Fennel? Must be aliens then.

My human is highly disturbed (and disturbing).

Right, you might say, that is not entirely new information. But in her defense I have to add that I find what happened today mildly disturbing myself. Gather round, lads and lasses, and hear me out.

My human hates fennel. She finds it so disgusting, that even the smell of fennel tea almost makes her vomit. She has told me so in no uncertain terms more than once, because I quite like it and was banned to the balcony whenever I merely suggested we might have a cuppa.

Today I caught her drinking fennel tea.

Asked WTF?, she looked at me with utter horror in her eyes, knowing immediately what I meant. She could not believe it herself. Not only did she NOT vomit, but she rather enjoyed the taste. Devastated, she assumed that the previous night she must have been abducted by aliens who probed her mind, sort of brain-washed her, to make her like fennel tea.

Personally I think my orcish charms finally worked on her and she secretly wants to please me. Although she would never openly admit that. She has commitment issues. Why she should be ashamed to have a relationship with a proper orc is beyond me. So, I let her believe it was fennel-aliens who did it. She is not someone to be gainsaid. I learned that the hard (cold/wet) way, spending endless hours/days on the balcony for various reasons.

Next, I will put my orcish charms to even better use: will make her like roasted rat breast on toast with hot sauce. And a slice of fennel. Hehe.

A conspiracy of …, I don’t even know

Something very odd is going on. Let me explain.
My current she-human and the one I stayed with in London obviously share an interest in a certain story. If I may remind you of a series of posts a while ago, you’ll see what I mean.
The story is called Pride & Prejudice and my human in London made me read the book. It was the first time ever that I read anything other than tracks of monsters. And it didn’t end well, as I ate that book halfway through (when Prick Darcy proposed to Lizzy Bennet).

sun bathing

Did you by any chance recognize that it is sunny outside? Summer in krautland is very unstable, I was told. I am a creature that used to live underground for millenia but I find myself adapting to daylight quite cheerfully. She-human on the other hand has never spend one day of her life underground, and yet she refuses to leave the house whenver it is more than an average 25° Celsius outside. If she has no choice she covers her skin with something called suntan lotion.
Well, naturally, I tried it.
First, I confused it with toothpaste, so I put it in my mouth. Instead of spitting it out I swallowed it. Tastes as shitty as it smells. Then I drenched myself in it. Now I stink. Sweet and sticky, that’s what I am now. And above all I have exposed myself to ridicule. Again. Will I ever learn?
You know the answer.
So, now I go outside, the sun is shining, I am trying to enjoy myself. But: I stink. Cats get out of my way (okay, they might have other motives to avoid me), bees find me enormously attractive, wherever I go, things stick to my skin. It’s disgusting. The only way to get rid of it will be by taking a bath, I’m afraid. I hate she-human. I really hate her.

Sausages

I had a proper look around, these last couple of days, despite the crappy weather. And I realized: the humans around here should by no means be called krauts. True, that stuff is available at those market-like buildings, stored in tins (everything concerning human comes in tins). But I never once saw anyone actually eat it.
What they DO eat, constantly, is bread and sausages. It comes in various forms and tastes, and it is available literally everywhere. Humans enjoying their favourite pastimes (football, not internet-trolling) – who’s already there? A sausage-seller. a remote place, deep in the forest, a carpark, and? Right. Sausageman. Or Sausagewoman. the humans do not seem to mind who sells that stuff as long as they get it, preferably with a slice of bread and some green stuff called mustard. THAT is fantastic shit, I tell you. And it does funny things to the nose, when you eat at least a mouthful of it. I love it all.
So, today I may proudly say I am a sausage-orc. With a mustard-mustache. Life is great. Fuck the rain.

I ate it

“WTF, Thrakbog?”, you might say. And yes, you’re absolutely right. Those were my exact words too. I finally ate the bloody book. I couldn’t bear it any longer. Idiot Darcy telling Lizzy that he loved her. And proposing to her. I mean, seriously? The man was clearly delusional. Trust me, he was. I know an awful lot about halluzinating, given that I frequently drink the stuff the brewer concocts. And I guarantee you, Prick Darcy has completely lost his marbles. All of them. The ones in his head and those a bit further down, which I heard described as the family jewels. The man has got no balls!
No longer able to call him Prick Darcy, I ended his and my own misery and ate the bloody book.
Will go out for a catsnack and be a proper orc again. I really should have known. Orcs don’t read books.
Although I have to admit that Lady Catherine de Bourgh had some potential for becoming a truly evil overlord. Uhm, overlady. Oh, well. Never mind.
I feel some wanderlust growing inside me. At least I hope it is wanderlust. Otherwise I’d have to reconsider eating books in the future. I normally digest rusty nails and monster-steaks but the written word could prove inedible and hard to swallow.
So wanderlust it is. Where shall I go? Will do some research to find out where I might find a magic portal. But first: cat. Or dog. I’m not picky.