BEDHWP #6: cars, tigers and Dylan Moran.

BLARGH!!
Yep, that was an introductory statement.
Shut up.
Anyways, on with the blog.
It took me four tries to type "blog," the first was "blob," then, "bloh," then, "blof." I did then hit the g. And on each of those attempted misspellings, I did the correct spelling on the first try. I can't win.
So, in the car on the way to my dad's place, we passed a hummer. Yes, a hummer. A stupid great vehicle. And it was red. Now, the driver was not only on red P-Plates, but seemed unable to locate the indicator. And in this confusion, when reaching a red light, inched forward about five times in hopes that he somehow controlled the trafficlights by how big his car was, and how enormous he wanted the world to know his cock was. The whole scene was one of forboding, that kind of thing should never exist under any circumstances.
So, dad and I decided to get coffee, because that's what you do when you live in central-brisbane-10th-storey flat. And, on the way to coffee, we passed the Brisbane Polo Club. We had a look through the door, and, on the floor was a tiger rug. A real tiger rug. I've never actually seen a taxidermy rug before, and it's a sight to behold. Seriously, did someone just own the thing and decide to put in on the floor in what I hope was irony? Or did a tiger just wander in and was unfortunate enough to be shot and taxidermied. All the way home, dad and I thought out loud that this kind of interaction had occurred:
Tiger: *wanders into polo club*
Sir Abernathy Porpington-Smith Jnr. The Third: By jove! A tiger! *shoots tiger*
Sir Tompkinson Trumpetwaffle-Jones The Somethingth: What the blazes, old chap? Did you just shoot that tiger?
Sir Abernathy Porpington-Smith Jnr. The Third: I think a more important question would be, "What exactly is a tiger doing in a high-end Brisbane Polo Club?"
Sir Tompkinson Trumpetwaffle-Jones The Somethingth: Suppose we'd better taxidermy the poor sod.

Yes, I do like scripting hypothetical interactions.
I also watched a Dylan Moran live DVD (Like, Totally......that was the name of the show, and not just a random outburst) and it is hilarious. But the same thing happened to me that usually happens when I watch Black Books, I begin thinking in the Dylan Moran voice. I suddenly think like I'm Irish and drunk. This does tend to wear off after a while, but I do know someone who seems permanantly in the Dylan Moran vortex. Like a younger, skinnier version of Moran himself. I call it the Moran Complex. Someone watches so much Moran, that he himself becomes a demi-Moran. Or, he was just always like that. Come to think of it, he's sortof like a Moran-cross-Roy (from The IT Crowd). I know a grand total of two people who are definately someone else. They're both 16 and Australian, but I don't care what anyone says, one's 30 and Irish, and the other is 50 and English. Me, I'm probably 200 and from outer space, unless anyone has any other suggestions. That's right, this is the first ever Izzie-Blog that requires interaction. I'm 16 and Australian, but WHAT AGE AM I AND WHERE AM I FROM?!?!?!