I use Fiction to face Reality And write sweet Stories to avoid the bitter ones.
Fun fact: You may hug koalas in the Australian state of New South Wales, but not in Queensland. So…if you didn’t hug your koala nice and tight before you got here to Sydney, you’re going to be shit out of luck until we go back to Surfer’s Par...
I liked the koala, wallaby, and I chilled with a kangaroo a bit. There was a wombat that I quite enjoyed also.
I got access to a private tour of the zoo. I got to go in a cage with a koala, which I highly recommend.
My favourite animal is the koala, but his life would be boring. I would rather be a giraffe so that I could contemplate the beauty of Africa.
I have no fear of losing my life - if I have to save a koala or a crocodile or a kangaroo or a snake, mate, I will save it.
I want to go to Australia and take the same goofy picture of me holding a koala that everyone else takes.
I'd love to hold a koala. They sleep 22 hours a day, eat eucalyptus leaves and just hang out. I want to spend some time with that guy.
Even I realized that money was to politicians what the eucalyptus tree is to koala bears: food, water, shelter, and something to crap on.
My scratching I don't really think communicates to intelligent life forms. Anyone with more than one brain cell would think Kid Koala music is completely retarded.
Don’t be such a dumbass, Gabe. Koalas don’t travel in herds. They move in heaps. Much like emus move in ripples, and kangaroos travel in photo-ops.
If one more person tells me how big this country is, I’m going to go kick a koala.
I got stuck up a tree when I was about seven, and my dad had to come and get the ladder to get me down. I loved to climb all the way up to the top. I must have been a koala in my past life.
What is likely to vanish - or be transformed beyond recognition - are many of the things we think of when we think of Australia: the barrier reef, the koalas, the sense of the country as a land of almost limitless natural resources.
I hear they’re all infected with chlamydia, which just goes to show that you really can’t tell who’s got the clam. I mean, look at a picture of a koala…tell me you’re not shocked.
In any other fabric of space-time, my brother would have picked up Dee’s venereal disease-infested koala punt and run it straight down the line of vulgarity, all the way to the touchdown of tastelessness.
It is tempting to look upon England as a sort of musical Australia, an island culture inhabited by, and sustaining, its own insular fauna – musical kangaroos, koalas, and platypuses. That, however, would be very much to exaggerate England's musica...
