Australia is fucking magical!
There I said it. I said it with emphasis. Because I mean it. Fucking MAGICAL!
When I was a little girl, my favorite animal was a kangaroo. I had never seen one in real life, but I loved them all the same. I would draw pictures of them, and ask for stuffed animals of them. I was fascinated. They seemed magical to me. An animal with a built in pocket? These are the things little girls dream of! I loved POCKETS! Places to keep things, secret things, pet rocks, notes to self, baggies of raisins, and dried glue art.
And this animal had a pocket that it put a smaller version of itself in. What? AHHHHH! (tiny girl mind explodes with joy!)
So I have to say, I was pretty fucking excited to be going to Australia to see this animal.
And then I SAW NONE! Those bitches be nocturnal. Who knew? Everyone probably… erf (i’m so dumb)
So on my second last day in Australia, the wonderful woman I am staying with took me to the Cleland Wildlife Parks to see said Kangaroos, and as fun bonuses, a bunch of birds, snakes, lizards, dingos, tasmanian devils, and if I wanted I could hug a koala? What? If I wanted? I could hug…. a… koala?
Listen, I don’t want to hug a koala. Okay? Stop pushing that idea on me Australia. Okay. No one in Canada is like yeah, come to a nature reserve and hug this moose, and snuggle with this grizzly bear. IT’S A WILD ANIMAL! It could pee on me, first of all, and secondly, probably rip my face off. And I don’t think it wants my embrace, okay? I can’t even get a boyfriend, do I really need to sink to the level of pushing my unwanted love on an innocent captured animal who has enough shit to worry about? Namely explaining to all those shithead tourists that are holding it, that’s it not, in fact, a bear. Not a bear, nope. Not hugging it still, nope. I would rather just stare at it from a distance and pontificate about how they look like tiny happy David Suzukis. So happy, so stoned, so not worrying about the demise of our planet.
I would like to say that seeing a live a kangaroo gave me such a mind boner that I wrote a symphony right there on the Cleland Wildlife Park atop a pile of wallaby turd. But it was more just like yeah, that’s what they look like lying down. And oh my, those are some huge balls. They didn’t put those things on my stuffed animal replicas. Bow-bowwwm. (Ps. “bow-bowwwm” is the sound made at seeing a huge pair)
The animal I was most mystified at was the Emus. Just charting through that wildlife park like they own the place. No care for the paths, or for the fact that they are fucking scary. Seriously majestically scary. They look like something out of the Labyrinth. I swear Jim Henson smoked a doobie saw an emu, and then got ALL OF HIS IDEAS, EVER!
Holy crap Balls! They have feather fur. Shaggy silvery feather fur. I did get a mind boner, but nothing came of it because crazy tiny ants starting eating my feet off.
The one thing about amazing Australia. Is that there are TOO MANY WAYS TO DIE okay? Most of them by these crazy awesome animals I speak of.
Whilst at the ocean one day, my friends spotted both a blue ring octopus and a sting ray, to which I replied. THAT’S TOO MANY THINGS THAT CAN KILL ME IN ONE PLACE!
At the wildlife park I saw a lot more animals that could kill me. A bunch of bitching snakes. Like real nasty looking ones. Black snakes with red bellies that seem to say to you “I come from the depth of your night meres and we will see each other again… IN HELL!”.
I swear that snake said that, or a zoologist put it in a speech bubble on the glass of the aquarium.
In any case, I’ve had three night-meres about that red bellied snake.
So many ways to die. That should not be an Australian tourism line. Though, it would be accurate.
Australia: So many ways to die.
Canada: So many way to freeze.
USA: So much food to eat to forget your feelings and liberty.
I’ve got to travel more.