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"De Goone Landiag"

Just fifteen mouth from tomorrow Aquanaute Jamef Cook will sette foote on ye lande knowrte af Newe Zeelande, provided of courfe hat he doth, not fall off the edge of ye Worlde in ye proceff. Withe him goeth Zacary Hicks ye parrffitly incompetent Fecond in command.

Ye hazordouf miffion commenceth in the forenoon tomorrow when ye goode shippe "Endeavour" do blast off ye slippe att Plymouthe at ye death-defying speede of sourre (yesse Fourre!) miles per weeke. Breaking free of ye terrtorial wartef of ye Realm ye shippe will heade out toward ye terrifying void of Oceania: Lande of ye griffin and ye dreaded Fofer's Lager. Once ye courfe correctione if made there will be little employment for ye aquanaulf for ye next thirteene monthf fave that of indulging in ye unfavourie feafaring habitf. To witte ye homo sexualitie and ye "Hitting ye Piff" (invented by Sirre F. Drake)

Then when lande iss sighted ye commande shippe wille circumnavigae ye terrain whiche floateth upfidedowne af iff by Magicke!! Donning ye spiked shoes for walking on ye invered surface Cook and Hickf wille leave ye shippe in ye fspecial dinghy and make for ye steaming maff. Af ye dinghy groundeth on ye beach, jamef Cook will put ye recently-discovered megaphone to his sips and point it at ye command shippe, which will be navigating in ever-diminishing circlef under ye hand of Aquanaute Banks who by this time will be verrie piffed, shouting "Ye Cook if in ye Kitchen."

He will then place his right foote into ye hotte poole with ye words"* * * * Kinge George!" Next he wille 'naile ye plaque onto ye nearese native, inscribed with ye words "Ye sections for sale: applie ye secretary of state for ye Colonies Whitehall London W.C.I" After ye short reft periode ye two heroef wille attempt to rape ye Maori maiden. In ye event of this proving impossible. Cook will grab ye handful of pubyckr haire from her lye contingencie sample), stuff it into his cocked hatte and make ye bolte for it. Should there be a hole in ye dinghy at this stage the aquanautf wille be shit out of lucke, verilie.

After "docking" with ye mother shippe ye intripide ambaffadorf of humanitie will face ye boring journie back to Englande and ye perilouf re-entry into ye fogge of Whitby where two million grate tulle citizenf wille not be awaiting theyre arrival.

At foon af Cook ande Hickf frep afshore they will be flung into ye cellarre of ye Herbert Grott Home for ye Difeafed as ye precaution against ye "Poxe Antipodeus Horrenduf". Forty years later they will be released— God willing deade.

—God save ye Kinge!

Sludge