The scene is set, a dark night, cold wind blowing, campfire flickering, stars twinkling in the dark sky. Three hang-glider pilots sitting by the campfire, one from Australia, one from South Africa and one from NewZealand. Each embroiled in the bravado for which they are famous.
The night of tales begins -
Kiven the Kiwi says,
" I must be the meanest, toughest, heng glider therees. Why, just the other day I linded in a field and scared a crocodile, who came out of the swamp and ate sux men who were standen close by. I grebbedthe crocodile and wrestled him to du ground and killed em with my bare hends"
Jerry from South Africa who typically can’t stand to bettered said,
"Well you guys, I lended orfter a 200 mile flight in my heng glider on a tinytrail, and a Namibian snike slid out from under a rock and made a move onme. I grebbed de borsted with me bare hinds and beet it’s head off ind the nsucked the poison from it’s body down in one gulp. End I’m still here today"
Bazza the Aussie remained silent, slowly poking the fire with his prick.