Michael Owen Makes Friends With A Decomposing Ferret – Or Possibly A Polecat

After his most recent debacle from the commentary box, it was postulated by this same writer that Michael Owen's punditry is only comprehensible as an act of masochism. There seemed to be no other explanation as to why he would continue to fulfil his media duties, when his uninspired opinions only ever earn him the bitter rancour of all mankind. Type "Michael Owen" into Twitter's search bar, and prepare to read the sort of criticism which will make you faint, or vomit, or both. For some unfathomable reason, Michael Owen's commentary evokes the bleakest, most inhuman impulses in those who listen to it. We react accordingly, and so it makes monsters of us all.

Despite being fundamentally banal, Owen's punditry draws unspeakable abuse from every sector of society. Nonetheless, Michael Owen perseveres, and perhaps even revels in the pain. There is no reason for him to put up with the cruelty of strangers, unless he secretly covets that cruelty. Herein lies the terrifying crux of the matter: though Owen's detractors think they can hurt him with their barbs and insults, they are in fact only pandering to his desires.

This is only a hypothesis, of course. If anything, his latest foray into the world of social networking suggests that the truth of the situation might be darker than first imagined. Just before lunchtime on Monday, Owen tweeted several pictures of himself "on wildlife watch" during his morning run. At first glance, he appeared to be frolicking in the verdant foliage of his back garden, at one with nature. He seemed boyish in his innocence; contented to caper through his own pastoral idyll. In fact, he even appeared to be making friends with the animals, like the 36-year-old bloke's answer to Snow White.

I was on wildlife watch during my run in my garden this morning! pic.twitter.com/0iynjvEof7
— michael owen (@themichaelowen) May 30, 2016

For a moment, the people of Twitter saw a different side to Owen. Then they looked a little closer, and recoiled.

This is not a picture of Michael Owen scampering alongside an anthropomorphic animal companion. This is a picture of Michael Owen posing with a dead ferret, and looking positively gleeful at the same time. The ferret appears to be decomposing, and probably died some time ago. We imagine it reeks of decay, but that hasn't stopped Owen from crouching down next to it, posing for a quick snap and cracking out an unsettlingly chipper smile.

Confronted by one appalled Twitter user as to whether or not he was posing with a dead ferret, Owen took this as his cue to discuss the relative size difference between ferrets and polecats. Not once did he address the question of why the actual fuck he would tweet a picture of himself hanging out with a rotting animal carcass, responding instead with a Patrick Bateman-esque detachment from the dead creature at his feet.

It then transpired that the fledgling owl in one of the other pictures had fallen out of its nest, and hence was doomed to almost certain death. Again, Owen treated this with the quiet dispassion of a man who is used to seeing such horrors, and worse.

There are two possible conclusions to be taken from this macabre use of social media. The first is that constant Twitter abuse has desensitised Owen to the world's brutality. He has seen such terrible things said about his punditry that his life is now essentially just the last scene from Full Metal Jacket; semi-delirious cheerfulness juxtaposed against a bleak background of utter desolation. No amount of dead ferrets or abandoned fledglings can move him to pity, for he has seen the true face of human savagery in the form of a million needlessly horrible subtweets.

The other, far more worrying, conclusion is that Owen is not only taking pleasure from our cruelty; he is gaining supernatural power from it. So terrible are the things said to him on Twitter, that they are now manifesting themselves in the physical realm. As Owen goes on his morning jog, the grass withers and dies, the flowers wilt and ferrets everywhere collapse in their death throes. As Owen goes on his morning jog, sleet falls in summer, locusts descend upon our crops, and a million fledglings fall to their doom.

Don't blame Michael Owen, for he is only the messenger. Mother Nature is trying to tell us something: we should all stop being dickheads on social media, lest we bring death and pestilence upon the earth.

@W_F_Magee