Bender_
X
Greetings viewers.
I have travelled this volatile planet far and wide and survived almost every kind of treacherous landscape on offer with relative ease. Now, boredom and monotony have begun to set in – and I feel it is time that I partake in a genuine survival challenge – the AFL frontier. I will be spending a day with each club to make an entire episode – and pending my survival from each challenge – will move onto the next club. First stop - North Melbourne Kangaroos Football Club:
Upon my arrival Arden St I was taken aback by the perilous state of the landscape, and for the first time in my career I was genuinely fearful for my well being.
As I entered through the rusty, tetanus infested front gates I was greeted by an odd little man with waxed eyebrows and bleached teeth – he introduced himself as James Brayshaw as he took my hand and kissed my wrist – the scent of lavender emanating from his self. He insisted that during my stay at Arden St that I should don the traditional strip as worn by the natives, and not wanting to insult the inhabitants I obliged. Though I did feel a tad uncomfortable as I changed with Mr Brayshaw watching with intent, chewing his bottom lip and fingering his belly button.
Mr Brayshaw then introduced me to what he referred to as “The Skipper” of his tribe, a small, curious man named Brent. I was advised not to make eye contact with Brent when addressing him as he may become riled and incensed by the challenging of his authority. He seemed a pleasant enough savage – and I took my seat and observed the tribe in what was referred to as a “training drill”.
Curious indeed – it would seem that all the natives were separated into a groups, and trained separately. I focused on the midfield group, which began a sprinting drill and was interested to note that all members of the midfield moved at exactly the same pace! Then the midfield began a few ball handling drills, which funnily enough Mr Brayshaw insisted in joining in, despite training by himself on the sidelines. I watched as the midfielders intertwined and punched the odd shaped ball to each other until the one known as Brent fumbled and dropped the ball and the grouped stopped. All the younger members of the midfield proceeded to stare at the ground as he berated and prodded them for what was quite obviously his error. When I intervened and asked why he was shifting the blame, Brent proceeded to attack me, resulting as pictured below:
Luckily I was experienced with the pygmy tribes of Papua New Guinea, and easily hog tired the angry little man before too much damage could be done. All this made me quite thirsty, so I enjoyed a warm glass of my own urine to re-energize myself.
Next we moved on through to the feeding area for our lunch, the menu appeared to be some kind of raw amphibian served with 2 minute noodles – which Mr Brayshaw proclaimed this dish was usually saved for special occasions at Arden St. Now I have eaten some schlopp in my time, but this by far the worst meal I have ever consumed.
After not wanting to insult the locals I ate my meal and decided it was time for me to move on. I humbly bowed and thanked the hosts for being so hospitable, to which they offered a small metal tin and insisted I make a donation to their plight. I donated a few coins totalling in about $3.75 to which Mr Brayshaw first proceeded to kiss my feet, then began tounging between my toes.
I then hastily made my way to the rusty gates where I was confronted by a huge beast, frothing at the mouth. The ground rumbled as it charged towards me, obviously incessed by the smell of food on my breath and I pulled my trusty knife – luckily I was well experienced with wild animals and did not openly display my fear.
As I began to strike the natives stopped me and calmed the beast, and informed me that it was indeed Brent’s wife, and attached a lead to the ring that was through it’s nose and led it away. My heart beat began to settle as I again thanked my hosts and fled Arden St, thankful to still be in one piece.
I have travelled this volatile planet far and wide and survived almost every kind of treacherous landscape on offer with relative ease. Now, boredom and monotony have begun to set in – and I feel it is time that I partake in a genuine survival challenge – the AFL frontier. I will be spending a day with each club to make an entire episode – and pending my survival from each challenge – will move onto the next club. First stop - North Melbourne Kangaroos Football Club:
Upon my arrival Arden St I was taken aback by the perilous state of the landscape, and for the first time in my career I was genuinely fearful for my well being.
As I entered through the rusty, tetanus infested front gates I was greeted by an odd little man with waxed eyebrows and bleached teeth – he introduced himself as James Brayshaw as he took my hand and kissed my wrist – the scent of lavender emanating from his self. He insisted that during my stay at Arden St that I should don the traditional strip as worn by the natives, and not wanting to insult the inhabitants I obliged. Though I did feel a tad uncomfortable as I changed with Mr Brayshaw watching with intent, chewing his bottom lip and fingering his belly button.
Mr Brayshaw then introduced me to what he referred to as “The Skipper” of his tribe, a small, curious man named Brent. I was advised not to make eye contact with Brent when addressing him as he may become riled and incensed by the challenging of his authority. He seemed a pleasant enough savage – and I took my seat and observed the tribe in what was referred to as a “training drill”.
Curious indeed – it would seem that all the natives were separated into a groups, and trained separately. I focused on the midfield group, which began a sprinting drill and was interested to note that all members of the midfield moved at exactly the same pace! Then the midfield began a few ball handling drills, which funnily enough Mr Brayshaw insisted in joining in, despite training by himself on the sidelines. I watched as the midfielders intertwined and punched the odd shaped ball to each other until the one known as Brent fumbled and dropped the ball and the grouped stopped. All the younger members of the midfield proceeded to stare at the ground as he berated and prodded them for what was quite obviously his error. When I intervened and asked why he was shifting the blame, Brent proceeded to attack me, resulting as pictured below:
Luckily I was experienced with the pygmy tribes of Papua New Guinea, and easily hog tired the angry little man before too much damage could be done. All this made me quite thirsty, so I enjoyed a warm glass of my own urine to re-energize myself.
Next we moved on through to the feeding area for our lunch, the menu appeared to be some kind of raw amphibian served with 2 minute noodles – which Mr Brayshaw proclaimed this dish was usually saved for special occasions at Arden St. Now I have eaten some schlopp in my time, but this by far the worst meal I have ever consumed.
After not wanting to insult the locals I ate my meal and decided it was time for me to move on. I humbly bowed and thanked the hosts for being so hospitable, to which they offered a small metal tin and insisted I make a donation to their plight. I donated a few coins totalling in about $3.75 to which Mr Brayshaw first proceeded to kiss my feet, then began tounging between my toes.
I then hastily made my way to the rusty gates where I was confronted by a huge beast, frothing at the mouth. The ground rumbled as it charged towards me, obviously incessed by the smell of food on my breath and I pulled my trusty knife – luckily I was well experienced with wild animals and did not openly display my fear.
As I began to strike the natives stopped me and calmed the beast, and informed me that it was indeed Brent’s wife, and attached a lead to the ring that was through it’s nose and led it away. My heart beat began to settle as I again thanked my hosts and fled Arden St, thankful to still be in one piece.
