Pretty nice of Vile Clive to be honest. It had obviously been in there for fucking ages because it stank to high heaven. When I opened it it made my eyes water and it made me go a bit giddy.
I don't suppose you're probably interested but the bag also contained a light bulb (broken) half a Twix and quite a lot of soil/muck. 
Don't know why. Don't know where he bloody got them from or why on earth he thinks that's a good present for a fucking fox. I tried one of them on and low and behold it made me look like the world's biggest cunt.

I tried to smile politely but I think he saw me lob them in the canal a few minutes later. 0/10 for Keith Rice.

Just what I needed. Just what I needed at Christmas time. He basically just ran out of his garage, pinned me to the ground with his knees and gave me three Chinese burns. I shouldn't complain really because after he'd finished with me he ran off and stabbed a horse in the flanks with his new Swiss army knife.

Well at least Sexy Chris kept to the fucking song so fair play to him for that. 'Colly Birds' is actually Olde English for blackbirds so he actually got me four blackbirds, three dead and the other one not far behind. I decided to give the one that wasn't dead yet a name and keep him as a sort of pet/slave. I named him William Shoe. 
He died about seven minutes later.

I don't want to go into details but needless to say it ruined, what would otherwise have been, a very pleasant evening.

Brilliant. Now it feels like I've got medium gauge masonry nails coming out of the end of my penis every time I have a wee. Very festive, I don't think. Cheers Mick.
Their swimming in their own blood now. I punched one of the arseholes so hard that it laid it's own beak just before it passed away. 

Finally, another present that doesn't suck balls. Good old Bunton. 
Back to being shit again. What the fuck do I want with a bunch of whore's wigs? Colin Hong really is a complete berk. I need some better mates.

It wasn't a complete waste of time in the end to be honest. I ended up swapping them with someone (who'd rather remain anonymous) for a Ginsters 'Spicy Beef Pasty'. Let's call him J. Paxman.
Yeah. Great. They obviously both found this absolutely hilarious. Rolling about on floor laughing like a couple of twats. Colin Hong laughed so hard that he went blind in one eye. So who's really the mug? I don't care, I just lobbed them in the canal with all the other bollocks. 
ON THE TENTH DAY OF CHRISTMAS BUNTY HOVEN GAVE TO ME . . . 10 yoghurt pots full of wasps
Love it. Best Christmas present. Best Christmas present by a fucking country mile.
ON THE ELEVENTH DAY OF CHRISTMAS DEAN kilt GAVE TO ME . . . 11 puffins (6 shaved, 5 wearing bomber jackets)
Where did he get these from? Why did he think I'd want these for Christmas? A very odd gift. What a fucking weird guy.
ON THE TWELfTH DAY OF CHRISTMAS...i did sod all. i was sick of it to be honest with you. it had basically been one disappointment after another. complete waste of time.
I just sat in my filthy pit all day thinking about moths. 
Sexy Chris came over and accused me of sulking so I set him on fire.

things that i've seen celebrities


Stood in his living room (pretty much nude).Basically wearing nothing but a pair of leather chaps/lederhosen.He was covered in blood and smiling. He kept shouting something about apple juice. There were several dogs. His house was engulfed in flames throughout.

He was in his shed. It was a nice shed. Quite expensive looking. It almost looked new. Perhaps he’d just built it. That would explain why he was wearing a tool belt and why he was very sweaty. He was wearing a ‘Homer Simpson’ t-shirt. He was also fucking a horse.


She was in her conservatory (posh). She was wearing a wedding dress and entertaining guests. She was blind drunk and at one point she was sick in a pot plant (some sort of cactus). Alan Rickman was there. He was playing a trumpet.

This was a few weeks back. He was outside his house in the middle of the night. He had loads of felt pens around him. It looked like he was trying to ‘colour his car in’. He was just stood there in a pair of Billabong surf shorts and frantically trying to colour this bloody car in. He kept mumbling things like - “Turn red you cunt” and “why can’t you be more red you stupid bastard?”

1- Dear Gus, my roommate is doing ab crunches and sit ups and it's really getting intense, he's using the exit door to jam his feet under, what should I do?

Bodybuilding can be very addictive and, these days, people love working out until they look like a swollen pile of pepperami sausages with a stupid little head poking out of the top like a tortoise trying to climb out of a bin full of knackered old tits behind a hospital.
I used to know a swan called Gareth Bench who went down a similar route. He worked out morning, noon and night, opening and closing the lock gates down by the canal until his muscles were so big that he couldn't even fly or swim anymore. His once slender neck started to look like a doner kebab and all his feathers fell out because he'd only been eating Weight Gain 5000 instead of fish. In the end he ended up getting clubbed to death by some terrified looking men from the local council.
Hope this helps.
2 - Gus,
How do I explain to my colleague at work that I just don’t want to hear about her boring stories all the time? She goes on about the dullest things but I don’t want to be rude.
This old chestnut. I had a similar problem with my mate Malcolm Plough. He talks at length about stuff that's so boring that I quite often start to black out and hallucinate. The other day we got trapped in a shed together and he spent about nine hours talking to me about the advantages of having Venetian blinds over standard width pencil pleat curtains, which is probably one of the most pointless discussions a couple of foxes could have when they're trapped in Sir Trevor McDonald's tool shed. By the end I'd had enough and I ended up punching Malcolm so hard that all his hair fell out and he passed away. I feel bad about that now.
Hope this of some use.
3 - Heading to the cinema at the weekend – what should I go watch?
The last film I saw was over at Martin Clunes' flat. I don't know if it's going to be at the cinema any time soon because he made it himself, but it's one of the best films I've ever seen. The first 45 minutes is just a load of close-up footage of Clunes flicking slugs into his desk fan and then it sort of evolves into a kind of drama whereby Clunes runs around his garden dressed as a Canadian Mountie pretending to solve crimes.
It's all filmed in real time on his JVC Compact Cassette Camcorder and pretty much abides by the avant-garde techniques outlined in the 'Dogme '95 film-making manifesto'. It's fucking off the hook. My favourite scene is the part where he hurls a dog into the side of his greenhouse.
Keep your eyes peeled for this little gem because it's an absolute Tour de Force.
4 - Trying to quit smoking Gus. Gum's not working. Patches make me feel ill. What's your advice?
Tim Morgs
A couple of days ago me and the lads were in Dean Gaffeny's garage drinking Castrol GTX out of a shoe. For a laugh, my mate Bollocks Steve (a crow) dared Andrew Power to spark up a fag, and he did because he's a thick cunt who can't put 2 and 2 together for love nor money. Andy's head instantly exploded like a disgusting, furry balloon and one of his eyes flew out of the garage and knocked an old lady off her bicycle. It was one of the funniest things I've ever seen in my life. Bollocks Steve laughed so hard that he coughed his own legs up and died. It was one of the best days of my life. Hope this is of some use.
5 - I have just this second given myself a paper cut. How does one go about coping with pain in a sophisticated manner?
Stop being such a p*ssy. The other day I was at the city farm in the middle of the night and I saw Eamonn Holmes 'sanding down' a pig with a Black and Decker KA300 Orbital Sander. He was laughing and crying at the same time throughout. When he'd finished I couldn't tell the difference between the two of them. It was really weird.
6 -Dear Gus, I have a family of slowworms under my shed, how do I get rid of them, the wife's terrified of the blighters?
I once met a slowworm who shared his name with Paul Gascoigne. His name was Paul Gascoigne. Hope this helps.

7 - Hi Gus
All the kids on my street seem to be listening to this dubstep stuff. What's your take on it, think it'll stick around or is it just a fad?
Dodge, Bristol.
Hi Dodge,
I think it's safe to say that most musical styles are faddish and if you immerse yourself too much, then it's not going to be long before you end up looking like the world's biggest cunt. At the moment, 1980's hair-metal is making a pretty big comeback around the bins. Everyone's back-combing their fur/feathers and listening to Anthrax and Megadeth. As per usual my mate Sexy Chris has taken it too far. Have you ever seen an owl on a tiny little Harley Davidson? He looks like f*cking idiot.
8 - Gus,
I live in a beautiful area of the countryside, and I was a little troubled to read that people have been rounding up urban foxes into big vans, driving them out of the city, and dumping them in the countryside. I recently spent a fortune on a conservatory, and really can't afford to have my house price devalued because of an influx of the likes of you. Is there any truth behind these rumours of fox dumping, and if so, what should I be doing to stop it?
Best wishes
Paul, Henley-on-Thames
Alright you pr*ck.
Yeah it's true. A few months ago I got my head stuck down a toilet in Dixon's and got slung into the back of a van and driven to Tunbridge Wells in Kent. It was bloody awful. I got chased across a field by some cock in a little red jacket who kept blowing a little trumpet. Eventually he rugby tackled me to the ground and bummed me up against a tree. It was shit. We don't want to be sent to the cunt-ryside any more than you want us to be sent there, mate. It's a crap idea thought up by morons who don't understand anything about the city or the countryside. Having said that, I'll be sure to curl one out on your conservatory if I ever get the chance you fat dickhead.
9 - Falling for a girl at work. Pretty sure she likes me too. We work quite closely together. Is it madness to start something up with someone I see for so much of the working day?
I keep accidentally getting married to moths. I've married to about eleven or twelve moths now. I don't know what the fuck's wrong with me but I'm probably not the best person to talk to about matters of the heart. I don't think being close for long periods of time should be a problem though. I once knew a pair of conjoined frogs called Harry and Sam Robinson and they got on famously. They were joined at the hip and they looked like something from the ninth circle of hell, but they were nice lads. A proper good laugh. I killed them, f*cked them and ate them for a bet. I regret that now.
Hope this is of some use.
10 - Every time I try to cook coq au vin the red wine turns the chicken purple. What can be done?
This reminds me of the time my mate Quiet Paul put his c*ck in the exhaust pipe of a van for a laugh. Unfortunately for Quiet Paul it got snagged on a bit of rusty metal and he couldn't get it out. When the driver turned on the engine it backfired and blew his c*ck off and sent it flying into a bottle bank. We all laughed so much that we started crying blood. It was one of the best days of my life. Paul died a couple of days later from his injuries. What a character. Never a dull moment with that guy. Hope this helps.
11 - My daughter wants a pet. What should I consider and what should I steer clear of?
I don't know what it is with you humans and 'owning' animals. I don't know why you feel like you have to possess things and keep them under lock and key just to enjoy them. It's proper f*cked up. A few months ago I was walking up the canal, minding my own business, when I was rugby tackled to the ground by news reader Moira Stuart. She fed me a bunch of pills, hogtied me and chucked me into the back of her van. When I woke up a few hours later, I was in a cage in her bungalow. I remember her staring at me with her mad grin and saying "You're my new pet. I'm going to call you Harold Bishop". She'd obviously completely lost the fucking plot. I was trapped there for several days eating Pop-Tarts that she fed me through the bars of my cage whilst she sat in a grubby armchair in her dressing gown watching one violent horror film after another on her VHS player. One morning after Moira Stuart accidentally fired the scolding, molten contents of a choco-mallow Pop-Tart into her own eyes, I made good my escape, and I never went back. In answer to your question then, consider something like a dog and steer clear of things like eels and woodlice.
12 - I’ve been offered the chance to work in Miami. Thinking about taking it. What do you make of our American cousins, Gus? Good people to surround yourself with?
I once met a frog from America. His name was Julian Beef. Whilst I was chatting to him, I folded him in half and shoved him up my bum out of confusion because he was such a pr*ck. One of the worst people I've ever met. I'd give it a miss.
13 - What is social psychology? Brad
Every single time I fall asleep these days I wake up wearing a little orange party hat that says the word 'b*nder' on it in felt tip pen. Someone is literally following me around and putting it on my head every single time I drop off and it's driving me up the bloody wall. I've got a sneaking suspicion that it might be Nicholas Lyndhurst because he keeps smirking and acting really weird every time I go over to his bungalow to clean his bum. Sorry I didn't answer your question Brad, this is doing my head in and your question was really boring.
14 - I’ve been asked out on a date by someone whose name is genuinely Moira Hindley. I like her. But her name IS Moira Hindley. Thoughts?
I once knew an owl called John Wayne Gacy and everyone gave him a wide berth just because he shared his name with an American serial killer but I thought he was a pretty decent bloke. I hung about with him for ages and eventually, after several months, I convinced everyone that John was a decent lad. A few hours later he painted his face like a clown and went and fucked and killed a bunch of kids. Speaking from experience, my advice would be to err on the side of caution on this one.
15 - Hi Gus,

As part of my university course I'm required to do a year long placement with a business, but I can't get one to save my life. I've had a few interviews but got no further. Any words of wisdom?
Hi Mike
My guess here would be that you're probably not the full ticket if you literally can't find a single place that will let you in the building to empty the bins for a couple of weeks. Even though the world has supposed to have moved on and become more PC, people are still going to be uncomfortable employing people like you I'm afraid Mike. The last thing a busy company needs when they're up against it is to have to deal with you pooing and weeing in the stationary cupboard and stapling your eyelids closed when they've got deadlines to meet. I'm surprised your "university" got your hopes up in the first place. Perhaps you'd be better off staying in your room with your jigsaw puzzles instead, mate.

When you're an animal like me, every year's pretty much as crap as the last one. You battle to survive the Winter frosts at the start of the year, you try and get your end away in the Spring (I bummed a goose), the summer's all about sweating and eating wasps and then it's back into the bitter temperatures where you get gradually more ill and pray for sweet, sweet death. Each year is a thankless and pointless trial that's less fun than tripping over and smashing your face into the side of a van, and this one took the fucking biscuit. All things considered, 2012 will be remembered as an absolute waste of time for Great Britain. Rain clouds became such a permanent fixture that moss started growing in the sky and almost everybody got trench foot, almost nobody had a pot to piss in and the year came to a charming conclusion when it turned out that every Tom, Dick and Harry was fucking kids. Magical stuff.

I don't really like football. In the summer, during the World Cup, some fat dickhead in an England shirt rugby tackled me to the ground down by the canal and spray painted a George Cross onto my flanks. Also, just a few days ago, a little boy booted a football into my face and called me a ginger cunt. Football seems to generally attract bastards and you'll do very well do find a much bigger bastard than John Terry. He looks like a dog with Bell's palsy and that thing he said to Anton Ferdinand this time last year was well out of order. I called someone a 'black cunt' once but I think it was different because I was having an argument with a crow. 
RUNNER UP - MARTIN CLUNES - Not really as bad as Terry. Not really. But last week Clunes did run out of his shed and kick me as hard as he could in the bollocks and then cycle off laughing on his BMX. I know it's not as bad as racism but I could totally do without that sort of nonsense to be honest. 

The fit award goes to Holly Willoughby. I'm told she's been on TV a lot this year. It's hard to believe that this time last year I was getting off with her in the back of a knackered van in Catford. It's a funny old world.
RUNNER UP - BUNTY HOVEN - Bunty is a right proper sexy vixen who lives down the bins. She's fit but she's a bit up her own arse. Not as up her own arse as my mate Ian Poultry mind who put his head up his own arse for a bet a few months ago and died. What an idiot. Haha. 10 /10.

I spend quite a lot of time watching TV in my mate Cwis Packham's bungalow at the weekends so I've got a fairly good idea about what's going on for a fox. I sit next to him on the sofa and he feeds me Twiglets and picks all the lice out of my revolting coat and he keeps trying to get off with me. The other day Cwis was watching X-Factor and a bloke came on called Rylan who couldn't sing for toffee and looked like he'd travelled back in time on a mission to open the world's gayest bar. He looked like he was wearing a latex George Michael mask turned inside out and when he started talking he sounded so thick that I could hardly believe that he was still alive. In one part of the programme he began weeping and his face reminded me of the time that my mate Keith Rice stood on a frog and it's head exploded.
RUNNER UP : SEXY CHRIS - Sexy Chris is my mate but he looks like a proper idiot. This year he got both of his ears pierced and got a a tattoo of Kurt Cobain which looks crap mainly because he's a fucking tawny owl. (He also owns about fourteen pairs of cowboy boots). Sometimes when i think about how much I hate Sexy Chris it makes me go a bit giddy and I have to have a little sit down.

Rupert Murdoch, David Cameron and John Terry would have all had a shot at this in any other year if it wasn't for Sir Jimmy Saville who pinched the title from beyond the grave for doing stuff that you wouldn't even expect from me, and I can be a right handful. Very bad man.
RUNNER UP - Don't need one really. There's a squirrel I know called Clive Salad who's a bit of a prick but...but he's not really in the same ball park to be fair.

I think I'm going to give this award to David Cameron based on the fat that he's trying to piss about with the NHS. I love the NHS because it's where I get most of my dinners. The other day I got into a bin behind St Thomas' Hospital and found a bag full of human hands. My mate Vile Clive put one on his head and pretended to be a hen. He thought it was really funny but it wasn't.

Cameron also deserves the award for creeping out into St James' Park in the middle of the night and ensnaring animals in a sort of web so that he can feast on their blood. I once saw him eat an entire pelican in one mouthful by dislocating his jaw like some sort of podgy-faced anaconda. My mate Keith Rice says that he's got two pairs of a eyelids like a crocodile. He's a proper fucked up guy.
I'd like to take a minute to pay respect to a man who dedicated his life to nature and sadly passed away in September of this year. If more people cared about animals as much as Terry Nutkins then this world would be a better place to live for humans and animals alike. I know me and Nutkins had our ups and downs (My mate Edal Walsh took a couple of his fingers off and it caused problems) but he was a top lad.
Terence Paul "Terry" Nutkins (12 August 1946 – 6 September 2012)


RIZZLEKICKS (noun) /Riz-Al-Kix/  - 
This is slang for the convulsive fit that a fox or other wild animal can go into if it consumes petrol. Sometimes this act can be enjoyed recreationally.
i.e : Vile Clive drank fuck loads of Castrol GTX out a tramp's shoe and got the rizzlekicks so bad that he almost died.

BRUSHSTROKER (noun) /Brush-Stroke-Er/  -
This is what we call people who bum fox
i.e : Yeah, my mate Keith Rice reckons that Jonathan Dimbleby is a bit of a brush-stroker. going to steer well clear of that bugger's garden from now on thank you very much.

STINGLING (verb) /Sting-gling/  - 
The act of getting off with a wasp (behind a leisure centre).
i.e : I've been stingling a wasp I met by the bins. Think I'm going to marry the cunt. His name's David Jason. Like the actor who played Frost and Del Boy. 

BAD-SALAD (noun) /Bad-Salad/  - 
A meal prepared in a prostitute's wig
i.e I had a bad-salad for my tea. It mainly tasted like jizz.

COCKADOODLING (verb) /Cock-D-Dood-Ling/  - 
The act of punching a hen so hard in the throat that the little red bit on top it's head blows up and it lays a red egg. 
i.e : I've just been cockadoodling. Why else do you think I'm eating this red egg?

INCYGNIFICANT (adjective) /In-Sig-Nif-Ik-Ant/  - 
Any animal smaller than a swan. (Any animal that you shouldn't have too much trouble bullying) 
i.e : When I realised that the dog was incygnificant, I kicked it in the bollocks and called it a prick.

MONGTH (verb) /Mong-Th/  - 
A moth that has cerebral palsy.
i.e : I got trapped in a shed with a mongth the other day. That was a laugh. Not.