I can't help it. I have to throw in my two cents about Steve Irwin, the deceased Crocodile Hunter. But first thing first. Time for a public service announcement.
Don't fuck around in the ocean. I cannot stress this enough.
Steve Irwin was killed by a Sting Ray, which was in the ocean mainly because that's where it fucking belonged. It's a Sting Ray. And the ocean is its home. I'm sure Steve knew this, but well, he was crazy and wouldn't listen to reason.
Now, it's fine to be crazy on land. Especially if you know what the hell you're doing. You see, humans wouldn't have lived this long if, during the course of our evolution, we hadn't learned how to bitch slap a crocodile or two. You see, we're land creatures and land creatures fight other land creatures. It happens all the time. Rarely do you see sea creatures living with land creatures. And, even more rarely do you see sea creatures and land creatures fight. There's a reason for this and I think it has something to do with oxygen intake. I majored in Creative Writing though, so I don't know for sure.
I cannot stress this enough. If you want to fuck around with random creatures, I highly recommend you do so with the ones in whose habitats you can fucking breathe.
Anyway, I'm done with my tip for the day. On to old Steve.
First off, I'm gonna miss him. Steve Irwin was like Richard Simmons or REM to me. I don't really like either one of them, but you can't argue the fact that they're different. Just knowing that Steve existed in the world made me feel a little more sane, a little better about myself, and incredibly curious to know what his wife was like in bed (I always imagined just crazy, rough ass, mud covered, skin biting, sweat reeking, insanely primal sex and I don't think I'm alone there). Anyway, with Steve gone, it's like I'm that much more crazy. That hurts.
Second, I honestly lost it when PIC's Mike Curtiss said to me a few mornings ago, “Steve Irwin died. I mean, crikey!”
Now, I'm sure everyone and their brother made that joke, but the first time you hear it is always the best time. And anyway, it's fun to say. You know you want to bust out your worst Australian accent and say it right now. Crikey! Don't lie. That kind of behavior's bad for both of us.
Third, I'm sure there are some British people who bet on the way old Steve would finally boot the basket, and I want to know right here and now who won and how much money. Like you're not curious. Did they have bets on what type of animal would kill him? Or If he'd die by sea or land? Who came the closest to the date of death? These things really need to be public knowledge.
And finally, will we get to see the footage of Steve Irwin being killed? My old roommate Doug and I used to get wasted and bullshit about how much we would pay to see Steve Irwin die trying to stick his hand down the throat of some pissed off animal. We concluded that one hundred bucks was a fair amount, and we were broke college kids then. I'd pay at least three hundred now. That tape is a gold mine. I highly recommend that the owners run it on pay per view and give the proceeds to some nature charity or something so Steve's death wasn't a total waste. Plus, he'd get to be entertaining to the very end. Really, it's just good for all of us.
Now, some of you might think that I'm taking a cheap shot or pissing on Steve's memory or what not, but really I'm just giving you my honest opinion of what Steve meant to me. This post is not a eulogy or anything, but then again, I never met the man.
So in conclusion: sorry if I pissed anyone off, I want to know what Steve Irwin's wife is like in bed, I want to see footage of Steve Irwin getting killed by a Sting Ray, I've been saying “Crikey” for two days now and you do not want to fuck around in the ocean.
You know, if you read this blog for a few months, eventually you get to read me make a point. That's always a special day.
Seriously, stick around for that.