An acquaintance who knows my appetite for the bizarre, and tries to avoid ever being the object of it shared an item with me that thrilled me to the marrow. It combines my love of the arcane dateline with my commitment to the concept of the global playground.
Yes, if you're in Iowa and beset with crop circles, I'm not sure this helps you at all, but the Mel Blanc fan in me LOVES the idea that on the island of Tasmania there's something a bit weirder than the Devil (I've always been a bit disappointed that oh-so-many years ago when I saw a real Tasmanian Devil, it behaved nothing like Mel's and sounded more like Marvin the Martian).I think in light of the number of poppies the little fellows probably eat before wandering around in circles, the farmers should be grateful the wee beasties (where's Robert Burn when we need him?) don't develop raging cases of the munchies and hit the local 7-11's for Ho-Ho's and sugar-coated donuts. Just cleaning up the discarded packaging alone would take two days a week. Or so I've been told, as I have no personal experience with the snacking while stoned phenomena at all.
Speaking of which, as true where you live as it is where I live: "Lasting change is a series of compromises. And compromise is all right, as long your values don't change."
But nearly as important, and certainly more germane today is:
"Watch me wallabies feed mate.
Watch me wallabies feed.
They're a dangerous breed mate.
So watch me wallabies feed."
G'day.
-bill kenny
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