Volume 7: Issue 2K4,3 ; Want to read the Previous Issue
It was 20 years ago today...

Rip Van Wrinkle new editor...

...delays expected...
Well, it has been a little while. I knew I shouldn't have had that little catnap; these things always seem to last longer than one would expect. Not that I expect I missed much. Probably just the usual wars, denials, rebutals and shocking scandals. [ not to be confused with shocking sandals]

Anyway, what's been happening up at Hamster Towers? Well, the usual really. People have been running around like headless chickens, diving in at the deep end, and running all sorts of marthon efforts to get us back in the black. I really think they all deserve some sort of medal.

N.Massey, Currently holding the medal for the 100m HamsterTimes Editorship. [Having beated the previous olympic champion by 0.4 seconds and three failed drugs tests] August 2004

Scandelous Liasons!!

Greetings, probably you have already forgot me. We spend a nice time together last summer in Miami. Im Nataly, a blonde to whom you have confessed in love in the seacoast. It is a pity, that you have never called, but at last I managed to scan the photos you have been asking for (where Im naked). I hope they will help you to recover the memories and to call me.
it's my site
Tanya

My word! Tanya! I'd forgotten all about you [you were right]! Ah, but we will always have Miami, the dolphins, the sea. The fact that you're called Nataly and sign your message Tanya. Obviously you are suffering from some sort of Scitzophrenia. I'm no doctor, or even a psycologist [if I were, I'd probably be able to spell scitzophrenia correctly - although, odds are, my handwriting would be so poor that this would be far from obvious]. Might I suggest that you forget this Nataly personna, and rather dedicated a life to researching love of the seacoast, rather than love in the seacoast, which could get quite messy, and I hear you can never get sound out of all those delicate regions.

If you would like to share [insert item], [insert other item] or just [see doctor, have both items removed] , please direct your emails to an address yet to be determined. Possibly HamsterTimes at yahoo dot com, although it could as easily be somewhere over the rainbow at no place like home dot its a twister its a twister dot org dot net dot com dot dash dash dash dot dot dash dot dash dot dot dot. Please put the subject of your emails as "Lettuce to the Editor", and illuminate our otherwise dull existance with the brilliance of the composition you compose.

Salad Invades McDonnalds!

Rumours are that two fries were scared, and three McChicken Sandwiches are currently undergoing psycho-evaluation. With the current trend to people not wanting to die, Salads have taken the fast food giant by storm. Some blame Hurricane Charley, others blame the sorry state of our pop charts. All we can say is, Salads are here, and here to stay.

The chicken ceasor salad seems to be the most popular at the moment, with its mix of cheesy bits, crutons and crunchy leaves. When speaking to a patron we obtained the following statement about the new menu item:

"B*gger off! Can't you see I'm trying to eat here? You try placating the desires of 3 four year olds with happy meals, all the time trying to stop them from sticking fries up their noses and stealing each others toys. S*d off and leave me alone"

This feeling was echoed throughout the Hollyhead Road Branch by everyone we interviewed. We believe this means a prosperous future for McDonalds with their brave and outlandish ideas. Expect to see a Big McSalad any day now!


Australian Poppet in Love/Peace hair sit in!

  In another attempt to highlight the general disregard to the peace process, the war in Iraq (we won by the way... I think... maybe the juries out on that one still?) Australian poppet Kylie Minogue decided to emulate the late great John Lennon with a hair/love peace sit-in.

I just can't get her outta your head

Under white silk covers, at the Amsterdam Hilton, a sexy Kylie purrs; "You know, I hate this war. I wish they would just all get along".

She then posed prevocatively in her new range of "Love Kylie" underwear before bursting into song. While the audience were spellbound by this impromptue and not at all publicity motivated display [and nothing at all to do with trying to push the single "chocolate" and her current album "Body Language" or the DVD and live DVDs of a similar name], we felt we should bring to her attention that she was a little behind. To which she sobbed, "I know, I've won awards for it, but damn it! I'm a good actress and singer. I feel I should be recognised for that as well once in a while."

Enough of that, sometimes I could just slap the miniscule pop princess silly you know?

For those who are interested [I know who you are, and if you keep leaving the packages behind the third pipe in the gents and New Street Station, I'll keep with-holding your names] here is the song she sang;

"I'm not getting out of this bed,
Peace is all I can think about.
I'm just not getting out of this bed,
It's more than something to dream about.

Every night. Every day. Just to sleep safe in my house.
Won't they please.
Just be free.
Won't they please.
Just be free.

Just to be safe in my house."

The casebook of Sheriff Brown
Case 4093: no smoke, no fire?

Why, it's a dastardly photostory. Brought to you by the colour "brown" and the month "August". The people featured in this story are all real, the facts have however been changed to enable us to make up a story featuring these people.

[note to editor] Should I also add, that none of this really happened, or are our readers bright enough to come to that conclusion themselves?

Just another day at Sheriff Brown's office. I was teaching the roaches to tapdance when a dame came in. She said her name was Lola, and she was a showgirl. She wore ribbons in her hair and danced all over there at the disco, at the casbar.
I asked her what her problem was. Seems she was a broad who walked like a woman but talked like a man. We went a bar, ordered champagne but it tasted just like cherry cola. C O L A cola.
So we danced all night. She told me she was going to make me a man. I decided I would call him 'Morph', like Tony Hart did many years ago. I asked her if it was plasticine or plaster of paris. She looked confused. I had blown my cover, and was in danger of being arrested under any number of obsenity laws.
She gave me some clothes to cover my dignity, at least, that's what she decided to call it. I always preferred 'Big Brownie', or 'Trunk', but she liked the way 'dignity' rolled off her tongue.
She wanted me to find her cat. It was raining but hot in the bar. She loved that pussy. It was shy, and rarely came out, especially the first time it saw someone. But Lola thought I was the man to take care of it. We went to her appartment. I looked all over for her pussy. When Lola came back in the room, I told her this was a puzzler. She begged me to stay, but I had to make my report, and so began the case of the catnapped persian.

The HamsterTimes is copyright etc 2004 N.Massey and B.Godfrey. Irritation is something we all try to avoid, and we would like to recommend good creams, almost guarenteed to remove any itch patches, by Tuesday, so don't do it or we will get very cross.

Unless otherwise stated, personal details we be used to try and solve the New York Times crossword. To be honest though, I don't think "Jenny Beasley" will fit one across very well, so I'll have to try "Tim Willingsgate".

The small print

By reading this publication you are proving that even someone with a background such as yours is able to obtain at least a reasonable degree of literacy in this day and age. Thus disproving all those myths about people leaving schools with tonnes of qualifications, but yet being unable to read, write, or tell anyone who the current prime minister is [Gordon Brown, obviously]. Sew, a needle pulling thread walks into a bar and finds itself comfortably numb at the hands of the scissor sisters [whoever they are!]

I often ponder how many monkeys it would take to produce an edition of the Hamster Times, a strange and potentially explosive experiment that lead to the publication you are reading today. Rather I try, and fail, than not try at all I say. Still, the Chimps now have a measure of notoriety and are currently negotiating to be staff writers for the Onion. If you like this, you'll like that. Although it can be rude and offensive at times. It has a certain je ne sais quo about it that tickles the funny bone.

Really though, Monkeys are not the sort of people you would want flying around your bathroom at three o'clock in the morning, Really. It seems like a fun, neigh, cute idea at the pub. But come the wee small hours (the ones that are only 25 minutes long instead of the usual 69) you are ready to commit Harry Carrie to the asylum and sign away all legal responsibiliy.

This publication does contain references to Norman Lemont, but only in moderation, and never on a Tuesday night. Please do not be offended, everything contained within is intended to be humourous, taken with a pinch of salt, and if it doesn't clear up, come see me in the morning.

Hey Hey, we are the monkeys. People say we're monkeying around. We're too busy singing, to put anybody down.