Have no fear! Samisota has returned!

I have been released from prison. I am in no mood to explain the story to you all, dear readers, as I have many things to deal with. I shall instead leave you with this exclusive interview that I gave to The Canberra Tribune (the only decent paper in this hell-hole of a city) upon my release.

Canberra Tribune: On the 10th of April, Prof. Daniel Samisota of the University of Canberra was charged with several counts of animal cruelty and negligence. This passed under the radar of the mainstream media, with only the Tribune doing any serious reporting on the issue. At 11am today, Prof. Samisota was released from Quamby Juvenile Detention centre and aquitted of all charges. The prosecution has announced that they will not be pressing charges again, due to a lack of evidence. This is a very complicated issue with many facets, so who better to provide us with an explanation of the proceedings than the Professor himself. Prof. Samisota, welcome.

Daniel Samisota: I’d appreciate it if you made this quick.

CT: Before we begin, I notice you’ve got a rather impressive black eye – is that a souvenir from Quamby?

DS: Thanks for asking. Other than a bruised eye, I maintained a self-imposed vigorous health routine to ensure that I was able to ‘take on,’ so to speak, fellow inmates should the need have arose. My diet consisted of the provided fresh oranges, as well as the orange peel, which I was able to obtain from fellow victims of the criminal justice system who, for some reason, refused to engage in such a delicious treat.

CT: Ok, just to refresh our readers’ memories would you give us a brief narration of your arrest and the subsequent court case?

DS: Police officers showed up at my front door, illegally broke in, and informed me that there were suspicions of criminal activity on my property. They took one look at the state of the kitchen (which is Anita’s responsibility, and she knows this) and handcuffed me for “severe animal cruelty”, without any ‘hard’ evidence. The court case was rather surreal; I was treated like a child the entire time, and I believe they gave me some leniency because I repeatedly told them that my parents are no longer alive. They, for whatever reason, took pity on this, but sentenced me to an undefined term of ‘correction.’

CT: So you still claim that you are not guilty?

DS: That much is obvious to anyone who has followed my case. As I have admitted on my weblog, the only crime I have ever knowingly committed has been the occasional experiment with jaywalking. There is certainly no reasonable reason – none! – to feel that I have ever treated animals, including my daughter, with anything other than the upmost dignity and respect that they deserve.

CT: Ok. Well, you were released today. Would you care to give us an idea of what it was like being a 58 year-old professor in a juvenile detention centre?

DS: I wasn’t treated with any respect. I could only take solace in my inmate, Phil, a 17 year old with a keen interest in chemistry (particularly in the synthesis, widescale manufacture, and extremely profitable distrubution of adulterated methamphetamine street products). We took a liking to each other, although his wacky lingo often contained references to what I could only guess to mean some sort of henious homosexual act, which I certainly made my disapproval of clear early on.

CT: So why did they put you in there in the first place?

DS: Some crazy court mix-up. When I was standing before the judge, they apparently couldn’t tell that I was definitely not a minor. If the beard, baldness, and sensual booming voice weren’t enough, I also showed up with a wife and two of my children (although my wife was quickly escorted from the premises – something about no pets in the courtroom, another thing they got wrong). I was sent to the juvenile correctional facility as a result, but as I mentioned earlier, they did offer their sincerest condolences over the passing of my parents. Thirty years late, but that’s what your taxes are paying for. Sheesh.

CT: That’s the ACT justice system for you.

DS: Sorry, but who’s being interviewed here? If I wanted your opinion, I would have asked for it.

CT: Now, the prosecution isn’t continuing to press charges, why is that?

DS: After I was relocated to the correctional facility, I shut off the gas, electricity, water, etc. for my house. My wife, in a moment of cold desperation, attempted to light the house on fire (and eventually succeeded) to create warmth. Any evidence that may have existed proving the charges – which there wasn’t any, I assure you, would have been burned down in the fire (very little remains of the house or its belongings).

CT: So is it your opinion that there wasn’t enough evidence to convict you in the first place.

DS: How many times do I have to repeat myself?

CT: Well, even if the original conviction hadn’t been erroneous?

DS: Ah, okay; I see your angle. Typical. All I’m going to tell you is that the conviction was wrong, always has been wrong, and always will be. I’m an innocent man. And frankly, I’m waiting for reimbursement for the time spent in the juvenile detention centre. A miscarriage of justice demands compensation.

CT: So they did actually have evidence against you initially?

DS: No. Stop suggesting that they did.

CT: But they don’t now.

DS: And they never did. I don’t see why I should feel compelled to incriminate myself – were the charges legitimate, which they are not – in a lousy interview.

CT: So it just disappeared? What happened to it?

DS: The “evidence”, if you can call it that, is a pile of ash. Thank my wife for that. I wouldn’t lose much sleep over it, chump.

CT: And they’re not charging her with destruction of evidence?

DS: Apparently, and this I don’t understand, they saw fit to clear her of any wrongdoing due to her “state”. When I asked what they were referring to, I was greeted with nothing other than a strange glance.

CT: Speaking of which: you’re a family man. How did your family deal with your incarceration?

DS: My oldest son, Jonathan, quickly escaped the house when food supplies were diminished. He was found living in a nearby ditch, behind a neighbors’ home, eating his own defecation and relying on the warm mud in the ditch for heat and comfort. I cannot speak for him, of course, but he likely wisely felt that living conditions at the home had fallen apart without my humble guidance.

Anita dealt with the incarceration by burning the house down, as I have explained.

I haven’t spoken to William or Amanda yet (my other children), but I’m sure they’re doing fine.

CT: I didn’t know the electricity/gas/water/communications companies were that harsh.

DS: Oh, no; it was my idea, and not theirs. I felt it was time for the family to learn some responsibility. They can’t depend on me for everything – although since I bought the new property, they have been doing exactly that, which is frustrating.

CT: Any thoughts on what you’ll do now? Will you be returning to your position at the University of Canberra?

DS: I have not been asked to return to that fine institution, but I am expecting a call any day now. Any day now.

CT: Well, it sounds like you’ve got a lot of work ahead of you.

DS: Oh, not really. Since getting out of ‘prison’, I’ve spent most of my time in a drunken stupor in a bus shelter. It’s been pretty bad, actually, because cops kept harrassing me, and often pre-pubescent children would walk past in groups and point and laugh, saying things like ‘Freak of Nature’ and ‘Ugly Scary Hobo Man.’ My painful story just illustrates the sad treatment of the reformed products of the so-called criminal justice system.

CT: (laughs) Well, thanks again for giving the Tribune this interview Prof. Samisota.

DS: What the fuck? Is something fucking funny? Go fuck yourself!

Hello, dear friends. If you are wondering where I have gone, the previous post from my knuckleheaded wife, Anita, may give you some poorly worded insight as to my whereabouts (I must remember to cancel the internet and telephone connections at the homestead), but to clarify this issue to the fullest extent possible, I will come out and tell all of my loyal readers that I am currently serving a 4 year sentence at the Australian Capital Territory’s only jail (Quamby) on $6 million bond.

Thankfully, the taxpayer funded prisons in Canberra provide me with the finest Internet and computer services available in the state, although I do not have consistent access because my cellmate, a bulky and intimidating male who is approximately 6’4″ and incarcerated for having a meth lab, often takes over the computer so he can write emails to his good friend Jake. Well, he is within his rights, so I cannot complain too much. But the thought does sometimes cross my mind that he is taking advantage of the generous Canberra citizens and their socialist (‘ALP’) government by utilising the Internet services on such a frequent basis.

As for me, I was arrested on bogus charges of animal cruelty after police, in what they claim was a ‘routine search’, broke into my humble abode and found a collection of beavers, some deceased, while others alive and well, although the officers of the law contended that they were deformed and being experimented on in an inhumane manner. Well, what do they know! Science is once again being stifled! Research is second to animal rights fanaticism, and our knowledge is suffering greatly as a result. I continue to maintain that I have broken no laws and have done nothing unethical, but I will state my unequivecal disagreement with ‘animal rights’ statutes either way.

The judge said that I would be eligible for parole in one year pending good behaviour, which I do not anticipate to be a problem, as I am a citizen of the highest moral fibre. I will admit, in the interest of full disclosure, that I jaywalked once in 1983, and ran a red light last year when I was driving Jonathan to the hospital after the lower half of his body caught on fire in a routine Samisota expedition (though I feel that the trip to the hospital was highly unnecessary). I do not believe I suffered any legal consequences for either of these actions, but the punishment for this so-called animal cruelty violation does not fit the only laws which I actually have broken!

I will soon be setting up a PayPal account so that you, my loyal readers, may send donations to my legal council. I have hired an excellent lawyer by the name of Oliver Brannigan, who was also my roommate in college (ah, the fun times we had at the weekly taxidermy club meetings!). We are all working very dilligently to see that justice prevails and that I am let out of this madhouse known as a jail at once.

Though I am enjoying the food. Far better than Anita’s, Amanda’s or William’s cooking.

My dear huband Daniel has just been arested on charges of “sevear animal cruelty”. We are fighting this. It was not his fauly – admiteddly he has troble controling his temper, but I’m sure they desreved what he did to them.

Just like me and William do.

What a fag.

In response to this horrifying news, I smashed a wooden ladder over his head (the ladder had seen better days, admittedly, so I wasn’t doing much harm to the household supply of necessary tools and utilities) and then kicked his face into the steel door behind him, and then told him that Samisotas aren’t wusses. They know how to fight.

I think the kid got the message. Updates will be posted if the child seems willing to repent his ways…

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.

Joyous news!

I have accepted William’s offer on his behalf, he will begin studying Computer Science at the Australian National University this year. While it’s my opinion that the overall teaching standard is far higher at the University of Canberra, I have been informed that the Computer Science degree at the Australian National University is better than the same degree at the University of Canberra. This is unusual, as we all know that the University of Canberra offers far better facilities for students, teachers and researchers. It was no mistake that I ended up at this fine institution. A Samisota always does his research (why, I am the perfect example of a researching Samisota, hah) and when the University of Canberra first extended its offer of a Professorship to me, I investigated the institution and found that, not only is it one of the best in Australia, it is one of the best in the world.

While William has apologised for his outburst on Wednesday, his mother and I have discussed his actions and decided that he shall be grounded until the first week of University, and for the next few days he will be confined to his room. Initially he was to be permitted to use the telephone, but he called his friend Jake for “moral support” and they talked for several hours before I pulled out the phone cord. Since then he has been denied use of the telephone, as I certainly don’t want him covertly generating an enormous bill just to get back at me. His attitude is really beginning to frustrate me, and I often wonder just where he went wrong. It’s certainly no fault of mine (it could possibly be Anita’s fault, though I doubt it). I have treated him (until recently) the same way that I treated the young Jonathan; with respect and dignity.

They do say that every child goes through a rebellious phase. Jonathan never did, so perhaps it is safe to assume that William is just intentionally acting up to get my goat, cancelling out his brother’s exceptional behaviour. Why, that is a frightening thought. William was such a good child until recent years, this does not bode well for me. I shudder to think what Amanda’s rebellious phase will be like, as she is already the most frustrating, immature 14 year old I’ve ever had to deal with. Ah well, I assume that in future years I shall be able to look back on these days, laugh and produce an eloquent observation to the effect of “All’s well that end’s well.”

Oh. I almost forgot. I have decided to update this weblog with at least one substantial entry each week, regardless of how many of these insignificant postings I put up. Cheerio.

It seems that within an hour of my first posting (thanks to my brilliant son Jonathan for helping me set this up) this weblog had attained over three hundred views despite the fact that I had only notified my immediate friends and family of the site’s existence. Of course, that number has continued to balloon since but a gentleman doesn’t need to gloat, not much anyway, so I shall keep that exact figure to myself until a later date.

While I give my new readers a chance to catch up on my first post regarding my trip to Canada during the last month, I will give you all some background information about myself and my family, in case you should find it useful in discovering all of the knowledge and perspective that an education in Samisotian adventures has to offer.

I graduated from the University of Berkeley in 1972 with a degree in something that I no longer care about (I won’t bore you with the details, except to say that I know everything about the subject at hand and eventually lost interest) and made my name known among my colleagues as the sort of person who didn’t waste time dabbling in silly “culture” scenes like hippies, communist revolutionaries, and the like – though I did vaguely sympathise with their cause. Eventually I moved on to bigger and better things, like exploring the Canadian wilderness in search of answers to ancient Native American myths about the true nature of the beaver, and other supposedly sacred mammals inhabiting the wondrous continent of North America.

In 1984, I discovered a special subspecies of beaver with very interesting qualities that I look forward to talking about on this weblog at a later time (I can’t yet spoil the surprise, but I can assure you that it is something that only someone of my intellectual caliber could stumble upon.) Following my acceptance into the scientific community as the leading specialist in beaver studies, I moved to Canberra, Australia, where I was offered a job as a professor at the world renowned University of Canberra. It was at this fine educational facility that I met my wife, Anita, who was chair of the board at the University until she felt compelled to resign thanks to the conflict of interest in serving in that position while concurrently being wooed by yours truly. We Samisotas only pick mates of the finest moral fibre.

This marriage was soon followed by the birth of our bright son Jonathan, in 1986. William followed in 1990, as well as a daughter in 1993.

I have taken the boys on many an expedition and the odd educational hunting trip, and we have been through many life-changing experiences together (and that is saying something, when one considers how stable and firm a personality I have). Yes, the extent of these experiences has been magnificent. Jonathan has likewise taken well to these experiences. We are still working on William, but there is hope for the boy yet. They are both well trained in first aid, and know everything one could possibly know about strategy and survival. I believe in a real first class education, not the sort you obtain from playing video games or reading books all day, whatever the less lucky kids are doing, but I can assure you that the boys have benefited immensely from the life I have given them.

Unfortunately, the forces of evil do – from time to time – try to give me a scare, perhaps to discourage the ground-breaking research I have conducted in regards to the genetic make-up of beavers (just to tease your appetites a little), which explains why I am the subject of constant tax audits as well as personal attacks questioning my very sound credentials including my degree from the University of Berkeley, which only I would be able minded enough to receive in such a short span of time.

Nevertheless, I have withstood these unprincipled displays of ignorance and will continue to present the truth wherever it reveals itself to me, and I feel it is my calling to relay this life-transforming information to my humble readers. This is why I will continue to, in the face of tax audits and politically motivated attacks, write about my adventures on this very weblog. The numbers don’t lie – what I have here is a following in the making. If you are ready to open your eyes, you will stick with this site. The content that I will post here in the coming weeks and months will be nothing like you have ever seen, and unlike other people purporting to know everything about the world, I won’t be asking for a monetary donation. In fact, I refuse to even let you have my bank details. I’m rich enough already.

A special thank-you goes out to visitor no. 317, who stopped by exactly one hour after my Canadian Adventure post was published. You are part of something big, my friends, something that will rock the establishment. There’s a new world coming, folks, and you better be ready.

I have just returned from an exciting and rather informative trip into the remote regions of Canada (Northern Canada, that is, not Vancouver). Although we had our share of trials and tribulations, my two sons and I have returned home safely to our glorious homestead just outside of Canberra. My darling wife Anita was in tears when we arrived and had I been a lesser man, the force of her embrace would have bowled me over. My daughter was also pleased to see us, but I managed to dodge her hug. Anita was eager to hear stories from our trip, but my sons and I had to politely refuse to tell her. During the trip, William tried convincing me to write my memoirs, but on top of my work at the University of Canberra it would be too much, and I would not have time for my other hobbies. Jonathan suggested that I start a weblog on the Internet, in which I could quite easily inform not only my many friends and family, but also total strangers of my adventures and my findings, providing you all with valuable and educational insight into the life of one of the world’s top intellectuals. I shall start with an explanation of the aims of our journey into the Canadian wilderness, and then give a fairly detailed account of our experiences.

Aims:

1. To capture several specimens of beaver, 3 male and 3 female.

2. To hunt down and kill a bear of any species.

3. To construct a large log cabin to be used as a base for any future adventures.

Experiences:

We arrived at the Toronto International Airport on the 2nd of December, 2007 at 6pm local time. My sons requested that we spend a night in Toronto after 49 hours of continuous air travel, but I refused. I announced that we would press on, a decision they would thank me for later. We boarded an extremely small plane and flew north, landing several hours later at an airstrip in the middle of nowhere. A helicopter then took us further north over the forests until we reached the point I had marked on our adventure map. At this point it must have been nearing midnight, but time cannot stop a Samisota, and my sons and I jumped out of the helicopter almost 1 kilometre above the ground. Our luggage was thrown out after us, and the timed parachutes we’d had installed on them activated perfectly as the helicopter was flying away. My sons and I, however, decided to free-fall for a while, and I tell you, there is nothing more exhilarating than falling head first towards an Arctic forest on a cold winter night; it’s fantastic.

At some point, I can’t exactly say when, it became apparent that we were going to land in the forest. Jonathan and I released our parachutes. William, for some reason, did not. Luckily, due to an onset of nerves and crying, he had not leapt out of the helicopter at the same time as Jonathan and myself, and we were able to catch him as he fell past, otherwise he would surely have fallen to his death. I quickly became frustrated, having to hold my unconscious son and it was making us fall faster, so Jonathan released William’s parachute and we let him drift away from us.

The next thing I knew, it was broad daylight. I was suspended some distance off the ground, as my parachute was tangled in the treetops. As I glanced around, I noticed that our luggage was also suspended from various branches. I managed to account for all my bags then began looking around for my sons. William was fairly close-by, still sleeping like a baby. His parachute had slipped through the treetops, somehow, but had been stopped by several branches lower down on the rather impressive trees of this forest. It appeared as though Jonathan, being an exceptionally brave lad, had attempted to cut himself loose from his tangled parachute and as a result was lying in the snow with what looked to be a broken leg and possibly the odd bit of frostbite on his nose.

We hung there for several hours before I heard a noise. At first I thought it was a bird, or possibly a sick animal on it’s way to die. However, it was neither of these things. It was, in fact, the speech of a native savage who had miraculously stumbled upon us in his quest for food. He was calling to the other members of his tribe, and at first they crowded around Jonathan until I yelled at them. There was some commotion amongst them, and eventually one little runt shimmied up a tree and set to work on my ropes. I yelled at him to stop (as I did not wish to fall) but he kept sawing them. Eventually, one of the ropes from my parachute gave way and I swung across to a tree, slamming into it. He cut the rest of my ropes, allowing me to climb down the tree, whereupon I gave him the back of my hand for not heeding my warnings. As the runt went to work on getting William down from the tree, I introduced myself to someone who appeared to be the tribe leader. I couldn’t understand a word of the gibberish he spouted, and he couldn’t understand English, no matter how loudly and slowly I spoke. After several minutes of confusion I managed to figure out that the people were Aztecs, the native inhabitants of Northern Canada, Alaska and other Arctic regions. We spent several hours retrieving the luggage, then returned to the Aztec village, where Jonathan was treated for his minor ailments.

We spent almost two weeks in the village doing almost nothing. The Aztecs seemed to think we were Gods of some sort, judging by the way they avoided our hut and refused to look at us, or talk to us. I perused the local establishments, where I was again treated with great respect; they refused to charge me for anything. Jonathan was still quite sick, but William was a nervous wreck for no apparent reason. I figured rightly that the perfect thing to cheer him up would be a hunting trip with his dear old Pa. I visited the local weapons dealer, took two sturdy-looking rifles and a large assortment of blades, then led William off into the forest. We spent several days tramping through the snow, spending the nights in hammocks suspended from trees. On the 12th day of the hunting trip, we came across a bear cave. After staking out the surrounds for several days we managed to fathom that inside the cave was a female bear and two cubs. The best strategy in this situation is, of course, to kill the cubs first so that you may aggravate the mother into pursuing you so that you may more easily trap and kill her.

On the 18th day of the hunting trip, the mother left the cave to find food, whereupon William and I quickly snuck in and killed the two cubs with our blades, which we did not clean. While this generally would’ve been enough to lead the mother bear to us, I wanted to make sure, so we covered ourself in the blood of the two cubs, then dragged their corpses out of the cave to the nearest river, where we loaded our rifles and lay in wait for the mother bear, keeping the surging torrents of the rapids at our back. It was not long before we heard the mighty roar of the enraged Grizzly as she entered her cave to find her cubs missing, and a trail of blood leading outside.

When the bear reached us, we took aim and fired at her neck (although I suspect William’s aim was a bit off). Our rifles, however, did absolutely nothing, and it appeared as though the Aztecs had sold us lemons. Pulling out my hunting knife I yelled to William, “We will prevail, son, we will prevail!” At this point the bear lunged at him, for he had the cubs behind him. He screamed and jumped backwards into the river, the current whisked him downstream and no doubt he sustained injury from the jagged rocks, but I did not know whether the red waves I saw in the corner of my eye was his blood, or the beast rising within me, giving me the power to tackle this mighty foe. I lunged forward, and dug my knife into the bear’s side, who in turn gave me a whack on the side for my trouble. I was sent flying, yet I landed safely on the other side of the river. I pulled out the Aztec machete that I had found in the village and prepared for another confrontation. My coat was lying on the other bank, ripped apart by the bear’s mighty claws; all that stood between me and this fearsome beast was the coat of thick black hair on my chest. The bear leapt across the river towards me, but then its neck exploded. I looked round in astonishment to see the runt from the Aztec village holding my rifle in his hands. I looked at the bear, which had been pinned to the ground by a spear that the boy had shot through the animal’s neck.

We returned to the village (on the runt’s snowmobile) to find a shaken William who, despite some minor cuts scattered about his body, was fine. It was at this point that he suggested I write my memoirs, the tone in his voice was confusing, but he meant well all the same. Jonathan was up and about, and greeted us enthusiastically, pointing out that his nose now added to the “beaten adventurer” image he was trying to cultivate. The Aztec chief approached and spouted some nonsense at us, but we all ignored him and instead revelled in our victory (I had bought back one of the dead cubs).

That night, upon returning to our cabin, we found all our belonging outside and the door locked. Mystified, we ventured a few hundred metres into the nearby forest, figuring that now was as good a time as any to start working on Objective Number 3: the base. We spent the night felling trees, and my morning we had 3 cut down. We had just started to work on removing the bark when a familiar sound appeared in the sky above us: a helicopter was flying over the treetops. I ran back to the village, leaving Jonathan and William with our trees, and found the Aztec chief talking to a man in a ridiculous outfit. Upon spotting me, this man strode over and introduced himself (in English!) as a ranger. It turned out that the Aztecs had ratted us in for hunting without a “permit”, how they did so I don’t know, as it is impossible to understand their language. However, to make a long story short, we were to leave with the ranger. I protested of course, but he insisted, and it’s very un-Samisotian to turn down an offer of hospitality so I fetched the boys, packed the luggage and off we went.

When we reached the ranger’s base, we were incarcerated and I was told that until I paid the total fine of $25,000 (apparently those particular bears were protected, poppycock in my opinion, and if so, why isn’t the runt the one being fined?). I held out on them for a total of 19 days before giving in to the man’s ridiculous demands. There was no way, of course, that Anita could raise such money to pay a ransom, and she does not have access to my bank account, so we would have been trapped in there forever unless, by some miracle, the sadistic ranger had repented. I handed over a check for $25,000 (a mere fraction of my fortune, I assure you) and we were sent on our way to Toronto along with a 104 week ban from hunting in Canada.

And that, my friends, brings me to the end of my log for tonight. There may have been details that I missed in this post that I shall inform you of, but if not, I bid you adieu till next time, when we shall (no doubt) discuss something equally scintillating, educational and, of course, Samisotian.

UPDATE: I forgot to mention that we failed (not through lack of effort) to achieve our first Objective on this trip. There were simply no beavers to be found, it was quite infuriating.