
climb things really easily. I was having so much fun imagining all
this that I forgot what I was doing and for some reason I had taken
nearly all my clothes off and was wrapping the bike chain around my
waist.

    The next day I
went shopping for a new belt as the bit of string I have been using
has broken. I looked around for ages for a brown belt that had a
picture of a unicorn fighting some dwarven warriors but in the end
I had to make do with a plain brown one instead. In South Africa I
once made a belt by tying together a load of McDonalds straws that
I had stolen. All my friends were impressed with my work because it
was strong, flexible and didn’t cost anything. Saving money is a
great past-time in South Africa – my mad friend Mad Johnny once
made a belt out of barbed wire. He is mad and caught tetanus from
the rust but he didn’t care because he is so mad. He didn't even
care when the tetanus put him in a coma either, he just lay there
on the bed doing nothing at all.

    For some reason I
fancied getting a pet after hearing my other friend Dan burp really
loudly like a frog. A frog would be an ideal pet because I don’t
think they need to eat anything and you can just put them in a
bucket full of mud so they can make their own home. I would train
the frog to make really loud croaking noises all the time to scare
away burglars, salesmen and the mad old man from down the road who
keeps going to the toilet up against the lamppost outside my house.
If I owned a house I would call it Strawberries For Pudding so that
everyone would remember that I like strawberries for pudding.
    *****

A
caterpillar's lecture

    Hi! My name is Kat
and I am a