Nagoya Man Sought To Answer Charges Over Permit-less Gravedigger.

Local man F.Lotsam is being sought for questioning over his operation of a homemade gravedigging machine. The apparatus is assembled entirely from parts believed to have been stolen from Nagoya's seven Homac branches over the course of the last 10 months.

The machine (pictured below) weighs 400 million tonnes and can dig graves at the rate of 280,000 an hour.
"Fast enough to bury every c**t in this shithole town in ten f***in' minutes. Twice" mumbled Mr Lotsam.


While attempting to cross State Highway 12 (above), Mr Lotsam was overheard shouting down to irate motorists from his tiny cockpit "alright, alright, stop honking, you c***ts, I can't find f****n' 2nd gear".



When ordered down from the vehicle by local law enforcement agencies, Mr Lotsam responded "Come down? Get f**ked. When I'm shitfaced, it takes me 3 f**kin days to find this f**kin cockpit. 3 f**kin days! Walk all over this cu*nt looking for this f**kin little booth, I do. Come down? F**k off, you litt..." whereupon a hail of empty Nikka Black 4.5 litre containers rained down upon the officers.



Similar to the chimes played by an ice cream truck as it makes it's rounds, Mr Lotsam broadcasts a tape over a loudspeaker while driving. The lyrics are as follows:


"Bring out your dead."
"Bring out your dead."
"Bring out your dead."
"YOU C*NTS!"



Civil Defense authorities were aghast to learn that Mr Lotsam's only means of navigating his giant craft was to ask his pet budgerigar, who was seated next to him in the cockpit, which way to go.
"Where to now, me little chipper?" Lotsam was overheard to remark on more than one occasion. "We're off to dig some graves, mate, bury some of these c**nts good and proper."

Roger Gavaskar's Travel Log

Good evening. Roger Gavaskar here. You can call me "Roger." All of my friends do. Thought I would avail myself of the technological capabilities of this forum to share my travel log with you all. You see, I had never been in an aeroplane before but my good friend Javed recently talked me into it.

Our trip would take us from Darwin, Australia around Sumatra up through the islands then up to the barren snowy alps of Hokkaido in Japan. We would land for refuelling twice. And yes, Javed does have experience landing as well as taking off, if you please. We were accompanied by an escort craft flown by a seasoned and sober pilot named "Bruce" (from Sydney.) We remain indebted to him for taking time out from his busy Parramatta warehouse business to accompany us and take so many fine, fine photographs.

We set off from Darwin International airport at 0800 hours. Crisp clear weather, we would surely make good time on this day!








Taxiing out to our runway here. "Clean up on aisle 7."




















"Breaker, breaker, Roger, copy that."
It's funny because my name is Roger.




















I needed to use the restroom quite badly at this juncture.


















At this point, to my slight distress, Javed began smoking a marijuana cigarette.


















Hope we're not running low on benzine.



















Old picture in my camera, either Darwin or the river Euphrates. Probably Darwin.
















Gave Javed a pretty stern talking to after this completely unnecessary show-off bank turn. Last thing we need are shattered flaggons of loquat wine sherry in the back.



















Headed North by North-West, Javed said. What with all the smoke in the cabin, I couldn't see a dashed thing.



















Over Darwin now, to the top right you can just make out Tanzania.

















Where eagles dare.


















That's our plane in the centre.



















To the right you can make out the horizon.

















Was so moved by this scenery that I had to nip back to the cargo hold to practise my five-fingered Hindu shuffle (I am an amateaur magician.)



















Whao! The contrails of a big old jet airliner. I think it's also traveling in the same airspace as we are, but at a higher altitude.


















"Special agent Jack Bauer, do you copy??"


















Passing over Dr Evils lair now.

















These are the Ganges rivers near Palembang, Sumatra.



















"Just another loquat sherrrrrry sunriiise."


















Up in the islands now. Hairy landing this one, we were both stewed to the gills on loquat sherry at the time.




















Javed SAID he learned Landing at flight school.




















Take-off the next day. It looks like we're going to hit that little tower but really we're not.




















It's a holiday in Cambodia! No need to pack a wife!





















Quite a heated discussion between Javed and I as to whether this island resembled the boot of Italy.

Or course it does, Javed, you marijuana addict.





















On "Auto Pilot" now. AP that, Roger.


















Nose up, Javed, nose up! No time to be playing palm pilot now.






















So beautiful. It almost doesn't look real.























At this stage I was remarking that I felt like James Boned.







===============II===============

Hello all and welcome to The Botha Bushveld Safaris Brochure.



I'm Os du Botha, proud South African.
The more astute of you may have already noticed from my photograph above that I am white.

So first of all, as a white South African, I would like to take the opportunity to take this
opportunity to apologise for the deplorable apawtheid system employed for so long in my
homeland.

Apawtheid did not work very well as a segregation system proper and let this the public record
show that I have nothing against the blacks. For example, on the rugby pitch they are quick
and nimble and do a fantastic job playing on either the left or right wings.

Rightee-ho then.
On with the safari!



South Africa is a land blessed with a rich and bountiful hawvest of natural goodness.
Together the people are unified in legislated racial hawmony striving together arm in arm to
be all that they can be.

My friends, while I have your attention here, let me just reiterate my stonce regarding the blacks.
They are a fine race with many redeeming qualities and I have no problems whatsoever
employing them and setting them to work on my cattle form in Jo-burg under proper supervision.

And of course on the rugby paddock the little fellows glide with the grace of gazelles in the
positions best suited to their specific qualities.

On with the safari!







We start off the safari in the Orange Free State, home to some of the most beautiful beaches in the world.



And under the new regime of government-imposed equal opportunity the Orange Free State is freer than ever.
This state, this Orange Free State, it is truly a free state, a state where people can mix and work in hawmony.
Why just last month I sent a little spade to the shops to purchase my buckshot and upon his
return, I did not even count the change in front of the cross-eyed little monkey!

Yes my friend, the price of freedom is alive in Orange Free State.




"Whats that, Os, you devilish bugger" you say to yourself.
"A 1970 Citroen SL?
What in the name of Joost van der Westhuizen does this automobile have to do with the safari?"
Surprise, surprise my wildebeest-slaying friends, for our choice of automobile for roaming the
high veldt is none other than the 1970 Citroen SL. Two in the front, two in the back!

You may not know this but Citroens are European automobiles, which incidentally is the home
continent of the Dutch, our graet, graet ancestors who settled in South Africa and instituted the
slightly flawed racial segregation programme known as "apawtheid"

My regawds to The Dutch.


Short interlude here. Something I have to get off my chest.
Just quietly, I
am thinking of having the head of this fine fellow....



....mounted on the front of my Citroen.
How do you think this would look, my friends?
Is it a bit of a silly idea?

Let's get an awtists impression;-



My word, very impressive, I would be given the right of way at vehicular thoroughfares
pretty dashed quickly regawdless of the colour of any traffic lights!

By the way, let this the public ledger show that I am not one to pass judgement on any traffic lights based on their colour.

All traffic lights are equal in my eyes.


Next stop on the safari, the glorious Sun City Hotel!



Whoops, wrong slide. That's Soweto. We won't be going there.
Next stop, the glorious Sun City Hotel!



Just a word of warning, the hotel does have in their employ some little coloured bellboys who can be a bit cheeky now and then.
As on the rugby pitch, discipline is of the utmost importance to a unified, racially harmonious safari.
If any little beggars infringe around your ruck and maul area they need to be dealt with and
dealt with quickly and severely regawdless of colour, race, creed or colour.

In no way am I advocating rucking the bleck children in the face, neck, head or cheek area
but if they are in the prone position and impeding the flow of quick ball, I mean giving lip while
carrying your bags, then by all means spare no amount of the boot.




Ahhh, what a fantastic sight to see. The beasts cohabitating side by side in racial harmony.
Nurturing and treasuring each other just as we do in the New Republic.
It almost seems a shame to drive past in my Citroen and shoot them in the face.

The Gunston Family Funeraｌ Home

Gidday, and welcome to the GUNSTON FAMILY FUNERAL HOME homepage. (based out of Woolongong down Parramatta way. Take a left at Aunty Ethyls place, go on a bit, bit more, we're on the left.)

The death of someone is one of the most difficult times in our lives.
We here at the GUNSTON FAMILY FUNERAL HOME feel truly blessed to be able to help people through this very difficult time in their lives.

We're a family-run business, the Gunston brothers Wayne, Gene-o and me (I'm Trev) as well as Aunty Doris who handles the basting side of things and what-have-you.

In your hour of grief, you can rest easy and leave all of the arrangements to us.

We will walk you through all the steps, right from, say, identifying a prick you want whacked, right through to patting down the last smegs of dirt on the cunts shallow grave.

When you deal with the Gunstons, you deal with pros.

Reliable, tasteful and discreet, we get the job done.

We haven't lost one yet!

We'll get that mess sorted out, no fucking questions asked, squire.

WE ARE THE BEST.

THE FUCKING BEST.


Funeral Merchandise

As a full service funeral home, we have a large variety of caskets and burial vaults for your convenience in selection. A general price list is available upon request from our funeral home or by mail or by telephone. Or, we could just type the price lists here to cut through the bullshit, straight to the chase, as it were.


COFFINS.

Coffins, mate, they're the wings of the Arch Angel Gabriel bearing the dead pricks to sunnier climes.


Let's take a look at the range of options we have on offer.

Option 1;

Affordably priced at just $5.95, this option is tailor-made for the budget-minded bereaver. Ideal for those looking to just get the rotten old cunt into the ground.




Option #2.



We'll let you have this one for $29.95.
Custom-made by Gene-O, he knocks these swish numbers out in no time at all with his trusty MacCullough chainsaw. 48" bar, twin-calibrated, dual-locked teeth, mate, pardon my fucking French but this chainsaw is the fuckin' Rolls Royce of chainsaws. As you can see, Gene-o is pretty fucking handy with it too.



Embalming and Cremation

Embalming is most often a matter of practical necessity for a service with the body present. For cosmetic purposes. Rest assured, Aunty Doris will get your dearly departed clogged full of snot again.

The embalming room. Bit of strife about the place today. No worries, Wayne will get that shit tidied up before your next rellie carks it.







The embalming fluid juice extractor. We use nothing but the ripest hand-selected loquats in our embalming procedure. Aunty Dorises blender is completely different to this one and it is upstairs in the kitchen. We run a tight ship here at GUNSTON FAMILY FUNERAL HOMES.




Let's meet the other members of the Gunston Family Funeral Home Staff.

Geno "Gene-o" Gunston. (Funeral Director)

Gene-o can dissasemble, recalibrate and reassemble his Maccullough 48" TwinDeforester XIV in 24 seconds flat. He is a fucking legend.




Wayne Gunston. (Funeral Director)

These days Wayne "inadvertwently" huffs so much perming solution and formaldehyde he can't even hardly fuckin' see straight. Wayne-o's in charge of "taxidermying" the dead pricks. Bugger me, no wonder none of the fuckin' sofas around here have any stuffing left in them...





Doris Gunston. (Funeral Director)

Aunty Doris is the brains behind the show. Whether it's getting Reliable Louie on the blower at 3 am for some urgent business or stitching up some fat prick with her trusty Bernina, Aunty Doris is always on the ball.





Trevor Gunston (Funeral Director)

That's me, Trev, behind the wheel of the family hearse. Looks like I'm giving it what for too! Probably heading out to take a corpse, I mean coffin to the graveyard. That's where the coffins go.




Reliable Louie.
(no picture available)
Lou is the best at what he does, he gets the job done, no questions asked.




Yes, indeedy, it's the releasing of the white doves. This symbolises peace and freedom. "Souls no longer shackled to the phenomena of earthen torpor" as Wayne once said. Reliable Louie, who does some work for us, tells us that this custom has nothing to do with waking up with horses heads.



Well, rather than try and nick some pigeons from the local park and paint them white as Wayne STUPIDLY suggested one day, here is one of our custom-made doves. Thanks again to Gene-o and his trusty Maccullough 48". Like the poofs pictured above, you can hiff the dove up in the air if you so please. One hiff is 50 cents. Nah fuckit, make it 25 cents. It's Christmas.


So next time some old git you know up and carks it, be sure to give us a bell. We're in the phonebook under "G." Thats "G" for "Gunston," the #1 name in undertaking.