Hidden in my GoreTex bunker amidst some of the most treacherous and frigid terrain known to man, the elusive trophy-wife restlessly waits for her sugar-daddy to return. He has undoubtedly spent his day hunting for fresh flesh to satisfy adulterous desires. I watch in awe, as the arm-candy meticulously applies a double coat of mascara to her already accentuated lashes and grooms her silky auburn plumage. She is entirely oblivious to my impending attack. I have no fear of losing my life. If I have to save a koala or a kangaroo or a squirrel, or a raccoon or, uh… a cat, from contributing to a fashion catastrophe, I will.
Crikey!!!
