Hope all you megabrainy wonderkids have recovered from my last article. Because the bell has rung and reality is comin’ out swingin’.

Do you remember me telling you about the Ancient Egyptian Mummy found by Mr. Wesley Byron Prufrock? Do you remember the deplorable actions of the scurrilous government agents (Media blackouts, meaningless explanations, threats, secrecy)? Do you remember me telling you everything would change? Well, gollygee gumpus! Cram a load of this up your cranium and tell me what you think:

Government strategists are laying square eggs over what they have now termed Mummygate. It seems I was right on the money. Human perspective and brute reality have gone into the ring together, and only one of them is coming out.

So in the left corner we have Pharoah Whoever-He-Is. 3000 years old, if he’s a day, inconvenient truth, and undisputed brute reality. And in the right corner we have us, with more problems than Lazarus with a triple bypass on an Al Quida bungee jumping expedition in Washington D.C.

The questions being asked by those oily eggheadded nerds in the government are: How does Mummygate fit into our web of knowledge? And what does it mean for us (the government of course, they’re not concerned with how it would affect the rest of us). And the answers, my fine caped heroes, are more confronting than seeing your Mum at an ‘abortions on demand’ rally.

Mummygate stands in direct contrast to everything we thought we knew. Simple as that. And what does that mean for the rest of us? Well, it proves, beyond any shadow of a doubt, that the reality we live under is wrong.

Wallop! K.O. Here comes the ambulance!

Okay, okay, I’ve got some good news and I’ve got some bad news.

Probably better get the bad news out of the way first. Mummygate has the government wondering why anyone should listen to them when they have as tenuous a grasp on reality as the rest of us. For centuries the model of government has been thus: The constituency is a madhouse and the government are its keepers. Mummygate shows them to be just another inmate, with absolutely nothing to justify the influence they exert upon us.

Now for the good news. Realising the impact brute facts have upon our ‘perceptions’ of reality we can now answer an age old Zen Koan once and for all. If a tree falls in a forest and no one is around to hear it, does it in fact fall? The answer is, ‘Yes’. Facts are facts, if a tree falls in a forest, it falls, regardless of what we might think.

From October first circus strongmen will be subject to random drug testing. “Circus strongmen, like footballers, are professional athletes,” says Melanie Tyler of Drug Testing Australia. “We (Drug Testing Australia) have been accused of concentrating our efforts on specific areas of professional sports, while neglecting others. It’s always been a case of, ‘the more TV time you have, the more drug tests you’ll have to undergo. However, Drug Testing Australia have had cause to rethink this strategy.”

“By all accounts,” continues Mrs. Tyler, “the strongman industry is rife with illegal performance enhancing drugs.” Because of their constant, and often unplanned, venue changes tracking the whereabouts of circus strongmen is something of a challenge. “Our organization estimate there are at present between three and five thousand practicing circus strongmen in Australia. All with zero checks.” Mrs. Tyler grimaces. “Until now.”

However, Drug Testing Australia has checks of their own. The locating of and travelling to thousands of circus strongmen presents a registerial, financial, and logistical nightmare. “We are applying to the government for a fourfold increase in our budget,” explains Mrs. Tyler. On the figures I have such an increase will barely be enough to register currently practicing strongmen. But we in DTA are prepared to tighten our belts.”

According to Mrs. Tyler the DTA has an agenda set to clean up the renegades within the circus industry. “The competition between circuses is fierce. And unscrupulous operators will stop at nothing to get the edge. Why should they? Asks Mrs. Tyler, “when there has been no one to hold them to account.”

The Yowie asked Mrs. Tyler in what ways this competitiveness manifested itself.

“Bearded women and testosterone. Clowns and hallucinogens. Circus fat women and steroids. The most entrenched problem, however, lies not with the carnies, but their animals. Our investigations have uncovered a widespread and systematic drugging of circus animals. This makes them easier to handle, train, and transport. It accounts for several hundred animal deaths each year. And it is, until now, entirely unregulated despite its illegality.”

It all comes down to competition. If this circus has the hairiest bearded lady and the craziest clowns they attract the largest audiences. Strictly controlled random drug testing will ensure parity within the industry

Having a level playing field, whether in sport or the circus, is important. But we at the Yowie wonder if it takes the fun out of things.

1. Are you using the right remote? Check that you’re not opening and closing your garage door in your attempts to change the TV channel.
2. Is the a radiation storm or thermonuclear strike on? Either of these will interfere with the signal sent by the remote to the TV.
3. Have you used the remote to swat a cockeroach? Impact damage counts for a large proportion of remote failures.
4. Is your remote sentient? Perhaps this newly evolved lifeform is playing a joke on you.
5. Are your fingers are too fat for the keypad? The majority of today’s remotes are manufactured in countries whose populations are noticeably thinner than our own.
6. Is your TV turned on?
7. Is your remote an instrument of the Devil? Do newsreaders speak in tongues? Do commercials offer to buy your soul? ? Does the remote weep blood or spew fire?
8. Have you been sent back in time? Metaphysicians are unsure if technology will function in a time unable to support it. Warranty definitely won’t cover this.
9. Have you used the remote (instead of a stick) to play ‘fetch’ with your dog?
10. Are you underwater? The density of water adversely affects the efficacy of the remote’s signal.

Remember, it is the purpose of all inanimate objects to thwart you in whatever way they can. It’s not your fault. It’s the fault of the technology.

Lots of complaints since the last article ‘You’re confusing pants with dresses Nigel!’ says some angry crossdressing P.C. accuracy Nazi.’’Loincloths, Gladiatorial skirts, Kilts and Caftans are NOT pants,’ writes another self-absorbed Yowie-writer-wannabe. ‘I don’t want to know where you shop for clothes Nigel. But you sound a little confused.’ Doesn’t deserve comment really.

Are you ALL idiots?!

Ok, these are not, strictly speaking, pants. I used these to illustrate the history and growth of the Scary Pants Phenomenon. Background is essential people. Try and think a bit laterally, alright.

The apparel used in my previous article spawned such horrors as:

1930’s, Jodhpurs. World War war brewing. Jodhpurs: tasteless, shapeless, an affront to every clothed creature on the planet. Jodhpurs were the convergence between skirts and pants. See where I’m going now? Jodhpurs were fifty years ahead of the unisex revolution. And seventy years before the metrosexual look. A little known fact is that Jodhpurs were originally used as catheters by chronic overeaters Always wondered about that bulge around the hips didn’t you? Not only hideous, gender neutral, and misshapen Jodhpurs assailed their wearer’s opponents with smell.

1940’s, Stovepipes. Now we’re in the realm of scary pants pure and true. Stovepipes turned regular men into straight legged, toy soldier clones. Precisely what the times called for (WWII). Only a sartorial masterstroke could halt the fat arsed Nazi ubermensch waddling through Europe in their Jodhpurs. A fashion holocaust needed a fashion A Bomb. And Stovepipes were just that.

1950’s, Bellbottoms. The Cold War was inevitable really.

I’m not going to detail everything. Rest assured, atrocities in history are accompanied by atrocities in fashion. By now you should be able to see where I am going with this. So let me tell the story, okay?. Trust me.

Gee Whiz have I got a blockbuster today Kid-er-inos! It’s more explosive than God’s orgasm – the Big Bang.

Remember Mr. Wesley Byron Prufrock Super Kids? Remember he’d discovered a genuine Ancient Egyptian Mummy? In the wall of his 41st floor apartment no less? And do you remember I said everything would change because of this? Well EVERYTHING IS CHANGING!

Wow, wow, and Super Wow! (Sounds like a dog with a harelip!)

The authenticity of Mr. Prufrock’s find is beyond dispute. The eggheads agree (and these people are so smart they have trouble keeping up with themselves): the Mummy has lain UNDISTURBED for three and a half thousand years. All that remains is to explain how it got there. Bit of a head-scratcher if you consider that until last year the Q1 didn’t even exist!

The tub-thumpers have made up a name: ‘Latent Transcognitive Postactualization’. Gadzooks! No one knows what this means. If indeed it means anything. I think it’s another political Band-Aid. Make us think they have the situation in hand. Scoundrels!

But the word from the inside is far clearer, and far more confronting. Stop right here Brainiacs if you’re not prepared to have your academic pants kicked. Alright. For those brave few still reading put your minds in hyperdrive!

The Mummy (say the super thinkers from the shadows of Government) was always in the building’s walls. Even before the building was built. Once the building was built the Mummy could be discovered.

What Ho!!!??? It sounds like these people would understand me if I told them they’ve got their heads stuck so far up the arses only their feet are sticking out.

Look at it this way: When Dr. Stanley Livingston found Henry Morton living with the tribespeople of Africa, he gave Mr. Morton a copy of the Times. Reading material or toilet paper? The decision must’ve been agony.
The natives, not knowing information could be relayed through print, interpreted what Mr. Morton was doing (reading) the only way they could: ‘Anything,’ they said, ‘that could make a person want to stare at it for so long must be some sort of eyebalm.’ As far as the natives were concerned the Times WAS eyebalm (Golly how times change).

Knowing this it’s easy to understand the Mummy problem. Until the Q1 was built we (the human race) didn’t have the ‘perspective’ to recognize the Mummy where it was, for what it was. It (the Mummy) was always there. It wasn’t on our radar because our radar wasn’t sophisticated enough.

Now for me that makes about as much sense as a metaphysical riddle scrawled in a dead language by a madman who was illiterate. Wowza!

Any readers not knocked to the floor? This is a lot to take in, so I might leave it here for today. Be assured I’ll be back soon with the latest news (If I get paid).

P.S. I’m getting very, very fed up with Minute Noodles. Since I get paid per comment I’d really like some attention here please.

Hi there Superkids! My name is Colonel Macdaver. And while I’m waiting for my taxi license I’ve swung a job with the Yowie. Bonza!

Now I’ve got tons of fun stuff to tell you. But it’ll have to be one thing at a time.

Okay chaps and chaperinnas, fasten your seatbelts. I’ve decided to begin my (probably short) career with the Yowie by dishing out a meal cold, hard facts: On Monday September 10, 2007 a genuine Ancient Egyptian Mummy was unearthed in a Surfers Paradise Highrise.

Wow! Put that in your almanac and file it.

As you might imagine this will knock the socks off those fuddy duddies whole failed me in highschool history. In fact it might turn a lot of commonly accepted ideas on their ear. That’s probably why no one else is reporting it: Media blackout. Too hot for the public to handle. Indiginous backlash etc. We at the Yowie, however, think you’re big enough to hear the truth; gadzooks, so here it comes!

It begins with Mr. Wesley Byron Prufrock. A resident on the 41st floor of the Q1 building, in Surfers Paradise. Mr. Prufrock reported an odd swelling in his eastern wall on September 9. With building maintanence still at least 3 to 6 weeks away, Mr. Prufrock began stripping back the wallpaper covering the swelling. And what do you know? As he peeled back a layer of bright pink and orange speckled paper he spotted a rotted, sepia colored finger wrapped in a rag and pointing up at him like a fishhook! Wowza!

Now Mr. Prufrock is a man of the world. He thought someone was having a bit of fun. Probably the maintainence guys who regularly hoisted his underpants up the thirty foot antennae on top of the building. So he decided to trump their prank by calling in the media!

Smashing idea; what!

I had to barge my way through the living room. Sixty Minutes were interviewing Q1’s manager, CNN were calling in experts, and photographers were snapping away like a crotchety mother-in-law in the back seat when you’ve got lost.

Damn bad luck fellows. But before I could interview Mr. Prufrock the riot police arrived. I thought I was in Sydney! Guns, shields, riot batons and capsicum spray. We were all told (by a very friendly fellow from the government) that if we wanted to live to see our next paychecks we would not print a word or image of what we had seen today. In fact, the buttoned up blighter threatened us so much, and so convincingly I could see some fellow reporters seriously considering the drop from Mr. Prufrocks 41st floor balcony.

(I must admit, I did egg some of them on)

Lucky for you, Super Champions, I’m virtually assured of being sacked before the Yowie gives me a dime. So that paycheck threat means nothing to me (Take that Mr. Government Cover-Up Person! Ha!).

Gee whiz; this is the most important archeological discovery since I found where the dog buried my remote. Maybe even more so. To cover it up because of political expediency or racial sensitivity is, darn it! wrong, wrong, wrong. And even though the project has been hushed up I have eyes and ears in places you people wouldn’t believe! Places I probably shouldn’t. Places that would probably get me a cell-buddy named Bubba. So I’ll keep you posted; right oh?

P.S. I get paid per comment on this story. So let’s hear it Wonder People!

No I’m not kidding. Mad Cow Disease came and went. Bird flu threatened much, but delivered little. Horse flu has done some damage, but nowhere near the amount the various industries are claiming. Now we have bee flu. Or more accurately, ‘Israeli Acute Paralysis Bee Virus.’

Seriously!

The Americans (it’s always the U.S.) have accused Australian apiarists of introducing the bee virus into their country. The basis for this accusation comes from a ‘Nature’ article investigating Colony Collapse Disorder. This, rather dreadful, term refers to the seasonal collapse of hives each winter in America and around the globe. For reasons obscure to this humble reporter each winter colonies die off. Only the queen and a few worker bees survive to replenish the colony in the spring. Sometime colonies die out altogether. Some colonies emerge relatively unscathed. For whatever reason the seasonal fluctuations in colony numbers has been given this moribund name.

But what has the Americans running around in circles is the drastic collapse of colonies all over America during the last winter. This huge loss couldn’t be part of the natural order of things, goes the American thinking, because then they’d have no one to sue. And so this quaint virus was dug up from the dusty tomes of biological history and blame assigned to anyone who has a beehive.

All I wonder is how a virus got from Israel to Australia and then to the U.S.? Bees only live a couple of weeks, so they sure didn’t fly. Apiaries in the U.S. outnumber those in Australia twenty to one, so it wasn’t a problem of importation.

Maybe it was a B virus of another strain, like Hepatitis B that had nowhere to go. Viruses are smart, they adapt with frightening rapidity. And while hepatitis B is still prevalent in underdeveloped parts of the world the strain is making no head way in places like the U.S. So what was left? Rather than finding ways around ever more subtle medicinal cures the Hep’ B virus adapted to infect another species.

I know I’m going out on a limb here, and I’ve absolutely no data to back this up. But such a thing is theoretically possible. At least as far as I’m concerned. In any case it’s every bit as feasible as an infected Israeli bee flying to Australia and then to the U.S.