About Me

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Brisbane, Queensland, Australia
Abandoned by the orphanage when I was six weeks old, I was left in the nearby woods where I was raised by wolves for two weeks. Then they got sick of me and abandoned me. A few things were said, I could have been more diplomatic perhaps, but I still maintain that wolf politics is corrupt bullshit. After this, a squirrel* took me in, until I realized that, whilst I was crazy about nuts, I was also allergic to squirrel hair. I hiked to town and hid inside the back of truck that was transporting Starbuck coffee cup lids and stirrers to The Big City. I stayed here for 18 years, never alerting my presence to the truck driver, who used to pull over every 500km or so and silently cry to himself. To this day, that truck driver is unaware that he was my primary caregiver growing up. I like trucks, beards, and country and western music. I've accidentally used deodorant as hairspray and vice versa on only one occasion so far. *Because of this I will not wear products made out of squirrel.

Tuesday, June 29, 2010

Introducing my friend Cameron

This is my friend Cameron. The time is right to introduce him now, because he'll be appearing repeatedly in my posts.
You're looking at this photo and I know what you're thinking:
a) Nice, curly mop, bro
b) Fuck, he looks drunk
c) Is he trying to do the thumbs up and somehow failing?
d) All of the above simultaneously and in the pit of my stomach so that it rots and hurts deep inside.
Cameron might look like a 1940s greaser (the type that were kind of hard and rough on the rugged exterior but soft at heart so they don't end up in jail, though they appear that they might), but he's got a fond spot for dogs. Miniature dogs.
At present, Cameron's lap dog of choice is a Pomeranian-Chihuahua mix. I've never seen him more content as when he's lazing back in my father's old chair with a Pomchi on his lap and a dream in his smile. Once, he even said to me, "Mate, no beer or chick is as good as a nice lap dog." I guess he would know.
But I know what he's like. He's determined and the grass is always greener on the other side. The other day we were walking down to the BP and he made a sexual comment about a woman passing by. It was unfortunately a few minutes later when I realized he meant the teacup Chihuahua the woman was "walking". I was too busy talking about the global financial crisis to even notice when he ducked back and stole the Chihuahua. Where he hid the dog on his person, I am not so sure. I think he put it down his crotch.
He's now forcing the dog to live on his lap. At first it kept trying to get up, but he sticky-taped it down. (I am now also out of sticky tape.) Then it got free of that, so he put a telephone book on top of it to "keep it down". I was sort of impressed by the fact that he found a telephone book in this day and age and didn't say anything. However, when I found out the dog suffocated I realized I should have paid more attention and not gone out to watch Sex & The City 2 instead of waiting behind, hoping to stop Cam kill a designer puppy, like I always knew he would.
Yeah, so my main problem is now not that the dog is dead but that Cam STILL won't take it off his lap and it's stinking the place up a bit. I tried stuffing it with potpourri and it's making things slightly better. But I wish Cam would get up and leave my house and take his dead dog with him. My house inspection is tomorrow and I cannot afford another dead animal on my inspection report.

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