I should probably point out to those of you who have yet to kick the bucket that deceased animals and deceased human animal lovers reside in the same place once they leave their physical bodies. It's just that they enter Paradise differently. We animals automatically qualify for entry due to our innocence, so all we have to do is trot across the rainbow bridge. Whereas humans have to answer a series of tough questions posed by Saint Peter - the old geezer with a long white beard, before they are allowed to pass through the Pearly Gates. Or to give them their proper name "The Coca Cola Pearly Gates". Corporate sponsorship is everywhere these days. I really want to be there when my male staff arrives. Knowing him he'll probably trip over Saint Peter's beard and then rip off his robe as he grabs onto him trying to save himself from falling, leaving poor old Saint Peter standing there naked holding his clipboard with a tattered robe and my male staff at his feet, with all the angels giggling at his wrinkled bum. Or have I been watching too many "Carry On" movies?
I've lost my train of thought now. Where was I? Ah yes - the Mercedes. My staff advertised the damned thing on a website - PleaseBuyThisWreck.com and just last week they received an offer from a nice family who have just moved from Boston USA to Brisbane which made the test drive interesting because they kept forgetting which side of the road they were supposed to drive on. This didn't really bother my male staff who went with them on the test drive because he tends to drive in the shade at this time of year, whatever side of the road the shade happens to be, which of course produces an interesting weaving trajectory. This in turn means that he frequently gets breathalysed by the police who are constantly astounded that any sober, fully sighted person can possibly drive so badly. Naturally my male staff had to take at least one guinea pig with him on the test drive and the lucky winner this time was Alfie, who much to the curiosity of the Bostonian buyers sat on the dashboard in front of the steering wheel and unsurprisingly produced copious amounts of bush chocolate whenever the American forgot that here in Australia, as in most of the civilised world we drive on the left, and found himself staring at the oncoming grill of a large truck, usually driven by a large fat, bald dude in a blue vest. My male staff, sitting in the front seat, the Bostonian and Alfie could all make out pretty much every wrinkle on the truck driver's shocked face as the Bostonian wrenched the wheel to the left at the last moment, then turned in his seat and yelled "ASSHOLE!" much to the chagrin of his wife sitting in the back, unaware of the violent death she had just marginally been spared.
"What have I done? Don't call me an asshole. Asshole." She exclaimed, assuming that her loving husband had been yelling at her, not the truck driver.
My male staff, anxious to be the peacemaker and also not realising that the gentleman had been talking to the truck driver turned to her and said, "Actually he didn't call you an asshole asshole. He just called you an asshole - singular."
"Mind your own business asshole." She said kindly.
"Yeah!" said the Bostonian. "Who are you to call my wife an asshole? Asshole."
"I didn't call your wife an asshole asshole." Said my male staff. "You called her an asshole. Asshole."
"Now you're calling me an asshole. Asshole. Why should I buy your stupid car if you're going to call me an asshole?"
By this time the Bostonian had given up looking where he was going altogether and Alfie's bush chocolate was beginning to overflow from the dashboard onto the Bostonian's lap, his fur was standing on end and his little red eyes were sticking out on stalks. (Alfie that is, not the Bostonian.)
"Look where you're going asshole!" His wife screamed from the back seat has she saw an interstate Greyhound bus heading our way. Another violent swerve to the left and another burst of bush chocolate from Alfie. All three humans turned in their seat and yelled "ASSHOLE!" at the back of the bus as it disappeared into the distance.
"Okay." My male staff threw his hands up in a gesture of surrender. "I promise not to call either of you an asshole if you promise to look where you're going. You're making my guinea pig car sick." With that they drove erratically but silently to the vehicle registration office where much to my male staff's surprise the Bostonian couple said they loved the car and would indeed but it. So having swapped the keys and paperwork for a cheque the Bostonians drove off in their new Mercedes and my male staff phoned my female staff to tell her to pick him up in the Hyundai Getz. An hour later they were back at home celebrating the sale of the Mercedes with a nice cup of tea and a digestive biscuit. (My staff really know how to party.)
"Where's Alfie?" Said my female staff suddenly.
"Oh my God!" Exclaimed my male staff. "He's still in the Mercedes. Call the police."
My female staff frantically dialed 000 and asked for the police.
"How can I help?" said a female voice.
"Our little Alfie's been abducted." Wailed my female staff close to tears.
"Calm down Madam we'll find him. Now, how old is he."
"He's only eighteen months. An American couple took him. He'll be in a white Mercedes heading south on the Bruce Highway towards Brisbane."
"Did you get the registration number?"
"Yes, it's Aardvark Giraffe Buffalo four six two." Female staff's knowledge of the phonetic alphabet was always a little hazy, but the lady seemed to understand.
"What was he wearing?"
"Don't be ridiculous, he wasn't wearing anything, but he's white all over."
My female staff heard the dispatch officer call out the alert over the radio. "Please be on the lookout for a white Mercedes Alpha Golf Bravo four six two, heading south on Bruce Highway. It is believed the occupants have abducted an eighteen month old naked Caucasian male."
"Don't worry madam." Soothed the dispatch officer. "We'll soon have your little boy back at home safely."
The missing child.
Two hours later there was a knock on the door. Male staff opened it and there, holding Alfie in two hands well away from his smart uniform was a policeman. "We found Alfie for you." He said and handed the cross looking guinea pig to my male staff. My female staff joined them. "Oh Alfie!" She squealed. "Thank heavens you're safe."
"I'm arresting you both for wasting police time." Said the policeman sternly.
"What do you mean "wasting police time"? How can you say that. Look at his little face." He pointed to Alfie.
"Yeah," said the policeman. "And that little face contains several very sharp teeth. He raised his left hand which was covered in blood."
"You must have frightened him." Said my male staff.
"I'm arresting you for wasting police time." repeated the policeman. "Why didn't you say you had lost a guinea pig, not a child?"
"Nobody asked." Said my female staff truthfully.
"You had half the Queensland police force out looking for a guinea pig."
"Look." said my male staff as if explaining something obvious to a small child. "If the Queen came to Australia and lost one of her corgis you'd all be out looking for it wouldn't you?'
"Well, she's not here and her corgis are all safely tucked up in their Royal baskets so you should be grateful that our guinea pig gave you all something to do or you'd just have spent a boring night sitting in your patrol car stuffing doughnuts down your necks."
The policeman seemed not to be particularly impressed by this line of argument.
"I now require you to accompany me to the police station." He said "Where you will undergo enhanced interrogation. You will be played a continuous tape of One Direction's Christmas Hits until you confess." I'm joking of course. Even the Queensland police aren't that brutal. Normally they just stick to waterboarding and whipping the soles of suspects feet with electric cables, or tasering their genitals. In the end my staff received a sentence of ten weeks community service - that is to say they were to do the community a service by staying out of town for ten weeks.
Dudes! I'm like so glad Uncal Billy's male staff didn't make me go in the car cuz wot wiv all that swurving and karrying on I'd have like chucked up all over the driver. On second thorts that mite not have been such a bad thing cuz at leest then nobody wood forget me and leeve me in the car so that the police had to go owt looking for me.
Ennyway, we were all like reely glad wen Alfie came home, tho I did heer him muttering sumthing that sounded like "Bugga! For a kuppel of ours I thort I'd escaped this bluddy mad house."