Fan Mail

June 29, 2011

Dear zeebling,

I av been a massive fan of your bogg and that for ages. Me an ower lass are always avin a rite laff at it wen we read it in the skooner after we av dropped ower shane and chardoney off at the center. I will tell you wot tho mate. I fink that sum ov wot you say is bang owt of oader. I mean well snipe and that cos we arnt all chavs on ower estate. You are always slaggin us of and sayin ow we are all scum and that right so I think you ow us an appoligy cos we arnt all like that. And we arnt all slags or itillerate or detared either. So fess up man and say sorry and that.

Radged, Ull.

PS them seagull made me mam shit wiv laffin wen she red it!

Dear Radged

I have to be honest, I don’t know what to say. Are you real?  You can’t be real. You might be. Let’s assume you are,  and you are the most lovely man ever, although the fact that you go to the Skooner makes that dubious. Impressed, however, that it has broadband.

I’m very proud of my Hull roots. I hail from the Holderness Road. My first memory is of looking out of my cage in the pet shop and seeing the lights of the Eurasian Pizza and Kebab Emporium. You cannot GET more Hull. I am sorry if I have offended you.  May I suggest that your mother sees a doctor, though.

Dear Zeebling,

Are you dead yet? Ahahahahaha.


Dear Dave

You’re a bastard and I’ve always hated you. I planted those mice under your stair case deliberately. Everyone knows you tried to drown me. I’ve heard you’re coming to see my Dad this summer. Hope you like turd in your bed.

Love, Zeebling.

Dear Zeebling,

Jenny has invited you to the event ‘Xbox Live: 4000 points!’


Dear Zeebling,

Just reminding you (subtle like) that some of us are blog deprived…


Dear Emily,

You are a loyal reader, and I am truly sorry for the shocking shortage of posts of late. The truth of the matter is quite simple; nothing has happened. Life has been good, and quiet. The spring came, then the summer arrived, and with it came mice and birds and flies and lovely weather, and I have, to be frank, Emily, been basking. ‘Aaaah,’ I have been thinking to myself. ‘Aaaaah. THIS is the life I’ve deserved, here, right here. My own little house, my own little patch of mice and birds, my own little garden, a baby who is now Bigger and is nice to me and doesn’t think that my tail is a handle with which to pick me up, Iams, strange Thai Meat Pouches; I have everything I have ever wanted.’ In all honesty, Emily, I was thinking that so little was happening, so content was I, that I would have to wrap this up. What is there to say? My outlet to the world, begun at a time when the world was strange, and then pursued as if it were a promise of daylight during my time in the cellar of Saskatchewan had become secondary to my desire to sit in the sunshine licking my paws and trying not to worry about the fact that one of my teeth is now considerable longer than the others. I loved my Dad so very much for bringing me here, for giving me this.

Please note the past tense, Emily.

“I got the job!”, my Dad announced one day. He had gone for a promotion. It was all very exciting. I was excited, too; promotions mean cat treats, surely? Maybe an exciting scratch post? Maybe, like, just LOADS of Thai Meat Pouches in a big bucket? No, I’ll tell you what ‘promotions’ mean; they mean moving out of a cottage by the beach and moving into a house with fifty teenage boys in a school where every other teacher who lives there owns a bloody big lolloping labrador. It gets better, though, Emily. The apartment we’ll be living in? Guess where it is. I’ll give you a clue; it isn’t above ground. So this blog will be getting a revival, it would seem. The life of contented bliss that I thought was mine eternally has been snatched away like an E number from the grip of The Baby. I would say ‘shoot me now”, but amongst my facebook messages was also this:

Dear Zeebling

I like shooting things, like gophers. Gophers are smaller than cats.


Dear Taylor,

That’s a bit weird, isn’t it? Is it a statement of two separate facts, or is it a thinly veiled threat? I have no idea what I’m supposed to say in reply. I bet you own a quad, though.

Dear Zeebling

Thankyou for adding me to your friends list! When do we take over the world?

Gaea Mrrfy.

Dear Gaea

I’m not altogether sure who you are, or how to pronounce your name, or how we are friends, but I like you.

And thankyou, Gordon, for sending me clips of kittens. You’re right, they do make me giggle.


One Response to “Fan Mail”

  1. This is an extremely random comment and by no means a shameless plug I promise but imagine what Zeeblings blog would be like if cats could do internet dating, as we know cats can type surely it is only a matter of time…

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