Invasion Part One

Invasion, Part One


It was a hot day, it was a bright day, it was a sunny day. It was always sunny and bright and hot here, and as such, the local populace had, with their usual humble attitude dubbed it 'the most beaut spot on earth, mate.' This had resulted in it becoming a very popular tourist destination, with the side effect that all the actual locals were given as much beer as they could drink in exchange for staying the hell away from every resort on the island. (It hadn't worked perfectly, there were still regular 'bigfoot' sightings.) Normally this would have resulted in the bankruptcy of the tourism sector, since the locals were australian and thus tended to think of water as a 'clear nonalcoholic liquid', however, as mentioned previously, the locals were australian, an supplying them with the output of the local sereage treatment station had lead them only to note 'there isn't much of a head on this is there mate?'

On this fine day, two of the brighter locals (They could dress themselves.) had discovered that while this particular resort's safety fence was indeed electrified, if you ran at it hard and often enough, it would fall over and you could get into the grounds. Once there, they had spread out, in the hopes that one of them would find something drinkable 9say brandy, or turpentine.) and wouldn't have to share it. It was while one of this particular pair was wandering about, a man called Bruce, (You can tell the genders apart by the fact that women have tidier beards.) when he stumbled upon the first wave of the great invasion.

It was while he was staring at an acacia bush, mesmerized by the greenery (He hadn't seen plants before, except for the local scrub, which was more a kind of living barbed wire, australian sheep had the amazing, and as yet unexplained by science ability to turn dust into fleece and lambs.) when he noticed the dog.

At first he ignored it, as australians are wont to do with any species that didn't baa, treating it as a mobile kind of rock, until something about the distinctive coat color and bearing got through to what could charitably be called his brain. It was a dingo, the single most hated and feared species on the continent, to be shot and skinned whenever possible. (This was of course no different to what should they did to anything living and unfleeced, but australians actually liked disposing of the dingo, treating it as a patriotic duty rather than just another form of entertainment.) Sadly, Bruce had forgotten to bring his gun (Aussies, unlike texans, can't walk and hold a firearm at the same time.) That meant he'd have to club it to death with something, which was always tiring.

Now, what could he use to hit it with? There was bound to be something nearby. It wasn't going anywhere, the stupid thing was begging for scraps! Bruce put on his most innocent expression (Something that would've worked much better had not the face wearing it been enough to scare small children on a good day.) and slowly circled around the creature.

"Good girl, you just stay there and- strewth mate!"

His arm had been severed rather messily at the shoulder. Now Bruce was a new age australian, and not averse to showing his feminine side or expressing his feelings. So, after a brief check to make sure none of his mates were nearby, (Which could lead to mistaken diagnoses of faggotry, the most feared mental illness amongst aussies.) he let lose.

"Ouch."

This display of raw emotion over and done with, Bruce staggered back to find his friend, who could possibly do something about the rather large blood loss he was experiencing, like buy him a drink. He found him, crawling along the ground, which would have been perfectly normal inerberation, except it was due to missing a leg.

"Geez mate, happened to you?"

"Awww mate, bloody cat got me leg, mate!"

"Looks pretty deep mate."

"Nah, it'll be fine. Happened to you?"

"Bloody dingo had a go at me mate."

"Aaah, bloody dingoes!"

"Think we need a drink mate."

"Yeah mate."

"Mate."