You guys, it’s Thursday afternoon and my brain is officially mush. It’s done! I have no power left in my internal battery pack. I don’t have a real internal battery pack, I’m not a ROBOT, I’m speaking figuratively ok. Also I don’t entirely know what figuratively means, but I think it means what I think it means, if you know what I mean.
I’m so sorry. I’m trying.
[jwplayer QunZUtZ4]
ANYWAY! Before I derail this entire article with my stream-of-consciousness bullshit I must tell you about the thing that has captivated me this afternoon. It’s a baby kangaroo. And a baby emu. And they are BEST FRIENDS FOR EVER AND EVER, NO CANCELS.
I originally saw the pic on ABC Landline, which I follow religiously because I am a city gal who secretly pines for the open plains of the outback and likes to think one day she will quit her office job to become a jillaroo on a cattle station. It is an irrelevant point that I can’t ride horses very well and that I’m scared of bulls. Also that I really like to NOT wear khaki as a general life vibe, and I just feel you may have to wear quite a bit of khaki as a jillaroo. It feels like something that has to happen, maybe?
Christ, this is turning into a bin fire of an article. Back on track – here’s the first pic I saw:
They coined it as the Australian coat of arms, which in case you really, really need me to spell it out for you (no shade, bc I am at that point of the day too, clearly) features a grown big boy kangaroo and emu like, holding up a shield with their beak and mouth respectively or something. Maybe it’s with their wing and tiny T-Rex hands.
I don’t know, okay! Did anyone listen in primary school history! All I can remember is a song that NO ONE ELSE seems to recall, that goes “in 1915, the country said son, there’s no time for [something] there’s work to be done…” if you remember the song, CALL ME. I’ve been trying to figure it out for years.
I followed the trail and found the Instagram account, @4allwildlife, which had EVEN MORE JOY TO BEHOLD.
LOOK AT THOSE TINY LITTLE ANGEL BABY SMOOSH FACES, I JUST WANT TO MURDER THEM. I want to rip the emus little stripey feathers off.
PSA: I’m not GOING to. I just have the weird urge where you want to hurt cute things – I’m fine, I googled it once and apparently it means you’re really emotionally mature or something. Maybe it was immature. Regardless, it didn’t mean you had a penchant for animal cruelty. Unless you do it. So don’t do it. Don’t rip the cute feathers off that baby emu.
As a side note, who knew emu babies were so adorably stripey? It’s too much for me.
Such a stripey little boi! A little Tigger-emu! I love him. I wonder if I’m allowed to adopt an emu and raise it in an Inner City apartment. Do you think they’re like greyhounds and just enjoy lying around, or would it want a run each day? I like to think emus are really lazy. They look like the lazy type. Surely those spindly legs can’t carry them around for long and they’d like a little lie-down on my couch.
Anyway do you want to die in your soul region right now? Because mates….
Fuck me up, stick a fork in me I’m done. Not to mention the fucking STORY – he was left to die in his mum’s pouch!!! And someone saved him!!!
I think the moral of the story here is – avoid any article I write after 3pm, but also to obsessively check dead kangaroo pouches for tiny babies/the side of the road for emu eggs (I think).
