Crikey!

Say it:

"He died doing what he loved best."

OK, that's true, but Steve Irwin, who will be remembered as the "Crocodile Hunter," will also be remembered for a lasting legacy: most badass death ever.

In a tragic freak accident, Irwin was stung by the venemous barb of a stingray. After the 8-inch spear pierced his heart, Irwin pulled it out himself.

I wonder if he said "Crikey!" I sure as hell did.

While we're on the subject, the editors at The Independent apparently have never met an Australian before. "Unlike most Australians, who shrink from the tropical sun and shudder at the dangerous creatures that surround them, Steve Irwin was a man in tune with his environment."

Whozawhatnow?

Ummmmmm, first of all Australia is tropical? I mean, I know they have winter and summer all backwards, but tropical?

Secondly, it's been my experience that an Australian will never shrink away from anything. Pretty much within five minutes of meeting an Aussie, they'll be your new best friend and ask you how you prefer to risk your life with them- snorkeling the Great Barrier Reef or setting up a new climb in the Arapiles, all the winking at you with a broad crinkly smile on their eternally suntanned faces. An afternoon with an Australian doesn't tend towards finding a quiet firelit nook, it involves delicious wine and beer and an injection of homemade adreneline. And isn't that the whole charm of Steve Irwin, and by extension, Aus?

Maybe I just want to be back on the beach, surfing, but I think The Independent should shut its hole and everyone should go hunt their own metaphoric crocodile.

Farewell, Steve Irwin, badassest guy in the world.