There's a pipe in the laneway behind my work that sometimes randomly spurts enormous jets of water all over anyone and everyone who happens to be standing nearby.
This is fucking ridiculous to me.
Sorry to swear, but saying it's just ridiculous doesn't feel like enough. Explain yourself, pipe! I don't know what's worse - getting hit in the face by a waterfall twice a day, or not being entirely sure where this water comes from. Or if it's even water at all. The only thing more ridiculous than this pipe is the fact that no matter how many times it spits water at me, I continue to eat my lunch in front of it every day. And not just me - we all eat our lunch in front of it everyday. It's like a game; you never know how long the stream will last, or how strong it will be, or if someone will walk out in the middle of a complete deluge and witness you and your lunch being soaked. Again. Who needs pokies? This shit is better than gambling, and it's free -all you need is 45 minutes for lunch and an absurd personality.
In other news, I came home from work this afternoon to find my cat had been accidentally locked in the bathroom. This was hilarious to me for two reasons:
1) She is a cat.
2) She'd been accidentally locked in the bathroom.
What's not to love about that scenario? And before you get all animal-rights-activist-y on me, don't worry. I'm pretty sure she wasn't even in there for that long. There wasn't nearly enough damage to the blinds, for one thing. I don't exactly know where they learned this, but when left alone, my animals have a tendency to completely annihialate everything in their path. I can't tell you the amount of times I've had to reconstruct the main layout of my bedroom thanks to Nala's special feline-brand of PMS. Or what about that Easter a few years back, when Oscar got into the pantry and consumed half our familys easter egg supply? Yeah. Aren't dogs supposed to be allergic to chocolate? Mine isnt. I actually think it enhanced his strength, at least if the way he defended the rest of those easter eggs is any indication.
Pets are tricky, but my family seems to have a special knack for messing them up. And when I say 'my family', I mean 'my sister and I'. And when I say 'my sister and I', I mean 'me'. What nine-year-old goes through four mice in the space of a fortnight? Probably the same one that kept silkworms in her lunchbox, and whos first pet fish met it's untimely demise in a fashion that can only be described as 'spontaneous explosion'. I get why my parents are so excited about the prospect of me finally moving out, but if you ask me, it's my animals who should be celebrating. I just increased their life-expectancy, like, tenfold.