Skippy the Bush Kangarou

It's never below the belt Down Under

by Mr Badger

The fields of maize stretched as far as the eye could see, normal eyes that is. Eyes that are presently still in residence on the front side of Handel's head have been scientifically (and supernaturally) recorded as being able to see so much further the initial comparison is a faint mockery of a type that would barely raise a smirk or a chuckle. The fields were very large, by Mortal observation standards, let us settle for that at least. Those who have done any small amount of technical drawing are familiar with the vanishing point idea. This was how an observer felt standing there staring down the endless rows of maize. The rows all seemed to meet in the distance, at a single point. One could imagine the vastness of the universe thinking of such a sight, a vision of how insignificant one is in the great scheme of things. Or one could just get over it and do something useful that does not involve being all arty farty sensitive in the middle of a bloody field.

Especially not in this particular field as smoke started to twist its way up from the middle of the field. Starting off as a gentle stream of opacity in the early evenings sky the smoke gathered strength like a raging torrent of water that started off as a trickle. Soon the flicker became a pillar of smoke lit by the raging fires that gave it birth. The fire spread like, well wild fire, amongst the dry crop and soon a majority of the maize was engulfed in cleansing fire. Before any action could be taken to hinder its travel the fire claimed the field as its own. The crop was devastated, wiped from the face of the Earth as if it had never existed. Standing nearby on top of a hill a small group smiled as this was exactly what they desired. The blaze may eventually be correctly attributed to arson, that is inconsequential to the act. The crop was destroyed and that was that mattered. At the head of the group was a tall man with a large mane of red hair down his back, gathered together at the back of his shoulders in a clasp resembling boxing gloves. Turning to his Pack the man smiled with a grin far too toothy to be anything other than s toothpaste advertisement or something that would look appropriate in a sharks mouth on a Ocean life television programme. The teeth were blunt rather than sharp but the sheer number of them made up for any deficiency. "We run," said the man.

One by one the group changed. From standing as men and women on two feet their forms melted into those better supported on all fours. Mouths elongated into a snouts. Hands and feet fused together into paws. Ears became pointed while be positioned more towards the top of the head than to the sides. Slick red and/or black fur grew to cover bodies no longer clothed. Running into the scrub at the side of the well scorched field the Pack left at a swift trot. At the Packs lead was the original speaker. The fighter for justice and nature in a land twisted and evil. A man who fought against the blight and darkness falling across the lands in ever increasing waves. The Dingo at the head of the Pack was none other than Skippy, the Bush Kangarou.

The name Skippy was never mentioned lightly. Even those who are unaware of the Supernatural battles occurring around them each night were aware of the man known as Skippy. This outlaw was a 90's version Ned Kelly. This one man and gang had caused more heartache and destruction than any other since the shameful night of "Hagbutt got slightly annoyed at someone in public" spectacle of the early 80's. Fire, death and much urinating were his trade mark. What the public was not aware of was the foes attacked by Skippy and his gang each night were all owned and operated by the one and the same Mega Corporation, Phorex.

Phorex were a gigantic organisation structure formed out of one really bad brewing company. I'm not saying this beer tasted in any way or form undesirable for human consumption. What I am saying is that the USEPA once mistook a shipment of this so called 'beer' as seaborn nuclear waste. This 'beer' is so awful to consume many a person has burst into flame rather than let the fetid liquid reach the lower end of their tormented throats. This 'beer' has as much to do with 'an enjoyable beverage' as Clinton has with 'chastity.' This 'beer' holds the definition of liquid in only the very loosest terms. Any looser and it would achieve escape velocity and with any luck fall into the sun. This 'beer' is world renowned for having a name that could only be an Australian's attempt to spell 'beer.' This 'beer' sterilises house hold pets by just being driven past in a delivery van. The 'beer' was been proven to turn back the passage of time as entire lineages of Mortals have had their family line eradicated from history because one foolish member decided 'just one couldn't hurt.' This wasn't 'beer,' but the Wyrm embodied with little bubbles and a malt taste. Phorex just sort of grew from there into the Bane filled horror story we know it today. Skippy, the Bush Kangarou, was dedicated to its downfall.

Skippy greeted the Pack as they returned to their base camp in a way, that gave me as an author, a disgustingly easy way to introduce a few of the characters without any fussy or bother. Skippy himself appeared to be a Dingo (it's a dog) of great stature. Skippy was born under a certain phase of the moon that like all Kangarou identified his nature towards others. Skippy was a A-hoon, born under the Full (Hoon) Moon. He liked old rusty cars, liked very loud music playing through a shite stereo in that before mentioned rusty car (a stereo that was worth three to four times the value of the car itself,) like wearing black t-shirts with Heavy Metal Bands emblazoned upon them and liked to wear a suitable well worn black jersey that had so many holes in it to qualify as a multitude of golf courses as well as a hand full of Women's Boarding houses. A-Hoons are violent and prone to anger. The A-Hoons are the warriors of the Kangarou race.

Skippy was also born of a most renowned Tribe of Kangarou. Tales are told of these leaders amongst men, Dingo and those things with teeth that could open bottles if the rest of us if it didn't mean spraying drool everywhere. I blame the parents, should never have gotten together if they'd known the kid would turn out like that. Damn ugly thing, must have been a very difficult birth to squeeze the head like that. Not only do Kangarou have Auspices of the Moon they also belong to Bloodlines, known as Tribes. Skippy was a member of the Silver Hangs, known as such as they have cojones of steel! Huge ones, the size of bowling balls. Men amongst men or women amongst men who could still beat nine tenths of crap out of you while flossing their teeth with the remaining tenth afterwards. We won't go into what women do amongst women, who the hell can tell except it no doubt involves going to the bathroom together in a group of giggling harpies.

The next to arrive was Steve. Steve was smaller than Skippy and panted with an excess of breath that condensed and fell to the ground in a puddle when ever he was stationary. Rather than run in a direct path Steve ran in a lope that could only be considered evasive action so violent in its horizontal direction it could only be against field artillery or orbital bombardment of very large and sharp fast moving rocks. Steve was born under the Phase of the Moon that made him a Dribbly-Hard. Dribbly-Hards are the ones who remember the old ways. To do that they remain perpetually drunk and start to tell the SAME stories as always about how THEY remember it happening in the OLD days. This annoys the tits off the younger Kangarou. Which is just as well considering how many tits we have at the best of times and how few it takes to go missing to be noticed, that they regenerate. "Mate, mate, mate, mate," drooled Steve. "You're my mate, I know you mate. Yeah, mate." Steve wasn't much a conversationalist really.

Steve's Tribe was one of the more Modern ones. His tribe was one that had embraced the Modern Age of Humanity and used that fact as a tool to survive and prosper. The Tribe was known as the Fast Talkers and as such were the ones most in tune with the world of the Mortals. The Fast Talkers were the premier bullshit artists of the Kangarou (which says a lot really about their skills.) The Fast Talkers were a Tribe to be reckoned with, being a Dribbly-Hard as well made Steve a very potent weapon in the Pack. Skippy just wished Steve would shut the hell up now and again. To stop pissing on anything sitting still would be an advantage as well.

Alphonse was the third Kangarou to reach the camp. Alphonse was one of the Pack which could only be considered 'dodgy' and that was before you even met him. It's referred to in the masculine but the jury is still out examining the evidence. Really can't be too sure about it. Alphonse was of a Tribe not generally tolerated unless they were gifted at their duties. Alphonse was a Git of Finesse. The Git of Finesse Tribe were renowned for their skills at camouflage. "No darling! You'd look far better in green with puce stripes!" They were renowned as decoys, as other Tribes would do damn near anything to beat the living crap out of a Git. Understandable really, who can blame them. The Gits were also attributed with a fierce temper. Without much provocation a Git would explode in a Rage of Hissy Fitting with finely manicure fingers nails flailing wildly at all comers. The battle cry of "You Bitch!" can cause a shiver down the spine of the most battle hardened Kangarou.

The next Pack member to arrive walked straight into Skippy before stopping. Rubbing her eyes with a well practiced motion the Kangarou reformed into human shape. Better to rub your eyes with actually hands rather than paws. Saves you falling on your chin into the dirt if you forgot to sit on your haunches. This Pack member belonged to a Tribe held within the Pack as the Law Keepers. This Tribe went by the name of Where'd-he-go? The 'Where'd-he-go?' were born with an abstract lack of perception and common sense skills most people take for granted amongst Mortal and Kangarou society. The 'Where'd-he-go?' were famous law Keepers as since they hardly ever noticed anything without prompting they remembered every single thing they were told. As such the 'Where'd-he-go?' make the most excellent gossipers. Think of the 'Where'd-he-go?' as Handel crossed with Mr Badger but with more hair than both of them put together (and being Australian as neither of them actually are).

The last of the pack members to be introduced at this time was known as Claudia. Claudia was one of the females in the Pack, not the only one but the only other one I'll introduce at this exact moment. Get off my back, if you want more you write it and I'll lean back and scratch myself while drinking a beer with a sneer. Claudia was the sort of Dingo that made you look and think of Lassie movies, in a way you never have or should never have you sick degenerate you. Claudia was so beautiful as to transcend the barrier of species and make you reach for the lubricant and the leather collar with a smile on your face that could not be considered healthy. I bet you do that all the time don't you? I bet you do that when you watch "Curious George" cartoons! You sick bunch of...............! You disgust me. Anyways, past what you bunch of depraved hormone ridden wretches think all the time Claudia was quite attractive. Claudia was a member of a Tribe who were so physically attractive as to cause excitement in the opposite sex (rather than the same sex like poor deviant Alphonse) from a distance measured in Light Years at the very least. Claudia was from a Tribe known as the Children of Gaaaaaaaaaaaaaah. As that was what people said when they saw her, gaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaah.

Skippy looked at his Pack and smiled a smile of someone who'd done bad without being caught. No one was saying "bad dog" to this Kangarou with a rolled up news paper in their hands. Skippy bowed his head at his Pack at a job well done. At his signal all those who had not reformed into human shape did so. Human shape was the most desirable as it had thumbs. Thumbs were great things, so helpful when doing things like taking off bottle tops or can lids. Thumbs were marvellous, people should have more thumbs. Well no I suppose, any more than the requisite pair of thumbs (one on each hand) and people try to murder you. Just as well really, you freak of nature you.

Skippy remembered the teaching of his Elders. Those who educated him in the ways of the Kangarou from an early age. Skippy doesn't remember his original parents, one who was Kangarou and one who probably walked into the wrong dark alley or worked on the docks. All Skippy could remember was his Fosters Parents. Fosters Parents were the Kangfolk who bought up a Kangarou with the memories of the times before the Wyrm. Before Phorex wreaked its pestilence across the lands. Fosters Parents remembered before then when beer was beer and not 'beer.' Beer when it tasted nice and didn't taste like a u-bend scraping from the dirtiest toilet in Melbourne. Great mental image that eh? Fosters Parents were those who remembered the old times and wished them again. A time before Phorex arrived, a time before they lost the America's Cup. A time before they lost the Cricket to New Zealand.

Skippy looked to the silent Pack (except for Steve who was nattering away to himself as always, sitting in the wet spot.) "We have dealt the Wyrm a mighty blow, and burnt a whole lot of shite down while we were at it!" Shouted Skippy. "Phorex has been hit hard by our acts of vengeance!" Skippy the outlaw Kangarou beat his tail against the ground as he spoke. Yes, he has a tail even in Human form. Being the person who finds Lassie sexually exciting who are you to say what is right and what is wrong? That's it, I'm ending the story now just to spite you. If I find it in my heart to excuse you I may write more later on.

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