Well, here I am.

My loyal followers have been clamoring for an update for quite a while now, but it has been worth the wait: I went to the Virgin Islands for a vacation. I had been planning to write blog entries while there, but I was dismayed to learn that currently Fiji doesn’t have access to the Internet. It is a discovery like this which emphasises the urgent need for politicians to stop wasting their time legislating nonsense like the “beavers’ bill of rights” (formulated directly to attack yours truly) and ensure that third world pseudo-paradises catch up with the rest of us on basic technology.

My house was in a bit of a shambles when I arrived back at home as well, because my lovely wife Anita has an uninformed habit of eating breakfast and bathing simultaneously. Not only does the food get wet, but sometimes she is so strapped for time that she will actually bring the toaster in with her to the bathtub, which, needless to say, results in serious explosive damage to her bathroom. In our absence, she had completely destroyed her bathtub and her toilet (no idea how). She is now required to use my bathroom, much to my annoyance. I have never seen so many plucked eyebrow hairs sitting in a sink at once.William was also grounded at home for the duration of my trip as well, and he was in something of a grumpy mood when Jonathan and I proudly strutted through the front door. To console the child, I offered that next week we will allow his good friend Jake to come over for dinner. William seems less depressed now, and thanked me for “finally showing some understanding.” I have no idea what this teenage lingo means, but Jonathan suggested that it was his way of telling us how much he loves us and missed coming on our amazing voyage to Sicily. This is probably correct.

Anyway, we boarded our direct flight from the Canberra International Airport to a small field somewhere in New Zealand. The service on the flight was tolerable, although when I suggested to the stewardess that she provide us with a lapdance she seemed slightly offended. Jonathan was particularly “weirded out” by this encounter. I can’t blame him, because we Samisotas are accustomed to getting what we want. When we landed on Easter Island we were greeted by lanky men with bones glued to their faces and some sort of permanent graffiti scribbled all across their bodies (they were also scantily dressed). They took our suitcases and carried them to the local hotel for us, although I noticed that they looked through the suitcases when they thought I wasn’t looking. They didn’t take anything, but acted quite upset when I didn’t give them a tip when we arrived at the hotel.

After we had settled in we caught a cab (which was actually a cart pulled by a horse) to the inner city. Caracas, the capital, is a beautiful place and it’s such a pity about the populace. While strolling along a beachside boulevard, marvelling at the Western architecture, Jonathan and I came across what looked to be a demonstration of traditional martial arts. Needless to say, my son and I are both champion wrestlers and we decided to show the savages why they’d been unable to repel their colonisers. Being unable to speak the language, we found it difficult to convery our intentions to these poor locals. Pidgin English, as you all know, is notoriously difficult to learn, and so Jonathan and I decided to take the initiative and simply “go for it.”

Being simple people, the locals did not understand that we wanted a wrestling tournament, and a small riot ensued. Jonathan was hit in the leg with a spear, which did absolutely no damage (talk about poor craftsmanship) but I would not stand for such behaviour. I once again felt the overwhelming power of the Samisota beast rise within me and charged the man who’d assaulted my son. Suffice to say I taught him a lesson, one that I guarantee he will never forget (I left scars all over his face to serve as a reminder). At this point it became clear that we were being victimized. The police had arrived and were jabbering on at us in their ridiculous language (how anyone understands each other there remains a mystery to me). Feeling that it would be easier to simply remove ourselves from the situation, I smashed a car window. The occupant ran away screaming, leaving Jonathan and I with a getaway vehicle. We drove up into the mountainous region surrounding the city. The police were in hot pursuit for a brief period, but Jonathan (such a terrific lad) shot out their tires.

We camped out on a glacier till we cooled off (no pun intended), then headed back into town. The camping trip was far less exciting than it should’ve been; simply adding to the list of disappointing aspects about the Azores. There were no animals to observe or to hunt, and we lived off a combination of ice and corned beef. We only had to wait a few days before another riot started in Caracas (this time over “sweatshops”, or something just as silly) and we could head back to the hotel unnoticed.

Unfortunately, when we returned, we found that the hotel had been destroyed by a fire in our absence. The Cook Islands has no fire bridage, being a backward third world country. Needless to say, we were upset that our luggage hadn’t been resued by the owner (he’d apparently had time to save his wife and children, but not our luggage). What horrible service. When we approached the mayor and sought compensation he refused, so Jonathan hatched a plan to exact revenge upon this horrible little country and we started an extensive forest fire (which, I believe, is still raging). We stole what we could, including several specimens of local marsupial (I have no idea what they are, in truth).

They are currently being stored in what remains of Anita’s bathroom, which she complains smells even worse than usual. Jonathan and I couldn’t tell the difference.

All in all it was a relaxing holiday.