STEVE IRWIN, CROCODILE HUNTER
1962-2006
Steve Irwin spent his whole life wrestling pissed off animals. An average day for Steve Irwin involved waking up, eating a breakfast consisting of raw steak and a glass of kangaroo milk, and then going outside and kicking the first deadly animal he could find right in the fucking face.
Last night, MSNBC showed a clip of Steve Irwin taunting a crocodile with a lawn mower. It was like a guy chasing his dog with the vacuum cleaner, except with a lot more deadly sharp things involved. I mean, shit, I guess he could have just taunted the crocodile with a vacuum. That would have been crazy enough for most people. But no, there's simply not enough things that can kill you involved for Steve fucking Irwin.
The Crocodile Hunter died because he was stabbed in the heart by a stingray. I don't know about you, but if that's how I died, it would be my epitaph. Hell, even if that's not how I die, it's still going to be my epitaph. That's way better than cancer or a car crash. Don't get me wrong, I'm not glad the man is dead. If anything, I'm sorry it happened. The world lost a unique individual.
His death came as a shock, to be sure, but probably only because people were surprised it finally actually happened. It was the right way for him to go, killed by an animal that he had really pissed off. It's like if Evel Knievel died in a motorcycle crash, or if James Brown got blown away by the police during a PCP and alcohol-induced rampage.
Steve Irwin died doing what he loved, fucking around with deadly animals for no good reason.
This is a picture of Steve Irwin dangling a rattlesnake above a man being dragged behind a truck. I don't know what that guy did to piss off the Crocodile Hunter, but that is why you don't fuck with a guy like Steve Irwin
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