September 3rd 2006

Ya know what bugs me? Cars and stingrays.

Cars. Wretched things, I mean, can’t ya just imagine getting in a wreck and just being crushed inside the bloody thing? Downright frightening. Ya can’t run away from a car wreck,’ cause you’re in the car! Simply awful way to go, I say.

What really gets to me though is stingrays. Not even the stingrays themselves, but I’m bugged by the fact that I’m bugged by stingrays. I’m the bloomin’ Crocodile Hunter for christ’s sake! Not that I really hunt crocodiles or anything, just play with them for the most part, I suppose that title is a bit misleading now that I think about it, but my point stands. Here I am, practically Mr. Nature; I have a genus and species of snail named after me! (Crikey Steveirwini, look it up.) And yet I’m afraid of stingrays. Stingrays aren’t even that dangerous. I’ve held the world’s ten deadliest snakes, in order, and it didn’t even phase me. Nothing does any more. All of the ‘Crickey!’ and “Whoa, check out the fangs on that shela!” it’s all just for show. None of that gets to me anymore. Except for stingrays. Hell, I wasn’t even always afraid of stingrays. It’s a recent thing. Been having these strange reoccuring dreams about being covered in stingrays, stingrays all over me. Just kinda rubbing their freaky little stingray bodies on me and tickling me with their stingers. And it always ends with the stingrays growing wings and carrying me up to Heaven. Gotta lay off the pizza and ice cream before bed, does it to me every time.

Anyway, Terri’s gunna have my head if I stay up any later, we’ve got another shoot in the morning. I don’t remember what she said it is we’ll be working with, maybe a nice black widow or an anaconda.

Crickey,
Steve Irwin