Musing away, idly drunk on â€œWitches Nipple” (a complex fusion of runway cleaner and battery acid with a huge nose and an under-the-table-finish), I was forced to accept that â€˜stuffing the hedgehogâ€™ has become something more than a drunken pastime. Thatâ€™s not terribly interesting but my attempts to insert rude words into every new post until – letâ€™s say – eternity may be.
To this end, Iâ€™ve been spending some quality time in the virtual statistics department. Surrounded by electronic beards and electron toed sandals, I fired up the data miner thingy and immersed myself in this dusty and mostly untrodden bridleway of the wibblyweb.
The next sound you will hear is me parallel parking that particular line of enquiry while instead something marginally tangential comes to mind. While holidaying in delightful Zummerset â€“ slow pace of life, narrow roads, big skies, significant instance of six fingered locals, etc â€“ my only contact with a world interested in more than the trials of Yeovil town FC and the price of cider was the schizophrenic computer that thinks itâ€™s both a phone, an E-Mail backstop and half a browser. Incredible really that anything that small can be so functionally confused. Obviously itâ€™s pretty rubbish at all of these things compromised by being too small to view any web pages, too large to phone anybody and too slow to accomplish anything else. A solution looking for a problem if ever I saw one, and yet by offering a tenuous link to the â€˜world outsideâ€™, I could at least remain appropriate informed on items of global importance. Football results, celebrity shagging â€“ you know the kind of thing. And because this site is so simple (thereby resembling itâ€™s author), it works fine on dumputer(tm) so my narcissm doesnâ€™t need to join me on holiday.
The last sound you just heard was the point passing me by and accelerating away.
Anyway. Let me share with you the two finest search terms scooped up from Google directing the unwary to the burrow of the hedgehog.
â€œHow to Kill Hedgehogs“: worrying, kind of creepy but not really worthy of a further comment until I realised that from the very same IP address came â€œSex with Hedgehogsï¿½?. Oh yes, ladies and gentleman, there is a shadowy character on the fringes of society with a mission to cull the innocent hedgehog through the, frankly, arduous practise of sexual gratification. Liberal as I am, even I cannot attribute this to the keen animal hobbyist. Nasty, very nasty indeed.
â€œI want to improve my sense of humour“: two things immediately spring to mind; firstly the Internet is absolutely the wrong place to look for advice on â€“ well â€“ anything but specifically a cry for help in the amusement department. Secondly, whatâ€™s the poor bugger going to make of this site? Assuming the comedic talent is a pre-requisite for getting laid (which if youâ€™ve got what weâ€™ll euphemistically call a â€˜lovely personalityâ€™ is essentially the only unpaid entrance to the world of snog), do you think his chances will have a. increased or b. decreased to the point of him wearing his drink over his head after delivering the comedy salvo that is â€œright, imagine I was riding a mountain bike in London andâ€¦..â€™
And then I thought those meta words may have been elicited from the fingers of the fairer sex. Oh lordy.
I trudged out of the statistics page with a heavy heart and a niggling worry about my fellow man. And locked the doors. Twice.