The End of the Beginning of the Middle

 

The colour ochroleucous is a yellowish-white colour, the colour albugineous is an eggy-white colour, and the colour blue is a very not-reddish purple.

 

EVIL CAR flew over the Antarctic Ocean on the way to America. They flew over Antarctica, then England, then Spain, then Morocco, then Canada, than Ukraine, then landed in Tenessee. Unbeknownst to them, EVIL CAR was being filmed by Walt Disney, a young animator at Disney studios that was desperate to get a raise from his boss, Teddy Roosevelt.

“Ooh!” said Walt Disney, “Mister Roosevelt will like this!” Mister Roosevelt, of course, would not have liked this as he was a humourless old turd, as described in his resume (and later his gravestone).

EVIL CAR groaned and shot a concentrated jet of ice at Walt Disney, thus freezing him to be later defrosted, then refrosted, then defrosted even later. Jack, Sheila, Bruce and Bruce’s pet koala Bruce began to get out of EVIL CAR, but Jack stopped them in the nick of time as they were still in the air. Once landed, Jack let them get out and stretch their arms.

“Where are we?” asked Bruce’s pet koala Bruce.

“We’re in America,” said Jack. “I think the state of Confusion.”

“I’d say the state of Fear,” said Bruce’s pet koala Bruce’s pet human Bruce, “Judging by the way those American Indians are staring angrily at us and causing their arrows to move rapidly through the air towards our groins.”

“Oh yeah,” said Jack, “I think you’re right.”

“Should we jump out of the way?” asked Sheila.

“Meh, why not,” said Jack’s friend’s pet koala Bruce’s human’s friend Jack.

Thus they did. The American Indians stopped shooting and decided to go home and wipe out some more species of buffalo, along with a couple of birds and a fish that they had seen on the way over and decided they didn’t like. This particular tribe had a natural loathing of everything, even themselves. An interesting footnote: The fish in question that they wiped out was, in fact, incredibly rare, even for its time, and could cure the disease currently known as Fatfootitis, which had absolutely nothing to do with the fattening of the feet but would later be known as ‘cancer’, which had nothing to do with the sign of the zodiac, later to be known as ‘superstitious pagan rubbish’, later to be known as John Edwards. The fish also was bright puce with ultraviolet-coloured spots, incidentally shaped exactly like a detailed painting of Jack’s home, which he had always thought looked like the ultraviolet spots of a fish.

After escaping the Red Indians, Jack worried about the Blue Indians, rumoured to have been wiped out by the Ochroleucous Indians the previous millennium. The Ochroleucous Indians, however, were far too busy beating off the Albugineous Indians (who were later completely destroyed by the Chrysochlorous Indians, undefeated for thousands of years due to nobody else knowing what colour chrysochlorous was. It was, in fact, greenish gold, but nobody had the time to work such things out), who were being attacked and destroyed by the Red Indians. This sort of set up has been deemed by many as ‘stupid’, but a select few consider it ‘really stupid’.

Jack, Shiela, Bruce and Bruce ran from EVIL CAR, who would eventually become a God amongst the dimwitted residents of a small country called Russia. Nonetheless, the four ran from the Indians, straight into a river.

“Arrgh!” screamed Jack, as he noticed that his clothes had began to become distinctly non-dry in contact with the clear liquid surrounding him. He also noticed it was rusting his corrugated iron lucky underpants, which had been anything but lucky considering what had happened so far in the book. (Jack, of course, had no idea that he was the subject of a book, and for that we are thankful as we haven’t asked his permission. The only thing we worry about is if the film of the book is made, in which case he may go to see it, but not for another two hundred years as cinema was unpopular in his time and television was only available in New South Wales, and in NTSC, nonetheless.) He also noticed that the river was carrying him further down into its bowels, which meant, rather than Jack being consumed and eventually excreted as waste, that he was going to drown or be pulled over a waterfall. He and his friends drew closer and closer to their waterfall-y doom when suddenly Jack noticed the major flaw in the simile of the bowel.

“Quickly,” said Jack, “Pour out all of your rations of chicken a la bullethole! That’ll back the river up for a week!”

“I didn’t know you were that slow getting out of a river,” said Bruce, standing on the banks, as the river was only two feet deep and almost completely dried up (the dry season, you know) so Jack stood up and got out. Sheila did the same, as did Bruce the koala. It was rather fortunate that its grandfather was one of the previously mentioned Red-Indian-eradicated-Jack’s-house-fish who had migrated to Australia to dodge the draft. (Not the army recruitment draft, but an actual, physical draft. The fish in question wasn’t very bright, something Bruce inherited. The koala, not the man, though the man wasn’t very bright either, even though his grandfather wasn’t a fish.)

“What do we do now?” asked Sheila.

“I reckon,” said Jack.

There was a pause.

“Yes?” said Bruce.

“I reckon we should call the Prime Minister on my corrugated iron cell telegraph!”

“But Jack,” said Bruce’s (the man’s) koala sadly, “What about the rates?”

“Damn!” said Jack. “I didn’t think of that.”

“I know!” said Sheila, “We’ll send the Prime Minister a letter!”

Jack pulled out his paper and corrugated iron quill and threw them at the Red Indians to keep them at bay. He then pulled out his typewriter (corrugated iron) and began to type the letter.

 

***

The Prime Minister was sitting in his paddling pool, in the middle of his office, addressing the nation.

“And I say more corrugated iron!” he said to thunderous applause. “Now, beer all round!” to thunderouser applause.

A very tired, sopping wet postman sporting arrow wounds and a small green hat reading ‘I got shot by the Red Indians and all I got for it were arrow wounds and a small green hat’ pushed past the tourism department, complete with sign (this time reading A Vote For The Prime Minister Is A Vote For Corrugated Iron in very cute writing with backwards ‘e’s and koala bite marks and droppings, courtesy of the Navy), and gave the PM the letter.

“I’ve got a letter!” said the PM. The applause rang out across Australia. “That’s not part of my speech, you beer-swilling, meat-pie eating, corrugated-iron and sheep-obsessed yobbos!” There was a short pause, and the audience looked at each other. Then they all continued applauding.

The PM opened up his letter. It said, in very neat handwriting:

Dearest Prime Minister on your birthday:
In England Australia China The Moon America. Typewriter busted when I sat on it. Doing fine. Got shot at by various coloured Indians but that comes with the fun job terror. Sheila, Bruce and Bruce doing fine, would write to you themselves but none of them can read. Just saw a turtle trying to eat the letter. Bruce batted him off with his claws (the koala, not the man).

“That would explain the blood,” said the Prime Minister, once more to thunderous applause. He gave the people the finger to more applause, then read on.

Please send reinforcements to us as we would like the company are incredibly stupid spent all of our money on the slot machines the turtle sold us can’t think of anything else to ask for. Oh, wait, we’d also like a bottle of beer in case we need to bargain for our lives or perhaps some beer. Speaking of which, have you got that sign up yet? I’m sure the Queen will have a fit fire you like it so much she’ll hang you it on the mantlepeice at home the palace England.

Signed,
The Prime Minister Jack, Sheila, Bruce, Bruce and the turtle.
PS: Will bring you back a souvenir and possibly some sort of pet as well.

“I hope he gets me that beer and meat pie holder I wanted!” said the Prime Minister. To this there was much applause.

“Now, back to the speech,” he said. “People of Australia!” The Prime Minister picked up a large, heavy book and began to read it out loud.

“A,” he said, “1. The first letter of the English alphabet…”