My Destiny

Things have been pretty hectic in the Addman homestead as of late.  Like other billions of moronic fools out there, I made an almost impossible New Year’s Resolution back in January, and I’ve realised that I have less than 6 months to achieve it.  That goal is to “Fulfil My Destiny”.

As with the majority of things in life, fulfilling one’s destiny is far easier said than done.  Frankly, I didn’t know where to start with such a task.  I’m sure that all humans have a destiny, but how do you discern it?  And once you’ve done that, what if you’re not up to the task?  I mean, my destiny may have been to make sweet love to Theresa May while blacked up, but the practicalities of achieving this are quite staggering.

If the stories are to be believed, fulfilling one’s destiny always requires some sort of journey.  Taking this as my starting point, I filled a backpack with the bare essentials (Slinky, Nintendo DS, backup slinky, pogo stick, emergency slinky, Diablo, rainbow slinky, plastic dog turd, etc.) and set out on my ambitious personal quest.

Everyone loves a slinky

I made it as far as the bus stop before I ran into my first problem.  Several people tried to get on the bus before me.  They didn’t understand that I was on a quest to fulfil my destiny, so I pushed them out of the way, toppled two toddlers, shattered an elderly woman’s pelvis, and slammed my cash down in the bus driver’s tray.  The driver refused to let me on for line cutting.  Apparently I had to be “courteous” to other passengers.  This was just wasting my time, time that could be spent fulfilling my destiny.  I explained this calmly and rationally to the bus driver as I tore his ears off and spoke softly into them.  He toppled over in agony, and it was clear that he wasn’t going to drive me to my destiny.  Frankly, I found him to be a rather rude individual, so I decided to continue my adventure on foot.

I walked for several days.  I walked over abandoned aqueducts, through untouched fields, and through the Aldi car park where my friend got bummed in a bottlebank.  Eventually, I came across a thick, dusky forest.  This seemed like an ideal location to find my true calling.  Despite the trees apparent whispering of “kill, KILL”, I entered the forest without a moment’s hesitation. 

Whittling a sharp stick as I walked, I whistled a ditty to try and drown out the whistling and followed my instincts deeper into the fauna labyrinth.  Without warning, a rabbit ran across my path, stopping in the centre to groom its cutesy bunny whiskers.  Perhaps this was a test.  Perhaps my destiny was to become the greatest woodsman alive.  I threw my pointy stick, but it narrowly missed its target as the rabbit bounded away down the path.  I gave chase, picking up my stick on the way, determined not to let this bunny live.  It weaved and bounced through logs and shrubbery, leaving the path behind, but I wasn’t deterred.  I was possessed, like a man who really wanted to kill a rabbit for no discernable reason.

Eventually, we ran out into a clearing.  I raised my arm to throw my makeshift spear, but I noticed something which stopped me in my tracks.  The forest clearing was rife with sickeningly sweet critters.  From fauns to frogs.  From rabbit to rodents.  All had gathered to bear witness to a majestic multi-horned deer, glistening in the centre of the clearing.  It raised its hoof onto an upturned log, then howled in a sweet deer-like fashion.  As I stood astounded, the log began to sprout leaves along its long deceased bark, sprouted new branches, and rooted itself back into the ground.  This deer was healing the forest.  Perhaps it was the forest guardian, responsible for every living thing, keeping the delicate balance in order.  I was stunned by this wondrous event, and all at once, knew what my destiny was.

The forest guardian.  Posh venison.

As I left the forest, I turned to look back at the towering inferno I’d caused.  As the woods were razed to the ground, I felt a sense of satisfaction spread over me.  The forest guardian turned out to be no match for man’s great fire, as I tucked into my chargrilled venison, enjoying the juices as they ran down my chin.  I surveyed the carnage and realised that this would be a great site for a new housing estate.  And thus, the seeds were planted and my destiny fulfilled.  I was to become the founder of Barratts.  We have brilliant houses at affordable prices!  Book a viewing today!

Your Friend The Bee

Bees bees, the musical fruit.  The more you eat, the more you toot.  ~ Ancient viking poem on bees.

The plight of the bee is well documented at this point.  You've probably all heard the phrase Colony Collapse Disorder; a mysterious event where bee colonies suddenly and unexpectedly die.  This has been happening across the world for the last few years, with startling acceleration.

So what's causing the issue?  It has been speculated that mobile phone signals might be interfering with their navigation, causing them to be unable to find food.  Others have suggested that parasites or disease might be the root of the problem.  However, one bright spark suggested that pesticides (the insect killing chemicals they spray all over bee food sources) might be killing the bees.

This seems to be the most likely cause.  Who knew that insect poison might poison insects?  Of course, the bees weren't the target of the crop spraying, but that's similar to me infecting everyone in the world with HIV in order to try and kill Piers Morgan.

Obligitory bee picture for bee article

"But Addman, why are you so concerned with the plight of the bee?  Haven't you been known to tear apart hives like soft bread to get at the sweet, sweet honey?"

Yes, and that's exactly why I'm concerned.  No more bees means no more honey.  In fact, no more bees means no more flora and fauna in general.  Bees are the single most effective method for flowers to have sex with each other.  Through some complex mechanism that I was too busy doodling dragons on my biology book to full take in, bees get inside flowers, flowers have sex with them, then the bees go other flowers and spread the sperm around.  It's called pollination; a fairly new phenomenon that all flowers have been upgraded to with the latest patch.  It's so cutting edge that it's no wonder science hasn't yet thought of these consequences.

So, how can you help bees and beekind?  First off, don't spray them with a can of Raid.  If they enter your house, catch them in a glass and let them out outside.  They only sting if you threaten them, so a gentle touch should keep both you and the bee safe.  Don't shout at them, curse their mother's, or throw ball bearings at them from the opposite side of the room.  In fact, a bee sting equals certain death for the bee as it tears out it's own digestive tract with the sting, meaning that it will only use it as a last resort to protect the hive.  If you're really scared and squeamish, just open all your doors and windows and wait for it to leave.  Trust me, the bee doesn't want to stay in your house.  He has no interest in sleeping on your couch, watching Dog The Bounty Hunter and eating all your sliced cheese.  He'd much rather be out in the wilderness, naturing it up like a motherfucker.

Dear readers, I implore you, please be kind to the bees.  They are on the verge, and your kindness and understanding will help.  Allow flowers to grow in your garden that may attract bees.  Don't pave over your back yard just because you can't be bothered to maintain it.  Let the bees do that.  If we take away their pollen sources, as well as poisoning them, we're signing their death certificate.

I would also encourage you to have sex with the bees and try to repopulate the Earth with a hybrid race of rabid man-bees, but I have been assurred by a scientist that this isn't a viable option.  Instead, I beg you for your awareness and your support for the bees.

A Special Message

I'm afraid today's blog is a little more on the serious side than usual, as I have a solemn subject to touch upon. I'm here to tell you about the poor conditions, and cruel treatment, given to one of natures most overlooked creatures. Now I know you're thinking "But Addman, since when did you care about the environment? Aren't you solely responsible for melting a large chunk of the Northern Glaciers?" but I have turned a new corner, and I am offering refuge to a certain type of mistreated animal. I am, of course referring to the Bobbing Bird.

Bobbing Birds have been living domesticated alongside us for many years now, but I am shocked by just how many terrible people place them in terrible conditions and don't take care of them correctly. This type of mistreatment has gone on for much too long, and I plan to wrong this right (or right this wrong, I get confused with turns of phrase) by opening my very own Bobbing Bird Sanctuary, right here in England. But in order to do that, we at Muppets For Justice need your donations.

You may not realise just how many of these birds are illegally sold into the rare trade market, to owners who merely want them as a status symbol. Bobbing Birds are a rare species, and as such, highly sought after in these materialistic times by collectors. We checked on eBay, and found thousands of birds for sale, which shows you the scale of this barbaric poaching operation.


This is Bobby. Bobby was found balanced precariously on a richety bookshelf, bobbing away to ease the pain. He was forced to drink stale water from a stained cup continously by his twisted owners. His feet were covered in dust and had obviously been left to his own devices for months by a callous carer. With your donations, as you can see, we can raise the money we need to keep their drinking water fresh, and the clean glasses they need to stay healthy.



This is Mona and her daughter Lisa, mother and daughter, who were found crammed into a small drawer along with broken electronic goods and other waste. They'd been left there like some sort of unwanted, disposable, consumer good. We questioned the child who was supposed to take care of these loving creatures, and he said they were a Christmas present which he didn't like. Mona and Lisa had been so used to not having enough room to bob their heads that they have virtually forgotten how to do so. With your help, we can pay our team of animal experts (with PHDs in Birdology and Bobistics) to give them the physiotherepy they need to bob their heads once again, like nature intended.


This is Darrell being reintroduced to fresh water once more. His previous owners left him on top of a toilet and treated him as though he were a toy! Darrell is well into our recovery program and is nearly ready to be put up for adoption. If you wish to adopt a Bobbing Bird such as Darrell, please leave your contact numbers as comments in this blog, and we'll send you a brochure of the work we do, along with the forms you need to help us save them from their torturous owners. Darrell needs the love and attention of someone who truly cares for him. Could you be that person?

As you can tell, this is obviously serious work that requires a lot of funding. Funding which we severely lack, and we can only do so much for these little miracles of nature on pure love alone. We need your donations. For only £10 per month, you will recieve a care pack every month with information on our operation, a special note from your selected bird, and a pamphlet detailling what you can do to save the Bobbing Bird population.

Thank you, and remember, a bird bobs for life, not just for Christmas.