The Story of Wood Shavings

G'day mate! My name is Wood Shavings, the dashing, aboriginal, Genetically Enhanced Wombat Sensei of the G.E.R.T.!
Anyway, mate. Just thought I'd tell you a bit about myself. I'm about 35 or 40 years old in human years, I'm a bipedal Wombat, and sometimes I walk around on all fours. I wear my out-back gear at all times, sometimes even when sleeping, except when I want to pass off as a real wombat. Click here to see a picture of me as a four-footed wombat, when I'm trying to pass off as a real wombat. Pretty good, eh mate? I'm an active member of a secret wombat organization to preserve Austrailian Wildlife, and I'm seeking to find my lost love, Wendy, a Wallaby.

My favorite weapon is my didjeridu. To you blokes who don't know what that is, it's usually a musical instrument that the locals, or aborigines, of the outback in Austrailia play. It takes great skill to play this naturally-hallowed out log, usually of bloodwood, or other native trees. I used the term "usually" because mine doubles as a blowgun. As Rembrandt would say, "Cool, man!".

My story, is a slightly longer than a short one. I'll try to be as brief as I can. So one day I was out doing wombat things, Wendy and I were frolicing in the outback and brush, and these American Scientists got ahold of me and her. We were put in cages, and were shipped off to America. The worst part about adjusting was the bloody time change. So anyway mate, Wendy and I were fed vitamins and this weird goo. One day we were being shipped away again to another laboratory. The van hit a bump and got a flat tire. Somehow Wendy and I escaped. We dove into the sewers, through a broken sewer grate and fell into some green goo. Unfortunately, one of the scientists reached down and grabbed Wendy, but I escaped. While I was sitting in the goo, I met a group of turtles. Nice little lads they were. There was also a large rat. Four of the eight turtles followed me. Chasing after me and calling me "mommy". Bloomin' kids. I told the lads, "I'm not your bloody mommy!"

Fortunately, the lads didn't listen Now, I'm their sensei teaching them the ways of the outback, and things. I gave them all names of these artsy fartsy blokes of earlier centuries. Each of them have their own problems, but they're good lads. I call them: Dali, Escher, Picasso, and Rembrandt. You'll learn more about them in their own stories.

As for me, well, I'm just an average wombat. An average wombat with not-so-average tendencies. I'd love to find Wendy, though. After all.. she hasn't met our four sons! I found a catalog on the streets above when I roamed them at night. The catalog is an austrailian one. I order Vegemite (TM of Kraft Foods) from it, and make Vegemite sandwiches. Makes me feel like I'm home again. Every now and then, I chuck the sandwhiches into the garbage where I can go and root them out again, just for old-times sake. That's always a bloody ball.

Well mate, thanks for listening to my story! I hope you've found it slightly interesting at the very least.

G.E.R.T. are not affiliated in any shape or form of the T.M.N.T.