Sourced from Google Images
Some days I can’t help but feel a certain sense of comfort. The strict gun regulations, the government funded medical plans, the lack of bombardment from pharmaceutical advertising or politicalheads, and the quiet culture of the Australian way of life. To say we have it good is an understatement, we have it perfect. They say “America is the land of the free”, clearly they haven’t been to Australia or New Zealand. We have fuck all gang violence, murders, bullshit. Being an isolated island, we have developed our own breeds of nightmare creatures to share with the lucky masses, and a language that leaves experts stunned.
Aussie slang has some of the laziest yet easiest abbreviations you could imagine, from complex names such as whichiduduboodooku (over yonder), to more comprehensible and pronounceable words like Brisbane (Brizzy or The Brizz). We cut whole greetings and reply’s down to a few rumbled grunts, “Whereyagon? Gettinabeer. Garrnthen”. Lazy. Or is it. Perhaps our dialect has evolved to better suit our harsh climatic conditions, thus allowing us to whittle away useless words to make better use of our time for “Moisture Farming”, our country’s main source of water, and beer.
sourced from Google Images/Fanpop.com
Out here, a possum will kill you. Feral cats will stalk you and crocodiles leap out of the toilet. Out here, death keeps a distance, scared of his own shadow. Think of a kangeroo. You probably see small and cuddly right? Wrong. Well sorta. They start out cute and cuddly, like “drop bears”, but that quickly turns to shit when they hit 7ft and 200kg (400(ish)lb). Those cute little legs? Gone. Now they’re skull-crushing dream-killers. So you’re a kickboxer? Have you got razor sharp claws? No? A kangaroo does. In fact, they gut you from chin to cock and leave you to bleed out. And the tail, as powerful as all the legs and arms combined and able to take down a full grown “Drop Bear”.
“This is a baby after hatching. They immediately hunt cats for sustanence.” Sourced from Google Images.
Some of our terrors are minute like, “The Huntsman”. Growing to an average of 15 inches in diameter, the huntsman gained its name early in the 17th century when a lone man was wandering in the harsh outback and stumbled across the nest of the spider, the web was thick, sprawled across the ground. The man tripped and the subsequent vibrations alerted the eight legged tiny tank to the stumblings of a walking meal. As the man got to his feet, he saw the spider charge toward him, grabbing a thick branch or maybe the leg bone of a previous death contender, he swung and knocked the spider into a tree and fled home. Later that night, after he told his tale at the pub, hairy legs pricked through the moonlight and into an open window. When the drunken man was sleeping peacefully, The Huntsman struck. It buried fangs into flesh and dragged his late dinner off into the night. Leaving behind only a small flurry of hair, bristled. Bloody.
Well, I hope I’ve enlightened you to the terror that lurks behind our shores, and please, send help… We’re outnumbered… I think they’re coming back…