—Well, no, not in New Zealand it’s not. In fact, it’s Saturday morning in New Zealand. Too bad, too—because you guys coming late to the party missed one hell of an entertaining armadillo jig! Little fucker was spinning like Al Franken confronted with Iraqi voter turnout numbers.
I’m beginning to think this armadillo is the rodentia equivalent of Carlton Whitfield, in The Secret of My Success.
He’s more like a shelled Pynchon.
That fermented kiwi juice will getcha, I guess.
I Question The Timing© of this armadillo post.
Turing = quite, as in This armadillo is quite as elusive as the long-promised Flat Tax.
Turing word = here, as in, “What good is that for those of us stuck here on the other side of the international dateline?”
Any Kiwis get this on film? Maybe he ended up with an All Blacks jersey pull up over his head as he sprawled over a case of empty Steinlager bottles…
Wow, that’s an incredible amount of spinning. Hope he’s alright. Could you supply us with his current health status?
Here’s a thought: If an armadillo spins around, no matter how many times, can he fall over?
Carlton Whitfield. Jesus. I’m continually delighted by Jeff’s posts but the commentors are just as good. Thanks for reminding me of an old favourite.
For some reason I’ve never understood, every time an Armadillo explodes, I get an erection.
Nice try, Beck, but it’d be more apt if you got an erection right before an armadillo exploded.
Then, you could wander around Germany having all kinds of drug- and sex-related exploits in your “Armadilloman” costume.
Ficht nicht mit dem Armadillenmensch!
Now, really. Is this the way to Armadillo?
Can’t tell you, but I do know the way to San Jose.
Armadillos are probably safer spinning around on their shells than exercising their fabled jump reflex.
You make an excellent point Sean.