Granny Marge Takes Charge

Hello dearies. My name is Margerie and I am pleased to make your acquaintance. I have taken over this web place after observing my grandson spending time on it frequently, and since internets are not on The Daily Mail's list of approved pastimes, I thought I'd take a goosey gander. After guessing his password (I told him his love of sausages would come back to haunt him), I have found myself in control of Puppets For Juice! However, all is not well.

A quick browse of this internets bookmark suggests that it is a terrible place filled with hateful remarks and jokes about genitalia. I am appalled that my grandson could be allowed to electronically print these words onto your screens, but I am even more outraged that you sit there and read them. I sincerely hope that you do not get any sick pleasure from reading horrible words on your computer boxes, otherwise you're scum, and second-rate scum at that!

I want everyone to stop reading this immediately and go outside. Outdoor activities are much more wholesome and teach you wonderful lessons on how to tackle bullies, paedophiles, and dangerous animals. These kind of life lessons cannot be learned at a computer (to my knowledge) and are essential if you want to live until the age at which you can get married before having sex. It never did me any harm growing up in Slough with a piece of dishrag for a father and my mother spending all of our savings on putting a step ladder into our septic tank so we could swim in it. Me and my twelve siblings always had adventures with nothing but a rock, a used condom, and our imaginations. Back then of course, condoms were known as Population Blockers and we only had normal flavours like strawberry, cherry, banana, and coronation chicken, and they didn't come out of machines either. No sir, you had to fish them up out of streams or discover them under swingsets at the park; it was a much simpler time.

These days there are so many dangers in the home. From mind bending soda pops to so called television comedians who make fun of our proud monarchy and our British morals, our children are under an onslaught at all times from lazy commercialism. There's no wonder they grow up to be knuckle-dragging drudgens who only look forward to their next can of fizzy drink or the act of clumsily spilling their hormones into each other like a dribbling garden hose. This is why outdoor activities would benefit them more.

To give you an example of the types of kids we're raising these days, let me tell you about a recent experience I've had with young 'uns. Little over two weeks ago, I was zipping along on my mobility scooter when I came up behind some young hoodlum who was wearing those blasted, white E-Pod ear speakers. He was no doubt listening to some kind of hippety hop that was probably a recipe for killing babies, and failed to hear me shout at him to move out of the way, and failed to hear my horn. I was left with no choice but to politely nudge him into the wall so I could get past him, and he had the bare faced cheek to call ME rude! Wait until you're in juvenile hall young man, then you'll realise who's rude. Us elders are never the rude ones!

This type of behaviour is rife. Before I had my scooter, the amount of times I had to hit young men with my umbrella because they didn't immediately give up their seat on a bus is uncountable. Then they took my bus pass away because I managed to blind one of them with the umbrella point. I am disgusted that the government allows these yobs to dominate areas of buses that are not rightfully theirs.

I'd say our nation had gone to the dogs if dogs weren't so fat and lazy these days. This country has gone to the squirrels.