This is from a long time ago, but still funny.
G’day from Quokka University! Byron here: and, as chairquokka of our Political Science Dept., I wish to announce the hiring of an associate professor! Hired by me, in fact. Trumpets, please! May I introduce our first associate professor of political science…here he is…
Norbert the therapy dog!
I hired him because you can hardly believe how sharply he can change direction, even while running at full speed. This is an invaluable skill in politics! Human politicians take pride in their ability to zig-zag, but Norbert puts them all to shame.
I have assigned him to teach Sharp Turns 101 and Being For It, Then Against It 202.
Did I mention he works cheap? Well, he only weighs three pounds, it’s not like you have to feed him a lot. No need to raise the tuition just to feed Professor Norbert.
As for the burning question, “What is the tuition?”, well, don’t look at me, I’m the Poli Sci Dept.! See if you can find the registrar, Aunt Feezy the Quokka, and ask her. I think I saw her going into the mangrove swamp.
I wonder how many phone conversations went like this: “Hello?” “Meow” “Mr. Dogbreth?” Meow.” “I’m calling to report a UFO!” “Murrrr…” Clunk! as the cat, having run out of patience, knocks the phone to the floor.
Does your cat answer your phone when it rings?
From January 31, 2021
Introducing Chapter CDI of her epic romance, Oy, Rodney, Violet Crepuscular takes a break from the plot and inserts extractions from some of her fan mail. She is hampered in this exercise by an inability to read. Otherwise she would never have let some of these letters see the light of day.
“It’s not that I can’t read at all,” she hastens to explain. “It’s just that I can’t read stuff that people write.” We are glad she’s cleared that up. “Fan mail,” she adds, “proves that you’ve got readers.”
From Cindy Indy, Rawalpindi: “Dear Ms. Crepuscular, your novel proves to be an effective decay-preventive dentifrice when used in a program of conscientious oral hygiene and regular professional care.”
Ozzie Spore, New York: “Your book is the only thing that keeps me living.”
Ms. June Spumoni, Bad Axe, Michigan: “My pet emu bit and kicked me after I lined his cage with pages from your wretched novel.”
Tom Popocatepetl, Jurassic Park, Hawaii: “How do you spell your name?”
“I have taken some flak for the elegant way in which I got rid of the monsters that had overrun Scurveyshire,” Ms. Crepuscular confides in her readers. She has run out of fan mail and needs to fill the rest of the chapter somehow. Harking back to her days in grade school, she writes in longhand, 100 times, “I must not waste paper.”
G’day! Why did the quokka cross the road?
To try to get some views!
Byron the Quokka here, mates; and it looks like our little bet with Joe Collidge, over who can get the most views, is getting out of hand. Joe has his whole Student Soviet compulsively clicking onto his last post. Good thing they forgot you have to turn the computer on first. Like, if you don’t see anything on the screen, there’s nothing there.
Here at Quokka University, we don’t cheat but we’ve only got the one computer and everybody here has already seen my last TV listings. So we are relying on humans who do not live on Rottnest Island to help us hold our own against those wackos at the college. We do not want to lose the bet and have to give that simpleton an honorary degree from Quokka University–and be laughed at by wombats for the rest of our lives.
Give us a leg up, eh?
