Runner's World novel.

.......thought Peanuts as the hippy bloke wandered off serenely smoking his whiff leaving Peanuts withdrawal symptoms as the fug dispersed and his head cleared. Where is my master Ismail and who is this Man with No Name calling me his burro? Me a burro? We'aall at least he is looking after me and  tells them cowpokes when I am upset. It gets reee'all exciting when they don't listen to his carefully chosen mumblings. For a few dollars more I might just hang about this dude maybe Sister Sarah (see wot I done!) and her two mules might turn up........

which she did.

Meanwhile, in a secret government underground bunker, a scientist was working. Hunched over a microscope he peered intently at the sample he had cultured painstakingly. He readjusted the focus, and the image cleared. There it was, plain to see. The virus was thriving. Damn it! He sat back, rolling his stiff neck as he reached for yet another glass slide. His hand slipped. The glass fell. Without thinking, the scientist grabbed for it. He caught the cool glass, his hand wrapping round it far tighter than intended, and he felt it shatter...........

drat, these glass slides are damned expensive and I don't have the budget for another. Two decades of work down the drain for want of a tiny bit of fragile glass. he looked at another glass, this one, at least was still viable, it contained more than a finger of scotch. He swigged down more than he should and felt it's firery path down. Hell that was good. Pushing his glasses back up his nose he contrived a plane to steel the much needed extra slide from that ahole Nisbet. He was a prize if ever there was one. He deserved to be ruined ffs. What could be more wasteful than trying to solve the puzzle. No, Nisbet was a waste of space, even more so than his stupid project. Bert stood from his stool, for he was sitting, and walked calmly into the empty lab of Nisbet. (Nisbet wasn't known for working long hours).

Nisbet was known however for leaving his stools all over the place, the runners trots had plagued him for years. Bert wiped the stool off his foot with a slither of glass he found on the laboratory bench and carelessly tossed it to one side. As he walked out the doors, two decades of micro bacterial research began to mulitply at an alarming rate, cross crossing with the DNA from Nisbet's stool.  Had Nisbets research ultimately been succesful or...........................................

had he created a pile of poop. A festering ever growing pile of poop at that. The steam rose as the fetid stench grew. A fog with a green tinge (green is so zombie) permeated the laboratory, creeping in cupboards and sliding down the necks of demijohns, infiltrating the silent inhabitants of petridishes...

and lastly in his home made dandelion and snail gin. Months it had been fermenting, bubbling away nicely ready for his daughters long awaited wedding the following saturday where she was finally going to mary her handsome, but ginger Prince Harry. Hal had been born after a short liaision with a former calvary officer, depsite that the once and future king had accepted him as his own packing him off to front line Afghanistan to coninute his education. Ginger nuts as he was known (in polite society) had returned ready for his big day. Little did he know, indeed little diot the waiting world know the fate that was to befall him. As he arrived at..........................

the front line, Cilla Black jumped out singing "Surprise, Surprise..."

The trouble is he hated that show, ever since that incident with Bob Carolgees and Spit the Dog when.................................

someone passed him a glass of dandilion and snail gin and all that was forgotten.

The next day he had a roaring headache a stomach that had been trampled by a thousand elephants and a body that refused to get out of bed. That could only mean one thing.

He was dead. That was going to be a bit of a bummer then. How was he going to save the world now? Still look on the bright side, I'm not going to have to spend the rest of my days with...

my father who some years ago adpted the Jehovah Witness faith. The idea os spending another Saturday afternoon with his foot stuck in a door whilst trying to persuade a drug addled Glaswegian that God

1. Did Exist
2. That all he had to do was to read this free magazine
3. Remove his fist from Nisbet's mouth.

If only however he had adopted his brothers muslim faith, even now he would be travelling to heaven to meet up with 76 islamic virgins.  Oh sh*t he thought now what is going to.....................................

... wow that's hot... (and no he wasn't looking at one of the very many virgins, which btw, where do they all come from or is it the same 76 and once dead you can't do that sort of thing, well not in public anyway and not with God in the same room). Where was the plot? Oh yes, Harry is dead and wondering what's going to happen to the planet? no? oh, his dog Barkles now that there is no one to take him walkies.

Fortunately, as is always the way when drifting off plot, Harry's devestated next of kin contacted Cesar Millan America's renowned Dog Whisperer. If anyone could resolve the issue he could. Unfortunately, his suggestion to send the dog to Korea was not what they had anticipated and one that they frankly didn't think was the correct decision. To compound matters, Harry's son's school called to say that Harry Junior had left his lunchbox at home today and would it be ok if they gave him a hot lunch, well what could they say of course......................................

While out on a 10K run with the dogs the 76 virgins found an old Sydney Post newspaper cutting pinned to a large oak tree. 

Dillidangeroo is a smal sheep station on a three point bearing 043 degrees north of Alice Springs. Swagmen and jumbucks settled around a billabong to watch Jenny go walkabout some years ago in the mandolin wind and just stayed. There are no girls there though all the stockmen call out to each other "G'day Sheila" just to remind themselves what each is missing. They are all hardmen and though female anecdote has it that a hardman is good to find they ...........

would much prefer a jolly swagman,  one that would happily sit by a billabong in the shade of a  of a coulibah tree whist waiting for their billy to boil.  Of course most Sheila's would like to go 'a waltzing - Matilda was the most enthusiastic waltzer, having recently appeared on the Australian version of Strictly Come Dancing - of course the come in come dancing had been greeted with titters from the swagman.

Matilda decided having been approached by yet another drunken swagman, because of course an Aussie Swagman can't differentiate between Jolly and p*ssed,  to head off into the bush and to go walkabout - on this day the hottest day in Alice Springs since the previous hottest day in Alice Springs there were strange goings on.....................................

Joey looked around, there wasn't much to eat, but hey ho, he'd only just had breakfast so it wasn't lunch time yet. Maybe a drink would be good so he bounded off down the track to the spring where he knew that the water would be cool, the water would be good and if his luck was in Sheila would be hanging out around there as well. Long time since he'd seen Sheila.

Wow yes, there she was in all her magnificance, he siddled up to her and WHAM!!! Boy could she punch. This must be what love felt like.

As he lay on the ground semi conscious dreaming of stars and angels a large metal bird flew overheard, a bit low for comfort and making not quite the right noises for metal birds...

Why why why was Rolf Harris standing over her with his didgeridoo placed to his lips, She knew there was an endemic of men around Alice Springs who, after a proliferation of penile enhancment emails, had the treatment but this was going a bit to far. She cosed her eyes and hoped the distrubing view would go away - after a while she opende them again and found she was being licked by the biggest Hippo she had ever seen, how and earth had she been transferred from the middle of the Australian Outback to the heart of Africa - perhaps if she closed her eyes and opened them again something would change, she tried...................................... 

Vi=Ao/5[(Qc/Po)+1 2/7-1] ajljgb;rtmgfbh/l'j;]y=78 nothingness thj;ojnbmyjukt'ypuo confused kregj;oruyo;jk'tyjp#=i0il;Li floating iuypr5y]-khl/k['uik black squiigglleess

She opened her eyse, a tall dark handsome stranger stood over her, she smiled, heaven, "African or European?" he enquired. "eh, I'm Australian, a kangaroo you know, boing boing..." She replied slightly puzzled as to why she was talking in black squiggly things. "No no, we've done the kangaroos and moved on." He soothed. She felt under her, warm sand, it could be anywhere, (well not England, that would be cold wet pebbles). What on earth was in that Dandilion and Snail gin? This was bad, a dream or an hallucination...

or a trip - a trip into another dimension, had she been sent back to another time, had she been sent forward to another time, had she been sent a spam email and contracted a trojan horse, only time would tell and time wasn't telling at the moment - billions of years seem to pass in a blink or was it mere seconds as she drifted along, the windmills in her mind ever turning, churning, tumbling like a stream over a rocky river bed, why when she drunk the snail and gin wine did she talk and dream cr*p, if only she had listened to her Mother, Christian Grey would not have this hold over her...................

 ....but Dandelion and Snail gin certainly beat Fosters Four XXXX and a christian of any colour she thought as she lay on the warm sand of Copacabana. The attention she was causing reassured her that she was not 'Joey the kangaroo!' The bronzed guys had forgotten all about their football and volleyball as they gathered around her with not a christian thought in their heads. She started to feel uneasy but a quick check found she was wearing red thong and top. Jemima Duck, Matilda, Sheila, Molly, Shortfuse Shorty, Ismail, Bert, Rev Pat (with his $20million) turned up with Peanuts and suggested they make a quick exit ........... 

They sent Molly off to find the materials, they sent the Rev Pat (with his $20 Million) off to find the tools and Shortfuse SHorty was left to draw the blue prints. Soon they would be able to make their quick exit, in the meantime those remaining watched Jemima Duck do her party tricks on the azure blue sea..............................