The Grim Reaper

We've all done things we wish we hadn't.  For a start there are millions of people here in Australia who wish they hadn't voted for Tony Abbott.  In fact it's almost impossible to find someone who'll actually admit to doing so, apart from shock jock and utter prat Alan Jones and that so called journalist Andrew Bolt.  Someone must have though, because we now find that the plonker is our Prime Minister.  I'm sure George Dubya wishes he hadn't woken up one morning and said "I know, lets invade Iraq."  I myself have done one or two things that I don't really like to talk about, but since nobody reads this blog I think I can do so quite safely.  I once - ahem, I once ejaculated into my male staff's hand.  Yes I know, it was a disgusting and shameful act, but frankly it was his own fault and bad timing on his part.  He should never have put his hand between me and my old pal Badger's butt.  There I've said it.  I'm not proud of it, but we all make mistakes, yes even me.  Then of course just a couple of weeks ago Baci was caught red handed bonking a butternut pumpkin.  Don't try to tell me he doesn't regret that, at least the getting caught bit anyway.

Take my female staff for example, apart from that other huge error of judgement when she married my male staff, even she has made one or two faux pas.  There was the time when at university she got hammered, fell flat on her face and broke her nose.  That hardly counts though does it?  It seems that most humans do that a some stage or other, it's how they learn that while vodka may look like water, it has different properties entirely.  No, the occasion of which I write concerns a boring night at what was known in the nineteen seventies as a Shearing Shed Ball because the venue was one of the local sheep shearing sheds.  My female staff comes from a big C and little c conservative farming family and her Father was a rather imposing figure, strict and with a very short fuse.  He also had a well deserved reputation for arriving very early for any appointment or dinner date.  The family had been known to turn up for a dinner party an hour before the appointed time while the hosts were still showering and getting dressed.  My female staff would have done well to remember this.

She was sixteen and on her summer break from boarding school with her frantic sister, who it seems was frantic even back in those days.  Anyway my female staff's Dad drove her to the venue and told her that he'd pick her up at eleven forty-five.  I think this must be because his Mercedes turned into a pumpkin at midnight or something like that.  In any case the ball turned out to be about as much fun as a visit to the vet for a thermometer up the old bottom passage, and by ten thirty my female staff was to be found sitting on one of many bales of hay in the shearing shed.  She was staring at the floor while a few drunk people danced lethargically to "You Picked a Fine Time To Leave Me Lucille".  She had just taken a drag on a cigarette, probably one of the last she ever smoked and returned her gaze to the floor.  Suddenly a pair of boots appeared before her.  "I know those boots." She thought.  She raised her eyes a little.  Above the boots were a pair of brown corduroy trousers.  "I know those trousers too." She thought.  At the top of the trousers was a leather belt.  " I recognise that belt as well."She mused.

 "Hello Dad," she said.  "You're early."
 "I hope that's just a cigarette you've got there."  He growled.  At that point my female staff's mouth overtook her brain at a blind corner and smashed head on into a truck as it tends to do in human teenagers.
 "Of course it is," she replied.  "I sold my entire stash of marijuana hours ago."
You know that horrible sinking feeling you get when you suddenly realise you've actually said something that you were planning only to think?  Well it was that feeling that jolted through my female staff's body at that moment.  Never a great one for humour at the best of times, let alone sarcastic humour at his expense my female staff's Dad's face started to to turn purple.  Not a good sign, I'm sure you'll agree.
 "I won't tell your Mother that you were smoking." He said. "But I'm very disappointed."  He smoked himself of course, as indeed did my female staff's Mum.  Anyway, it was at this point, as she stood to go and find her frantic sister that she accidentally dropped her lit cigarette onto the hay bale which started to smoulder briskly.  By the way, did I mention that her Dad was also the Captain of the local Rural Fire Brigade?  It was a very quiet ride home.

When my male staff was ten years old he was deemed just about responsible enough to stay at home while his Mum and Dad went shopping with his two year old mad sister.  On this particular day he mooched about the house, watched some television, ate some cookies, played with the dog and then grew bored.  In the kitchen on one of the benches he found a small glass filled with golden liquid.  He sniffed it.  It smelled okay.  He was cautious because he'd been caught out before a few weeks earlier.  He'd been foraging through the fridge to something nice to eat and found what he thought was a nice refreshing glass of orange juice.  He grabbed it and took a big slurp only to discover that it was in fact beaten egg yolks.

On this occasion he was taking no chances.  He dipped a finger into the golden liquid and tentatively sucked it.  It was sweet, rather pleasant actually, so he drained the lot and wished it had been a bigger glass.  He put the empty glass in the sink and went upstairs to read his comics.

Half an hour later he heard his parents and mad sister arrive home and went downstairs to see if they'd bought him anything interesting.  They hadn't, but his Mum was asking his Dad in a loud voice if he's seen "That rat poison we left on the kitchen bench."  His Dad said no, he hadn't seen it.
 "Are you sure?" Said his Mum.  "It was in a glass on the bench."
Suddenly my male staff was burning up inside.  Panic stricken, he admitted to drinking the rat poison and asked what would happen to him.
 "Oh." Said his Mum casually, "You'll probably die."
 "Shouldn't we go to the doctor?" Asked my male staff, astounded by the callous disregard of his plight by his parents.
 "Nah. "Answered his Dad. "It's too late now anyway.  The doctor won't be able to do anything.  Rat poison is really deadly.  I'm afraid you've had it."
 "Whaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa!" My male staff burst into tears. "What can I do?" He sobbed, wondering when the crippling stomach pains would kick in."
 "Well for a start," suggested his Mum. "You can go up to your room and keep quiet.  I'll come up in an hour or so to see if you're still alive." My male staff raced up to his room and buried his head in his pillow, sobbed nad wailed "I don't wanna die!" occasionally and waited for the Grim Reaper.  An hour and a half later his bedroom door opened.  It wasn't the Grim Reaper, but his Mum.  She sat on his bed and told him to stop crying.
 "I hope you enjoyed the cooking sherry." She said.  "Now don't do that again."

BACI'S BALONEY
Ackchooly I don't regret having that affare with the butternut pumpkin at all. It was beeootiful wile it larsted.  So wat if I never see her again, she'll always stay in my hart coz she was my furst luv.