When you want to get to grips with the urban jungle, who better to ask than our favourite brush-tailed mammal, king of the underground animals, Mr Gus the Fox.
Talk about thick, these guys barely know what day of the week it is. If you’ve ever tried to have a chat with one then you’ll know what I’m talking about. I once met a pigeon who’d spent about £4,000 on trainers. He can’t even bloody wear them. I try and avoid them most of time because, despite the fact you can’t have a half decent conversation with a pigeon, they’re not really worth eating. Because you lot are such a nasty bunch of cunts, you put acid on the roofs of all the buildings in central London and because pigeons are so fucking stupid, they keep traipsing through it, again and again. That’s why pigeons have feet that look (but don’t taste) like popcorn. Anyway, my mate Donald Chocolate ate a pigeon once and it still had all this acid shit all over it’s feet and it burnt old Don’s mouth and lips. Now he looks a bit like Pete Burns and everyone gives him a hard time and calls him a prick. So I don’t bother eating them unless I’m bloody starving.
Coots are racists. They are extremely unpleasant birds and once a coot (Troy Winters) made me so I angry that I punched him until both me and Troy were crying. It’s weird that they’re so different to moorhens who are actually a bloody good laugh.
People seem to have this idea that owls are ‘wise’, but I once sold an owl a tampon for £40. £40 for one tampon. Owls can be alright though. My mate Sexy Chris is an owl. He can be a bit of a pleb. Like all owls he believes his own hype. He thinks he’s pretty intelligent and sophisticated but he’s just a twat really. Once I caught him trying to eat his dinner with cutlery. He looked like such an idiot – he could barely hold the fork. The other day we got hammered on M-Cat and I convinced him to pluck all his feathers out for a laugh. He did and it was brilliant because he looked nude. Now he can’t fly though and he hasn’t eaten for a while. We’re all quite worried that he might die.
Grey cunts more like.
They live in soil, you hardly ever see them and they have a right attitude problem. The other day a mole popped up, blinked at me, called me a wanker and fucked off back underground. I can do without that sort of thing to be honest. I did meet a nice mole once. His name was Tom Shoe. We had a bit of a laugh. He was always wearing this tiny little bomber jacket though, so even he was a bit of a plum to be fair.
There’s fucking loads of them and they taste delicious. Apparently there are about 7,500,000 rats in London. Even my mate Bollocks Steve couldn’t eat that many in one sitting and he’s a right chunky bastard. Rats basically wander about in gangs, effing and jeffing and thinking they’re the dog’s bollocks, until you get one on his own and then it’s all ‘Sorry mate I was joking’ and ‘Please don’t hit me mate, my mum’s got cancer’. They’re spineless and I simply cannot get along with them. Having said that they are delicious. I don’t know if it’s all the crap they eat or the fact they knock about in bins and sewers but once you’ve had rat there’s no going back. I once found a rat in the canal. It was all bald and bloated – it was one of the best days of my life.
I once saw an eel commit suicide. He jumped out of the canal and into the spokes of someone’s fixie bike. Me and my mate Double Denim David laughed so much that we got nose bleeds and Dave fell in the canal and went over a weir. I’ve never had a chat with an eel. Apparently they’re quite depressing characters. Very neurotic and negative. This is what I’ve heard from the swan and the ducks. My mate Violent Clive uses an eel as a sort of belt/scarf. He looks like an enormous bell end.
Want more Gus? Discover his favourite spot to murder a few hens in Gus’s five favourite places in London.
Follow Gus’s magical London adventures at @GusTheFox.