I awoke aghast to recall mrs
grinchfinch 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.
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?)
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.
‘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-’
‘You’re right, Pigmon. Maybe somebody Swiss will finance us. A few more scruples, but you can talk them into it.’
‘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!’
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.
Pigmon just loved the cricket.
‘Carn the Rabbitohs!’ said Pigmon.
Hubs had to explain that the Rabbitohs are a rugby team.
‘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.