Croc Up

Woo-wow: chomps hell out of the traditional flowers and champagne if you want to score with women

It has come to my attention that certain, other than lady-like, members of The Lounge feel not only marginalised but also terrified by our free and frank discussions. Shame. Here’s one for the boys, then; or, as I call them, in a spirit of equality and compassion, the chromosomally-challenged:

A would-be Don Juan in Chicago, Illinois… birthplace of the Blues Brothers and death-bed of the American car industry… has been charged with possession of a dangerous animal by unfeeling Cook County sheriff’s investigators who seized his four-foot alligator.

Poor 43-year-old Dewayne Yarbrough kept his pet… name unknown, let’s call him Snappy… in a small tank in his kitchen, feeding it only 10 live mice a month in an effort to restrict its size. I hate to keep calling Snappy “it”, but my extensive research has failed to reveal its gender. I like to think he is a male gator, although the phrase “hung like a gator” has not entered the common idiom for good reason, I fear.

So, the score is Cupid love, rock-hearted Animal Control Officers fifteen and the Animal Welfare League plans to pass Snappy to the Chicago Herpetological Society.

What I’d really love to know is – who dogged (should that be crocked?) Dewayne to the cops: an underwhelmed young miss who freaked out at a failed reptilian seduction… or a jealous love rival, perhaps endowed only with a Children’s Python with which to woo the laideez?

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61 Responses

  1. I know that big, strong sheriffs with gender issues tend to overdo the macho, but “Seized his four-foot alligator” is not an euphemism we ladies use often. We’re more likely to say “tugged his gecko”, or “unclogged his skink”. After all, some accuracy is important, even when using metaphors.

    • Hehehe.

      Nothing worse than a clogged skink… except an electric eel, I suppose.

    • Eeeewwww. Women!

  2. Why are my ears burning this morning? Well, as it happens, I have a TRUE story concerning reptiles and Twoo Wuv.

    A long time ago, a certain Fifi & I were wandering down through NSW, flitting from winery to winery via cheap motels, as you do, when we came upon the Gosford Reptile Park. Entering therein, we were entertained by a very pukka Englishman standing in an above-ground pool about a metre high & containing many snakes, but no water. He showed his scars from the dreaded Gaboon viper (40mm hinged fangs etc) and was fairly entertaining & educational. At the end of the show, he smirked at the crowd and asked if anyone would like to “help put the snakes away?”

    Now, as would any certified possessor of the precious Y chromosome, I took this to be a personal slur on my very manhood! Sneering back at him (he was English after all) I stepped into the ring and began to pick up the wrigglies. A momentary carelessness (very unusual for me) led me to have a snake in either hand & no hand for the bag. I quickly turned to Fifi and said “Can you hold this for me”.

    Joy of joys, she did! And at that moment, we looked into each others eyes over the squirming reptile and I knew it was True Love. When you find a woman who’s willing to grab an inconvenient python with both hands, and at a moments notice, you know you’ve got a keeper. And that’s why I’m still besotted with her.
    Partly.
    Party ‘why’, not partly besotted.
    Oh never mind.

  3. Well, to answer that question you’d have to understand why someone would want to keep a reptile in the kitchen and as such your main suspects would be those you’d want to keep out of there.
    * Mother-in-law
    * That pesky neighbour who keeps wanting yet another cup of sugar (or in my realm, jam jars for the preserves)
    * Religious callers who demand your hospitality, your coffee, and your eternal soul.

    My money’s on the Jehovahs.

  4. This is one site where the comments are often as entertainig as the posts!
    Greybard tested his love with a snake… hasn’t every one since Eve?
    But to Qokka I must say; When he Jehovas called, he probably let it out for a run!
    And MM, there is your dobber right there!

    • Whoops, cross-commented with you, Stafford.

      You know you’re doing evil when the Lord’s people are dobbing on you. I think there’s something in that for all of us. Vatican, I’m looking at you.

  5. Greybeard, that was sweet. Too sweet. Suspiciously sweet, in fact. You forgot Mother’s Day and just emailed the URL to Fifi by way of atonement, didn’t you?

    You can’t pull the viper over our eyes!

    Quokka, my eternal soul’s up for grabs… but if anyone comes here after my coffee, I’m a settin’ the Sea Monkeys on ’em.

    • Unlike wool, vipers clear the vision. Especially vindscreen vipers.

      And Fifi, dear as she is, could give suspicion lessons to paranoids & out-subtle a serpent. If she read the “Can you hold this for me” bit and that she was willing to “grab a python with both hands” when asked, I’d be in ALL sorts of trouble.

  6. Well, if it’s true reptile story time, here’s mine:

    My brother once had a girlfriend named Helen. She was fond of giving my brother hickies. Huge, black, painful hickies. Our mother would joke that Helen must really be a crocodile. Apparently my brother told Helen this, for when they split up (amicably – she was moving interstate), Helen presented my brother with a two foot long stuffed crocodile as a parting gift. My mother was mortified.

    I loved that crocodile.

  7. I wish I had a 2-foot stuffed crocodile.

    All I have is half a human skeleton and a snake’s head in a jar.

    Unless the dead vermin under the appliances count as taxidermy specimens, that is?

    • Hey, that’s not ‘your’ snake’s head. Magic Man won’t be happy . . .

  8. He’s lost interest.

    He’s like Indiana Jones… he’s all about the discovery. Now he has it, he doesn’t give a rat’s.

    Girls – you’ve been warned.

  9. Thanks for the warning, but he’s a little too young for me – sheesh, at 29(ish) I’m old enough to be his mother…. just….

  10. Hehehe.

    At nearly 43, I was never in my wildest flights of fancy referring to any of us as “girls”.

    The other night I realised that in less than a decade I’ll be eligible for those “Lifestyle Resorts For The Unretiring”.

    *shudder*

    I’d rather take all the animals and live in a skip, thanks.

  11. Oh, but Madam, aren’t you looking forward to descending upon one of those villages with vigor and malice? I sure am.

    Dead set, I will terrorise the other residents, and will rejoice in it! It’s one of my most cherished dreams for the future – the other one, of course, being to instill all my elderly wisdom into my young grandchildren, behind their parents’ backs. Rude jokes first, family secrets second, rude jokes third…. hey, I know a lot of rude jokes.

  12. I’d favour the skip. The relentlessly golf-clubbish, genteel, body-corporated, faux cheerful atmosphere of those places gives me the screaming ab-dabs. I’ve visited a few older friends there and fled sweating. As for nursing homes . . . pass the hoarded valium & a bottle of fine old scotch please.

    • Oh, yes. Exactly.

      Can you please hoard enough Valium for me, too, Greybeard? I think The Mexican Psychic Chemist has been sending me chalk mixed with peyote.

      I’m still more highly strung than a virgin Hills Hoist, but my toes are melting and everything smells like George Gershwin.

  13. Actually, I walked past the local nursing home on my way to the shops this morning. There were six old ladies lying naked on the lawn. I thought that was odd, but kept walking.
    On my way back, I noticed that the old ladies were still lying there, so I went in to the office to notify the administrator.
    I asked her, “did you know there are six old ladies lying naked on your front lawn?”
    “Yes,” she replied. “aren’t they darlings? They’re retired prostitutes – they’re having a garage sale”.

    • hehehehehe

  14. Recycling old boxes, what a ripping idea.

  15. I now have a new favourite joke – and coda.

    Okay, knock off the funny, you two. I’ve just spent so long cackling in the predawn that Lifeline called… yes, usually You have to call THEM, it was a special intervention… and I’ve woken the chooks up early so now they’ll go on strike.

    I think they know I won’t eat them, however unproductive they become, because there’s been a great deal of huffish flouncing and precious little egg-laying, of late.

  16. What a corker. I agree, I don’t think any “seizing” would have been necessary with that depleted reptile. Perhaps gentle handling and then refeeding in a special facility, but definitely no seizing.

    Uterus, fallopian tube, mastitis … sorry, that was just to put the wind up the boys again.

  17. Hehehe… you had me at “fallopian”.

  18. Depleted reptile – are we talking about Greybeard or the alligator?

  19. I hereby arbitrarily declare the rest of May “Be Nice To Greybeard Month”.

    Any discussion of the female reproductive tract should be heavily encoded, please and under no circumstances should the phrase “more than five feet of useless tissue on the end of a penis” be employed.

    Having said that, though, I have to say that “depleted reptile” is a corker of a phrase and if I could be arsed I’d add it to the subhead. Also, typing is hard when you’re giggling maniacally.

  20. it’s hard when you’re curled up in the corner with a blanket on your head too. (“mastitis”? whimper)

  21. “Mastitis” makes you whimper?

    What noise do you make when I type “epididymitis”?

    Mwhahahahaha!

    Ooops, I mean, fare thee well, gentle Greybearde. Whither wilst thou frolic on this brisk and bright Winter’s morn?

    Note, peeps: its strangely easy to be mannerly if you write in Olde Englishe. Maybe those Mediaeval geeks are on to something?

  22. And by sheer coincidence (or via the Secret Women’s International Conspiracy) I get this from one of Fifi’s friends:

    The doctor said, ‘Joe, the good news is I can cure your headaches. The bad news is that it will require castration.

    You have a very rare condition, which causes your testicles to press on your spine and the pressure creates one hell of a headache. The only way to relieve the pressure is to remove the testicles.’

    Joe was shocked and depressed. He wondered if he had anything to live for. He had no choice but to go under the knife. When he left the hospital, he was without a headache for the first time in 20 years, but he felt like he was missing an important part of himself. As he walked down the street, he realized that he felt like a different person. He could make a new beginning and live a new life.

    He saw a men’s clothing store and thought, ‘That’s what I need… A new suit…’

    He entered the shop and told the salesman, ‘I’d like a new suit..’

    The elderly tailor eyed him briefly and said, ‘Let’s see… Size 44 long.’

    Joe laughed, ‘That’s right, how did you know?’

    ‘Been in the business 60 years!’ the tailor said.

    Joe tried on the suit it fit perfectly.

    As Joe admired himself in the mirror, the salesman asked, ‘How about a new shirt?’

    Joe thought for a moment and then said, ‘Sure.’

    The salesman eyed Joe and said, ‘Let’s see, 34 sleeves and 16-1/2 neck.’

    Joe was surprised, ‘That’s right, how did you know?’

    ‘Been in the business 60 years.’

    Joe tried on the shirt and it fit perfectly.

    Joe walked comfortably around the shop and the salesman asked, ‘How about some new underwear?’

    Joe thought for a moment and said, ‘Sure.’

    The salesman said, ‘Let’s see… Size 36.

    Joe laughed, ‘Ah ha! I got you! I’ve worn a size 34 since I was 18 years old.’

    The salesman shook his head, ‘You can’t wear a size 34. A size 34 would press your testicles up against the base of your spine and give you one hell of a headache.’

  23. The SWIC? Who told you about the SWIC? She’ll lose her ovaries for this, mark my words. Come, Sisters, vengeance is brewing…

    I mean – thanks for the LOL, Greybeard. That one made even me cross my legs – and the balls I took from my ex as I left him aren’t even in my pocket!

    They’re on display in the SWIC Museum.

  24. Meh.
    I had just reached the new underwear bit and the phone rang (again, Tuesday seems to be telemarketer day) so the tupperware lady kind of ruined the moment, GB.

    It was useful though as it reminded me that I need new underwear and seeing as today is Telemarketer Annoyance day perhaps it’s best I leave the house for a bit.

    Four more weeks and I won’t be tired and cranky after late night prac anymore.

    I got my latest batch of case studies back last night and noticed that there was a big red slash through my suggestion that Ecstasy Girl may benefit from getting her seratonin levels tested, as Supervisor insists that there’s no such test available from QML. I think I then lost at least another five points for pulling out a photocopy of the QML blood test referral form and saying ‘But look, see, it’s here, right there, where it says SERATONIN.’

    Black looks from supervisor = black marks on my report card, yes?

    I might have to look out for that white chocolate nut lindt you sent me, MM, I finished the last of it yesterday and it was simply marvelous.

  25. Its dangerously addictive, isn’t it?

    You need not look too hard, though. I got mine from Woolies. It was slumming in amongst the blocks of Cadbury’s and Whittaker’s, wrapped in a discreet matte gold cardboard wrapper.

    Those Swiss are onto something in the chocolate department. Can’t stand cuckoo clocks, anonymous banking or neutrality in war, though.

  26. Oh, and P.S. Quokka: just tell your Supervisor – the “super ” is being used in an ironic context here, I imagine – that it’s not like believing in faeries. QML will run the GD test.

    Whether or not Medicare will pay for it is another philosophical question…

  27. Oh, that stuff is wonderful, Quokka. Coles often has a 2 for $5.00 deal on the Lindt gold blocks, and I keep promising myself that ‘next time’, I’ll buy one white block and one in another flavour. Doesn’t happen, though. It’s like those ice cream parlours. I keep promising myself that I’ll buy something other than macadamia nut ‘next time’.

    Come to think of it, I think I still have one somewhere… excuse me… gotta go .. uh .. do something..

  28. I foolishly bought one plain milk in case the white with praline almonds was dodgy.

    Regrettable.

  29. Catty I always go for the macadamia ice cream too. Although my local ice-creamery in West End does wonderful rum & raisin (death by sulfites but sooooo worth it) and a coconut one.

    I’ll have to keep an eye out for that praline white lindt. I didn’t see it when I was in Carindale yesterday but nor did I see Bras & Things so I’ll have to go into the city on the weekend. BNT is but a short walk from Death By Chocolate and you’d think they’d have it, surely?

    Then again I could take the easy way out, & put it on the shopping list and send the Bloke forth into the world. He does love a good grocery challenge.

  30. Hehehe. We are the Weird Sisters. I always have macadamia icecream, too – although I have learned that it’s sometimes worth lashing out and having dulce de leche if you’re at a gelateria.

    Mmm… how can you crave ice-cream, even as your fingers are freezing rigid on the keyboard?

    It’s now officially too damn cold and we might as well invite displaced penguins and leopard seals up to holiday on our beaches. It’ll give the crazy foreign tourists something to look at.

  31. Huh. It’s 13ºC here today, and sheeting down icy rain. Which explains why the school has sent three separate grades off to the local pool for swimming lessons. Idiots.

    The oldest kidlet isn’t swimming like his siblings, but he is going to camp next week, to Phillip Island. They’ve told us that the children can only pack one bag, and that it can’t be bigger than a carry-on bag. Then they’ve listed more clothes and shoes than my son even owns – and he’s expected to fit it all into this pooncey little bag. With a sleeping bag. Did I say Idiots? I’m sure I did.

    Meanwhile, I’m back on the codeine. The nice man at Community Health ripped out my icky molar at two thirty yesterday afternoon. Seriously! Two Thirty! (Why doesn’t anyone else find that funny? Oh, that’s right. Codeine.)

    My face is puffed up like a boxer’s ear, and I can’t brush my teeth – so my breath smells like a Bali taxi driver’s jock strap. I’m also on antibiotics, which means I can’t even rinse my mouth (and stomach) with vodka. Dead set, when I can eat again, I’m going to scoff an entire block of that Gold Lindt all at once.

    Who am I kidding? I ALWAYS eat the entire block all at once.

  32. Ouch! Winces of sympathy Catty. But Madam – 12:10 and you were cold? About then we were having the $15 lunch special at Ahmet’s followed by coffee at Riverbend books. Fifi bought a copy of Stendhal’s ‘The Charterhouse of Parma’ at the Lifeline shop and I thought about eating a chicken parma. Beautiful day, 21° and clear blue sky. Probably my reward for living a good & pure life.

    • Damn you, cross-posting.

      Perhaps I was cold because of the icy circulation from my stone heart, Greybeard?

      Or perhaps I’m so hot blooded that this cold snap is a regrettable contrast?

      Still, since 12:10 I have purchased new, Australian made Ugg boots. Nothing can touch me now. If Navy SEALS wore Ugg boots, they would have assassinatedcaught OBL 9 1/2 years ago.

  33. My, poor, poor Catty.

    I’m torn – I wish I was in Vic, so I could give you a big hug, make you a Codeine slurpy, and vacpac the eldest’s camping gear into an evening bag for you… yet 13 degree sleet would no doubt kill me. Agonisingly slowly, but fatally nonetheless.

    You should get a small envelope in the mail soon, containing one of each of the choccies I made for Quokka’s Tupperware party. I hope you can eat… or at least suck on.. them by the time they get there.

    Hang in there, luvvy.

  34. Liiiiiiiiiiiiiiick!

    Oh, Madam. You always know just what to say. LYLT!

  35. If the answer isn’t “Codeine slurpy”, I’m not interested in the question.

  36. Poor Catty.
    I too had considered complaining about the drop in temperatures but whenever I consider complaining about such I think ‘poor catty’.

    I suspect the houses here weren’t designed for winter, though. Must confess I turned on the AC last night and slept beneath a pile of cats. I’d been trying to tell myself I was being a sook but after waking up the previous 2 nights with asthma I told myself I was just being a fool trying to shiver through it when having the room at an even 24C is such a simple solution to No More Wheezing.

    OK, well, Janet’s tech nerd is supposedly going to call at 10am and fix my computer. Nice to see it’s become a running joke over at CBG and twitter – I wonder if I can persuade Janet’s nerd to start following that mob so that he can be the butt of all their jokes instead of me, the hapless fool he expects to extract money from.

    Sigh.
    We’ve got telstra digging up the footpath and cutting down trees along the road. Something to do with improving our existence thru fibre optic cable.
    Which means that there’s a dozen bumblebees wandering up and down the street chain smoking, leaving their trucks running and stinking up the ozone layer, and sitting on their arses around open pits drinking coke and eating pies.

    Sounds like a good day to lock myself in the back room and do these never ending case studies.
    Have fun, kids.

    • Oh Q, we’re chuckling sympathetically, not at you. Everybody’s had the wonky computer thing at some point. Well, except me. Seriously, I’m happy to take a crack at it if he can’t do it – FREE! (One of my favourite words.) I have poked at a Mac in the past. I know this sounds kind of medical, but what are the symptoms?

  37. That sounds like my kind of job. I could handle wandering up and down the street with a fag, pausing only to scoff pies and cokes around a pit. As long as it paid well, of course.

    Actually, I did have the perfect job before quitting to be a full time Mum. My job involved talking on the phone all day, telling people what to do. What woman wouldn’t be in her element?

    Enjoy your case studies, Quokka. They should help take the focus off the bees.

    How about you, Madam? Got bees? I don’t. I got the Boss’s pay packet. Time to restock the pantry with processed crap. Oh, the joys of being a housewife…. all that shopping. And cleaning…. o.k, you got me there.

  38. It’s occurred to me I should engage my CBT skills and choose to think positive about Telstra’s open pits, after all, there’s got to be room for at least three drunken backpackers and one of the slum lords from next door. Judging by the cannibis fumes oozing out of Bog Hollow, the odds of them losing their footing and slipping into a 4 foot trench, never to resurface, must be good, surely?

    Oh Catty. You’ve just reminded me that a trip to Woollies is necessary if I expect to add milk to my tea for the rest of the afternoon.
    I’ve spent much of the morning on the phone to Janet’s tech nerd, who assures me that the problem is my internet connection and the only way to fix it is to get something called ADSL. I watched over his shoulder as he fixed various things and I’m sure it was much of the same crap as he fixed in February so I can’t say I buy it.

    GB, the problems started a week or so after he fixed it – and the damned thing was running well – but when I tried to turn the MAC off (as one does, regularly, during storm season) – the team viewer icon would come up insisting that if I did so, I’d lose all changes that the MAC TECH had put in. He didn’t respond to my two phone calls saying ‘Que?’ and then of course the power went off in that big storm on the 3rd Monday of February, at which point my MAC went back to doing all the same crappy things it was doing before he fixed it.

    So he’s insisted that the power going off wouldn’t have caused the problems and I’m inclined to think he’s FOS and someone else will be fixing my MAC in the future.

    Meanwhile my good spouse has paid the outstanding bill and I’m just waiting to see what he’s going to charge us for his efforts today. So apparently all is well. (insert eye roll here)

    Meanwhile he’s done what he didn’t do last time, which was to install Tweetdeck. So I’m now staring at a mass of unfamiliar columns thinking ‘WTF?’ so at some point when I’m not burdened by case studies for IBS, head colds, the ill effects of Ecstasy use (yep, we’ve got another one) and the unpleasant side effects of IUDS, I’ll take a look at that.

    Once semester is over I will probably take you up on your offer to explain some of the mysteries of the internet to me. I’m still getting nagged by the WA cousins to join Face Waste and having established that all I’d ever post there is an image of a brush turkey busily engaged in destroying an acre of suburban landscaping, I can see that you’d be useful, there.

    Fracking facebook.
    I’m sure I’ll live to regret this.

  39. BTW, Morgana what did you end up ordering?
    Its annoying me that you have to buy the sets and can’t buy individual pieces.

    I might get another fridge smart set and see if I can find someone who’s interested in the long one to store their celery and carrots and leeks and shallots and such. I’d ask Vanessa, but I’m pretty sure she said she’s got one and she keeps either the leggo or the Sylvanian Forest creatures in there.

  40. Greetings, Bloglings.

    I had to bow to my Dark Master (Centrelink) this morning, please forgive my absence.

    Now, where were we? I agree with Catty, I could wander and eat for a living… as long as it was “through an interesting market” and sushi and green tea were substituted for pies and coke… Hmm, it’s looking like I should seek work in Japan. Is it all full of fault lines, or is there a safe zone?

    Woolies, yes. I made the mistake of dropping in on my way back from the Smoke and the place was swarming with age pensioners, stocking up on Metamucil and tins of cat food to spread on their toast. They come in matched sets, like salt and pepper shakers, I noticed – does the Government pair them up as a cost saving measure, or is this just a coincidence?

    As for TupperWare, I ordered the only things I could find in the catalogue that aren’t available in Big W for 17% or less of the TupperWare price – 2 cake icing sets and a herb planter. Christmas will eventually come, and I’ll be (partially) prepared.

    I would be interested in a celery storer, though… how much do you want for it? Hehehe… it’s not a black market, it’s definitely chartreuse. Or turquoise.

  41. Why prepare for Xmas with anything other than garrotting wire and a one-size beheads all machete?

    RE: the celery container, I’ll get back to you on that when I’ve found my calculator, and my brain, and I can use both to translate values from the T-ware catalogue.
    I’ll be speaking to the lovely Grace tomorrow and I may yet try and cadge my way into seeing if she’ll sell the separate pieces. I’m still debating what I truly need, and will use.

    Sigh.
    Woolworths beckons.
    According to the BOM charts the apparent temp here is 15.5C and dropping. I’ve tipped the cats out of my climate controlled study and into their south-west facing playpen so that the remaining flood cats can gambol about in the sun on the porch. Judging from the look on my cats faces there’ll be hell to pay later on, but to quote Ben Cousin’s tattoo ‘Such is life’.

    I hope I’ve got that right.
    Maybe it was ‘Suck is rife.’

    Thus far all of the trainee cleaners they’ve had through my house have been saving their gold coins to do tattoo courses. And for their sakes, I do hope a pass mark for year two spelling bees isn’t an entry requirement.

  42. Shopping was fun this morning. Everyone was so nice to me, and I didn’t realise why until I got home and discovered that the extraction bruising has come out on my jaw. It’s a pretty shade of blue that matches the jumper I’m wearing today. And my fingers – it’s FREEZING out there. It’s days like this I’m glad I’m a bogan; it’s nice having a selection of Ugg boots to choose from.

  43. I’ve converted to Boganism. I went to our local(ish) sheepskin and opal retailer and snatched up a pair of toe-reinforced, genuwine Aussie uggs.

    I was so happy when I put them on this morning at freezing o’clock that I could have kissed MacArthur’s cold dead hand bones… it was MacArthur who imported merinos here, wasn’t it?

    I never listened in any history class that was ever thrust upon me, so I’m probably wrong.

    But I’m not wearing flanellette. Sheets, yes please. Shirts, no way.

  44. My ugghies have the mange and as yet the Bloke and I have failed to do what’s necessary to procure a new pair, each.
    i.e. remove butt from sofa and go to that place where all the prams and the psychopaths are – Westfield.

  45. Mangy ugg boots are great for baby possums to sleep in. I disturbed one (grown up) when clearing the shed on Tuesday. Glared until I apologised, then ducked down behind the forge for a nap. Shy woodland creatures. You might get genuine aussie uggs up Madam’s way? Good excuse for a trip anyway.

  46. Yes, indeed.

    We have the finest quality Australian grown, slaughtered, flayed and stitched Ugg boots. With removable (and therefore washable and replaceable insoles). And reinforced toes. And gently cupping heel, umm… cups.

    Did I mention how much I love my Ugg boots?

    Oh yes. And a range of fashion colours. So of course I picked black – to match our sand.

  47. I have pink ones. To match my pink trakkie dacks. Did I mention I was a bogan?

  48. A real bogan wears faded black jeans and an Acca Dacca t-shirt under a checked flanno, Catty.

    You’re Princess Bogan, ruler of the South!

    Besides, you don’t have a mullet or a panel van.

    Actually, come to think of it, nobody except serial killers has a panel van anymore, do they? Whatever happened to the Sandman?

    * sigh *

    You may be a bogan, but I’m very, very old.

    • Grrrrr! No. You. Are. Not! Because if you are, what does that make me? Geeze, if it wasn’t for, y’know, yer nature & yer personality & um, the scary rites in the dark of the moon, you’d be just a sweet young thing.

  49. Hehehe.

    Greybeard, dear Greybeard. In car terms, you’re a classic. You’re not even vintage yet, and it’ll be years before you’re an antique.

    As for the alleged scary rites in the dark of the moon, I’ll have you know the moon was waxing near half-full when I made the bloodgift to Venus trined with Mars and Jupiter this morning.

    I don’t know what you’re on about!

  50. I don’t know why he gets so upset about these sheep and cocks we sacrifice at sunset.

  51. It’s not as if we use scrub turkeys or anything, is it?

    Not for want of trying to catch one

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