Earlier this evening, my Arts tutor sent out a group e-mail explaining that by midnight tonight, we would all get an e-mail with our marks and feedback for the subject.
It is now 11:51 p.m, and if you think that I'm sad enough to sit by the computer hitting F5 on my browser for 20 minutes while blogging about the whole sorry experience...
...then you're right.
*twiddles thumbs*
Monday, October 19, 2009
Saturday, October 3, 2009
The Devil's Marsupial
I hate possums.
Most people look at their tiny little faces, their cute furry noses, and think aww.
I look at them, and think THIS:
Look at his demonic eyes. The pink, twitchy nose. The cold, calculating expression of a KILLER. (Feel free to click on that picture and view it in its full horror.)
Look at that butt. Look at that massive possum ass. Look at Mr and Mrs Psycho Killer, lurking behind the door. You want to know why I hate possums?
Look at the picture. Those are my boots. Those are my black MG boots right before their retirement, and those are my friend's runners being held hostage by the little blighters. And those were the two huge monostrosities, the devil's marsupials, who were holding us under siege in our teepee in Tasmania when all I wanted to do was BRUSH MY TEETH.
IS THAT TOO MUCH TO ASK, YOU ACCURSED ANIMAL? CAN I NOT PRACTISE NORMAL DENTAL HYGIENE IN THE MIDDLE OF A BUSH RETREAT WITHOUT YOU STALKING AT MY HEELS?!
Do you remember me, demon possum spawn? My (braver) friend Kris tried clapping her runners at you. She almost threw a shoe at you. She hollered. And yelled. And you stood your ground, anchored by some kind of evil spirit force.
And I was so traumatised that I was forced to revert to one of my most basic and favoured coping mechanisms.
(Photography Credit: my friend Kris. I still cop flak from her every time the 'P' word is mentioned.)
(And yes, that is actually me. Behold the brave and valiant author of this noble blog.)
More proof of demonic possession, again FROM THE SAME TRIP. ON THE SAME NIGHT.
ALL YOUR PANS ARE BELONG TO US.
So as you can see, friends, I am not exactly a fan of trichosurus vulpecula. Or as I prefer, demonicus furrecula.
Possums just enjoy making my life miserable. Because why else would they start MATING IN THE CEILING OF MY HOUSE DURING EXAM TIME?
Exam time is stressful. Law school is stressful. All of this is stressful enough without having THUMP THUMP THUMP HISS SQUAWK THUMP THUMP *RABID POSSUM NOISE* THUMP THUMP SNARL HISS HISS HISS THUMP THWACK echoing in the roof.
Earlier today, my father conceded that perhaps it was time he called in someone to get rid of the possums before they caused any structural damage to the house, or caused insomnia.
Unfortunately, in the temporal space between 2 p.m and 7 p.m, he got on Google and discovered that there are entire forum threads devoted to the best methods of flushing out possums. My father enjoys a challenge. Possibly even more than that, he also enjoys saving money. The very concept of DIY Possum Extraction proved to be almost irresistible in combining two of his favourite things. This is why he was quite happy to spend half the afternoon bashing at the walls, climbing up on the roof, checking for possum holes and trawling the 'net for tips. Apparently one such tip on flushing possums out involves using moth balls, or any kinds of incense.
And this is why the downstairs guest bathroom now has a saucer of burning incense perched atop the shower, with the the ceiling fan plate removed and the exhaust turned on, with incense wafting up into the roof cavity.
And this is why the downstairs guest bathroom currently smells like a Chinese temple.
My father thinks he has won this battle. But we shall not underestimate our enemy.
The war has only just begun.
Most people look at their tiny little faces, their cute furry noses, and think aww.
I look at them, and think THIS:
Look at his demonic eyes. The pink, twitchy nose. The cold, calculating expression of a KILLER. (Feel free to click on that picture and view it in its full horror.)
Look at that butt. Look at that massive possum ass. Look at Mr and Mrs Psycho Killer, lurking behind the door. You want to know why I hate possums?
Look at the picture. Those are my boots. Those are my black MG boots right before their retirement, and those are my friend's runners being held hostage by the little blighters. And those were the two huge monostrosities, the devil's marsupials, who were holding us under siege in our teepee in Tasmania when all I wanted to do was BRUSH MY TEETH.
IS THAT TOO MUCH TO ASK, YOU ACCURSED ANIMAL? CAN I NOT PRACTISE NORMAL DENTAL HYGIENE IN THE MIDDLE OF A BUSH RETREAT WITHOUT YOU STALKING AT MY HEELS?!
Do you remember me, demon possum spawn? My (braver) friend Kris tried clapping her runners at you. She almost threw a shoe at you. She hollered. And yelled. And you stood your ground, anchored by some kind of evil spirit force.
And I was so traumatised that I was forced to revert to one of my most basic and favoured coping mechanisms.
(Photography Credit: my friend Kris. I still cop flak from her every time the 'P' word is mentioned.)
(And yes, that is actually me. Behold the brave and valiant author of this noble blog.)
More proof of demonic possession, again FROM THE SAME TRIP. ON THE SAME NIGHT.
ALL YOUR PANS ARE BELONG TO US.
So as you can see, friends, I am not exactly a fan of trichosurus vulpecula. Or as I prefer, demonicus furrecula.
Possums just enjoy making my life miserable. Because why else would they start MATING IN THE CEILING OF MY HOUSE DURING EXAM TIME?
Exam time is stressful. Law school is stressful. All of this is stressful enough without having THUMP THUMP THUMP HISS SQUAWK THUMP THUMP *RABID POSSUM NOISE* THUMP THUMP SNARL HISS HISS HISS THUMP THWACK echoing in the roof.
Earlier today, my father conceded that perhaps it was time he called in someone to get rid of the possums before they caused any structural damage to the house, or caused insomnia.
Unfortunately, in the temporal space between 2 p.m and 7 p.m, he got on Google and discovered that there are entire forum threads devoted to the best methods of flushing out possums. My father enjoys a challenge. Possibly even more than that, he also enjoys saving money. The very concept of DIY Possum Extraction proved to be almost irresistible in combining two of his favourite things. This is why he was quite happy to spend half the afternoon bashing at the walls, climbing up on the roof, checking for possum holes and trawling the 'net for tips. Apparently one such tip on flushing possums out involves using moth balls, or any kinds of incense.
And this is why the downstairs guest bathroom now has a saucer of burning incense perched atop the shower, with the the ceiling fan plate removed and the exhaust turned on, with incense wafting up into the roof cavity.
And this is why the downstairs guest bathroom currently smells like a Chinese temple.
My father thinks he has won this battle. But we shall not underestimate our enemy.
The war has only just begun.
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