| MOOsings of a Blå Ku VIII: MOOwe |
[Sep. 20th, 2008|07:35 pm] |
Hi there. It’s Moowe. You’ve probably all heard of me before, but probably not from me. I’m Euterli’s constant Cowpanion, just as fuzzy and bloo as he is, just as warm, huggable and lovable as he is. Still, somehow he’s the one that gets all the attention, and I never manage to find the right moment in which to say something that people will listen to. I often feel left out of all the bloo moo love, because Euterli’s always the receiving end while I just seem to be in the bloo background most of the time.
I’m the only udder fuzzy bloo moo on the planet besides Euterli, and I think I deserve more attention and affection that I’m getting now. Way more. But I just don’t know how to get it. Why do I get noticed so much less than Euterli does? Is it because I’m shy, because my nose is not as big and round and my nostrils aren’t as huge, deep and dark as his are? Do my insecurities show in a manner that makes me seem unattractive somehow? Does having a less cute name cowntribute to my lack of being noticed and the obvious lack of people squealing in a cuteness cowgasm when they see me?
Uwe, my keeper and closest humoon friend doesn’t hug me to sleep every night like SChnup does Euterli. SChnup keeps telling him to hug me to sleep every night and to hug me more often in general, because cows need love to grow like humoons do. Before he just left me in the cold dark living room on the sofa rest next to the lamp, but now he sleeps next to me on the bed. It’s an improvement, but it’s still a ways from being hugged to sleep every night.
Also, whenever SChnup comes to visit Uwe, it’s always Euterli that gets cowddled! Even Uwe cowddles Euterli more than he does me, and Euterli only cowmes when SChnup cowmes! I’m here every day in his apartment but he just leaves me in the cowrner most of the time. I feel like an underappreciated housecow.
I honestly don’t know what to do! I’ve tried everything a bloo moo could possibly undertake. I’m at the end of my nonexistent udder already, and I still haven’t found anything that works. Am I doomed to play second udder-teat to Euterli all my moo existence? Or is it true that cows are what they’re stuffed with, and since Euterli is stuffed with more premium cowmforter stuffing becowse his nose is bigger he’s automatically cuter? But that’s like saying fat people are more attractive gravitationally! There’s truth to it, but it’s a skewed kind of truth.
Please send in your suggestions. I’d really appreciate all the help I can get.
Udderly desperate,
MOOwe |
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| MOOsings of a Blå Ku VII: Die MOOfia und die Zigarettenmafia |
[Sep. 19th, 2008|04:53 am] |
Neuerdings habe ich mich entschlossen der MOOfia beizutreten. Ich und MOOwe. Aber wir haben noch keine richtige MOOfia gefunden, da blaue Kühe außerordentlich friedliche Wesen sind. Also haben wir unsere Eigene gegründet. Da wir keine Waffen besitzen dürfen und sowieso keine benutzen könnten, da wir nur diese dämlichen Pfoten haben, haben wir uns für eine andere Art KampfKUHnst entschieden. Den Todesblick. Den haben wir gleich an Uwe ausprobiert, was ein großer Erfolg war. Irgendwie sind wir so gemacht worden, dass Anstarren uns perfekt passt. Wir haben große Anstarraugen, mit denen wir sogar die Erfahrensten zu den Knien zwingen können! Leider war das bei Uwe am Anfang nicht so, da er unser neues Unternehmen etwas lustig fand, aber wir haben so lange damit bedroht ihn zu Tode anzustarren, dass er nachgegeben hat und uns eine Packung Milch spendete.
Wir suchen immer noch AnstarrMOOeister um unsere KüHnste zu raffinieren. Wer jemanden kennt, der sich mit sowas auskennt, sollte sich bei uns sofort melden!
Der bräunliche Typ hat mir schon ein Paar mal von der Zigarettenmafia erzählt. Ich finde sowas eigentlich ziemlich lustig, kann mir aber nicht vorstellen sowas zu machen. Vor einem Bahnhof oder einer sehr frequentierten Stelle den ganzen Tag zu stehen und jedes Mal hinter den Zaun zu springen und nach versteckten Zigarettenschachteln rumzukrabbeln jedes Mal jemand eine cowfen will.
Außerdem finde ich die Idee von Zigaretten lustig. Ich MOOeine, das könnte für MOOenschen noch gehen, aber für blaue Kühe ginge sowas gar nicht. Wir haben keinen kleinen Kopf mit einem kleinen Mund wo eine kleine Zigarette reinpassen würde. Nein, wir bräuchten dann schon eine große fette Zigarre, die genau in ein Nasenloch passen würde, damit das Rauchen überhaupt bei uns funktionieren könnte. Dazu müsste das Durchmesse der Zigarre genau der jeweiligen Kuh angepasst sein. Das wäre dann bestimmt eine Riesenaufwand, Zigarretten und Zigarren in verschiedenen Größen anzubieten, wie Kuhleidungstücke.
In jedem Fall würde ich keine Raucherkuh sein wollen. Ich habe auch mal dieses Experiment in der SchKuhle gemacht, wo man den Rauch einer ganzen Zigarette durch ein Stück Watte zieht. Nachher war die Watte total braun, roch eklig und war sogar noch etwas kUhlebrig. Und wenn ich bedenke, dass ich nur mit sowas gestopft bin, will ich nicht mehr rauchen. Was wäre, wenn meine Innereien alle zusammekleben würden?!
Ich wäre dann keine flauschige blaue kUhnuddelige Kuh mehr, sondern eine KlebKuh. Wie aus Teer.
NEIN. Das muss nicht sein.
Rauchen schadet der Füllung blauer Kühe. Ich empfehle also dringend, dass sie diesen Spruch auch mal auf Zigarettenschachteln anbringen.
Eure rauchfreie Kuh
-- Euterli
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| MOOsings of a Blå Ku VI: Cow Aspirations |
[Sep. 18th, 2008|08:06 pm] |
I may not dream in the night, but I still do dream. Sometimes I fantasize...
I was born to fly. As only a Bloo Moo can, through the clouds by day, over the moon by night. If cows can jump over the moon and spoons can run away, I'm sure I could fly if I tried hard enough. After all, this big bloo nose must be worth something in that area. Maybe if I filled it with gas, I could use it as a hot air balloon and float over cowntinents and oceans and visit all the seven great udders of the ancient moo world and sample the milk and dairy products on all the 7 continents.
I was born to write. To write the great cow novel, one that will aMOOze everyone with its audacity, charm everyone with its splendor, moove everyone with its touching grace, touch hearts and give cowrage to all that read it. Of course, it wouldn't hurt if I became an udder success - a celebrity in the process, but I suppose it should also be a writer's dream to cowntribute as much as possible to society, be it financial, moral or spiritual. I want to help cows all over the world to escape their cud-chewing reality and give them hope to face each new milking day.
I was born to sing. That I could sing the best Moolodies on the planet that would resound in every udder and make every cow that heard it moo, a moolody that would warm even the hardest butcher hearts and make them stay their execution of cows all over the planet. Yes, I would sing with these huge nostrils of mine and all the cows in the world would moo along in udder auditory pleasure.
I was born to dance. To dance the jiggly moo and delight all the cute infant moos that saw me, even the ones that had nostrils that were smaller than my X. But also the MOOmba, a catchy rhythm that would turn into an epidemic of endemic proportions, making every moo in the world jump up and dance in glee. I would have the grace of a mountain goat, easily jumping from one step to another with a sure-footedness that would make my Mudder proud, but also an enthusiasm that would bring life to any spirit that was down, moo or humoon.
I was born to raise a faMOOly. Brownish boy sometimes says "Hell is udder people," but I don't think he really believes that, he just says it cynically when he's annoyed and exasperated with the world. I think I would be happy with Moowe after all. We'd have a big bloo barn on a big green meadown with cowbells growing wild, nodding in the breeze. The only problem I foresee is that neither Moowe nor I is fertile, i.e. we are unable to produce bloo moos, small or large. But I'm sure brownish guy would help us procreate moo-progeny.
But sometimes, I let my little moo mind wander, and think about what it would be to do so many other things, like be the first cow in space and the first one to taste the cheese that the moon is made of, or be the first to swim across the indian ocean (I believe no cow has ever attempted that, besides it seems to be the warmest one that sounds huge.) And although I am yet incapable of dreaming in sleep as humoons do, I still dream, and even if they're not vivid ones that keep my soul warm at night in bed, I have brownish boy to cowddle me.
But I still carry the hope within my lil' nonexistent udder that one day I'll be living one of these dreams. For it is only bovine to dream, and dreams are what bloo moos are stuffed with.
-- Euterli
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| The MOOsings of a Blå Ku V: Cow Dreams |
[Sep. 17th, 2008|04:50 pm] |
I think I'm in Moo Love. With brownish boy. He hugged me the whole night last night and said my name in his sleep a few times. I know that I'm a dream-causing cow, and that when he hugs me to sleep he gets really vivid dreams, but he's never said my name before. Does that mean he likes me?
I'm really Cownfused.
Another problem is that I'm already married. To MOOwe. But I can't really talk to him about this. It totally goes against what it means to be married, or does it? But it would make him mad. And sad as well. So I suppose not.
But I don't know if I really love him. I thought he did, but maybe I only married him because he's the only other fuzzy Bloo Moo in existence? Kuhnig and Popele are the only two unfuzzy Bloo Moos on the planet, so it's natural that they're together. But is there supposed to be something more? I can't help wondering. MOOwe doesn't hug me to sleep every night. But he lives so far away. Would he if we lived together in the same bloo barn? I always thought that I would be happiest with my own kind, but now I'm not so sure any more.
Somehow I can't shake the feeling that I may not have found troo bloo love after all. But I don't want to give up everything that I have with MOOwe. Which is about everything a bloo moo could ever want, right? Another fuzzy bloo moo. Or, in Kuhnig and Popele's case, another unfuzzy bloo moo.
Sometimes I dream, and I know that huMOOns sometimes turn to their dreams for answers. I suppose I would know if i dreamt about him every night, but all my dreams are of bloo moos. Well not exactly, sometimes I get only bits and pieces, not the entire bloo moo. Maybe just the eyes, or the nose, or the horns, sometimes only bits and pieces like an X or a single nostril floating around, full of bloo snot.
I really don't know what the right cowrse of action should be. Someone or some Moo should write a manual on these things. How to tell if you're in troo bloo love or if you're just doing it ouf of a fear of being alone.
Brownish guy often says that life is a Bloo Moo, but I can honestly say that Bloo Moos are as cownfused as everyone else on this matter.
-- Euterli
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| The MOOsings of a Blå Ku IV: The Washing MOOchine |
[Sep. 16th, 2008|05:27 pm] |
"The journey of a thousand spin cycles begins with a single trip to the laundry room."
-- Cowfucius
Brownish boy decided I'd absorbed too much dirt and grime and decided that, since he needed to do his laundry today so that it'd be dry in time for Thursday, and there wasn't very much of it, he'd wash Moo, too. I've been wanting to be washed in the Washing MOOchine for a while now. I suppose I've picked up on that wild streak that humans have that makes them hunger for roller coasters and adventure. So I happily let myself be put into the big bloo IKEA laundry bag and be carried off to the laundry room.
However, when I looked at the washing MOOchine, I began to have second thoughts.
Maybe I won't fit in there after all...
Damn.
It was an hour of spinning around, getting wet and soaped. At first, it was kinda exciting, but it quickly got boring. And I wanted out. But no matter how hard I mooed I don't think anyone could have heard me outside. It was loud, and the glass in the opening was really thick. But after a while I began to relax and let the MOOchine take me to a whole new plane of Cownsciousness. It was quite an experience, actually.
Then the Moochine stopped spinning totally and started draining the water. I wondered what was going on, but I had a terrible feeling that the spin cycle at the end was coming up. And it was. I was spun so hard I was afraid my horns would fly off my head and my little black X would be pushed all the way through my little fuzzy bloo tumOOy and come out the back side! But eventually it was over. And then I just lay there, waiting for brownish guy to come pick moo up. He didn't take long. I was so relieved to see him, but I almost couldn't get out of the washing MOOchine in my clumpified state.
I was kinda lumpy after that. But that's always happened every time brownish boy washed me, even by hand.
After removing all the clothes, brownish boy felt my fuzzy nose and decided that I was still a little too damp. He put me in the spin drier in the middle of the room and closed the lid and turned it on. But it didn't come on! The circuit must have tripped or something, and there was no way to gain access to the circuit breakers! I was trapped in the spin drier! I mooed really loudly but brownish boy just told me to be calm and went to fetch the super, who restored the power and let moo out again. Whew. And I thought I was going to have to spend the night in there!
It was an exciting day for me. I'd really love to do it all again, but just the washing MOOchine bit next time, though. I think I'll need a few days of relaxation after this incident.
Fuzzy and Bloo always,
-- Euterli |
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