The badger, the meaning of life, confetti
Lady Gertrude Gruntblatter waddled down the road muttering darkly to her pet badger. She had enjoyed bullying Doctor Socks that morning and was now considering what other horrible things she could usefully get up to before lunch.
‘I know!’ she exclaimed suddenly to the badger.
The badger grunted.
‘Well don’t you want to know? Actually I don’t care whether you want to know or not…’ The badger shrugged his shoulders and grunted again.
He was busy pondering over the meaning of life.
‘I’ve just heard that there’s a new person in town,’ said Lady Gertrude. ‘Just my sort of person in fact!’
‘Really?’ inquired the badger. ‘How so? I didn’t think anyone was your sort of person.’
‘He’s a chef!’ exclaimed Lady Gertrude, triumphantly.
‘Oh pants!’ said the badger, morosely. ‘More food! You need to stop eating. You won’t be able to walk soon.’
‘Language language!’ said Lady Gertrude.
‘What do you care about language?’ asked the badger. ‘All you care about is eating.’
And he shambled off down the road ahead of her, so that he could carry on thinking about the meaning of life.
(The answer he had most recently come up with was, rather puzzlingly, something to do with confetti.)
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