Foamy The Squirrel On School Trips To Museums And Art Galleries

No wonder Haily Farber worships this little guy – the sheer genius of Foamy The Squirrel never fails to disappoint.

If like yours truly you do voluntary work in your spare time for our ‘cultural heritage’, it is bloody irritating how often it is abused by educational establishments as a ‘day off’ for the staff from having to deal with their little semi-savages by part-papping the responsibility onto another set of ‘authority’ figures.

There should at least be trapdoors fitted into all museums and art galleries, whereupon staff will have the right to press a button which sends anyone acting like an arseturnip down specially greased spiral chutes studded with razor blades to provide them with enough blood spurting lacerations to attract the attention of the pool of piranhas they’ll be dropping into within forty five seconds.

(You want them to have a proper slide, don’t you? It’s the last bit of fun they’re ever going to have).

The bones drifting to the bottom of the tank can be lifted out by a mesh net over to one side of the tank, removed, and ground up into bone meal for the gardens outside.

No mess, no waste, and a significant improvement to the human gene pool.

A letter would be sent to the parents explaining what happened and while sympathising on their loss pointing out kindly to them maybe if they hadn’t brought up such selfish skeets in the first place, a tragedy like this wouldn’t have occured.

If they hadn’t been eaten on a school trip by piranhas, it would have been drowning from jumping into a reservoir, being turned into pizza topping when crossing a railway line, or any one of the multitude of ways Generation Meh! Whatever! manages to destroy itself because it can’t be told a bloody thing – least of all anything with the word ‘prohibited’ attached to it.

See your local Covid-19 secondary outbreak in areas which couldn’t keep quarantine for deals. You had one thing to do. Stay indoors. Not quantum physics. But no, you couldn’t be told, selfish braindead little f**kers.

Their death was written in the Darwin Awards, because you failed as parents, get the f**k over it, and if you have any questions, please come and visit us at the museum.

(They get the slide leading to the Oceanic Whitetip Sharks)