Tuesday, January 25, 2011

Through The Glass Tank

So I work in a pet shop.
More specifically I work in the aquarium section of a pet shop.

One of the things that my co-workers and I find ourselves speculating about, happens to be the concept of a "Fish Parallel Universe", or FPU, for the purpose of this post.
In FPU, everything is underwater and fish run the world. People are sold as pets to fish, and are kept in small glass tanks that are oxygenated. Also, fish are the size of humans, and vice versa.
This is what a pet store looks like in FPU.

As with any animal that is taken under the wing of another, humans would need special care.
This is what the FPU care sheets for humans look like.

Humans are a great choice for a pet.
Although they only have a memory of around one week, they are interactive, and cheap and easy to maintain. With the proper love and care, your human should live to around ten years of age!
Before bringing your new pet person home, you need to make sure you've set up their new home.
Make sure you have a nice strong tank that will withstand external water pressure, and a good supply of oxygen pumping through the tank.
Contrary to popular belief, humans do actually need some water to survive, so place a small bowl of water in their tank for them. Humans also eat a great deal of food relative to their size, so make sure to feed your human three times a day. Each meal should be approximately the size of their two balled up fists. You can feed them any vegetables that you don't finish at the dinner table.
Humans are best kept in pairs, or even numbers. We recommend your setup have 1 oxygen canister per human in the tank, so as to assure enough air for them to breathe. However pure oxygen is not enough for humans, so you must treat each oxygen canister with three types of "air conditioners"- nitrogen, argon, and carbon dioxide. This will ensure your human stays happy and healthy.
Please provide somewhere private for your human to go to the toilet, and make sure you clean this daily.
In terms of substrate, you can use grass, dirt, carpet, or linoleum, all of which we provide in store. Tank accessories like  furniture or wall decorations are optional, but they will make your tank look far more appealing, and will help to keep your human entertained.
We do not recommend that you handle your human, or remove it from its tank at any time. Humans do not have the ability to extract oxygen from water, and you will soon find yourself having to replace your pet.
Once your tank is set up and ready to go, one of our friendly staff will help you choose a healthy, happy human to take home! Let the human sit in the tank inside its transport bag for around 10 minutes before you let it explore its surroundings.
Enjoy your new found friend!

Sunday, January 23, 2011

I Scream

Fear: noun; A distressing emotion aroused by impending danger, evil, pain etc. The feeling or condition of being afraid.

Everyone has something that scares the pants off them.
Here are just a few examples.

I have one such fear. But it's not one of the ones above. I even typed it into Google just now and nothing came up. So I guess I'm alone in this fear. This one thing that makes my blood curdle and my hairs stand on end and my tummy flip and my curls frizz.


Ice cream trucks.

Everyone I know, EVERYONE, gets so flipping excited when the music from an ice cream truck is heard through an open window on a summer's day. All my friends get excited and start looking for loose change, while I feign a stomach ache, run to the bathroom, escape through the window and run like hell with my hands over my ears.

I cannot remember a time when I was not afraid of ice cream trucks.
When I was a small child, the truck used to drive by, and as soon as I started hearing that wretched music, I would begin to cry.
I remember one particular occasion when I was in the park with my Grandma and the music made its way into my tiny ears. I curled up into a ball and started howling. Poor Granny was confused and tried to convince me that "the ice cream man is a very nice man" but nothing would console me until that music finally disappeared into the distance.

You see, when I see an ice cream truck, I do not see the happy, treat-delivering vessel of joy and glory that most others seem to see.
As soon as I hear that thin, tinny tune that is always played slightly flat, I see this:

And so I have never had the apparently "joyous" experience of skipping over to an ice cream truck and buying a little happy treat to cheer up my summer's day.
Instead, I go foetal until the siren of doom is no longer within earshot.
Most people think I'm crazy.

But I think it's instinct.
I'm saving myself.

The end.

Kindle Wireless Reading Device, Wi-Fi, Graphite, 6" Display with New E Ink Pearl TechnologySummer at Willow Lake      The King Is Dead   

Friday, January 14, 2011

Hell's Little Minions

It's summer on my side of the world.

In fact, it's not just any summer. It's a summer of plagues. Similar to the 10 plagues of Egypt kind of thing.
I therefore present to you- THE TWO PLAGUES OF MELBOURNE!

The 1st plague is a repeat of the eight Egytpian plague- THE LOCUSTS!

I have only had contact with two locusts in the comfort of my suburban surroundings- the second occasion was a brief encounter. The first, however was the most memorable.
I was enjoying a lovely dinner with the animal-loving people with whom I work, when the next thing I know someone had thrown a locust into my hair. I reacted as any sane individual would, and went foetal for the rest of the evening.

These little guys are not, however, the main point of my story.
I am getting to a far darker issue. The second Melbourne plague- MOSQUITOES!

I go to bed after a hard day of doing nothing in the heat, read through the biography of one murderer or another to send me off to sleep and turn off my light when I get sleepy.
I am just about to nod off when I hear it. Directly in my ear. Loud, and piercing.
The sound of evil.

In a snap, the sleep is gone, and the huntress within awakens.
I leap onto the bed, dishevelled hair and tacky pyjamas, but I don't care. I will get these little bloodsuckers if it's the last thing I do.
I grab the closest thing to me, which just so happens to be a National Geographic magazine feature on flying insects, and start swatting frantically in mid air. The swatting gets me nowhere, though, so I decide to regroup and go for a more calculated strategy.

I know one thing for sure about mosquitos. Mosquitos can fly.
I also know that most irritating flying things are attracted to light.
I cannot fly. But I do have a light.
I therefore conclude that I need to get myself up high, and near a single light source.
This is a diagram of my plan of action:

So I'm balanced on the head of my bed, adrenalin pumping, war paint on, dorky pyjamas blowing in the wind, Europe's "Final Countdown" playing in the background, mosquito still going

And I wait for my moment.
I wait.
And I wait.
Listening to that deafening noise get closer.
And closer.
And closer.

This is possibly the proudest moment of my life.
This is amazing.

I snuggle myself back into bed, feeling exponentially pleased with myself as time goes by.
Looking forward to a good night's sleep without being bitten by the mosquito that I just dominated. I again read a couple of chapters of my murder book and start to drift off to sleep.
I turn off the light, and before I know it...
I hear it again!
I turn my light on and check the wall where I hit my target. It's definitely there, a little black smudge of a trophy on my red bedroom walls.
But sure enough, I can still hear that dreadful drone.

I look above me, only to see a sight that devastates me to this very day-
 THREE MORE MOSQUITOS circling my head.

So I do what any intelligent, self-respecting individual would do in this situation.

Night watch.

Thursday, January 13, 2011

Short and Curly

So today ended with the most absurd argument in the world.

First, I will introduce you to the main players in the scene. There is me, Kranski. I look something a little like this:
Then, there's mother. Mother looks a lot like this:
I think that Mother is a pirate. She is very good at deceiving people though, because no one else seems to think that Mother is a pirate.

Reasons that Mother is not a pirate: she is friendly and laughs a lot and speaks in modern English, and she also smells nice.
Reasons that Mother is a pirate: she wears an eyepatch and is often seen with a small parrot riding on her shoulder. The parrot's name is Bobbie. We are not sure if Bobbie is a boy or a girl, despite me working in a pet store. Also Mother's shoes are often inexplicably filled with sand.

So anyway, today was hot and sticky, and I booked myself an appointment to get my hair cut. And Pirate Mother asked how short I was going to cut it. I said short.

PirateMother: How short?
Kranski: As short as it used to be. Short.
PM: You should not cut it that short.
KK: It's too hot this length though.
PM: But I like it this length.
KK: But I don't.
PM: But I like your hair.
KK: So do I.

At this point, Father steps in. Father is not a pirate. I know this because he used to have a little sailboat but he sold it to buy a motorcycle instead.
A pirate would not do that.
This is Father:

Father has a thick European accent and a big nose, and he likes to wear novelty T-Shirts and come home singing songs like "Oh What A Beautiful Morning" in the middle of the afternoon.
He once bought two turkeys and he loved them very much but they were too noisy so he had to give them back.
He is now often seen sitting outside having a beer with my pet rat, Belvedier.

On this occasion however he entered the room, sans rat, and asked what the argument was about. This made the conversation even more muddled.

PirateMother: I want to know exactly how short she's going to cut her hair!
Kranski: And I want to know why you want to know exactly how short I'm going to cut my hair!
RatFather: Yes, why? It's her head!
PM: But I want to know!
KK: But why?
RF: Yes, why? It's her head!

This went on for a good 20 minutes before we realised we were getting nowhere. I was slightly annoyed at first, but now that I have thought about it, I think that Pirates must not believe in haircuts. And if they do, they probably saw it off themselves with a rusty knife.
So I think that just this once I am going to respect Pirate Mother's pirate heritage, and I am going to grow my hair long. I hope to look something like a lady version of Jack Sparrow.

But less smelly.

These are cool =] ciao for now!