Crikey. The word gives me a glimpse into my own shell-shocked psyche. It's a useful, newly powerful word. Crikey, Mr. Cheney! What have we done?!! Crikey, America! What's with all the anti-depressants and 50-hour work weeks?! I look in the mirror and think--Crikey, I need a vacation.
My friend MoonCat, the traveling astrologer, wrote this in her latest AstroMissive:
"The Crocodile Hunter has become a Martyr for his cause, killed by the BARB Of TRITON itself ~ the stinger of a stingray….. with the Karmic result being Passing through the Death/Rebirth Tunnel with the world watching and cameras rolling! WoW! What a way to GOOOOO! Praises to you Mr. Crocodile Steve, Thanks for educating the world to the animal causes that you did and have done…"
Jeepers.
1 comment:
Crikey, what a missive today, food for thought. I wish Mr. Irwin would've been just a trifle less enthusiastic, this burgeoning populace desperately needs people of his ilk to help right the environmental wrongs done to our animal populations, in his case the wild ones. His death is a sad one indeed, for all of us. It's served to make us pause, and appreciate his contributions, and their value to us all.
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