Well, MY dad battles the forces of evil
If there's one thing Australia does well, it's producing a large number of spiny and poisonous things. One of the spiny things, which amongst those in the know is essentially thought of as Satan's prickle assaulted my bike tyres a few days ago. The tyres were so thoroughly pierced (while, I might add, I was riding humbly upon my metal steed across the footpaths of suburbia, where one does not expect to be assaulted so1) that they were rendered unsalvageable.
They were only two weeks old, too.
The tyres, I mean. Not the prickles. The prickles were surely forged at the birth of the universe, coated with impenetrable matter as yet unknown to modern science, wrapped around a core of hot melty evil. Like a Snickers bar that JUST MURDERED YOUR ENTIRE FAMILY. But with thorns on.
While I was regaling my father with this tale of woe, he remarked that I should return to the site where the villainy took place while wearing thick thongs upon my feet, where I could then locate the source of the localised evil and collect it in the soles of my shoes.
While the daddy was, in fact, joking, at the same time it is no stretch of the imagination for me to visualise him doing just that, and rather enjoying it, too.
And that's one of the reasons why I love my dad.
(It also helps that he looks like a retired Gordon Freeman.)
1 Unless, of course, one has the misfortune of living in Queens Park
