This is an excerpt taken from the original 1500 p.m transcript from the Weedio Eateria Chronicles, in which the great Portuguese explorer Senor Weedio Eateria discovered the lost Hash tribe of Darkest Sandunswampunbugsiland. This is the 1947 translation of the German translation, of the 1934 Norwegian translation from the original Portuguese.
‘The journey was tortuous. Following the rather obscure directions as laid down by the Irish peace envoy Seamus O’stainly (later believed to have left his home port of Dublin due to a misunderstanding with the City Guard in 1432 ), my faithful companion Senorita Nona Carnivia and I soon became hopelessly lost. In the heat of the day the mosquito’s feasted on our sun roasted skin. The redoubtable Senorita steered our wagon on into unknown territory, with limited supplies and a limited perception as where we were heading for. O’Stainly had described way markers fashioned into a HHH sign. Indeed we were heartened by finding one such waymark, though our euphoria soon diminished when we were unable to locate any more.
Totally lost and somewhat fraught, salvation came to hand by a couple of a Teutonic persuasion introducing themselves as Herr Fagot Follower and Frau Push Harder. I had thought I might be the only explorer in these parts, but no it seems there might be a race to secure the territory and good blessings of the Pot Bellied Big Breasted Bush Hash Tribe, of which we were all seeking. We decided to travel together, joining forces to find a way through this myriad of trails.
There was a strange tang on the air. A slightly sweet smelling, smoky odour that seemed give a feeling of peace and relaxation. The tribesmen (known amongst themselves as ‘Hashers’) milled around and then, it seemed, raced off as soon as they spotted us parked our aged battered wagon. I barely had time to instruct Nona to get my water bottles, tea flask and crumpets ready. Where were they going ? Were they following some trail or inner compulsion? I could not see any such trail as Senorita Carnivia and I raced off in pursuit. Wildly yelling the Hashers all milled about in the middle of a plantation as if seeking guidance. They might as well of shouted at the moon for all the sign that was visible in that recently tilled field. Suddenly, as if with divine intervention, a hole appeared in the impenetrable jungle wall and was spotted by the gasping Hashers next to it. The bestial cry went up. The senorita leapt after the half dressed natives with a lascivious gleam in her eye. I attempted to keep up with her, intending to protect her honour as we entered the dark, humid orifice under the trees. It became clear that the trail was originally cut by pygmies as I struggled bent double, through the ankle catching vines, my nose pressed firmly between Nona’s pert buttocks, trying not to think about whose nose might be trying to enter my own cheeks. Eventually we emerged into a swamp, through which we had to wade. I had expected my faithful companion to carry me across, thus saving my shoes from distress. As I looked around, she was no where to be seen as the throng of Hashers finally stopped in a clearing, some of them obviously suffering. A shout in the distance energized the mass again and I quickly chased after the German, Fagot Follower. Some time later we emerged from the jungle to find ourselves on a sandy plateau – well a track actually. There was a nervous tension in the air. A shout was heard from the left and I noticed some cunningly disguised sign left on the ground. We grunted with exertion as we toiled through the thick sand. We came to a halt behind a tall, imposing tribesman those around us seemed to refer to as Nostrus Magnifico. He had called us here, but now seemed unsure which way to go (I still had no idea where we were going and was getting more anxious about Nona as time went by). He sniffed the air, turning this way and that, his vast proboscis sweeping in arcs as he attempted to divine the correct path.
A change of direction. A little fellow running next to, wearing pink lycre tights and a scarlet bandana around his neck, looked up to me and said in a strangely Belgian voice, “it’ll be this way, that way is too easy, he always takes us this way”. So, we went in the opposite direction and picked up a trail again. By now I had lost sight of the senorita. I was worried. I had discerned that we were following an indistinct trail that looked suspiciously like shredded paper. My suspicion was later confirmed, as I spied a small darkly skinned man who seemed to disappear between the trees, then reappear as if by magic by my side with a fist full of the paper. Darting away and disappearing from view almost immediately, the little fellow shouted something over his shoulder. It sounded familiar, though I believe it may be a dialect of English called American, which is why I wasn’t sure what he was trying to tell me (he also had a problem dressing himself, as he couldn’t figure out how to put his hat on properly).
After a while, exhaustion was setting in, we arrived back where we had started. The stooped white man with roll-up fag dangling out of the corner of his mouth, contrasted strangely with the sweating, lithe limbed runners gasping for breath. His serene smile, as he sipped the strange native brew firmly clasped in his hand, should have been a warning to the Senorita and I. This was a man of power. It was none other than the great explorer, Seamus O’Stainly himself to be sure.
The war cry that sounded like “on on” rang out from the 8 hardy souls, bent on fulfilling this test of endurance. As the little brown American fellow with the back-to-front hat scampered away enthusiastically, Senorita Carnivia and I pursued. The young lady was definitely ‘going native’ yelling and hollering with gay abandon, leaping through the sandy plantations like a gazelle in heat. As I struggled to follow, I thought, life is unfair. There were 10 of us left now, though 2-3 had been left behind. We later found out that the poor deaf, Circulo Rigglio and his sidekick Amour Canaloni (earlier suffering from vertigo, cramps, foaming at the mouth and other unsavory ailments) had failed to hear the deafening war cry go up signaling the return to our quest, and so were left behind – only to catch up again as dusk fell.
Finally, we returned to the tribal meeting place to find a frenzy of celebration already apace. Some wild creature had been emasculated, in order to provide us a meal served with roots. An alter of some kind had been placed in the centre of the crowd and, as dusk fell, the natives surrounding me gathered in eager anticipation as they drank their inebriating potions. I feared that my companion may have to make the ultimate sacrifice atop the unholy, glistening altar. I looked around for the fair Nona, to no avail. To my surprise, into the centre of the circle strode the tribal chief known as the Festering Man Who Runs With No Clothes. Banging his staff of office to the ground to ensure silence, he gestures for the tribal matriarch – a formidable woman of dynamic proportions - to enter. As time passed, various miscreants were brought to the justice of the altar, poor victimized souls including myself. The Shaman, wrapped in a wreath of the sweet smelling smoke I smelled on arrival, cavorted about the circle, a manic gleam in his eye. Even the Matriarch was called to bare her deliciously pale buttocks to the moon, as she sat on the unyielding surface of the altar, its surface seemingly to suck the warmth away. Hang on a minute, take away the bright red lips, the blonde hair, the stiletto heels, the rather tight fringed shorts, the leopard skin bodice filled with……………. It was Nona Carnivia!!!
At last, the circle started to disband in the darkness. Seamus O’Stainly and his concubine are to be praised. This day was a truly magical time and I claim this territory for Portugal – the German explorers having taken flight at the first sight of the pagan altar. I had to drag the Senorita away from her newly acquired admirers. I looked forward to prizing her tight, rounded, buttocks out of those indecently short shorts……………………’
There is more of this transcript that cannot be published here but can be obtained from:
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Bangkok.
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