LONDON (REUTERS): A terrifying story is emerging from the drunkenly misplaced continent of Australia, currently poised in the midst of the Gulf Stream and looking rather sorry for itself. A daring reporter managed to make the helicopter journey to the rapidly paling sunburnt shores of the land of Oz, but was apprehended by an assortment of hired goons the moment he set foot on the land which abounds with natures gifts.
He was hauled away into a small cage, and had chunks of meat thrown at him, as the sign "Pommicus Erectus" was assembled. His sojourn here was brief, as some rather Bohemian looking heavies (dressed in black leather, but with a trendy scarf and a copy of Sartre in their back pocket) further hauled him away to meet a local authority.
The intrepid reporter managed to notice during his bumpy ride, quite reminiscent of Achilles taking Hector for a drag really, that not a single human or animal was to be seen on the streets. The journey took him down many a winding tunnel until at last he was thrown at the foot of a dark and twisted throne. He gazed up to see a truly terrible visage regarding him with a mixture of utmost contempt, detached interest, and ever-so-slight hunger.
"Ah! Splendid! You must be the journalist. You want news, reasons, I suppose. Yes, of course you do. You must make yourself more comfortable. Hieronymous! Onslomagus! Put the journo in the electric couch."
The reporter, who will remain nameless on account of the fact that he was so in the first place (parents were hippies, you know the type), was strapped into a comfortable plaid couch, and electrodes attached to various wobbly portions of his anatomy.
"Now," the evil man began "Allow myself to introduce you to ...myself. I am the one known as Simon Darkshade, and this is one of my underground lairs. These are two of my mute thugs, Hieronymus and Onslomagus Chuzzlewit, whose surnames are a coincidence.
I take it you want to know exactly why Australia ended up in the North Atlantic, and why it is staying here, hmm? Very well, I will outline the full dastardly extent of my evil plan to you,if only to pass away some of the time.
It seems outwardly to be a product of drunken hooliganism, but was actually just a test of my new booster engines, with which I will send the earth hurtling through space to a new location, in order to accomodate some new real estate developments I working on with the Kilrathi and the Neogi in its present resting place.
To cover such an occurence, we simply had to get al of Australia royally p1ssed, which is not at all a difficult task. We may of sank a few insignificant islands on the way, but the journey was quite smooth and without incident. Last time I was in Europe, I picked up a little German, and we met again briefly in Panama.
Now, we will be moving back to our original location some time next week, but, we'll be going the long way. That should clean up the Balkans and the Middle east in a nice manner. There are no demands to be made as such, what with my gargoyles all ready controlling most world governments, but a reactivation by the US of its battleships would be appreciated, as they look so cute from Saturn, and I promised Su'thr'zgjh that I would try so that his youngest spawn can have some fun with his new telescope.
That will be all, peasant. Guards! Throw this journo in the catapult, and deliver him home!"
And so it was done.
The reporter is currently unavailable for comment, as he is gibbering uncontrollably, and is clinging to the roof of St. Junipers Institute for the Terminally Insane, occasionaly screaming something about gibbons.
