Bionic legs

I think my Bionic Legs walked from California, then swam the Pacific to Aoteareoa. And, where busted at the border, like the French spies. Who would think a pair of Bionic Legs would not stand out as they nonchalantly walked up the boat ramp at Parengarenga Harbour. They would have been whistling, with their hands in their back pockets, admiring the surroundings, and avoiding the ‘eye’ of the suspicious locals. But they have no lips, or back pockets or Jandles (they arrive elnatural) for that matter, so they stood out. Then the government got word of the immigrants, and paperwork had to be submitted, so they were put in a holding cell in Auckland. With the bond paid, a van has been organised to transport the legs to Christchurch. I did not have the heart to make them walk, swim the Strait, and traverse alps. That is, next time, when they are wrapped around my legs.

They will be bundled into a white nondescript van and bustled to bustling Christchurch and to the gang haunt, Hoani St (there was a gang murder four doors down, a month ago). So tomorrow might be the day, but probably not, because the Blue Bridge ferry has broken down, severing State Highway #1, again. The other ferries are probably stuck on rocks somewhere in the sound after the rudder fell off and sank into the depths of the Strait, and the captain was snoozing at the wheel, while the other captain forgot how to put the ferry in reverse. So tomorrow I will check out the tracking App, not wait at the gate.