Dusty Gulch Grand Throwdown: Thunderdome, Cattle, Cake and the Honklander III
By Roderick McNibble, Chief Investigative Correspondent, Ratty News
Dusty Gulch had been quiet for nearly twelve minutes.
That, as locals will tell you, is usually the warning sign.
The event began with what the Council described as a “community cattle appreciation and cultural resilience exhibition.”
By mid-morning, the paddock had become a festival ground. By noon, it had become something else entirely.
And by afternoon, the sky had developed opinions.
And all because of a feud between two men... read it and find out....
ROMA/ROCKHAMPTON - In what historians are already calling The Great Lamington Incident of '26, two old bush warriors have thrown down the gauntlet in the hallowed dust of the Thunderdome Arena at Dusty Gulch.
One side flies the flag for Rockhampton, self-proclaimed Cattle Capital of Queensland. The other stands defiant for Roma, undisputed Stockyard King and home of the biggest cattle yards in the Southern Hemisphere.
The showdown was scheduled for dawn but postponed due to The Major sleeping in and Dusty McFookit having to clean the Feline Five's litter boxes. It was also raining and neither party had an umbrella. So fair is fair.
Arrival of the competing forces
At one end of the arena stood The Major,for Roma, a man whose sense of order had survived multiple operational theatres, budget cuts, and one particularly aggressive map projection error.
At the other stood Dusty McFookit, for Rocky, already in conversation with the wind, the fencing, and a cow that may or may not have been part of the judging panel.
Between them: the Thunderdome, hastily modified and already leaning slightly into philosophy.
But something bigger was on the horizon.... above them all circled the unmistakable silhouette of the Honklander III.
Inside it, unseen but deeply felt, was Prentis Penjani - a shapeshifting creature of questionable jurisdiction, shifting identity, self appointed ruler of all lands from Dusty Gulch to the sea, and the kind of administrative ambiguity that causes governments to quietly change the subject. Or change position.
But back to my story dear reader, as I describe the latest developments.
The aircraft did not announce itself.
It simply arrived with intent.
While Dusty Gulch awaited the showdown, something else was happening behind the scenes.
The Didgeridoo Singing Auctioneer
The cattle auction was supposed to be a warm-up event.
It was not.
The auctioneer, known only as “The Voice ” , had incorporated a didgeridoo into his performance style after “a spiritual encounter with a platypus on a midnight journey on Redhead's horse en route to a midnight council.”
Each cattle bid was sung, not spoken - deep harmonic notes that caused livestock to reconsider their life choices.
- A cow was listed.
- A note was played.
- Someone accidentally bought a tractor instead.
The Major observed this with tactical suspicion.
Dusty McFookit nodded approvingly, as though this was the only rational way cows had ever behaved.
Above them, the Honklander III banked slowly, as if trying to decide whether regulation applied locally.
It can be revealed that the auctioneer took the bomb Alaska and auctioned it to the highest bidder. That winning bidder was none other than the CWA.
They declared it a National Treasure and Dusty Gulch is now about to become a sister city to Juneau Alaska.
When the dish was ceremonially cut, after being flown to the newly appointed Guardian of the Sacred Mounrtain, Chook " the One who Rides with Sponge Cake " the lamington inside was discovered to be structurally intact and, according to at least three witnesses, “mildly over it all.”
At that exact moment:
- The wind changed direction
- The cattle stopped moving
- The Thunderdome creaked like it had opinions
The Major quietly noted the timing. He looked at his rival with a questioning glance.
Dusty McFookit simply said, “Yep.”
Thunderdome engagement: The Major vs Dusty McFookit
The Akubras were thrown to signal the beginning of the event.
Inside the Thunderdome, the encounter unfolded as previously recorded:
- Precision vs improvisation
- Structure vs terrain memory
- Strategy vs refusal to be strategised
But now the environment had changed.
Because outside the dome:
- cattle were being auctioned in musical frequency bands
- dessert was actively destabilising approved morale
- and Prentis Penjani’s Honklander III was casting a moving shadow that suggested surveillance, or possibly appetite
The Major adjusted accordingly.
Dusty McFookit adjusted first.
Neither gained advantage. Both had gained a realisation that this was not about them. Whether Roma or Rocky was king of the cattle or the cattleyard, what was more important was the Honklander III hovering overhead.
The Honklander III intervention (sort of)
At the precise moment the Thunderdome reached philosophical equilibrium, the Honklander III descended to a height best described as “confidently inappropriate.”
A loudspeaker crackled. No instructions followed.
Instead, there was a pause - long enough for everyone to assume instructions would follow.
They did not.
The aircraft simply hovered. Watching. Waiting.
Prentis Penjani remained unseen, but his influence was unmistakable.
The Major nodded and Dusty McFookit nodded. At precisely the same moment, they aimed their carefully concealed rapid fire lamington machine guns at the Honklander III. Coconut filled the sky and fell down like snow. Chocolate hit the rotating blades of the sinister craft and lumps of vanilla sponge made contact with the fuselage and motors.
The Honklander III sputtered off in retreat.
The crowds roared with approval and the two adversaries clapped each other on the back and shook their fists at the rapidy retreating creepy craft of cold contempt, yelling " Suffer in your jocks! "
Aftermath at the Dusty Gulch pub
By sundown, everything returned to its natural state: unresolved but socially acceptable.
The cattle were accounted for (approximately).
The lamington-in-baked-Alaska was declared “symbolically intact.”
The Honklander III was last seen departing in the general direction of plausible deniability.
Prentis Penjani was, as usual, not on any official list.
At the bar of the Dusty Gulch pub:
- The Major sat with controlled stillness
- Dusty McFookit sat with environmental familiarity
Two Emu brews appeared.
Neither spoke for a long time. Then The Major gave a slight nod.
Dusty replied, “Reckon that’ll do.”
In the official report, the event was classified as:
“Multi-domain cultural engagement exercise with unresolved competitive outcome and excessive dessert-related symbolism.”
In Dusty Gulch, it was described more simply:
" No worries mate. We showed the bastard who's boss."
Curtain. Dust settles. Coconut still drifting gently from the sky.
This is Roderick ( Whiskers ) McNibble signing off with sticky fingers and a very chocolate flavoured fedora. Till next time, stay twitchy.
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