check out what our friend liz (from burlington) sent us!

be sure to watch the video.

Hi! Saw this on Omni News and had to google it for you. It’s a hotel where you can live like a hamster.



i’m not really sure how i feel about this concept, but i am really into the hamster head hats! also – it reminds me of a time in grade seven when me and a friend decided to try eating some of the food he fed his bunny rabbit, just to see what it was like. honestly, it was pretty bland and not unlike all bran cereal buds…


mansoor, seattle

mansoor, seattle

who knew that computers were just a big showy way of harnessing the awesome brilliance generated by hamsters running around on their wheels????? well, apparently my buddy mansoor did, and here’s the proof! i love it that this little guy totally looks like his arms are crossed while he’s taking a well deserved siesta in the midst of a hard work day.  maybe this is why my own computer has been running soooooo slllllooooowwww lately. maybe my hamster passed out and forgot to set an alarm. or maybe he is just overworked and feels under-appreciated and has decided to go on strike. i should really check out what’s going on in my tower, huh?

mansoor – i don’t know where you found this picture, but thank you for sharing it with us! \O/

we got this in our email a little while back and have been too busy to post it, so we apologize for the delay.

mr. tooty nolan wrote us a lovely little message and included another submission of his radical rodent ‘ritings! and this one includes some juicy hints of hamster humping, lol!

this piece of fiction is actually quite lengthy, so we’ve only included an excerpt here. but if you like what you read, then please scurry over to his blog and check out his other great work! http://tooty1701.wordpress.com

Hello again girls. I felt a bit mean about sending you a work of fact rather than a work of fiction earlier, which isn’t what you asked for originally. So to make amends please accept this little tale – entirely fictional I assure you – from the third volume of The Horatio Horseblanket Chronicles, and chosen at random, entitled Return to the Year Blob.

Chapter Twelve: Return To The Year Blob


Once outside he immediately encountered the dean , Ruggy Toadfellow, and the school nurse, Honey Bucket, as they made their way along the corridor toward, what could only be, the stationery store. It was late, and Horatio couldn’t think of one good reason why either of them should be searching out envelopes at this time of night. There were some social skills that Horatio was yet to master completely: The abrupt verbalization of his thoughts was one of them… “What are you two up to?” He enquired, stepping before them and thwarting their forward progress. For a moment Ruggy was flustered, “Why, isn’t it obvious, young fellow me lad?” He blustered. To Horatio nothing was obvious; certainly not the actions of his buck-toothed overseers. He wished that he could have responded with a witty quip: Instead he said, “No.” with a quizzical, and perhaps insolent, lilt. Then he noticed that Honey carried a huge basket of pies and bottles of lemonade. “What are they for? Are you gonna have a party?” He asked. Ruggy realized, even if Horatio didn’t, that his plan had all the opacity of The Great Hall’s stained glass window. So, with a deep sigh, he said… “I’ve just come off the phone with the weather hamsters. These inclement conditions are bound to stick around for at least another month. By then we’ll be in a mini ice age, and millions will die. Honey and I have decided to sit it out in the stationery store, then attempt to rebuild the population of Hamster Britain by combining our DNA in the most natural manner we could think of…” For a moment Horatio stood in absolute silence. He was not stunned. He wasn’t even frightened. He was simply in awe of Honey Bucket: He’d seen Ruggy in the showers entirely by accident one summer’s evening, so he knew what she was in for. He sent up a quick, silent prayer to the Saint of All Hamsters for her physical well-being and the elasticity of certain parts. “Well good luck.” he said, trying to smile, but instead grimacing so badly that Honey had second thoughts about surviving, and almost opted for euthanasia then and there, “But what are the rest of us to do? We can’t go outside – for fear of frostbite and resentment from some of the poorer villagers who have neither a roof over their head, nor a pot to piss in. Also the doors to the kitchen are locked.” Ruggy had to make a quick decision. He looked down at the vast quantity of pies, made a quick calculation, multiplied it by two, and said, “Here you are,” and handed Horatio the keys to the kitchen. Then, as he and Honey scurried away into the staccato shadows thrown by the single, stuttering oil lamp, he added, “Find the prettiest girl who’ll have you, and finagle yourself a warm hideaway. From now on it’s every hamster for himself.” This last line set Horatio to thinking: If he was to return to the Boys dorm, and inform the others, it would probably cause great friction amongst them. He’d read the literary masterpiece ‘Prince of the Woodlice’, so he knew how situations could quickly spiral out of control, and usually resulted in the biggest bullies ultimately ruling the roost. He thought of Lewd Junior and his bunch of would-be hooligans: They envied him terribly; No doubt they would shave his scrotum, pin him to the wall of The Great Hall as their prize exhibit, and throw things at him. He shook his head in an attempt to clear it of such ghastly visions. No, the other boys would have to figure out how to survive the mini ice-age by themselves: Even poor Algy. What he needed was a warm hideaway and a good female with wide, pup-bearing hips, and a natural predilection to multiplying exponentially. Lys Dexia might have been the obvious candidate – except that she’d vowed never to have children, and was far too argumentative and flighty. She might be perfect for a roll in a shallow  roadside ditch; but as a permanent partner she was pure poison. Colleen Slapper would have been his natural choice, since she was perfect in every way; was betrothed to him when he came of age; and he loved her dearly. But she was probably in Chunderland right now – fighting beached prawns, and warding off ice floes. That left…Who did that leave? He hadn’t really got to know many of the female hamsters of Saint Dunces: They were all too dull and insipid; and none of them was the least interested in either go-kart racing, foldaway scooter motocross, or poo-jumping. That left only one: The strange foreign girl who nobody spoke to because she was foreign. “I wonder…” He said to himself.

“Vouz wondare what?” Came a strangely accented feminine voice from the darkness.

Tooty Nolan’s ‘The Horatio Horseblanket Chronicles’ ©

Created & Written by Paul Trevor Nolan

while surfing though the blog realm the other day, i happened across this *amazing* blog that features stories about a world where rodents rule all.


naturally, i was compelled to comment immediately, and just received a very gracious contribution to our site from mr. tooty nolan himself! neato!

this fantastic work of fiction made me giggle and gasp all at once, and i do hope that all you gerbilize lovers take the time to stop by tooty’s blog and let him know what you thought of his submission: http://tooty1701.wordpress.com

so sit back, take a deep breath, and dive into this wonderful little tale of hamster horror……

Hello girls – thanks for your comment on The Bucktooth Times. In response please accept this tale of horror. Hope you can use it – and that it’s not too ghastly. Tooty

When Good Hamsters Go Bad!
Regard the picture below if you will. Now doesn’t that look like a happy day out in the family powerboat? Look how eager they are to clamber down the ladder in the stern, and take a quick dip in a sparkling summer sea. And the little guy on the prow hauling in a Great White or what-not: What an excellent day it’s obviously been for him. All in all it is a scene of familial bliss. Or is it?

What you don’t know is that once upon a time there were fifteen members of this toothy gang. Then, of course, all was well – and not a harsh word could be heard to pass between them. Until that fateful day. But let’s step back a few months… Like most people, these little fella’s owner thought that Russian hamsters were cute furry blobs that enjoyed eating seeds and stuff. And by and large he was right. They WERE furry: They WERE blobs – with stick-like legs poking out of them: And they DID enjoy eating seeds and other vegetable-based ‘stuff’. All was sweetness and light in the home of Mr and Mrs Popyourcorkalov and their brood. Sure there was the problem of over-crowding – but the clever owner took care of that by installing a wire cage above the glass tank that they called home, which could be accessed by a nifty ladder that hung down from the cage like a scaling net. And the subsequent passing of the elderly parents eased pressures too. And even then all would have been well for the excitable little rodents – had not the same owner decided to ‘have a laugh’. Cue extreme lack of wisdom and the inevitable tragedy that was bound to follow. He wondered how they would react to the presence of a cooked chicken leg being hung from the cage. Well they didn’t react well at all. They poured from their sleeping quarters like a furry Mongol horde, and attacked it with a ferocity that would have put a shoal of piranha to shame, with the efficiency of a band of starving hyena. In short they tore it to pieces, then fought over the bones. This came as a surprise to their owner; but he thought little of it until the next day. Come the morning – and he discovered that he no longer owned thirteen Russian hamsters: Instead he owned only twelve. Well twelve and a half actually. The skin and teeth of Number Thirteen were buried in the sawdust beside the latrine. Worse still the previously unified twelve were now ensconced within two different sleeping-quarters. Six up stairs: Six below. And woe betide any of the ‘below’ gang if they ventured ‘upstairs’. And vice versa of course. So a social experiment was begun: Those below stairs received their food first. The others – slumbering through the daylight hours – dipped out. So the ‘below’ gang became big and tough, whilst the ‘upstairs’ boys and girls became trim and feeble. Well before long the situation was reversed. ‘Upstairs’ was repopulated, and the newly-dispossessed ‘below’ gang began to get well fed. This situation continued for several cycles before an escalation of hostilities. One morning the ‘upstairs’ group were found to number only five – and with no apparent escape route found it was pretty obvious what had happened to the poor unfortunate who must have risen early and tried to help himself to some nibbles. A week later and the balance of power was resumed. Now they numbered only ten. It became obvious that something would have to be done – so with fewer inhabitants to cater for – the cage could be safely removed, and unity returned. Oh dear – not so. They merely moved to opposite ends of the tank and glared myopically at each other over the intervening distance. Then the fighting began in earnest. Ten quickly became eight – became six – became…personalities. With only six – three in each gang – the tiny gladiators became distinct from one another. One of them also became blind – which meant that he was easy meat, and could be attacked during the daytime as well as the night. Well the owner wasn’t going to put up with that – so he placed a partition between them. But one night the gang that possessed six good eyes raided the other camp by scaling the partition, and carried off one of the other three. This left ‘Blindy’ and his best ‘Chum’ to face an inevitable defeat together. But amazingly the others turned on each other first, until only one rabid-looking individual remained alive on ‘the other side’. Then he started raiding – and ‘Chum’ spent most of his waking hours protecting ‘Blindy’ from attack by ‘Rabid’. This continued for perhaps a week – until ‘Chum’ grew sick and tired of the incessant war – and promptly made an attack of his own – and, much to the surprise of their hatefully callous owner, carried the corpse back for ‘Blindy’ to eat – which he did, of course. A sorry tale or what? But, you’ll be glad to know, it does have a happy ending. Well two actually. Chum and Blindy lived happily ever after – intil they died of old age – about two months later: And the owner vowed never to keep Russian hamsters again. And who was that evil bastard? Tooty Nolan – that’s who!

© Paul Trevor Nolan
This article first appeared in The Bucktooth Times.

ok, so this is a verrrry special submission because it has many things going for it:

#1 – it was sent to us by snail mail – awesome!

#2 – it was sent from our dear friend, evan. evan included a lovely postcard that read as such: “i saw this at a small press fair i was working at and thought you might be interested. it’s not gerbil art, perse, but it’s close”

which brings me to the third reason that this submission is so special……..

#3 – it is not *exactly* about gerbils….it’s more of a hamster thing, but it’s just so darn fantastic that we’ve decided to include it anyways, because really, this could very easily have been a gerbil thing.

these are just a few selections from the book, and i have included the copyright information, so if you like what you see, please visit the website to purchase your own copy of this *hamsterific* little book!


evan - toronto, ontario

evan - toronto, ontario

evan - toronto, ontario

evan - toronto, ontario

evan - toronto, ontario

evan - toronto, ontario

evan - toronto, ontario

evan - toronto, ontario

evan - toronto, ontario

evan - toronto, ontario