Calling all corgies:

the quin is dead

the heroic tale of two aussie adventurerers

BATTLE FOR SURVIVAL

in the frozen wilds of the North Pole

(an excerpt from their newly released book,

soon to be a major motion picture starring Keith Urban and Dich Dashman)

(tone B, above)

Forward by Toni Bullimore.

You know, getting pissed and fallin orf that bloody boat was the best thing I ever done, I mean you have me stuffed how the hell I managed to stay on for so bloody long. Thuts the furst thing the missus said to me when I got home. She said, well frankly Tone, she said, frankly, I wuz bloody suprised you made it outa the bloody harbour, wot with all that extra ballast you was carryin. I said shut it, just fookin shut it ya old slag, ya gots no idea about friggin sailin, no idea about friggin ballast or about friggin anythin ta do with frigging football, so joost fookin pipe down or fook the hell off. Yeh, you heard me, ya fat fookin slag, nowt jus fook off back ta whatever beaver ya crawled outa.

I said to anyone who would bloody listen that 400 slabs of bitter would be perfect ballast, but nobody told me that I would end up pissed and orf the bloody coast of aussie land on me arse and just...well you saw how bad the hangover wuz, took a whole fookin navy to give me a bit of bloody relief.

Wots the second thing the bloody trouble and strife said when I finally got through, she said "I knew all those beers would get ya inta trouble, always bloody does ya two pint friggin nancy."

Not even a "how ya doin" or "hows ya father", just straight into the grief, I bloody told ya this and I told ya bloody that. She's like a friggin broken record, an I said to her,

"Jesus woman, its not like I didn't fookin know shit ta begin with and now ya tellin' me summit I could frankly not give a rats, cats or retarded squirrels arse about, joost fook off, OK, joost FOOK OFFF!!!

And you know what she said back to me, you know what she said, the frigging cow told me to go and get well and truly stuffed.

Fookin hell!!!!!

Fate Deals Its Mortal Blow

Erik and Nobba knew all about challenges, knew that plenty of people, real everyday Aussie Heros Like Amundsen, Scott and Russell Crowe had conquered the South Pole. For your average aussie it was like a stroll in the park looking for a coldie. Erik and Nobba knew this, thier wives knew it, even Steve Zemmanick, Eriks least intelligent friend told them this, not that anyone listened to a man trying to fit an unpeeled pineapple in his mouth, even when he succeeded.

In September 1999 Erik said to Nobba over a few quiet beers,

"We need a challenge mate"

"What like doin donuts on the steps of parliment in your ute?"

"No mate, something bigger, Im talking poles."

"Blue Polls? Steal the mayors parkin spot? Maybe go back to the Purple Pussy for a bit of perve and try and cop a bit of a tit grope when the bouncers not lookin?"

"No mate, Im talkin the North Pole. I mean the south poles just a friggin joke, you cant move down there at the height of the pole season for the bloody aussies setin' up their gear and havin barbies next to the bloody thing."

"You are so right mate, its bad enough that you turn up there after trudging for what seems like bloody days only ta be told that all the electric barbies are taken."

"Cun'oath, mate."

It was the North Pole or nowhere for these two intrepid explorers.

Nobba inspects the emergency beacon (above, ill. 207). "Ya set fire to it and wave it above ya head when ya see a plane or a taxi, then ya eat it while ya wait for them to come."


"Weather just dont matter" said Nobba on the first morning, "Can piss cats and dogs, couldnt care less, I sat in the outa of Vic Park all 79, so Ive seen the worst nature can throw at ya."

He was of course right and at the same time completely wrong. It was true the weather in the leafy green suburb of Mt Waverley or Collingwood meant nothing when exploring the outer reaches of the globe, yet before Erik and Nobbas epic voyage of exploration would end, the weather would be an all encompassing threat to their very survival.

Photo of Erik and Nobba taken at Blackburn Station on the very day of their departure, still smiling despite being told that there were no direct or express trains to the Artic Circle, the first of many thrilling setbacks for these intrepid, fearless, aussie heros. It all came crashing to earth on the day Nobba's world caved in, the Queen Mum had shuffled off to Buffalo, shattering his dreams and nearly bringing two mates to blows in the frozen world of death that is the North Pole.

"We knew it was gonna be cold."

"Fucking cold, mate." chimed in Erik

"Yeh mate, fucking cold, we knew that. Erik and I had done a bit of homework on the stuff. We knew that no Aussies had ever bin to the North Pole, so it was pretty much useless going to the library or newsagents to pick up a book or a mag with a few pics in it, coz shit, aint no aussies ever bin there, eh. So we figured that any books or mags 'ed be in French or some other wog language, and then where would we be, friggin lost mate, completely friggin lost."

"Yeh, and like the missus is gonna come and pick us up."

"Your missus might."

"Yeh, shes a top chick."

"Yeh, top chick, where as mine would just tell me to rack off and get a tram."

So Erik and Nobba sought out the help of experienced travellers for advice and what time the train left.

"Yeh, we asked your mate Con at the servo, but he was no friggin help, even though they sold like dozens of bloody touring maps, bait and shit like that."

"Jesus, be fair mate, as Con said, he didnt reckon any ethnics had been to the North Pole either. He just knew that it was cold, bloody cold and who the hell would be stupid enough to go on holidays if you knew it was gonna be cold. Shit, Noosas like half the time and twice the weather."

"Couldnt argue with that one"

So began one of this proud nations most epic journeys, Erik and Nobba on the trail of their ghosts and heros in the wilds of the frozen most extremities of the savage North Pole. Come with them on a journey through the courage that can only be found by two men in multi coloured KMart parkas when faced with the prospect of death or at least getting hurt more than an average night at the Croxton Park. Witness the majesty of nature in all its wild beauty, marvel at the mateship that threatens to tear apart when Nobba learns that his most beloved Royal, The Queen Mum is found dead in a pool of her own vomit and chewed on by rabid corgies.

Said Erik, "Who'd ev thought a bloody big bloke like Nobba was a bloody Pomme lover, and a bloody Royal Pomme bastard lover to boot. Laughed mate, I nearly cried. The Quin is Ded, who'd've bloody thunk it."

calling all corgies: buy your copy of the HeraldSun for the continueing sdtory , running all week in your paper.

Next Week: Pics of Warnie mooning himself and txting lewd suggestions to his own grandmother by accident. Read em all, put ya teeth in coz they will make ya blow chunks.

Only in your Heraldsun, daily like dialysis.