Getting the best of you.

Happy Pigmas

I awoke aghast to recall mrsgrinchfinch demanded, a week or so past now, a pic when I mentioned my wackodoc posed (after some no-I’m-not-that-crazy explaining) with Pigmon. And that I had several other Pigpics to post, so I’d best do them all in one spot so those who sigh and scroll past with a resigned ‘oh this shit again’ hiss can just skip the whole post.

First, as per above, HAPPY PIGMAS! Friends had a nice old-school tree-trimming party and even Pigmon had a good time.

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Second, here is my understanding and tolerant wackodoc posing with Pigmon (and probably slowly inching closer to the emergency under-the-desktop-guardcalling button).

Next, below is Pigmon earlier this week at the Balmain Hotel. I’d woken that morning with an idea for comedy gold: re-do the Jonestown Death Tapes, only all in Australian!
(Ex.: MEEK VOICE: Maybe if we wait for the Russia to com n’fetch us, yeah ... ?

JIMBO JONESY: THE BLOODY RUSSINS AINT COMIN WITHIN COOIE OF BLOODY GOYANNER, YEAH? WOT YOU FINK I LOOK LOYK I’M MADE OF FOOKIN AIRPLANES OR SUMPIN? DRINK YER BLOODY PARPLE PISS JUICE AND CARK IT, WILL YA?)

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Far wiser than me, Pigmon instead suggested we just take some notes and form a lucrative but non-genocidal cult all our own.
He was pushing to buy some property in Suriname. I tried to convince him a different approach was needed this time.

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‘Eee eh eee eee?’
Kansas??? OK, Pigmon, we’ll workshop the Suriname idea some more. There IS Tasmania ...’
‘EEEEE! Eh eh fnort.’
‘You’re right; too many seasons. Maybe Fiji?’
‘Ehhh ... glmdpr.’
‘[sigh] OK, let’s check Google maps ...’

‘Unk unk err klmpty? Nike vrrt mff eh eh.’
‘No, Pigmon; I don’t think Nike would be interested in a sponsorship deal.’
‘Tuh-weeee! Deutschebank oofaoofa!’
‘Hey, now THERE’S some good thinking. You’re more convincing on the phone; YOU call them.’
[boopboop sounds from mobile phone]
‘Deutschebank? Og eee ort. ... dlurgy-zixen? Hm.’
Dlurgy-zixen? Pigmon, we said no body count this time.’
‘Rrft eee ee-’
CLICK
‘Hrrgblrtrs.’
‘You’re right, Pigmon. Maybe somebody Swiss will finance us. A few more scruples, but you can talk them into it.’

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‘Oark! RAY-BANS!’
‘Whoa! Great thinking. Who else to finance a lucrative yet non-fatal cult? GET ON THE HORN IMMEDIATELY, PIGMON!’
‘Eee eee eh gbbty!’
‘You’re right; we could even offer them a cut of the sla- errr, volunteer labour! You are one shrewd alien, Pigmon!’
‘Drfgm.’

And then to finish up, we took Pigmon to Dick’s Hotel yesterday, where I sat with my back to the wide screen and ogled the hot guys in the crowd as cricket-loving Hubs watched the cricket.

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Pigmon just loved the cricket.
‘Carn the Rabbitohs!’ said Pigmon.
Hubs had to explain that the Rabbitohs are a rugby team.

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‘Why do the larger players simply not eat the smaller ones?’ asked Pigmon* (*all credit and homage to Futurama for stealadapting that line) .That also took some rule-’splainin’ from Hubs.

SO THERE WE ARE. All caught up on the recent antics of My Pal Pigmon.
We return you to your regularly-shhheduled BackTalk.

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