textfiles/magazines/MIKE/mike13.txt

Mike's Madness #13

G'day and welcome to . . .

         I N   T H E   W I L D   W I T H   ' A R R Y   B U T L E R

     G'day Moits!  Welcome to yet anotha episode (and those of you who watch
a lot of the Discovery Channel know what I mean) of In the Wild with 'arry
Butler. T'day, we got a little friend of mine what I collected in the
Outback. He's the Very Very Very Rare Outback Robin.

     We 'ad a little problem gettin' this 'ere bird, because the little
bastard saw me comin' and flew away. Bast'ad. That's why I never stray far
from me P-51. Fired ROIT up and I was on bligh'er's tail in under 20
seconds! Oh 'e tried to dodge, but these 75mm cannons did 'im a number!
But, uh, I think it was the nuclear-tipped air-to-air missile what done 'im
in.

     While I'm at it, loik to say a big "sorry" to the folks out at Alice
Springs. Bet y'all got yourselves a little sunburn there. Keep your chin
'igh, we got plenty of bloody Foster's on the way! Cheer ya ROIT up!  Keep
ya from filin' lawsuits then, aye? 

     But anyway, that little bastard snuffed it good when the warhead went
off. Vaporized 'im ROIT good! Calls for a Foster's! CHEERS TWO! Thanks moit!
Bloo'y good!

     Y'know, after a day of harassin' wildlife, there notin' I loik betta
thanna cold Foster's. GOES DOWN NOICE! Ah blimey, I could snuff six or seven
of these moity pints! Not even 'ave to take a leak! Roit nectar of
Australia! 

     CATS!!!
     WHABAMWHABAMWHABAMWHABAMWHABAM!
     Got 'immmm.

     I roit 'ate cats! Bast'ads. Eat birds I could be chasin' in me P-51.
Roit pisser, that! Come 'ere, moit -- show ya something amusin' y'can do
wit' sheep! Getcha smoilin'! Betta than shootin' cats. 

     'ere's anotha one of our animal friends. It's a rabid dingo, mascot
of the U. of Sydney!

(Sung VERY loudly)

OH SYDNEY WE 'AIL THEEE!
AFTA WE PASS THE TEST
WE'LL BE FOROGOTTEN WIT' TH' REST
OH SYDNEY WE 'AIL THEE!

SYDNEY SYDNEY SYDNEY!
THIS PLAN'S GOT OUR VOTE -- 
IF THEY GIVE YA ANY SHIT,
PUNCH 'EM IN THE THROAT!
GOOOOOOOOOOOOO SYDNEY!

     Roit good foit song, that! Gitcha blood up! Make ya wanna go out and
commit a few atrocities, oi? Useda go out afta a match and shoot Yankee moid
cars. Get quite a few of them in the noit. Good fun, then. Then the bloody
gover'ment started puttin' limits on 'em. Only twelve a noit?! Blimey!
What's it comin' to, then? Croist, next they'll be sayin' we can't shoot
Abbos. That's a ROIT pisser, too!

     CHEERS TWO! Throat gets moity dry out 'ere in the Outback. Thanks Moit!
Bloo'y good! 

     CATS!!!
     WHABAMWHABAMWHABAMWHABAM!
     Got 'immmmm.

     OI BLIMEY! Look, there's a bleedin' lizard in me Foster's! OI! COME 'ERE
MOIT! I GOT SOMETHIN' TO DISCUSS WITH YOU! 'Ere! There's a bleedin' lizard
in me beer! You didn't charge me for the bast'ad, did you? You're a roit
thief if ya did! Croist! It's been in there so long it's not even crunchy
anymore. I WAN'A FRESH LIZARD, YA COCKSUCKER! This 'un's been dead for 'ours!

     Another native to our pleasant shores is the tar-antula. They get moity
big out 'ere! Size of small dogs. Saw 'un eat a Scotty 'nce. Quoit repugnant.
Made me wanna pitch me Foster's. Roit pisser when that 'appens! But should
one of these bast'ads come prowlin' up your street, don't fail to blast it
at the first avalible moment. Show it 'oo's boss then, aye? I recommend #12
shot (5 pounds should do), followed by low kiloton tacnukes. Make it think
twoice 'fore comin' up your street 'gain!

     CATS!!!
     [WHA-BOOOOOOMCRACKLEOOOOOOMMMMMMMCRACKLE]
     eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII 
     whA-POW!

     BLOO'Y 'ELL! 'e's got artillery! Chroist! THIS IS BLOODY WAR, MOIT!
     Fire up the P-51! I'm afta the bast'ad! See ya next week on:

       ___ I N   T H E   W I L D   W I T H   ' A R R Y   B U T L E R ___

                  Sponsored by Foster's Lager. ROIT good beer!
 

* * * K-HELL RECORDS PRESENTS:
          
     'arry Butler sings Pink Floyd's Greatest (that'd be a record to drop
acid to!).

ROIT ROIT ROIT!
I'M VERY VERY NUMB!
CHROIST I'M NUMB!
I'M ROIT NUMB!
BLIMEY!
BLIMEY!
I'M BLOODY NUMB!


WE DON'T NEED NO BLEEDIN' EDUCATION!
WOT WE NEED'S SOME BLOODY FOSTER'S!
CHEERS TWO!
THANKS MOIT! BLOO'Y GOOD!


I WAS IN TH' BLEEDIN' KITCHEN!
SHAMUS, THAT'S ME DOG, WAS OUTSIDE!
AND THE BASTA'D SAT ROIT DOWN AND CRIED!
SHUT UP YA BASTA'D!!
SHUT YA BLEEDIN' 'OLE!!
I'M TRYIN' T' DRINK SOME BLEEDIN' FOSTER'S, YA COCKSUCKER!
BLIMEY!


     SHUT UP OUT THERE ! ! !
     [dial]-[dial]-[dial] 
     Riiiiiiing
     [click]
     "'ELLO! This is the bleedin' Police Station. Can I 'elp you?"
     "Yes Officer. There's a man outside my window yelling aloud."
     "A loud what?"
     "Padon?"
     "A loud WHAT?"
     "Whatchoo talkin' about then?"
     "You said a man was yelling aloud. A loud WOT?"
     "You are a silly man and I won't talk to you further!"
     [click][K
     My, that was brief.

 And now it's time for . . .


                       Star Trek: The Next Generation
                       ------------------------------

Captian's Log:
     We are three weeks into the new season and the Enterprise has been
attacked by a dreaded enemey: complete and total boredom. Meanwhile, 
Ensign Crusher is working on his final project.

Cap't: Well Ensign, what is this project of yours?

Crshr: What I've done is cut the shuttle bay in half with a gaint brass
       screen which funnels down to this hose. On the other side is 2,000
       tons of some killer Antarian weed. I simply open the bay doors
       halfway and the inbalance in air pressure sucks mass amounts of smoke
       (which has been produced by shooting the phasers into the weed)
       through the hose. The user simply fits his mouth over the hose and
       inhales.

Cap't: Commander Data, what would the result of this experiment?

Data : Sir, it is my considered opinion that the user of such a device
       would get mighty high. In fact, blazed. Stoned. Loaded. Blitzed.
       Numb . . .

Cap't: Thank you, Commander Data.

Data : . . . Wasted. Bombed. Flattened . . .

Cap't: Have Commander Data flushed into space at the first possible 
       moment.

Crshr: I need him to score the weed, Captain.

Data : . . . Laid out. Slammed . . .

Cap't: Oh gawd . . .

Data : . . . Cooked. Lit. Smashed . . .

Crshr: Hey Data -- let's go up to Geriatrics and mess with Spock s'more!

Data : A wise choice, Ensign. I heard he mind-melded with Stoner Harry.

Crshr: The guy who does all the acid?

Data : The very one!

Crshr: This should be fresh!


Captain's Log:
     I am informed by Warf, our Klingon weapon's officer, that he has
constructed a new weapon's system which he is itching to try out on an
intruder.

Cap't: Situtation, Lieutennant Warf!

Warf : Captain, there is a starship of unknown origin floating off our
       starboard bow.

Cap't: Analyze, Commander Data.

Data : I believe it is a Donut Class Starship, first constructed by the
       Canadian Space Agency. The ships were a commericial failure because
       the food dispersal unit could only manufacture beer and jelly donuts.

Cap't: Open hailing frequencies.

(onto the main screen flicks the image of the bridge of the alien craft)

Intruder 1: Gimme a jelly, eh?

Intruder 2: That's all we have, you nob!

1: Hey! There's a bald guy on TV. How's it goin', Baldy? (snerk)

2: Give him the speech, eh?

1: (oh ya!) [A-HEM] . . . G'day, eh? We are from the planet Gretzsky and we 
are [burp!] travelling to . . . Hey, where we goin' anyway?

2: Down to the store to get Dad some more beer . . .

1: TAKE OFF, You Hoser! We already did that! 

2: [burrrp] Oh yeah . . .

Cap't: This is Captain John-Luke Piquard of the starship Enterprise.
       Identify yourselves!

2: Okay, how is the Enterprise like toilet paper, eh?

Cap't: L't Warf, vaporize them!

2: It was only a joke, eh!

1: Take off you nob! You can't vaporize us! 

2: Yeah [BUUUURP!], we gotta secret weapon, eh?
(pulls out a device that looks like it's made out of paper clips)

1: Oh beauty goin', eh? You showed them our secret weapon! 

2: (fumbles device and drops it): Oppps. Oh jeeze, I dropped it.

1: My brother's a hoser, eh? 

2: Take off! I am not. Get me another beer, eh?

1: Beauty! Two at a time! 

2: Cheers! [crack] [crack] [clink!]

1: Who's the dude with the complexion problem?

Cap't: You are speaking of my science officer, Commander Data.

1: He doesn't get much sun, eh?

2: Yeah, you must keep him in a closet . . .

2: *burrrr-RIP!*

1: OH! We ain't got the air filter on, you nob! We'll be smelling that for
hours! My Brother the Hoser -- he eats all the saurkraut at Der Wienerwhat-
ever and then downs a case of beer! OH JEEZE! (holds nose and frantically
flaps other hand) TAKE OFF EH! I bet they can smell it clear over there!
          
Data (sniffing at the air): I do smell something quite maloderous.

Crshr: That's just Warf's breath. 

Warf (mildly cheesed): SIR! Permission to punish the upstart!

Cap't: Not granted, Mr. Warf. And grab a Tic-Tac while you're at it.

Warf: You're history, Crusher!

Crshr: Eat shit and die, Godzilla . . .

Cap't: NEVER say "die"! (heroic pose)

Warf (astounded): But it's alright if he says "shit"?!

Cap't: Watch the langauge Mr. Warf. There's kids watching.

Warf: Well fuck them too!

Cap't: That's better.

Crshr: So what are we going to do about the intruders, Captain?

Cap't: There's only one course . . . 

Reicher (dramatically): The die is cast!

Cap't: NEVER say "die"! (heroic pose)

Crshr: But it's still cool if I say "shit", right?

Warf: Captain, he said "shit" AGAIN!

Cap't: Watch the langauge Mr. Warf. There's kids watching.

1 [to 2]: I think I wanna change my hair colour.

2: Oh, you should dye it, eh?

Cap't: NEVER say "dye"! (heroic pose)

Warf [to Crusher]: And you better not say "Shit"!

Cap't: Watch the language Mr. Warf. There's kids watching.

All: WELL FUCK THEM TOO!

Cap't: That's better.

***********  B   O   O   M  ***********

1: OH, Beauty! Those hosers' ship blew up, 'eh?

2: Musta had too many beers, eh?

1: No, the hoser that's writing this ran outta things to say.


     And so I have



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