somebody to love

I first saw him at Grange. A cricketer, strong, broad and made of plastic. He had a fine moustache like a virile walrus, and it was love at first sight.
I took him home with me.
His instructions told me to put him directly in front of the television. But he wasn't happy there. He didn't say a word until I put him in my bedroom.
He was a bit of a chauvinist. He didn't talk unless he wanted something. The something was usually VB. Otherwise, he'd ask me to either turn on the cricket, make him nachos or find his thongs.
He had no apparent receiver device. John at my local bottle shop said Boonie should live in a box in a dark corner of the shed, because he was obviously a government spying device.
But Boonie and I got along OK.
Then Boonie began to change.
First he began to slur his speech. I just thought he'd had too much VB.
Then, Boonie started to speak in a satanic whisper... He had evolved his own language.
He would wake me in the night, slurring and crackling like an evil alien.
But I stayed with Boonie, in memory of what had been.