Mr. Wapojif has returned from an unrelaxing week off. It was unrelaxing as our esteemed editor spent the week “off” in a new type of profession – Sand Castle Inspection. He took this duty upon himself as Sand Castle Making is a hectic sport at this time of year – it is summer after all. Without missing a beat he headed off to the nearest beach (Blackpool in not-so-sunny England) armed and ready to take on the dangerous duties of moderating this most tumultuous of sports. It was a task befitting a true hero, and Mr. Wapojif was willing to lay his life on the line for the good of the nation and this much vaunted sport. Now then – what is it all about?
Each summer, peaceful families head out to beach resorts to take in the sun (or drizzle here in England) and compete (often violently) in the highly competitive world of Sand Castle Making. It’s not merely about the height of the sand castle, and the elaborateness of the design, but the quality of the sand. The latter is simultaneously essential, integral, and very bloody important. A Sand Castle Inspector (SCI) must determine all involved in the event fall in line with the demands of the regulations. On pain of death! Mr. Wapojif is a man who takes his duties with the utmost sincerity and severity, and he headed out to Blackpool with a violent gleam in his eyeballs. This is what he uncovered. Brace yourselves; it were not pretty.
Arming Oneself For Duty
To be an SCI one needs the right equipment. This is as follows:
- Drug testing kit (to ensure sand castle revellers aren’t doping to improve their abilities),
- A shotgun (for security measures),
- A donkey (for travel across the vast expanses of a beach),
- Kendal Mint Cake (for energy during the arduous hours),
- Pen, paper, notepad, mobile phone, and a Fish & Chips meal (the meal is more than mere food – it indicates to participants you are “one of them”, thusly easing any anxiety over your presence. Believe it or not many were, at first, somewhat alarmed about one’s wielding of a shotgun),
- A sextant and compass (if you’re washed away by the tide, you can use these to return to shore),
- 20 flares and a boomerang (again, if you’re washed away by the tide the flares can signal ships, whilst a boomerang can act as an intriguing bargaining tool. This would be handy should you be stranded on an abandoned island with a previously undiscovered, cannibalistic tribe).
- A bucket and spade (if necessary, you can provide a tutorial to observers on how sand castle making works. The spade is also useful to dig under any suspect sand castles – often you can find dead bodies, drugs, and other debauched lunacy beneath an innocuous sand castle).
On arrival at Blackpool beach it immediately became clear many of the participants were out of their minds on drugs. Groups of children were running around screaming whilst grown adults stood about the place drinking cheap beer, utterly oblivious to their sprog’s depraved behaviour. With a weary shake of my head, I noted down their activities and called the police.
The filth arrived ten minutes later, but despite my insistence they arrest all concerned I was (to my confounded horror) informed to, “Get a ****ing life, mate!” and was myself warned for wasting police time! I can only confide with myself at the state of this nation – we are bereft of values. Decency is no more, and it’s all the fault of the Communists!
Around an hour into my duties my donkey (known as Buttercup, according to the man I hired her from) began to have a few issues. A fit of manic braying drew into a prolonged session which lasted for 17 minutes, and was so deafening I had to abandon my duties for approximately 66.9% of this time.
Buttercup soon debased herself further by defecating repeatedly and refusing to move. Despite a series of stern commands to the beast, she continued with this refusal and wouldn’t budge, fixing myself with a gaze I can only translate from donkey to English as, “Get stuffed, you moron, I’m bored and want to chew cud!”. This impertinence would not stand, and I sentenced the disobedient thing to 30 minutes in the Naughty Corner. This backfired somewhat as Buttercup would not move to the Naughty Corner, prompting me to abandon her entirely. I was informed she was later returned to a farm in Kent, where she frolics amongst the daffodils whilst laughing at my incompetence. Heathen!
I was so disgusted with what I saw at Blackpool beach I wrote an immediate report – this was forwarded to the Office of National Statistics (ONS) and 10 Downing Street for Prime Minister Dave Cameroon to review.
Sand Castle Making is a sham event. Rife with doping scandals, I must reiterate the future for this beleaguered sport is bleak. How can Sand Castle Making be considered a moral pastime if all participants are on some form of hallucinogenic trip? I feel I must point out this is not Woodstock – it is a sporting arena, where danger lurks around every mound of sand. The very fact young children are willing to risk life and limb, and flaunt with Class A Narcotics, suggests to me the very future of humanity depends on the control of these excesses.
Based on my report, I suggest the following actions be taken to offer hope to civilization:
- Ban Sand Castle Making globally.
- Detonate all remaining supplies of PEDs.
- Detonate all the beaches in the world.
- Remove all sand from planet Earth and blast it into space.
- Send all donkeys on a disciplinary course until they learn to respect the Naughty Corner.
- Find out if there really is any cheese in Cheesecake. (unrelated to this topic, but worthy of a mention).