Scrap that

I like to tell stories. I like to make people laugh. I like to dig into my tickle trunk and pull out random funnies just for the hell of it.

Here goes. (I hope you laugh. Without my gesticulations and such, I'm sure it's not as good a story as I like to think.)

One fine evening in December 2002, my friend Mary Jane and I were strolling along the streets of Brisbane's downtown. (Ok, we were staggering. We were bar hopping.) We ran into our friend Simon, who had just left his Christmas party. He's pretty swank, so he was all suited up in a tux. He was also incredibly drunk~much more drunk than MJ or I. We caroused to a couple more bars, indulged in a few more beers. It was a nice time.

George St. is the home to some scrap metal kangaroos. Less than a block away is a pub whose name fails to be remembered by me. (Do you see where I am going here?) We had some beers there, got hungry and went on a search for some street meat. Luckily, there was a vendor nearby. Unlucky for the kangaroo, we ended up right next to him.

I will never be able to forget what happened next. Simon crouched down in his tux, pet the kangaroo, and started to feed him his hotdog. After a moment, Simon thought better of this. He took a few more bites, finished the hotdog, but had some bun left over. He placed the rest of the bun in the kangaroo's hand.

Now, Simon is not the first to do this. It is no big surprise to find on a Saturday or Sunday morning any of these scrapmetal kangaroos holding pieces of food or wrappers. Sometimes there are bits hanging out of their mouths.

Mostly funny, but a little upsetting for the guy who made them. Maybe. Hopefully he thinks it's funny too ;)