1. Aliens have taken over their minds. The brain numbing dribble they sprout is designed to lower our collective intelligence thus making the inevitable interstellar invasion easier for our prospective conquerors.

2. Sports commentators are usually ex-sportspeople. Sportspeople are usually bad at school. People who are bad at school are usually stupid. Enough said.

3. Years of sitting next to high frequency electronic transmitters have fried their brains. Let’s hope it’s made them sterile as well.

4. Sports commentators pin their identity on the sport they describe. Their useless badinage arises in a desperate attempt to make the game and thereby themselves more interesting than they actually are.

5. They get paid by the word.

6. Locker room gases have seeped up into the commentary box, mixed with the commentators’ hot air, producing the equivalent of an embollism in their brains.

7. A little known fact: The worst commentators are paid the most money. This is because advertisers realise listeners will want to hear their commercials to purge themselves of the drivel they’ve just endured.

8. If sport is ritualised war then commentators must be terrorists. Just as the true terrorists (those who cause terror) are not the ones who kill or die, but the ones who report it.

9. The law probability demands that if enough commentary is made some of it will be worth listening to. Sports commetators unrelenting defiance of this law marks the last great paradox for science.

10. Sports commentators are trapped in a Freudian Oral Phase of childhood. Their loquaciousness, the phallic shaped microphones, their pathetic and transparent need for approval, etc, point to deep and troubling psychoses.

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.

On trains fat chicks get to jiggle in ways that are truly seismic. All that eating finally pays off. It’s like the Jelly Monster of your childhood nightmares come to life. Furthermore, with space at a premium the social order is inverted. Space, on a train, is currency. So the fatter you are the the more currency you possess. On trains the fat chicks rule. Any dissention is brutally crushed as fat chicks, in a moving train, have physics on their side.

The question then is: If fat chicks are queens when it comes to train travel who are the kings? And the answer, my friends, is the druggy. Haven’t you ever wondered why druggies hang around train platforms? It’s not for the privacy. It’s sure as hell not for the safety and security. It’s because everyone looks as stupefyed as them. Hollow eyed, vacant from monotony, wrapped in their own electronic utopias. Train travel represents everything drug abusers strive for.

Footy fans love train travel because they don’t have to clean up the vomit. Better yet, they’ve a captive audience to torture with their boorish, loudmouthed idiocy. The only time a footy fan’s IQ is lower than at the match is when they’re travelling by train. Me, I think it’s from the lack of oxygen: Rail staff deliberately reduce airconditioner output in a doomed effort to send footy yobs to sleep. But the footers have four things in their favour: 1. A blood system full of alcohol. 2. Supercharged, post or prematch emotion. 3. A group of equally boorish, insolent, noisy mates. 4. And a carriage load of quailing victims. The combination of these four act as a stimulant to the rank, drunken idiots. While the restricted oxygen reduces their already pitiful intelligence.

Ever wondered why Rail staff are drawn exclusively from the Merchant Navy? It’s because they’ve got the ‘sea legs’ for the job. No landlubber could could stand more than two train journeys a day without losing their lunch. Carriage seats remind sailors of their old shipboard bunks. The unexpected power blackouts of times on an ocean becalmed. The rocking motion of both ship and train sets an erotic rhythm to each day. Rail staff, like sailors, are a very close bunch.

Doors

How would you get out of the house or into the toilet without doors? A car without doors is a buggy. Buggies, the car’s poor cousin. Some things would be much better for having doors. Books and newspapers, for instance. With a little doorknob on each page you wouldn’t have to keep licking your thumb and forefinger to separate the pages. Or what about having doors on a football field? A row of doors across the halfway line and the ballcarrier not knowing which tacklers were behind which door!

Doors add class to any social situation. Without doors you’re just walking towards someone. With a door you can make an ‘entrance’. You can ram lovers and foes up against doors, before dragging them into the bedroom or throwing them out of the building.

Doors

The first impression upon any visitor. The last thing they hear when leaving.

Doors are portals to places. Providers of privacy. Sentinels of safety. Strong, boundary setting, tall, broad, and always hard. There are Swingers and there are Sliders, take your pick. Oily hinges, fat knobs, metallic locks. Hard and heavy, soft and smooth. Doors are everything the human race desires to be. Uncomplaining, impervious, fulfilled in their function. Freud masturbated endlessly over the symbolism of doors. Oh the treasures that lie within!

Doors rule.

Fish and chip shops

Greasy, fatty, brutal. Fish and chip shops are the abatoir of the ocean. The place reeks of senseless slaughter. Blood, guts, cold beady eyes staring at you accusingly, flayed bodies laid out in icy mauseleums.

And the people. I’m sorry, but fishermen do not count as sportsmen. Now if you killed a shark with a knife and a half nelson … Weathered skin, whiskered (even the women), self-justifying, callous, insensitive, throwbacks.
Just look at the fisherman posterboy, Rex Mossop. A fish kisser. Then a few months ago he admits to having an affair. We never did find out with whom. Me, I think he carried his fondness for fish to the logical next step.
Try explaining that to the missus.

The people you see in a fish and chip store reflect some of these traits. I once saw an old guy staring with wistful melancholia at a bay marie full of prawns. I could almost imagine a neon sign flashing ‘emasculation’ as he looked at the strong, virile members sheathed and firm before him.

Fish and chip shops

The worst are stores that sell fish and chips wrapped in newpaper. I once watched a kid getting three pieces of fish and three dollars worth of chips (obviously for his parents outside). The top ream of newspaper boasted a page three girl of magnificent proportions. The kids eyes popped out like those of the frozen dory behind us. I’ll bet the parents wondeered about the funny tasting tartar sauce they never ordered.

Awful

Well-known conspiracy theorist, Eugene X, today, accused the Federal Government of misleading the Australian people over illicit drugs. His attack comes after the staggering admissions of rugby league player Andrew Johns last Thursday night.

“The bottom line,” says Mr. X., “is that illicit drugs aren’t as bad as the Government make out.” Mr. X points to the pamphlet sent to every Australian household (on the same day as Johns’ televised confession) as exemplifying the Government’s lies. “In the pamphlet illicit drugs are purported to be addictive, physically and psychologically harmful, and financially draining upon the individual and the economy.”

Andrew Johns’ tell all admission came after his arrest in London for possession of an ecstasy tablet. Mr. X continues, “In an interview with Phil (Gus) Gould, Johns admitted to taking Ecstasy ‘three or four times a year’ for the past ‘ten years’. This has a number of consequences:
First, if Johns was taking Ecstasy only three or four times a year then Ecstasy is obviously not addictive.
Second, Ecstasty didn’t harm Johns, as he dominated one of the most physically and tactically demanding sports of his time.
Third, some of the people interviewing Johns (Footy Show) have come closer to financial ruin from gambling than Johns ever did from drug taking.
Fourth, Johns set out to be a footballer, not a hero. If people are disillusioned because he didn’t live up to the standards they imposed upon him it’s their problem, not his.”

So who should we believe Andrew Johns or the Gavernment? asked the Yowie.

“Well I’d take actual first-hand experience over self-interested speculation any day.”

Why self-interested?

“Because the Government can’t get a slice of the illicit drugs pie,” responds Mr. X. “Tobacco, caffeine, nicotine, pharmaceuticals of all shapes and sizes are readily available to the purchasing public because the government gets a little money from every unit sold. Not so with street drugs.”

So illicit drugs are better value for money?!

What about drug related deaths?

“According to the Australian Bureau of Statistics Drug related deaths, in 2005, accounted for 0.8% of all deaths nationally. If the Government was serious about saving us from ourselves they’d ban automobiles, alcohol, fast foods, and cigarettes, in that order. But of course these items (despite their significantly higher contribution to per annum deaths) are taxed, so it’s not in the Government’s interest to restrict their sale.”

So we should all start dropping Eccy’s?

No! People should do whatever they do. If you’re a reader, read; if you’re a runner, run; if you’re a druggie, take drugs. Don’t do something simply because I’ve said it’s okay. Likewise don’t avoid it simply because the Government has said it’s not.”

Without meaning to sound smug … it was only a matter of time.

The World Asscoiation of Printed and Electronic Media has bestowed upon the Yowie its highest honor: The Journalistic Medal of Honor. This award is bestowed upon the media exhibiting the highest level of truthfulness and impartiality in reporting news. Rather than being awarded upon the merit of a single article the Journalistic Medal of Honor represents the general output of any media organisation.

Which means, for you dear reader, the Yowie’s stories, while being the news you need to know, are reported in a way you can trust. When a cure for blueballs was made part of the PBS (20/10/06) Terry Wrist of the Yowie was there, reporting as and when the facts came to hand.

Though it’s not just the hard hitting facts. While most people don’t even believe in Centaurs the Yowie’s reporter, Chiron, interviewed with one! (11/10/06) That’s why the Yowie can be trusted: We get the stories no one else can.

It was the world media that followed the Yowie after Megumi Kusanagi blew the lid on what is now internationally recogniseed as The Frankenstein Conspiracy (6/11/06). A story that shook the very foundations of politics.

If you’re a regular reader of the Yowie you’re probably thinking I’m preaching to the choir. However, the reason for this article is twofold. First, to let our readers know their intelligence in selecting the Yowie for their source of factual, important news has now been recognised globally. Secondly, to thank our devoted readers for their patronage. We will continue to provide you with the facts, indepth interviews, and the kind of ethical standards only a journalist can deliver.