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Fame and glory: Better late than never.

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There are times in a man’s life when he really should take a long hard look at himself and truthfully admit that, when compared to others, he is occupying six cubic feet of space which might otherwise be put to better use.

Let’s face it, I have completely failed to honour my genetic inheritance or justify the existence of my protoplasmic mass with any semblance of outstanding achievement.

Tom Lehrer was the twentieth century’s pre-eminent satirical lyricist.
When he was 37 years of age in 1965 he also broached the subject of his own comparative inadequacy with the following comment to his audience;

“It is a sobering thought, for example, that when Mozart was my age he’d been dead for two years.”

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The following  is a condensed list of my failures to date;

1.  Failed to achieve any of my childhood ambitions. Fireman. Ship’s captain. Radio announcer. Train driver.

2.  Failed to consummate what at one time seemed to me to be a ‘sure thing’ with Ms fancypants MacPherson.

3.  Failed to win any pie-eating, ballroom dancing, arm wrestling or Mister Congeniality competitions.

4.  Failed to sire octuplets. (to the best of my knowledge)

5.  Failed to change the world in any way. I’ve never precipitated a war, fomented social unrest, marched for world peace or even burnt a bra in anger. (except for just one time, and that didn’t change the world….it just made Mrs GOF very angry.)

6.  Most distressing of all is that Australia ignored my prodigious talents for 30 years when selecting it’s International cricket team.  Furthermore, even after I’d spent so much money on a (since reversed) sex-change operation I was still not even considered for
our women’s beach volleyball training squad prior to the Sydney 2000 Olympics.

So shove it Australia. I’m taking my sporting prowess overseas.

Being fully aware that my springchickenhood may well expire sometime during the next decade, I was left with the challenge of finding a suitable sport upon which to unleash my superabundant talents.
The answer came through divine intervention.
A heavenly angel descended to my garden shed (into which you will recall I had been compulsorily quarantined by Mrs GOF last month when I was sick) and whispered the following message from God;

“GOF, your destiny is a narrow, cold and wet hole in the ground.”

Before I had time to further discuss the ramifications of this spiritual sporting guidance, the angel suddenly went *poof* and transmogrified into a ghostly and ghastly apparition (which coincidentally bore an uncanny resemblance to Tammy Faye Bakker) before vanishing through the shed window into the darkness of night.

Praise the Lord for absence of ambiguity.  


I’m now in training for;




The International Bog Snorkelling Championships.

Mr Gerden Green, a linguist from Llanwrtyd Wells in Wales, came up with the idea of bog snorkelling one evening in 1976 when he was high on a combination of booze and methane trying to forget the travails of his academic day. His post-doctoral thesis, “An examination of where all the missing Welsh vowels disappeared to” was not progressing as planned and was giving him the shts and splttng hedachs.

World record-holder for two laps of the 55 metre-long bog trench is Joanne Pitchforth with a time of 1 minute 35.18 seconds, so I phoned her in the U.K. hoping she would help me with some training hints;

“Pith off GOTH ith juth finisht trainink ant I caent tork to you corth my flikinth teeths are full oft grath and mut and uther thit laek amoebaths, parathetiumths and wormths”.

Well I’ll teach that Ms Gutter-Gob Pitchfork a lesson or two in August at Waen Rydd bog in Wales.
She may well have superior buoyancy but I’ve been working on a way to harness diet and technology to my advantage.
Sauerkraut and baked beans for breakfast linked somewhat circuitously to a hot-air catalytic thruster concealed in my jocks.

I have a feeling in my gut that the Bog Snorkelling World Record will soon be mine.


Autographs may be requested on this forum in September after I triumphantly return to Australia laden down with trophies and medallions and tanned all over from the relentless glare of the International media spotlight.

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