Crikey!



Am I crazy not to have liked Steve Irwin when he was alive, and for not liking his kid Bindi now that she's taken over the job of handling disgusting reptiles?
I can't stand reptiles!
Halfway between San Antonio and Austin on IH-35, there's a dump called The Snake House.
I have never visited the joint because I just know it smells like snake shit, which is a substance I plan never to smell as long as I live.
In fact, I think my distaste for the Irwins stems from my obsession about avoiding smelly people, places and things.
He always looked like he'd smell like a heady mixture of B.O.,reptile shit and swamp water. The kid looks like she'd smell like pickles, mud and reptile shit.
Don't get me wrong, I rather like Australians and New Zealanders. I loved that shrimp on the barbie guy, Nicole Kidman, Russell Crowe, The Conchords and Pulp Friction commenter Jane C., despite the fact that she has has abruptly rejected my fumbling romantic advances for the last six or seven years.
I just don't want to go on a walkabout or Out Back with the Irwin kids, where we can catch snakes and crocodiles and fondle them.
Why, just the other day Irwin's toddler son was bitten on the finger by his first snake, and his crazy mother bragged about it.
I think perhaps the Department of Childhood Protection in Australia should look into getting those kids into a safer environment. After Steve Irwin was fatally zapped in the chest by an errant stingray's foot (whatever), seems to me the widow should have said, "Okay, that's it with the fucking nature adventures. The kids will switch to piano lessons and video games."
At least they'd stop smelling like reptile shit.