Bufus Marinus

A fly of rather noble class had flown across the Strait of Bass. He was quite proud of this great feat and looking for some things to eat. The sun had set and it was late, it had been ages since he ate, and, coming from the Southern parts he liked his chicken pies and tarts. Tasmania is, as you may know the island where they chop up crow and mix the feathers, beaks and feet into their favourite pies of meat. Victoria (this makes me shudder) , is known to grind up Emu udder and add a bit of kangaroo, to make a most revolting stew. The rich though eat down at the pubs, they like their roaches, ants and grubs. They top it all with Vegemite and have roo oysters late at night. Well, luckily, flies aren't selective each sees himself as a detective. They seek to find nutritious fare there favourite is fromage gruyère. This afternoon, the fly had landed inside an otherwise abandoned and quiet room inside the town. He rested now and wore a frown. His bones were tired from the journey and in his gut, near the McBurney, he felt a rumbling and a pain, he needed tucker, that was plain. The fly, I should have added early, was rather handsome with his curly and black and silver speckled hair, he was surrounded by an air of feudalistic foreign roots, and did I mention, he wore boots? He was, as fate would have decided en route from Europe on a guided and Yankee missile launcher rocket, he'd flown inside the pilot's pocket and landed safely then Down Under, the day they had that awful thunder. Australia, it must be mentioned, is as a country, well-intentioned. The Natives like the Northern yanks, their jets, their money and their tanks. But, those who think that they can come be welcomed with a mug of rum would skip their homework at their peril. Australia can be quite feral! As you will see, just bear with me. The fly stood up, prepared to pee when on the ground a little critter walked through the room with a large litter. Bufus Marinus is a toad who'll shoot at enemies a load of toxic venom when he's scared. No fly can ever be prepared. The little toads now watched their mother, release a bucketful, oh BROTHER! The fly was hit, fell without grace and landed on his lifeless face. A toad, who looked polite and groomed (he was the one who had assumed his father's role when he passed on) a custom for the eldest son did get the honour to imbibe the fly, watched by his canetoad tribe. And thus, the story ends and teaches that you may visit foreign beaches. But be aware that other lands (it's what the smart bloke understands) , have traps for those on every street. Be careful, what you choose to eat. And if you need to take a wee, in matters of great urgency, watch for the little critters, sunny. It always pays to use the Dunny.