The ancient land of Café, with its aromatic Pool of Fine Fragrances, was perched precariously on the edge of the yawning North Eastern Abyss. For more years than all but the most ancient of wise men could remember, its mighty caravans hadst trod the known world's trade routes, its goods borne most ably by the sturdy four legged Classique Camel of the Ceeadle stable and the venerable and much loved three legged beast from Parmbeech, the Elleteneleven (which was no relation to Ellemacfersun, but was almost as highly regarded by those who rode her - the Elleteneleven I mean, not Ellemacfersun.) [A not very subtle little joke for the Dununda tribesmen amongst our readers.]

The expurtexpat cameleers of ancient Café loved their beasts of burden to distraction, (now resist any snide comments about the sexual preferences of the Ehscayle caste, dear reader; I'm just translating the scroll as it is presented to me), for should either a Classique Camel or an Elleteneleven throweth a shoe, they wouldst limp gamely on to their destination or a nearby farrier on their three (or two) remaining legs without shedding one ounce of their load and with little more than a mild snort of displeasure.

(Now cometh the time to layshit... ['Layshit'? That's what it says here, whatever that means. As I said before, I'm just the translator.] Now cometh the time to layshit on the Café Ehscayle caste, for those who loveth this sport.)

Now the Ehscayle caste of cameleers were a haughty, some wousdst say arrogant lot, who were richly rewarded for their labours on the caravan routes by their masters, the Swine bin Cowloon. Indeed, their pockets were so thickly lined with gold that their saddles hadst deep indentations to maketh room for their rider's purses. Almost to a man, the lesser cameleers of the Offthescayle castes coveted an elevated perch upon the Café Ehscayle caste's saddles. It wast said by these lesser cameleers that the Café beasts sometimes groaned under the weight, not of the payeloades they carried, but of the Ehscayle cameleers' purses alone.

But such rich reward wast necessary, for to be admitted to the inner ranks of the Café Ehscayle caste, (not to be confused with the secretive tribe who occupied the rarefied atmosphere of the Tent Floor, more of which we will hear later), a cameleer hadst to proveth that he hadst at least three blocks of high rise flats, two and preferably three ex-wives, one young mistress and a light, single-legged camel at some grass strip back home to support (A large boat gathering barnacles at Lan Tau was looked upon with favour by the admissions board, but this was optional.) Even the lowly Effohs of the Ehscayle caste thought themselves a cut far above mere mortals. They tooketh shit from no one but their cameleers, and least of all from the Miserly bin Beancounters.

And now we come to the unfortunate tale of the Miserly bin Beancounters...

Now while the Ehscayle cameleers werest heedlessly counting their sacks of gold and passing them on to their ex-wives and mistresses, the Miserly bin Beancounters werest inveigling themselves with quiet deliberation into the upper ranks of the Swine bin Cowloon on the Tent Floor. And they casteth their eyes with unbridled envy at the Ehscayle cameleers, as with a single mindedness that wast awesome to beholdeth, sought to bringeth them undone. Why shouldst these unruly ruffians who thoughtest so highly of themselves for no good reason enjoyeth a life of counting their gold on their far-too-much-rest-at home-between-voyages? And on these voyages on the trade routes of the far flung world, didst they not do nothing but endlessly couple with smooth skinned, comely, (if usually low life) maidens and drinketh too much sherbet in fivestar sherbet stands?

They kneweth they shouldst putteth a stop(eth) to that. It simply wasn't right, at least not if they couldst not enjoy such fantasies in full themselves. Why not cutteth the rest to a minimum whilst the cameleers werest away so there wast little time for sipping sherbet or coupling with even uncomely maidens? (Like many who had never mounted a camel in their lives, the Miserly bin Beancounters hadst long suspectedth that anyone couldst ride a camel, for the cameleers seemeth to do nothing at all as they satteth upon the huge beast's flanks excepth perhaps to heapeth shit upon their hapless,long suffering effohs, who always suffered in silence except to mutter "Yesiree, the road sure is bumpy...")

But waiteth... there wast even more they couldst do to bring these unworthy Ehscayle creatures to book. In years past, and with aggravating arrogance, the Ehscayle caste had always insistedth that if the Swines bin Cowloon wishedth to ensureth that the payeloades always reachedth their destinations unbroken, unspilled and unspoiled, only they, the Café Ehscayle, werest skilled enough in the ways of the mighty Classique Camel and the Elleteneleven to keep their loads firmly on their broad backs shouldst they throweth a shoe on the trail.

But hadst not Marcel Hardcel, the swift talking camel seller from Onetwoloose, passed by the Tent Floor of late, and hadn't he saidth that he wast breeding a new four legged autocamel in his stables in far off Onetwoloose, an autocamel that ANY cameleer couldst ride - even a cameleer of the unworthy Offthescayle castes? And didst not he say that these autocamels ate-th far less forage than the ever hungry Classique Camels? And didst he not also say that they requireth no thrice damned Effee to tend its feeding along with its ever-suffering Effoh, (as did the Classique Camel and the Elleteneleven). Not only wast this so, but they hardly needeth a real Effoh, for the autocamel dodged its own potholes and called out to the cameleer itself with its own voice when the road got bumpy or "Traffic!, traffic!" crossed its path on the caravan trail.

Marcel Hardcel knew the way to the Head Swine's heart. "Even an Offthescayle cameleer coulds't doeth the job with ease, Head Swine. Why, thou canst even taketh Otymekadets and putteth them beneath the autocamel's tail and they willst be able to gather its shit with ease, for we havest bred the autocamel thusly, so that it shitteth neatly into its own bucket without undue spillage. A child from the Turdworld couldst tendeth it."

The Miserly bin Beancounters were mightily impressed at this news.

As Marcel Hardcel spoketh, his counterpart from Ceeadle stepped onto the Tent Floor. LemME Doitryte4U of the loud checked coat was from a long line of swift talking camel sellers, and he had a newly bred camel of his own to push upon the Head Swine.

"Lissen up, Head Swine," said LemME Doitryte4U, "have I got a deal for you. We've just bred a new wonder camel with only two legs... but get this, two really huge legs, which will carry the same payeloade as the Classique Camel just as far, but for half the cost in camel shoes and fodder."

Marcel Hardcel wasn't about to be outdone by some loud mouthed Yanquee upstart from Ceeadle. "We've got one as well, Head Swine! Let me giveth you some for free since you're taking our four legged autocamels."

The Head Swine and his beancounters were almost overcome in joy as they read the amazing figures of massive savings thrust under their noses by the swift talking pair, but they were not sure about camels with only two legs, for shouldst such a beast throwth a shoe, it hadst to hoppeth in an ungainly manner on but a single leg to the nearest farriers for re-shoeing, whereas the Elleteneleven and the Classique Camel couldst lope along quite easily for damn near ever on their two (or even three) remaining legs without even gathering added sweat to their brows.

LemME Doitryte4U had a glib answer for that, dispelling any doubt's in the Head Swine's mind. The wonder camel's legs were almost indestructible. It wouldst goeth for years without throwing a shoe.

"So canst the legs of the two legged autocamel! It willst never throweth a shoe!" cried Marcel Hardcel, "Zat is our solemn promise."

And so it came to pass that the new wonder camel from Ceeadle and the two legged autocamel of Onetwoloose joined the more multi-legged beasts in Café's stables.

And it is here, sadly, that the scroll endeth...


A second scroll from the same urn is still undergoing final treatment before it can be made available for translation. However, first impressions are that the task of translation of this particular scroll will not be an easy one, for appearing repeatedly throughout it are two incomprehensible words that have so far eluded translation - Ehsesl and Beahscayle. If any reader has even a vague idea of their meanings, he could perhaps pass them on to the translator. (Please limit yourself to 5000 words and desist from words of the four letter variety in your explanation.)

On loose fragments on the badly tattered edges of this same scroll are parts of words, impossible at this stage to translate fully. On one such scrap, some unfortunate ancient scribe mentions stepping in some 'unspeakable edyngtun'. (This word is also unknown, but from comments elsewhere in the scrolls where people came into contact with this unknown substance, it seemed to be a particularly unpleasant experience.) We would also be very interested in learning the meaning of this word from any who might care to elucidate on the subject. (The same rules apply as for the paragraph above.)

We look forward to hearing from y'all.