Hail, Squeak Friends, Bonky bonky bonky bonky bonky bonky bonky bonky bonky bonky bonky bonky bonky bonky bonky bonk. Right, first of all I must say that I am a mite pissed off. The ranks of the Secret Hamster Society seem to be filled with young furry Siberian Albino's saying things like "Why doesn't the Secret Hamster Society become more open?" Well, if I may be so bold my pale and furry friend, it's bleeding obvious, isn't it? You can't have a secret society which is open, can you? I mean, if we did become open, we would be nothing but a bunch of hamsters who get together occasionally and talk about all of the things we've been doing to field mice and gerbils lately.
Well, alright then if you want to get all technical about it - so what if we are? Oh, well. Since this is a democracy I suppose I'd better get on with it. Here goes:
Consider the Humble Carrot
Yes, I know it's a stupid name for a section heading. Take it from me, carrots ain't humble. In fact, it is safe to say that humility is well outside the vocabularum et daucus carota. The only thing you ever get out of a carrot (other than that stuff which makes flamingoes pink) is some smart-arsed statement like "What are you up to today? Gonna eat some more of me while I just sit here and turn soft?" They are bastards, really, are carrots. Nothing more to add to this section really.
Consider The Humble potato
No, let's not.
The Degrees of the SHS
Now this is more like it. There are many, many degrees in the SHS. Unfortunately, none of them matter all that much. In fact, none of us actually know what degree we are. There was a Knight of the Sunflower Seed once I believe, but we cut his throat and buried him at high water mark. (Well - some of us were drunk, at a loose end and wanted a laugh). I have heard that Sub Zero from Mortal Kombat is a Grand Master of the Habitat Fairground Module to the Second Degree and Guardian of the Sacred Chew-Stick and Protector of the Furry Bummed One of Swords. It's only a rumour, though.
A Helpful Hamster Fact
Tony Banks MP does NOT play keyboards and 12-string guitar for Genesis.
The SHS is presided over by the Rt. Hon. Michael Hesseltine MP. Peculiarly enough, said fellow isn't a hamster at all. Well, he's a tory for a start. But he's had more heart attacks than the rest of us and smells as bad as we do so that's alright with us. He got the job by just turning up one day with a note from a long-haired golden hamster (Fluffybott) saying he was now president, and we've been trying to get rid of him ever since. Fluffybott was our registrar (he has since been trod on by Dame Shirly Porter) and as far as we can tell, Fluffs mistook Mr. Hesseltine for a hamster during an interview he was having with Richard Dimbleby. Mr. Hesseltine has his own quarters and his own personal wheel with the word "Michael" embossed on it in droppings. Quite appropriate, don't you think?
The Secret Hamster Greetings
It seems that the traditional Secret Hamster Greeting (a "Hail Squeak Friend" followed by "bonky" repeated several times depending on degree and a punctuating "bonk" on the end for good measure) has now fallen out of favour with many of the higher degrees of the SHS (picky sods. I happen to know that most of the higher degrees of the SHS listen to Wham! albums in their spare time and campaign to get packets of crisps to have only one crisp in them so that poor people can afford them too, so I shouldn't take anything they say all that seriously if I were you). The problem, they say, is that since degrees are often self-appointed (especially for the higher ranking members), it has got to the stage where quite often one has just completed the greeting only to find it is now time to go to bed (and what's wrong with that?). Apart from this 'negative interfacing' problem, it is felt that as a 'secret' greeting, the traditional way is far from subtle. It has therefore been decided that from now on, when one member wants to greet another he should throw down some food onto the floor in front of him and then poo on it. Mr. Hesaltine says that doing this went down relatively well at last years Tory party conference and the event passed pretty much unnoticed by the non-SHS members there. Douglas Hurd even offered him some celery, the lucky thing.
Not a lot to be said about this really, since the meetings are all held in the nude. (Mr. Hazlenut often wears a jockstrap so some of our more short-sighted brethren don't think he has sneaked in another hamster, and start to get all confused as to which one is speaking). It is also tradition to carry a sawn-off chew stick when walking around outside. This comes in handy when you need to bash in the heads of passing field-mice and gerbils for no good reason other than they all deserve it. The 15mm Haybro chewstick with sesame seed-coated barrel, millet augmentation and auto-repeat action really is a beauty to behold. It is known as "the great leveller" when dealing with Guinea Pigs (which are well known for blobbing around bragging about how much bigger than hamsters they are). They soon realise that size doesn't do them much good when there's one of these babies embedded in their cranium.
Firstly we all stand up, rub our paws around our lovely little faces in a very cute manner and then sit down while our very own Mr. Hailstone does his speech.
After we have woken up we sing the Secret Hamster Song which was written by Snowy the Siberian Midget with some help from one of those automatic birthday card personalised message computers. The tune was by Mr. Humptydump (although it sounds like "Jerusalem" to me).
And did those paws in ancient times
Fill up a pouch with sunflower seeds?
And did he hide his little turds
So no one knew where he had been?
And did he like his chocky drops,
And did he munch his carrot tops,
and was a Rotastak home to him
or was he really Sir John Mills1?
Bring me my bowl of munchy food,
Bring me a piece of wood to gnaw.
Bring me my bed in which I've pooed,
Bring me my speedy hamster ball.
And so we'll march upon the hill,
and find some harvest mice to kill
and we will build a Rotastak
Within this shit-infested land.
1Now, some members have complained that this line doesn't make sense. Well I have since spoken to Sir John Mills and he assures me that he does not live in a Rotastak any more, so there.
After this we just sit about and talk about lettuce for a couple of hours.
Well, I hope this has enlightened you as to our doings. I really honestly believe that this has been a most successful endeavour and not just a cheap attempt to fill space on the web site or to cover up the fact that we really don't give a shit.
Right, I would appreciate it greatly if you would all go and pull your heads off with a big tweezer.
Thank you and goodbye.