From the dunnies at the tavern in the John Forrest National Park. Perhaps the bumpkin turn of phrase comes from the majestic Cussler collection the tavern maintains? Largest in the southern hemisphere I’ve heard. I’d go for the Harold Robbins myself.
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The Asia Beat
The Worst of Perth 
Polar Shit?
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Listen to Alfie, the Antipodean Smokey the Bear or burn baby burn.
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That bloke with the texta would never make it in the Marketing Dept.
The thought balloon should read, “I can feel a Cussler at the JF coming on – how about you?”
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Raise a glass to Raise the Titanic at the Forry.
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They have a pool table and a juke box and kangaroos. Not really sure what role the Cusslers play. Book burning?
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I can see Black Wind and White Death. Missing Yellow Peril.
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Blue Stratos
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Purple Helmet
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Wolf Lane has a set of Funk & Wagnalls. “True story”.
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Wiki says – The Clive Cussler books feature his swashbuckling pilgrim Dirk Pitt. Black Wind was written by the Clivester with his son, Dirk Cussler. Seems like Clive was Cussed with a bad case of the Dirks. I knew there was something fishy about that bookshelf, not a Winton in sight.
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“Through his high-powered Zeiss binoculars Rastopolous could see the nuclear sub roiling skittishly in the briny seas, a giant fish among spak-benumbed fish, and the sight made him think back to dusk on the banks of the Dniepster, when the soft air would make the gunpowder as damp as the thighs of a Bavarian teenager when she…”
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Phwoar!
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Dufuque !!
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…. whistled to her favourite Alsation, commanding him to lick her body all over prior to slipping into the camouflage Killer Whale suit, the same one Dirk had once used to swim from Rotto to Diego Garcia while on joint exercises with the Royal Hutt River Province Boat Squadron.
Dammit she thought, I’ll never squeeze my thighs into this thing, perhaps I should try some of that lubricant Dirk gave me for his birthday. But not even a generous layer of vegemite was going to get her breasts in this time. She’d just have to find another way to pass the money to the people smugglers.
Perhaps, she thought, we could purchase Winton remainders and insert the notes in secret cut-out inner chambers, then deilver them rappelling from a Blackhawk with only the Pleides as witness? The media would never guess.
Climbing to the roof of the Indiana Tearooms, she pulled out her Thrane and Thrane satphone kit and unfolded the dish, soon enough the beep gathered pace as it homed in on the Indian Ocean Bird..
‘Dirk Dirk Dirk, Strudel, do you copy me, back…’
‘Roger Roger Roger Strudel where the fuck have you been, back…’
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Nicely done.
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Wouldn’t mind reading the rest of this. Seems like I should have started on Cusslers a long time ago.
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Gutter humour
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Went in there a while back. Not a copy of Rodox to been seen anywhere. What sort of an establishment are they keeping I ask?
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