Tales from the Nadir (1000 followers special!)

𝒮o yes, I live in Australia (also Saturn and Jupiter) and yes, I have fallen off the bottom of the Earth. Only once though. 

I was just strolling along the street, it being my monthly public appearance and all, (one must keep the masses pleased) and this huge dinosaur came running down the street towards me.

Now, this in itself isn't completely irregular here in Australia but what was so shocking was that it was riding a scooter. A kids' scooter. 

It was gaining on me fast, so I started ducking down side alleys and climbing trees (and then realising my folly and climbing back down) and being rather clever all things considered. 

It was then that I found myself at a dead-end both literally and figuratively. The situation had really hit rock-bottom from my perspective. You see, in a moment of genius I had decided to start digging downwards into someone's front lawn and using my special digging powers I had managed to dig at least 6cm before I realised there was a big rock right where I was trying to dig. It was then that I noticed that the dinosaur had caught up and was eyeing me in a rather ominous way.

I don't know if you've ever been picked up by an enraged reptilian-monster but it's not an experience I would ever recommend, for one thing the breath of one been dead for 65 million years has a tendency to be a tad poignant. Anyway, there I was hanging what felt like kilometres in the air whilst being squashed in the foreclaws of a T-Rex (it was a T-Rex by the way). It was just as the T-Rex opened its mouth and I was faced with the maws of death that I decided to activate my special super-rocketboots and anti-gravity field. 

Next thing I knew I was floating space in the vicinity of Jupiter, I activated my space-googles and super-jet and made my way down to the surface. 

So yes, in my opinion that count as falling off the bottom of the Earth, to be fair I did get a little help from the rocketboots and antigrav field. 

I stayed on Jupiter for some time after that before moving to Saturn which is where I am now (see my blog "I'm Moving to Saturn soon."). 

Here are a bunch of other stories of mine!

Sometimes I visit Earth for holidays; recently I went on a road trip to a place called Tasmania (which is like a little island south of Australian mainland). 

The first few days were fairly uneventful, except for the occasional dinosaur incident the days went by like days tend to always do.

It was on the third day of my holiday that I arrived at the ferry terminal (for ferrying the car across to Tasmania from the mainland, my rocket boots keep malfunctioning halfway between jumps resulting in dumping me kicking and screaming (literally) in some embarrassing circumstances at times).

After getting my cabin key I made my way to the outer decks and settled myself against a convenient metal pillar. It was very windy out here due to it being a moving boat and out on open water and all. I was contemplating moving back inside when a man rounded the corner of the pillar and nearly walked into me. 

Now, I don't consider myself particularly terrifying, or for that matter, beardy in appearances but obviously others must do so for this man's first reaction was to leap backwards about 60 feet and exclaim "Oh Jesus" which, I must say, is an interesting connection he made. My reaction at being bombarded by religious fanatics, under the misguided belief that I am somehow of universal importance varies from time to time, place to place. However, on this occasion I merely widened my eyes substantially at him. This had little effect in itself, and he tottered off on his way without speaking another word. 

After hopping (not literally, the boots were still faulty) off the boat I made my way to a small Café. At this Café I decided that a prudent course of action was to order hot chips. 

I was rather looking forward to these chips. On the menu they seemed rather pricey weighing in at $12 a serve but I was hungry and said chippies seemed just the cure.

Picture my chagrin when said chips arrive in a neat little pile, all 12 of them. One. Dollar. A. Chip.

Well I wasn't expecting that and I told the staff so. I was informed via a long self-pitying sob-story that Tasmania was under a potato famine and prices had skyrocketed. I still managed to get half price on the chips.

After visiting the local supermarket I found potatoes to be roughly $4kg. Draw what conclusions you will. 

I then made my way to my accommodation, a rather sandy campground with lots of flies. It turned out that the sand may have been due to it's proximity to a beach, which happened to be about 20 or so metres away. 

Over the days I spent there I went on a few long walks (20km walks, much harder without my (not so) trusty rocket-boots.) and spent a lot of the time lazing around in a camp chair on the beach. 

It was here that the SLOTH movement started. 

I was slouched in my camp chair defying the ocean by placing myself a few metres away from the tide line when I had the sudden urge to draw on the beach.

I grabbed a nice stick and wrote, in large bubble letters, the word "SLOTH" in the sand. 

That done I made my way back to the campsite and my tent. 

The next morning when I went down to the beach, I was surprised to see that my writing had remained, for the most part, intact. As I walked along the beach, I was shocked further to see that someone else had written the word "SLOTH" in equally large letters in the sand. 

Thus started the SLOTH movement; everyday I would write a new SLOTH on the beach and a few other people would write it too along the beach, including some younger kiddies. 

It was on the last day at this campground that I started coming down with Covid-19 (apparently coming face to face with fanatics even when outdoors is not too safe).  

Covid was not nice. High fevers and lots of sleeping ensued. Luckily, I was staying at a hotel in Hobart (state capital of Tasmania) so I had some comfort like a TV, and a couch, and a bed.

After a few days at the hotel, I was informed that it was not to last (the comfort, not the Covid) and was promptly deposited out the front of the hotel with my bags. 

Next stop was a small campground on the southern peninsula. On the way there I stopped at a visitor centre for the national park which advertised hot springs and other such luxuries (like cave tours(?)). Turns out the hot springs were closed for "maintenance" so I settled for a small table out the front of the building instead. 

At this point I was still poorly but well enough to walk around a bit and eat more so I speedily emptied the trusty hamper and helped myself to corn chips and tonic water. 

Thus, it was as I was sitting in my chair eating corn chips that I noticed a lady staring at me. 

Now I'm not sure if you tend to be stared at a lot in public, but I do, and I have my methods to deal with this strange behaviour. 

I would stare back at her for a few seconds until she looked away then go back to eating, but it was soon evident that further action would be required. 

When next I caught her staring, I slowly picked up my sunglasses (reflective and thoroughly cool) and once I had installed them upon my face, I proceeded to stare right back at her, once she looked away, I took off the sunglasses and went back to eating. 

This carries on for about 10minutes. She stares, I sunglasser, she looks away, I eat. 

Eventually she caught on and would stop staring as soon as I so much as touched my sunglasses, 'twas rather droll. 

From the visitor centre I made my way to the campground that would become my abode for the next few days. 

It was rather busy and there were lots of flies. Being next to a beach it was also sandy and windy. Otherwise, it was just fine. 

At this point I was still unwell, (I wore a mask and hyperspace-suit whenever I was in a public place.) and I spent most of my time here in my tent. 

The second day here was notably balmy, clocking in at 30C or so and being in my tent under the midday sun was most decidedly not a prudent course of action, so I proceeded to stay in my tent and read my book. 

Now you might be thinking "Max, (or Wolfe, Maxie, or possibly even Stinker) why on Earth would you be staying in your tent on a hot day when provided with a perfectly fine beach?" To this I must reply by drawing your attention to the bity flies which were being as perfectly menacing as the beach was attractive. 

I happened to be reading a book called Dune, or Knoll, or something like that, which is about some chappie who decided that it would be a nice idea to live in a desert and become a messiah of sorts. After sweltering in my tent for about 3 hours reading this book I started (bear in mind I was also still unwell) becoming a tad delusional and managed to get it into my head I was also a desert messiah living in a desert (in a tent of course) surrounded all around by my enemies; the deadly biting flies.  

Eventually I decided to remove myself from the sanctuary of my sauna and face mine fiercest foes. It turned out that a slight breeze had picked up and said foes being rather stymied by the zephyr, had retired to the lake of fire or wherever it is they happen to reside. 

I spent the rest of the afternoon slowly strolling up and down the beach scaring the local tourists. 

A couple of days later it was time to view the local surroundings via my feet. Basically, I went for a walk. A 20-kilometre walk. 

I won't say I didn't struggle in my condition and without my rocket boots. Quite frankly I found it rather trying. 

It was a long walk that started at a carpark of sorts and ended at some beach. The main problem being that once at the beach one must eventually walk back to the carpark.

It was as I was walking back that the full import of my situation became apparent. Mainly because I started falling asleep as I walked. 

In all honesty (so far there are no untruths in this blog) it was only for a few seconds at a time, but you know, one must get their beauty sleep if one is to keep the plebeians satisfied. 

By the time I made it back to the car it was dark out which was rather impressive considering I had set out at 2pm and it was sunset at 9:30pmish. 

One must envy the proverbial log, for their sleep is most definitely of the soundish sort. It is like the said log that I slept that night.

After leaving this Tartarus of a campground there followed a rather boring span of time where not much at all happened. So, we shall pass over that merely with a disapproving glance. 

A few weeks later I happened to be staying at some mountain of local importance (something to do with babies as I recall, oh that's right, Cradle Mountain). It was here that it transpired that I be chased by murderous wombats. 

Now, you may say to me: "Surely Max, wombats are cute and cuddly, they have not an ounce of the sociopathic".

To this I must reply: "One would think that Wilberforce, (or Fred, or Graham, or Beatrix, or whatever your name happens to be) but these Cradle Mountain wombats are of special variety, and surely I am not the average tourist".

To this you would reply "Oh yes, I concede you are fully correct, and I am in the wrong, all hail Max the most awesome".

I don't know if you've ever stumbled your way along a mountain path in Tasmania at night, but if, like me, you have had the opportunity to then you may have encountered the phenomenon known as the "wombat". Of medium size, stout, fluffy and bloodthirsty. 

It was as I was as stumbling along this path at night that I heard an ominous snarling coming from somewhere ahead of me. Being an adventurous, brave sort of fellow, I decided to investigate. So naturally I jogged along a few dozen metres before I had an epiphany of sorts. 

There, charging along the path at 120 miles per hour towards me, were two vampiric quadrupeds of the wombat variety. 

Those who know me tend to get the idea that I'm some sort of social piranha, (as I believe the expression is) and that I make a habit of eating those that I meet in a vigorous fashion. To be candid, this is not true at all, and when faced by actual social piranhas my first instinct is to turn the other way and leg it, which is what I did on this occasion. 

After a period of hiding under some convenient shrubbery for the most part of 2 minutes I decided it would be safe to continue on my way to my cabin. This I managed to achieve with no further cataclysms occurring. 

This was nearing the end of my stay in Tasmania and not without good reason, my engagement with the ferry back was also markedly closer than before, so I deemed it sagacious to make my way into the proximity of Devonport, which is where my ferry docks in. 

A few days later I was on the old dinghy making my way back over the open oceans to the mainland. From the mainland port there only remained the drive back to my holiday house in Sydney which I went ahead and executed in two separate bursts over the course of the next couple of days. 

I'm sorry to say there isn't a whole lot more to tell you of my tales from the depths of the world. Hopefully you learnt something instructive along the way. 

So long friends, thanks for reading! 

"Today a man knocked on my door and asked for a small donation towards the local swimming pool. I gave him a glass of water."