Hello All,
           your intrepid thrill seeker has just returned from another
expedition in search of the lost Yak, this time exploring the wilds of
Pearl Beach and the Ettalong RSL. I took Tonto Vettoretti as my trusty
guide, and a Gregory's map of the Central Coast handed down through
generations of Lawrences embossed "1956" which unfortunately had no
expressway on it. This cost us the Concord to Woy Woy landspeed
record after a very fast descent fo the south face of Kariong Heights
(252m above sea level), caused partly by Tonto's error in telling your
driver to turn left while nodding ot the right.

  BTW, I should say that I found Tonto most unsatisfactory as a
navigator and guide. He was most unhelpful at the roundabouts where
my calm request of "Which way?" was usually greeted by
"Kiemo Sabe?" I
blame Tonto entirely for the farce at the top of Mount Ettalong, but
we did not sally into the wilds of Pearl Beach unprepared. A native of
the region had provided cryptic instructions which read: "Yamima.
Ocean Beach Road. Turn left, up mountain, down mountain."

  Apart from the cryptic "Yumima" which Tonto had mistranslated in
his ignorance of the local patois, the "turn left" was unfortunately
transposed. It should have read: "Up mountain, turn left, down
mountain" with the result that the "turn left" put us on Umima Beach
with a surprised fisherman.

  We pressed on and discovered a rare afternoon Yak at Chez Grimsley.
Billus Grimslius the younger showed us the wild life (Editors note:
this should read wildlife) by throwing bread at the local birds and
the black turkey from next door.

  (Editors note: this apparently racist statement fails to make it
clear that the so-called "black turkey" was actually a scrub turkey,
genus meliagris gallopova australis).

  (Author's note: Mind your own fucking business. I know a black
turkey when I see one. And anyway, Tonto shot the fucker. Bloody
boongs).

  After an instructive lecture on the ballistics of "Z" ammunition and
the best way to shoot a cat, we then adjourned to the local Motel
where Tonto told the pretty lady to shove her room up her arse for $70
(it was never clear why he did this). Mr Grimsley set a new landspeed
record to Ettalong RSL with our somewhat battered Skyline in hot
pursuit, where we were given a cheery welcome by a sign which read:

            NO HAIR CURLERS OF THONGS AFTER NINE O'CLOCK

  We passed this strict dress rule, and finding the natives friendly
we exploited them, paying $3.50 for an excellent meal of fish and cat
vomit the natives called "veal wogarone" (or something like that).
Tonto had the fish and Mr Grimsley introduced us to a local game
called Keno, where you put pencil marks on a piece of paper, give a
lady in a cage money, and watch the numbers not come up on a TV
screen. This is very cleverly done. No matter what numbers you select,
they don't come up on the screen.

  Mr Grimsley proceeded to bet on his birthday, which only proved that
he had been born on the wrong day, but Tonto went into a trance after
drinking Heinekin (an alien brew made of magic mushrooms) and declared
that he could see the "pattern of the algorithm."

  I then gave a lecture on the correct way to gamble while Tonto bet
on numbers 31 and 33, still insisting that he "did this sort of shit
for a living." He waited until the pattern was right, bet twice, got
the two numbers, and the lady in the cage gave him $60.

  I desisted from my lecture on the correct way to gamble (having lost
my petrol money), and beat the shit out of him, but Tonto being a
smarmy bastard who did this sort of shit for a living waited a
further 7 games, bet on numbers 31 and 33 again, and got another
$60. Instantly converted, I sat staring at the Keno screen, trying to
see the pattern of the algorithm.

  Mr Grimsley's birthday numbers came up and he won a v.34 USR modem.
I ate my losing tickets and most of my shirt before they managed to
calm me down and kindly showed the way out of the establishment. This
was very good of them, and was achieved by turning out the lights to 
convince us that they really were closed, and then punching us about 
the face. As you may imagine, I was disappointed so I drove home and 
cried myself to sleep.

  The Yak continues. Wait for the next episode....

Regards,
Bob


    
 
  .isd bettter understood  

    
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