Ah, life in the country! We woke up Saturday morning in Wales to a loud chorus of mooing. (Why do cows always sound like they’re constipated? All evidence points to the contrary.) It turned out I’d neglected to shut the gate properly the night before and about a dozen cows had wandered into the garden, including several young bullocks. It was all very Withnail and I. SiC tried to frighten them off by banging a saucepan with a broom, and when that didn’t work he got an umbrella and flapped it open and shut, which caused exactly one (1) cow to look mildly perturbed and move off a few feet while the rest of them carried on shitting all over the lawn. Since the bovine invasion was technically my fault, I decided to take matters into my own hands. I rolled up my sleeves, climbed up on the fence and handled the situation the way I handle most situations: by hollering obscenities at ear-splitting volume. After five minutes of me screaming “OI! YOU! FUCK OFF!” and waving my arms like a spastic, the cows got annoyed and slowly wandered back out the gate. I really felt like I’d accomplished something. I’m like the cow whisperer! Cow shouter?
Later on I got even more rural, venturing out into the fields in search of edible mushrooms. Of course, by ‘edible’ I mean ‘hallucinogenic’. I gathered a huge handful and got absolutely spangled, choosing for some inexplicable reason to start watching episodes of Dirty Sanchez just as I started tripping.
Have you ever seen Dirty Sanchez? It really isn’t the thing to watch while you’re disoriented and hallucinating. Dirty Sanchez makes Jackass look like My Little Pony. These guys will stop at nothing. And I mean nothing. But seriously, I mean NOTHING. At one point I jumped up and shouted “Jesus Christ! Don’t give them a fucking nail gun!” I am a bit afraid of these guys. I have a feeling that if they hadn’t been discovered by MTV they would probably have ended up serial killers.
But dear lord, the beer enema was fucking funny.