The Deadliest Continent
Australia--designed to kill the unwary. At least, that's my impression of it from, well, everywhere. Any time you turn on a nature channel about deadly animals, you learn that most of them live in Australia, and not far removed from the average Australian. Let's see, they have the world's deadliest snakes (with, I think the exception of the black mamba), the world's deadliest spiders (funnel web, anyone?) and their bodies of water are populated with crocodiles, sharks, eeeville box jellyfish and some tiny little octupus that will Kill. You. Dead.
Usually, I dismiss that information with a "Wow! Remind me, when I visit Australia, to avoid the ocean/outback/ponds/lakes/streams/fields/woodpiles/backyards," (as of today, I believe my future trip will consist of touring one pub in Sydney) and amazement that the prevailing attitude toward these items by the residents is fairly breezy. I am also comforted by my geographical distance from the Australian Scary. But, ladies and gentlemen, we have been duped. The Australian Scary has become more than a mere collection of venomous fauna, has escaped its former pen, and now threatens the world. In fact, the Scary has arrived on these shores, even in my very home, and it is trying to end my life. The scary in question?
Specifically The Wiggly Safari, which features, in addition to the aforementioned Wiggly types, the presence of the Crocodile Hunter, Steve Irwin. Even now, the haunting tones of "Crocodile Hunter, big Steve Irwin, Crocodile Hunter, Action MAAAAANN!" from the Wiggly Safari's opening number echo in my consciousness, and they are driving me maaaaad, I tell you! Maaaaaaadddd!
Oh, it all started innocently enough. I noticed that my child would sit still for thirty entire minutes when The Wiggles came on The Disney Channel, captivated by four slightly goofy men in colored shirts, a pirate with a feather for a sword (do not go there--just, it's been done, okay?), a dog, a dinosaur, and an octopus with a disturbing penchant for plaid. And the songs were WAY better than that saccharine Barney tripe or the creepy songs of satan sung by The Little People. So, God help me, I encouraged Wiggly consumption.
But I fear I have gone too far, and am now caught in the Wiggle trap. In a fit of motherly dotage I purchased the DVD of the Wiggly Safari, thinking it might prove a nice break from repeated viewings of Baby Shakespeare and the Veggie Tales. And now, it is the ONLY THING MY CHILD WILL WATCH. EVER. AND DID I MENTION IT'S AN HOUR LONG? SO THAT ALL OF HIS ALLOTTED TV TIME IS SPENT WITH THE WIGGLES? I am spending hours of my life that I will never get back watching Captain Feathersword with a fake "cockatoo head" hat screeching "Pieces of Eight! Pieces of Eight!" over and over again. I can actually feel the brain cells running out of my ears.
That's not even the worst part. The worst part is that the songs, however irritating they become, are also impossible to remove from my head. They're on eternal loop. I have no escape. I am doomed. I can only hope that this blog entry will save others, for it is too late for me. Beware the Australian Scary! Beware grown men who hang out with plaid-clad octopi in straw boaters and patent leather! I can't believe I just typed that sentence! Save yourselves! Aaaaaaaaaa!
Posted by Big Arm Woman at March 10, 2003 11:03 AM