Free I'Ll Go Home Then, It's Warm and Has Chairs. The Unpublished Emails. - by David Thorne

the case. I don’t know anyone who has ever wrestled a crocodile or has the slightest inclination to do so. When Steve Irwin was stabbed in the chest while teasing a stingray that was minding its own business, I was sad for his family’s loss but the suggestion of creating a ‘National Steve Irwin Day’ and describing him as “an ambassador for Australia” and “ecological spokesperson” left me bewildered. All he did was perpetuate the same clichés that Crocodile Dundee did in the 80's and while I am all for the tormentation of animals, I cannot recall a single instance where wrestling a stressed alligator for ten minutes instead of tranquilizing it peacefully was actually speaking for anything apart from his bank balance. I would like to wrestle Bindi in a muddy creek for ten minutes, rolling her around, cutting off her air supply and bending her limbs back before bounding her with rope and throwing her in the back of ute for no other reason than it would be good television.  If I had been the crocodile Steve Irwin dangled his baby in front of a while back, I would have just said “fuck it, you dont get baby on the menu that often.”
     
    Several years ago, I went camping with a few associates and knowing there would be times between lighting fires, pitching tents and paddling in kayaks, I thought it would be entertaining for everyone if I jumped out from behind bushes while wearing a bear suit. Renting the only ‘bear’ costume available, which was actually a koala, I altered it as best I could to make it look frightening by taping down the fluffy ears, adding sharp cardboard teeth and constructing two downward slanting eyebrows with electrical tape.
    While everyone was sitting around the campfire, I excused myself, donned the concealed costume and leapt out yelling 'Rawr.'
     
    Moments later, I realised the screaming and falling back off chairs was not due to wearing a bear costume but the fact I was standing in the fire while wearing a bear costume made of polyester. After a two-hour drive to the nearest hospital, I underwent three weeks of skin grafting on my left leg and six months of hearing about how I ruined the camping trip. To this day, when anyone asks about the scars, I simply state "It involved a camping trip and a bear, I don't like to talk about it" which is true because I don't.
     
    The last time I went camping was with a group of people I didn’t like - other designers from my work. I have no idea why I agreed to it but I did so at the pub after several beers and I was the only person who owned a four wheel drive vehicle with roof racks on which to place kayaks so somehow, their opinion not mine, I would be letting everyone down by not participating.
    The next day we all drove to a secluded spot, four hours from Adelaide, on the banks of the Murray River. After lighting a fire and pitching tents, everyone sat around talking about work and drinking warm beer (due to the task of remembering to bring ice being left to Simon), so I decided to take a kayak for a paddle to get away from them. I changed into boardshorts, grabbed my iPhone, and paddled off down the river towards a bend where I would not be seen by the others.
     
    Finding that the current was quite strong and realising I would have to paddle back against it, I rounded the bend, pulled up against a dead tree branch sticking out of the water, and tied my kayak to it using the drawstring from my boardshorts.
     
    Removing my shirt and lying back to enjoy the warmth of the sun, I put in my earphones and fell asleep listening to Lil’ Jon and The Eastside Boyz yelling about “throwin’ stuff up.”
     
    Approximately five hours later, I woke up. Looking down, I discovered my entire body covered by several hundred mosquitos. Sitting up quickly to brush madly at my torso and legs, the iPhone that had been laying on my chest went flying, ripping the earbuds from my ears,  and dissapeared beneath the algae laden surface.
     
    Looking