theBeve put us unto Mad TV, discovered to be playing around 3 am in the morning by Channel Nine Canberra, one day some years past. Back then, and you kidz wouldn't understand this, you were forced to program a VCR for the correct time when the program was on and use magnetic tape cartridges to record the actual footage (1). I know, it's crazy talk.
One of the recurring characters was a blaxploitation-style 70s piss-take dude who was in the possession of a cane. A pimp cane, in fact. The recurring sketches would normally centre around this device, with the character often forced to seek his beloved walking aid and he would thus bellow loudly 'WHERE'S MY PIMP CANE?!'
I now have a cane. And I got the pimpiest one I could find. Indeed, its pattern looks vaguely like a Harlequin died (2) in order to make it.
When I got home with my pimp cane I then had to talk to my work-provided rehab manager, a different gent to my workplace case worker and personally-selected physiotherapist. The call went for around 40 minutes and he wouldn't get off the fucking phone. I should have feigned the vapours or something. Also, earlier, S---'s no-talent ass clown of a loaner iPhone auto-corrected the rehab provider's name when I texted the provider back. Which is why the text began 'Robot, I got your text the other day...'
Damned auto-correct arseholes!
(1) We spent about $20 a fortnight on tapes because I had OCD about obtaining them holding onto quality TV. Then DVDs were born, box sets became available, and then there was the internet. I gave about twenty cartons away when we moved in 2007 to a odd-little man who was put onto our vast free tape collection via my workplace classifieds. He turned up, in business dress, and loaded them into his car and drove off into time.
(2) Good. And if I see Whiteface ... (shakes cane).