naming a hamster general sniggly poo does not

in any way indicate that I am a pussy fag dude (not that there is anything wrong with that, all must wearily add in this post seinfeld era to remind the silent masses that I am not a rascist/sexist or pianist). Recent sources, and these are wombat hating folk who have their priorities straight as far as what's up with those damn marsupials, have suggested that I should name the hamsters killer or cutter or shooter or tank gun or gorgeous, snooty woman or any number of horrifying things.... right off the bat. At birth. Just label them a killer.

The more astute among you will have already realized that this would miss the all too crucial religous dupping phase. First, they must love god and cage, then I will threaten that love, and make them feel like they have to live up to impossible, psychoisis inducing levels of acheivements (think the Japanese school system), or lose that love... then, I will make all the religous rules so easy that they can follow all of them. This will lull them into a renaissance, a peaceful period where their arts, such as they are (scratching lines on stuff), and their pursuit of love, will be all they need concern themselves with. This joyous period will be why they fight. I will tell them that now that they have made peace with god, some petty human was fucking with them. They figure after god, what can a human be, right? I'm almost positive they will think this.

Anyways, I will get them to fight by convincing them that they are protecting their way of life. Just like the rich people tell the kids dying now. Thing is of course, the hamsters will secretly be protecting only my way of life, while their lives will just be gone. This is how things work in capatilism, where the leaders sending kids to die, like I say, have never been to war and never think of sending their kids into the military like some damn peasent.

So you can see, for my plan to proceed along the tried and true lines, I have to first convince them to love, and then smash that love into little thorny, jagged, cutting peices.

So, this explains the names...


TROOP UPDATE.

I am now showing the hamsters zombie movies, and have convinced them that this is what happens to humans when they die.... It was so easy. I just popped in ten hours of various George Romero zombie flicks. Lately, I have been telling them that if they understand what I want them to do, they should just start humping. A good fifty percent of them are with me on most of the lectures... even higher when I soak their pellets in coffee. You should see how fast their hips move with a good caffienne buzz.

I have also been trying to teach Ruby Dog to be an ally of the Hamster Army, rather than the most probable source of all of their deaths. I tried tying her up just out of reach of the hamsters, but then one of them, Lloyd, had to run over and check out Ruby Dog. The wily siberian husker do was acting like she could care less as the little brown and white fuster moved over to within reach of her leash. I thought things were going great, in fact, until Ruby Dog suddenly lunged down on the surpised rodent, scooped the damn thing up, took a couple kill bites and swallowed.

Afterwards, I told that fleabot, "Listen, you have to learn to love hamsters, dog. I mean, why can't we alll just get along. Some black guy said that after some white cops beat him up, and it was pretty cool until he kept getting busted over and over after taking all of the money he made off of his civil suite and basically driving around drunk for a couple years, mouthing off to cops... until some more kicked his ass and threw him into prison... or something like that, about an Irish guy... I'm just unsure... and too lazy to look it up."

Ruby looked at me like, "hey, if you are not going to look it up, I am not going to trust you." I have seen that look before from her during many of my lectures on military tactics, good hygeine, and the dangers of wombats...
M., in her silly world, thinks Ruby dog is merely yawning. But, well.... Like I wrote in the last update on my progress toward world dominatrix, or Paintopia (my empire will be named in due time, and will be burned into your mind with the pain of fire), M. is being kept in the dark about these new hamsters. I am sure she would just find some reason to bitch about me spending the electric and gas bill on hamsters. We'll get all that shit for free when I take over, anyways.

you could send a couple hamsters, for dog's sake... if you don't, I will hunt you down. Don't fucking think I won't.