Monday, September 04, 2006

wtf?

I'm having a hard time dealing with the Crocodile Hunter's untimely demise - I mean, he's the guy who rocks the mullets and khakis 24/7 without the faintest hint of irony, the guy who wrestles crocodiles like I wrestle with those stupid security stickers on brand new cds, the guy who names his kids Bindi and Bob.

That guy doesn't just die at the age of 44. That guy lives to 112 years old, to be all leathery and weathered, entertaining you with the same stories about his scars over and over. He's survived snake bites, crocodile bites, media scrutiny, and god knows what other creatures he's dealt with in that wacky land down under. He's like a tall tale, Paul Bunyon without the thyroid malfunction and the blue ox, he can't just get taken out by a stingray. I mean, if I can swim with stingrays and survive, how can he NOT? If Paris Hilton can get up every day and eat a bowl of Rice Crispies without drowning in her milk, how can this happen to Steve Irwin?