**************************************************************************** ### # # ### ##### ## # # # ## ## # # ### ##### ## ### ### # # # # # # # # # # # # # # # # # # # # # # # #### ### # # # # # # # # # ## # #### ### # # # # # # # # # # # # # # # # # # # # # # # # # # # ### # ## # # # ## ## ## ### # # # # # ### ____________________________________________________________________________ # # ### #### # # #### # # ### #### ##### # # ##### #### # # # # # # # # # # # # # # # # # # # # # # # # # #### ### ### ##### # # #### ##### # # ##### ### # # # # # # # # # # # # # # # # # # # # ### ### # # # # #### # # ### # # # ##### ##### #### *******NUMBERS 386 TO 390*****************************BY DANIEL BOWEN******* *****Please note, some of the quoted addresses within this file may no***** ***longer be correct. Please email info@toxiccustard.com for information.*** "Devil of a Toxic Custard" ------- - - --- - --- Toxic Custard Workshop Files -------- --------- --- ---- - - - ------ http://www.toxiccustard.com/ -------- --------- --- ---- - - - ---- Number 386, Labour Day 1998 -------- --------- --- - - ------ Written by Daniel Bowen .... -------- THE YEAR 2031 - Part 8 "Ralph." ... "Ralph! Wake up!" "Zzzzzzzz". Ralph was happily dreaming of far away things. Ledgers, balance sheets, business plans... Anything that the section of his brain responsible for dream content could conjure up from his day job back on Earth to keep the other sections of his brain happy and relaxed during sleep. "Ralph! Wake up! Can you hear something?" Chuck wasn't sure about the sound he could hear. Some kind of warning, he supposed, but he wasn't sure what it was. It wasn't really his department. There was only one kind of electronic gadgetry that he had mastered, and that was a stopwatch. Some people are bewildered programming their VCRs - Chuck was bewildered just trying to turn the bugger on. Ralph and the Mission Control people knew this, and had told Chuck just to find Ralph if the on-board computers made any kind of noise other than the It's Log sound of e-mail arriving. So when the computer started making a rather alarming alarm sound, and flashing a warning with lots of jargon in it on the screen, Chuck figured that this was probably a good time to ask Ralph to withdraw from his accounting dreams and check that everything was okay. Which it wasn't. Ralph was still fast asleep, a smile on his face as PAYE tax forms in need of filling in gently floated down to where he found himself sitting in a deckchair on the SS Investment Fund. Chuck thought he heard the computer's alarm start to sound more urgent, and reached down and shook Ralph. Ralph's dreamy world vanished with a start. When someone of Chuck's dimensions and muscular attributes shakes you, you wake up, unless you're entirely dead. "What? What?" "Ralph. Come quick. There's a noise. An alarm." They quickly (well, quickly for an environment with virtually no gravity) made their way back to the control deck. Ralph took one look at the instruments and woke up properly. He muted the alarm and reached for the radio. "Mission Control, this is Penis I. Can you see this?" said Ralph, stabbing the screen with his finger. "Penis I, can we see what?" "Our instruments indicate a large number of foreign bodies approaching us." Chuck was about to retell a joke he'd heard about foreign bodies when he decided better of it. He wasn't sure what was going on, but it certainly seemed to be bothering Ralph, so he thought he'd better not interject. "We don't see that on our instruments Penis I." "What does it mean, Ralph?", asked Chuck. "It means there are a large number of foreign bodies approaching us. And because Mission Control haven't been able to give us any warning, we may not have time to plot a course around them." Chuck, of course, would not have been able to plot a course around the foreign bodies given his own personal Cray and two year's thinking time, but he did at least understand the problem. Ralph was studying the angles. The angle of trajectory, the angle the foreign bodies were moving towards them at, the angle they would have to take to get around the foreign bodies and then get back on course without burning too much extra fuel. And of course, he was still wondering what these foreign bodies were. Whatever they were couldn't be particularly large or dense, otherwise they would have shown up on the instruments back on Earth. So maybe they weren't any danger to the ship? They were still too far off to identify by looking out the window, but there seemed to be at least several hundred of them. As Chuck looked on, Ralph punched in the keys to get the computer to do some analysis on the foreign bodies. Not that this was quite up to the standards of the analysis the computers could do on those old Star Trek - The Generation After That repeats, but even if they could get some basic information, it might be of help. The computer could provide some basic information. Some very basic information. Extremely basic. A single word. "ORGANIC." ... Next week: Uh oh ... If you missed the previous episodes, see http://www.toxiccustard.com/features/2031/ - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - TOXIC CUSTARD GUIDE TO AUSTRALIA Scott, in the USA wrote: Do Tasmanian Devils look like the hairy beast in the cartoons? Do they really eat everything and as much as they show on TV? (I don't get out much - can you tell?) The real ones look kind of similar, except that they're darker, and they make a helluva lot more noise. I don't know if they eat everything, but they look like they probably could. Despite the fact that they're quite small, if you ever see and hear one, you'll understand why they were called Tasmanian Devils. Dina wrote: Do they have a Harley ride service for tourists in Sydney like they do at Surfers' Paradise? I don't know, maybe someone in Sydney would like to let me know. They do have one at St Kilda Beach in Melbourne. Every sunny afternoon you can see the enterprising bikies and their massive noisy bikes down by Luna Park hanging around waiting for daredevils to hire them for a ride. There are also groups that do custom trips, so if you've ever wanted to arrive at work or at your grandmother's birthday party on the back of a Harley driven by a bloke covered in black leather and scary-looking tattoos, you can. Loads more at http://www.toxiccustard.com/australia/ - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - New this week in the diary: A week on the road / Me versus The Hill - - - > http://www.toxiccustard.com/diary/1998/03.html#7/3/98 ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ More next week! Got comments, questions or abuse? Then reply to this mail. If you don't want to receive this mail, then DO NOT REPLY to this message. Why? Because it won't do any good whatsoever, that's why. Instead, send a message to request@toxiccustard.com with the subject "remove". ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ -- Copyright (c) 1998 Daniel Bowen. Excerpts may be distributed for non- profit purposes provided no modifications are made and this copyright notice is included. -- Daniel Bowen, Custard Communications Pty Ltd, Melbourne, Australia ---------- E-mail: dbowen@custard.net.au ------- TCWF information: info@toxiccustard.com Waste your time here---> http://www.toxiccustard.com <---Waste your time here ------------------------------------------------------------------------------ "Brown smelly Toxic Custard" TOXIC CUSTARD WORKSHOP FILES 16/3/98 - Number 387 http://www.toxiccustard.com Written by Daniel Bowen --------------------------------------------------------------------- THE YEAR 2031 - Part 9 Ralph was starting to panic. The prospect of meeting several hundred organic foreign bodies in their completely unarmed and not at all dangerous Venus-bound craft "Penis I" was not something he was looking forward to. Okay, so nobody on any mission so far had ever encountered aliens, but he'd gone to enough sci-fi conventions in his time that the thought was not a pleasant one. He looked back at the navigation screen. The computer had plotted a course to avoid them. It was worth a try. He grabbed the mouse and clicked OK to lock the course in. The ship's auxiliary rockets stirred into life as the computer changed the course. "Umm... Ralph", said Chuck, as they both strapped themselves into their chairs. "Is it my imagination, or are those things still coming towards us?" Ralph looked. Chuck was right. They were still coming towards the ship, and they were getting much, much closer. In fact, Chuck, whose eyesight was as perfect as all his physical attributes were (with two or three exceptions in the genitalia) could already make them out though the window. The computer piped up with further analysis of the mysterious foreign bodies. "Chemical breakdown: ORGANIC WITH PROTECTIVE OUTER SHELL. Size characteristics: TRIANGULAR IN SHAPE, AVERAGE LENGTH OF SIDES 120mm. Object count: 743." So the computer was still insisting they were organic, but Chuck couldn't tell what they were. Other than heading straight for the ship, they didn't seem to be moving much. Chuck wasn't sure if there were 743 of them, but from his point of view, there were certainly more than he could comfortably count, so he accepted the computer's estimate as correct. Ralph cancelled the avoidance course. If they were going to home in on the ship anyway, what was the point? "Let's just try and ram through them", said Chuck, ever eager for a little action. Normally this kind of suggestion would have brought from Ralph a reaction of frustration, indignation at the stupidity of such an illogical suggestion, and a good deal of sulking later on when the crisis was over. But since there was little else they could do, he had been coming to this conclusion too, so he just nodded and explained this plan to the navigation computer in terms it could understand. The ship moved back onto its normal course, towards the 743 foreign bodies, and accelerated, as Ralph and Chuck strapped themselves into their seats in preparation for the worst. On the screen the objects moved closer, many of them spinning. Just as the computer had said, they were small and triangular in shape. Ralph checked and double-checked that what little shields they had were all at their correct settings, and Mission Control stood by ready to do anything they could if the worst should happen. Not that they could actually do much beyond putting out an emergency press release, but the staff on duty there thought it would be rather disloyal not to be standing by. The computer reported impact with the first of the objects in ten seconds. Ralph and Chuck could see them clearly now, but the computer was still being stubborn about reporting any further analysis. "What the hell are they?", Ralph wondered aloud, not seriously expecting Chuck to give him a definitive answer. "Dunno", replied Chuck. Thud. The first one hit the hull somewhere below the level of the window. They could hear it because someone at NASA had had the forethought to program the computer to make appropriate impact noises when any impact occurred. The second one hit the window, making a similar noise, and exploding on the glass. If they were part of an alien invasion fleet, they appeared to have met their match on the moderately strong Corduroy hull of the Penis I. "Shit, you're kidding!" exclaimed Ralph, climbing out of his seat. More of them started to hit the ship, making similar thudding and slightly squelchy noises. Ralph leapt forward to the window, and examined the exploded remains of the foreign body. "What is it", asked Chuck, cowering in his chair like an arachnaphobe at a spider convention. "It", replied Ralph, "is a sandwich." "A sandwich?" "A sandwich. They're all sandwiches. Mission Control! They're sandwiches." "Sandwiches?!? What the hell are you talking about, Penis I? I thought we agreed no alcohol on board." While Mission Control did some research through the archives to try and work out why seven hundred sandwiches should be flying through space, Ralph directed the ship through the remaining rounds and prepared to get the windscreen wiper operational. Chuck wondered if they could bring some inside because he was peckish, but soon rejected this idea when Mission Control got back to them with the answer. Nearly twenty years before, a ship loaded with millionaires had headed for the moon. For a picnic. As you do. Aboard, apart from enough rich people do to some reasonably serious damage to the world's economy should anything untoward happen to the ship, was a ton of food. Unfortunately, half way to the moon, one of the crew pressed the wrong button, and seven hundred sandwiches were jettisoned into space. That crewmember was naturally fired on the spot (though they did very generously give him a lift home), and he was a laughing stock in his home town for the rest of his life. Mission Control could only theorise about why the sandwiches had been attracted to the good ship Penis I, but decided that the ship held enough gravitational force to attract them. In any case, a litre or two of SpaceWindex later, the ship's windscreen wiper and a small external hull cleaning robot had cleared off the last of the sandwiches, and the mission continued happily on towards Venus. ... More next week, no matter how much my family pleads for it to stop. If you missed the previous episodes, see http://www.toxiccustard.com/features/2031/ - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - DIARY - Mon 9/3/98 - The toilet story I've got a handy tip for you. On Saturday, my son Isaac, who is making full use of his toddler years, decided to pull about half a roll of toilet paper off the roll. And not for the purposes of using it, either. He would have pulled more off, but there was no more to pull off. And he put it all straight into the toilet. I discovered this feat of plumbing, and took action. Very unwise action. And it is this action that forms the basis of my advice to you today. It may be obvious to most of you, but if it helps even one person who has as little knowledge about things pipey as me, then I'll be happy. When your kid, making full use of his or her toddler years, decides to do something toddlerish, and pulls a whole bunch of toilet paper off the roll and into the toilet, don't DON'T don't... attempt to flush it all down. I did. Everything seemed to go down okay, and we went merrily hopping on our way out on a little excursion. We returned a few hours later. Lori went into the toilet, and I know she won't get mad at me if I reveal to the world that she did a truly spectacular dump. Just one problem: The toilet would no longer flush. To be precise, it would flush, but nothing was going anywhere. The bowl was gradually filling up. Conference, diagnosis, possible solutions? Plunger. Toilet plunger. And where exactly do you get a toilet plunger at 7pm on a Saturday night? Ummm... Supermarket? Ring around a couple, no luck. One suggests the K-Mart in Burwood, open 24 hours. Worth the trip? Heck, we've got the car now, it can be done, even if it is a helluva long way to go to get a simple plumbing implement. We try ringing around a couple of people to see if we could borrow a plunger. They either haven't got one (and it's difficult to abuse someone for this if you haven't got one either) or they had a plunger that was the wrong size, and "it wouldn't work anyway". So what about other solutions? Drano, or similar? Only have to go as far as our local Safeway for that. It seems easier, so I do. We try it. Supposedly the very poisonous sounding chemicals in there will blast their way through our debris, leaving a nice, clean, uncongested drain. Several servings later, it is apparent that all it has done is to break the... ummm.. effluent up and distribute more evenly around the bowl so that we're left with a lovely dark brown lumpy cocktail. Nice. It is apparent that the water level in the bowl is slowly descending, so we decide to leave it to do so until morning, hoping that it would somehow resolve itself. Which of course it doesn't. Okay, enough messing around, call the plumber. Which plumber? Maybe the landlady should nominate one, especially since she might know someone who would come out on a Sunday morning. She gets in touch with him, and he eventually comes over early in the afternoon, and fixes everything with a little manoeuvring of a plunger. Damn experts, they always make the rest of us look like idiots. Everyone we've told this story asks: How did you manage? Well, sometimes you'd just have to grin and bear it, and other times... ummm, well, we made a lot more visits to Safeway than we usually do. Check your local supermarket to see if it has a public toilet. If it does, celebrate, and make a note of its location: One day, you may need it. The great thing about this crisis is that it was a team effort. There were three unique parts that created the problem: the paper, the flush, the poo. If any of them had been missing, it just wouldn't have been the big mess it was. The combined ability of three people to create a crisis is far greater than the sum of its component parts. DIARY - Sun 15/3/98 - Highland gathering Today we went for a spin in the car. Out the driveway, along the highway, onto the freeway, down to Geelong. Geelong is about 90 minutes from home in the car, and is home to the world's greatest AFL team (shame they keep on getting losing all their finals games). Our target was today's Highland Gathering, in a park in the suburbs of Geelong. Despite the scary looking queue of cars going in, and the even scarier prospect of finding a car-sized spot to park, we got in and walked around, gazing in wonderment (is that a word?) at the haggis throwing, tug of war, archery, bagpipe bands, and trying to work out a way of looking underneath a few kilts, possibly with the aid of mirrors. For lunch, Lori was brave and foolish enough to try some haggis in a roll (a kind of HaggisBurger - you can see McDonalds putting that on the market, can't you - McHaggis) whereas I stuck to the more traditional (well, in the Australian sense) sausage sizzle. It's worth pointing out that despite Lori's bravery she didn't feel so good afterwards, and demanded that I cease speaking as soon as the topic of our conversation got anywhere near to sheep's stomachs. All good fun stuff though, and listening to the pipe bands makes me wonder if somebody shouldn't make an alarm clock that kicks you out of bed with the sounds of a massed bagpipe band. I know it would encourage me to get up in the morning. Before we left, we made sure to call up Lori's brother Dan on the mobile phone. Being a piper himself, I'm sure he would have loved to have been there. But since he lives in Seattle, the chances were pretty slim. He wasn't in, but so I left a message saying we thought he was there in spirit, accompanied by a minute or so of some of Victoria's finest pipers. Postscript: Actually, Dan was in. He couldn't hear the phone. Because he was playing his bagpipes. DIARY - Mon 16/3/98 - In print! Something I've written has finally showed up in print - in an actual glossy magazine, distributed internationally. The February 1998 issue of a little-known US magazine called "Portable Computing Direct Shopper" has shown up on Australian shores with an article by me in it on page 46. Check it out at your local newsagent. Just don't blame me for the exorbitant price of imported magazines - or the inherent uselessness to Australian readers of an American-based magazine concentrating on mail and phone order supplied computers. Now... if I can just get them to send that cheque they've been promising... Also in the diary this week... * Somehow my diary got mentioned in TV Week this week. - - > http://www.toxiccustard.com/diary/1998/03.html#12/3/98 ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Wow, that was almost too much for one week. Got comments, questions or abuse? Do YOU read the 2031 story? Tell me now: reply to this mail. If you don't want to receive this mail, then DO NOT REPLY to this message. Why? Because it won't do any good whatsoever, that's why. Instead, send a message to request@toxiccustard.com with the subject "remove". ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ -- Copyright (c) 1998 Daniel Bowen. Excerpts may be distributed for non- profit purposes provided no modifications are made and this copyright notice is included. -- Daniel Bowen, Custard Communications Pty Ltd, Melbourne, Australia ---------- E-mail: dbowen@custard.net.au ------- TCWF information: info@toxiccustard.com Waste your time here---> http://www.toxiccustard.com <---Waste your time here ------------------------------------------------------------------------------ "Broken down Toxic Custard" =======> =====> // // =====> Number 388 // // // // // //==> 22nd March 1998 //oxic =====>ustard ========orkshop //iles by Daniel Bowen ----------------------------------- http://www.toxiccustard.com ---- You like it! So it's back! (It would have been anyway...) THE YEAR 2031 - Part 10 The rest of the first manned voyage to Venus was relatively uneventful. That is to say, the trip *to* Venus was relatively uneventful. To some cynics' surprise, the eggheads at NASA had actually planned the whole thing quite well. There seemed to be no problems with the equipment or supplies, which was just as well, as any hint of a foreseeable problem and the jackals of the press would have a field day. They were all sitting back on Earth in their comfortable offices, well away from the perils of zero gravity and zero oxygen (most of them were much closer to the perils of 100% alcohol). They were all just hoping for something to go wrong so they could all write hyped stories about it and boost their ratings, readerships, salaries and bonuses. Whether or not there would be problems landing on Venus, exploring Venus and getting home again would be another matter. Even the most respected experts didn't really know what was down there, beyond that it was pretty horrible. It had been eight years and four days since the unmanned craft had landed on Venus. And it had been eight years, three days, twenty-three hours and fifty-two minutes since that unmanned craft had been ripped apart by something down there. They presumed it had been the force of the various nasty particles flying around near the surface, though it could just as easily have been a huge three-headed bug-eyed monster with an appetite for space vehicles. The astronauts had been assured of the mighty strength of the craft they would be landing in. Penis I was tougher than the "top dog" in a women's prison TV drama, and the NASA scientists told everybody they could find how confident they felt about the craft coming to no harm whatsoever. Privately some of them may have been running a book on how many millions of pieces the craft would end up in, but publicly they were putting on a very brave face. The astronauts themselves were fairly confident. As they approached Venus, both Ralph and Chuck were confident that they'd be able to land, have a poke around down there, and set up whatever weird and wonderful scientific collection and analysis instruments they'd been provided with. And when they'd finished, and maybe had time for a cup of tea, they would return to the waiting Earth as the greatest heroes of the world since that Jesus bloke. ... Next week - the landing. If you missed the previous episodes, see http://www.toxiccustard.com/features/2031/ - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - DIARY - Mon 23/3/98 - The update Every so often I like to bung an update in the diary. It helps the few of you who might be actually interested in finding out about some of the continuing things that go on in my life, as thrilling as it is. So here's the update: * Baby Jeremy is piling on weight. He was five weeks old last week, and had already reached 6 kilograms - 150% of his birth weight. * The Car is going well. It hasn't gained 50% of its own weight, but is settling into its new family life well. More importantly, I'm getting plenty of good driving practice, even if the miracle of the internal combustion engine has only reduced my commute time by about a quarter. Even hill starts are a walk in a park. Actually, that's a pretty inappropriate use of that expression, isn't it. * My wife Lori has started driving lessons, and has been discovering the nuances of driving on the left hand side of the road. Coming from one of those weird countries where they drive on the right, it's a bit of adjustment for her, but apart from hitting the windscreen wipers when she wants the indicators, it's apparently causing her no problems. Because she's held a licence before, she'll get to go for her driving test next month, and won't even have to wear P plates! Damn! * It's been ages since I've felt the need to thump on our neighbour's door and ask politely for them to turn the TV down to something less than 100 decibels at four o'clock in the morning. Which suits me fine, it's not one of my favourite hobbies. * We have got some new neighbours in one of the other flats actually. We introduced ourselves to them - or was it the other way around? They seem pretty nice, anyway. Or at least, the one of them we talked to does. * The dead possum's tail is still up there on the power line. * Someone asked me recently if I was still running. Well that's the great thing about owning a car, y'see. Instead of going for a morning run, I can just drive around the course. Nah, I still go running every 2ish days, except on days like Friday when I forget to set my alarm clock and get up almost an hour late and have to make a mad dash into the shower just to make it to work on time. * Last year both of our VCRs broke down, within weeks of one another. Last week, one of them broke down again, and if last year's performance was anything to go by, it took the tape inside it to that big video tape library in the sky. Lucky it was a tape we owned, and didn't have anything immeasurably compelling on it. I'm also lucky this is the VCR that is still under extended warranty, so Brashs end up paying for it again. It's nice to know that just once in a while, it is actually worth coughing up the extra dosh for the extended warranty. * Actually, the washing machine has also broken down. This has meant rather more visits to the laundromat than usual (the usual frequency of visits being never). This is also under warranty, but the company involved seems to have determined that the vital part is so obscure that they're sending somebody to darkest Africa to retrieve it. Well, perhaps they're not, but it seems to be taking just as long, so heck, maybe I'll ring them tomorrow and suggest that they do. Also in the diary this week... * Yes, once again I'm "Reading the paper" aka looking for work - - > http://www.toxiccustard.com/diary/1998/03.html#22/3/98 ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ More next week... including updates to Guide To Australia and the Great Vomits Of The 20th Century pages! Got comments, questions or abuse? Hit that Reply button right now! If you don't want to receive this mail, then DO NOT REPLY to this message. Why? Because it won't do any good whatsoever, that's why. Instead, send a message to request@toxiccustard.com with the subject "remove". ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ -- Copyright (c) 1998 Daniel Bowen. Excerpts may be distributed for non- profit purposes provided no modifications are made and this copyright notice is included. -- Daniel Bowen, Custard Communications Pty Ltd, Melbourne, Australia ---------- E-mail: dbowen@custard.net.au ------- TCWF information: info@toxiccustard.com Waste your time here---> http://www.toxiccustard.com <---Waste your time here ------------------------------------------------------------------------------ "Bloody idiotic Toxic Custard" toxic custard workshop files number 389 30/3/98 by daniel bowen --------------------------------------------------------------------- THE YEAR 2031 - Part 11 It was the final stage of descent. During the five months of the voyage, Ralph and Chuck had double-checked and triple-checked and quadruple-checked the trajectory and the navigation computer’s program and contingency routines. It was up to the system now. Ralph opened the curtains. All they could do was sit back in their heavily padded and safety-belted chairs and enjoy the ride. From the window, they watched as the swirling clouds of gas enveloped the landing module. It went through the Venusian atmosphere falling faster than a stockbroker from a boardroom window just after a sharemarket crash. Dust and gaseous particles varying in size from specks to boulders buffeted the ship like so many runaway shopping trolleys hitting your parked car. Thankfully after the speedy destruction of the previous unmanned Venus probe, the scientists had worked overtime to give this ship some serious protection. The ship slowed, but continued to shake slightly every time anything of any reasonable magnitude hit it. Ralph and Chuck kept gazing out the window, trying to make out any recognisable forms. But as soon as they thought they spotted anything, it was gone again in the mist. As the ship descended, it got slower and slower. Eventually they were hardly moving, when there was a small thud. That is to say, not a huge thud, but a big enough thud to be noticeable. This was it. The ship had landed on Venus. Most of the human race, watching on relayed live TV, gasped a collective sigh of relief. But not as big a sigh of relief as Ralph and Chuck. They had made it to Venus. Back on Earth, the less caring of their relatives were watching intently, with the knowledge that now at least if the men met their doom without making it back, under the terms of their contracts their families would get half the mission fee as partial payment. They didn't know, of course, that NASA administration required the men to personally sign their timesheets before any cash was handed over. Ralph and Chuck unfastened their safety belts and checked their instruments. Altitude: ZERO. Craft Stability: OK. Shield Integrity: 94%. Breathable Atmosphere: DON'T EVEN THINK ABOUT IT. Location: TRONDHEIM, NORWAY. Chuck thumped the console. Location: VENUS. Ralph reached for the radio. "The Penis has landed", he reported back to a snickering humanity. Then he turned on the in-ship camera, and humanity gasped again. The first pictures of the rocket interior, and the swirling colourful gaseous atmosphere of Venus outside the window made their way back to Earth, and from there to just about every television on the planet. Chuck took a deep breath. He'd practised this procedure scores, perhaps hundreds of times. Now it was time to do it for real. Another deep breath. There was only one chance at this. He was ready. He reached for the small red cylinder, and turned to face the camera, holding it up to the lens. "Hi, I'm Chuck Van Sturmberg. When I'm exploring Venus, there's nothing better than a Coke. The essential equipment on any galactic mission. Coke." It was done. The NASA bigwigs breathed a sigh of relief. The sponsor obligations were fulfilled. The mission could continue. More next week... If you missed the previous episodes, see http://www.toxiccustard.com/features/2031/ - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - TOXIC CUSTARD GUIDE TO AUSTRALIA Mike, in the USA wrote: While watching the footy, I saw a placard in the MCG that read Drink Drive Bloody Idiot. I am assuming that driving after having a slab or two is not legal in Australia. Australians are known for their heavy drinking, and even if we're not really the heaviest drinkers in the world, we do have a reputation to try and live up to. But drinking and driving is definitely not on. Carefully performed scientific studies over the last few decades have determined that it's a bloody stupid thing to do. If you want to get sloshed, you just need to make sure you're either (a) at home, (b) somewhere other than home where you can collapse and sober up afterwards or (c) you can get to either (a) or (b) without driving a motor vehicle. I'll describe the drink/driving laws in Victoria, but the other states are pretty similar. The maximum legal BAC (Blood Alcohol Concentration) for most drivers is 0.05. The limit for P-plate drivers, of which I am one, is zero. P-plates apply for the first three years that you hold a driver's licence. P stands for Probationary, not for Porsche, Probably going to crash, or Police should pull me over. As for the punishment for drink driving, if you get caught, you are in very deep shit. It starts off with everybody being able to legally call you "a bloody idiot". Your driving licence will be suspended for at least 6 months, or cancelled immediately. You can also be jailed or fined up to $1200. I also believe that if you're over 0.15, they're allowed to shoot you on the spot. Or was that for rabies? Someone in Singapore wrote: i want to have good sex in australia which would be the best areas.thank you Around the genitals, mostly. I'm not going to give you any particular advice on finding good sex, other than to let you know that if you're planning to pay for it, Victoria is the only state to my knowledge that has legal prostitution. Look under Escorts in the Yellow Pages. Also new in the Guide To Australia - is Australia full of signs written in Chinese? How much dosh do the government take in income tax? See http://www.toxiccustard.com/australia/ ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ More next week... Got comments, questions or abuse? Hit that Reply button right now! If you don't want to receive this mail, then DO NOT REPLY to this message. Why? Because it won't do any good whatsoever, that's why. Instead, send a message to request@toxiccustard.com with the subject "remove". ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ -- Copyright (c) 1998 Daniel Bowen. Excerpts may be distributed for non- profit purposes provided no modifications are made and this copyright notice is included. -- Daniel Bowen, Custard Communications Pty Ltd, Melbourne, Australia ---------- E-mail: dbowen@custard.net.au ------- TCWF information: info@toxiccustard.com Waste your time here---> http://www.toxiccustard.com <---Waste your time here ------------------------------------------------------------------------------ "Saved from Toxic Custard" toxic custard workshop files number 390 6/4/98 by daniel bowen --------------------------------------------------------------------- THE YEAR 2031 returns next week... If you missed the previous episodes, see http://www.toxiccustard.com/features/2031/ Also, if you're one of a few readers who missed last week's transmission due to rogue control characters getting into the e-mail, head for the above URL to find out what happened when the crew landed on Venus... - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - In the mean time... Is your PC needing rescue from severe boredom? Does your screen need saving? Perform these two functions with the all purpose brand new Toxic Custard Screensaver! It works with just about all versions of Windows out there, so download it now -- unless you use a Unix machine or a Mac or an Amiga or some other cool but dead technology, in which case don't bother. http://www.toxiccustard.com/misc/download/ - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - DIARY - Sun 5/4/98 - Heading south west Considering that I'm off work for another week and a half, we've decided to beat the big "quick, let's get away on holiday to the country somewhere to avoid having to do a family get-together over Easter" rush that occurs every year, and go away on holiday to the country somewhere in the days before Easter instead. This means hopefully we can avoid the big traffic snarls that seem to develop around Thursday arvo and Good Friday morning as every man and his dog and his wife and kids pile into the car in an attempt to see just how many vehicles can be squeezed onto the highways out of the city. So where are we going? We're heading down the Great Ocean Road, to see all the cool stuff down on the coast. The glory of the Twelve Apostles, and wonder of London Bridge, and the amazingly awe-inspiring incredibleness of those other jaggy rock formations the names of which I forget right at the moment. Whatever, it'll be good. We've only been down there one other time, several years ago, and on that occasion, it was only for the day, and we had to turn back before seeing all the cool stuff. This time, we're going over three days, and taking plenty of time for stop-offs and rest breaks, which is really the only way to do it when you've got two kids in the back of the car - unless their section is soundproofed. We'll set out on Tuesday morning, and head down through Geelong onto the Great Ocean Road (I promise to be super careful and not drive over any cliffs like that bloke did a few days ago). We'll spend Tuesday night in Apollo Bay, and continue our travels on Wednesday, past all the aforementioned cool stuff, to sunny Warrnambool, where we'll once again partake of their massively brilliant adventure playground. And on Thursday we'll head inland, and back to Melbourne. At least, that's the plan. The motels are booked, the car's in fine shape, and provided I remember to fill it full of petrol before we set out, everything should go swimmingly! ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ More next week... Got comments, questions or abuse? Hit that Reply button right now! If you don't want to receive this mail, then DO NOT REPLY to this message. Why? Because it won't do any good whatsoever, that's why. Instead, send a message to request@toxiccustard.com with the subject "remove". ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ -- Copyright (c) 1998 Daniel Bowen. Excerpts may be distributed for non- profit purposes provided no modifications are made and this copyright notice is included. -- Daniel Bowen, Custard Communications Pty Ltd, Melbourne, Australia ---------- E-mail: dbowen@custard.net.au ------- TCWF information: info@toxiccustard.com Waste your time here---> http://www.toxiccustard.com <---Waste your time here ------------------------------------------------------------------------------ Toxic Custard Workshop Files - http://www.toxiccustard.com - is Copyright (c) 1998 Daniel Bowen, Melbourne, Australia. Excerpts may be distributed without charge provided no modifications are made and this notice is appended. For subscription and back-issue information, send email to info@toxiccustard.com