After a few years in retirement, Tom steps back in for a special guest writer’s role- Enjoy.

Well, it has been a number of years, but the most infamous RA reviewer of them all has returned. I have been on a sabbatical for the past few years, but have been tempted out of retirement by KW.

The day started as most RA trips do, standing around the frozen tundra (Kingston Railway Station) at 8am, trying your best to avoid the inevitable quota of pest and menace opposition supporters that grace us. In this case, there was one particular individual who fit this category. RAGE (Raiders Army Gold Elite) quickly branded him Wonky Eye Watmough. Luckily for us, WEW was having a hard time figuring out the mechanics of the sweet machine inside the station. This incidentally had striking similarities to Homer getting his hand stuck in the vending machine. Luckily for him, he realised if you let go of the can, your hand is released WEW boarded the bus shortly after.

And we were away! You could smell the optimism that was permeating throughout the bus! That was until some cheeky little struggle and grunt that it would be nice to delivered a machine gun fart buffet (this is defined as a rapid succession of ballistic farts that hang around for an extended period, and may be revisited for another helping due to the ongoing stench).

I think this may have starved oxygen to the brain of the driver, who I think was wearing a t-shirt with the saying I am the Stig on it (that old chestnut), in addition to a cap with Captain emblazoned on it. He was only missing a bbq apron with Worlds best Dad on it. While it was good to say the driver had a high opinion of himself, and thought he may be able to smoke it through hammerhead and gambon at 100mph (see Top Gear if unsure what these terms mean), his driving was akin to the flying skills of an Garuda pilot. I counted at least three occasions where Captain Stig tried to crush cars in adjacent lanes. There was also the bizarre incident where he stopped behind a ute on the hard shoulder of the M5. Ute bloke then picked up a dead pigeon from the back of his ute, throwing it into the middle of the M5. El Capitano de Stig then pulled onto the M5 again, and we were off. This was one of the stranger incidents Ive seen on a RA bus. The only explanation I can think of is that WEW and Marko thought they could smell a smorgasboard, and asked the Stigalicious to pull over.

After taking the Clark Griswald scenic route, we arrived at Brookie at about midday. I know a lot has been said about this hovel in past reviews, but it must be said again. In my view, you can define a true shithole in two ways.

1. By the people who reside/inhabit the area.
2. By the physical characteristics of the area.

This shitpot fails on both counts. I was disappointed to see the locals of the Insular Peninsula hadn’t taken on board my description of them last time (something similar to fat, inbred, swamp donkeys). Whilst the incest and swamp donkey bit may be hard to shake, the protruding sack of fat which extends from the lower abdomen to the upper genital area of many Manly fans surely isnt.

The physical characteristics of the ground also continue to amuse. I still find it amusing for a so-called professional sport, people have to stand on a mud slope to view it. The gradient on the rear of the slope made the trek to the toilet more dangerous than negotiating the Khyber Pass. One of the victims of the Pass was a little lad, who cut himself in the process. The lad sprinted off when one RA member said Come here little boy, I want to help you. Garry Glitter has since been deported from Australia.

Anyway, everyone knows what happened in the game. The Raiders played a good five minutes, and Des Haslers side got away with the two points. Everyone trudged back to the bus, and we were on our way home.

This was an interesting bus trip home. While the bus did have a plastic throne at the rear, it was obviously not ready for the onslaught of gypsy kisses that RA members were going to inflict on it. Within an hour, it was filled to the brim, until WEW realised there was a flush peddle on the side of it (he was still trying to figure out how a lolly machine works). However, this was only a temporary reprieve. An unfortunately placed crack on the side of the throne began to leak, and soon there was a raging torrent of excreta coursing down the middle of the bus. This stopped anyone from using the toilet to syphon the python or pinch a loaf. Any attempts to flush the toilet were now stymied, as the toilet emitted a mist of piss and stench whenever it was flushed. Luckily Brave Stig pulled over, and emptied the chemical toilet into Sydneys water catchment area.

After this was done, the party was on again. WEW and his mate (a lardy version of David Howell), came down the back and joined the party. The songs were being belted out, and everyone was having a great time, except Marko. As usual, Marko had a number of ditties dedicated to him, including Nothing sweet about Marko, Markos got a chub and Thats what you get for waking up in Marko. Unfortunately the RA cocktail (piss, blood, beer) was now covering most of the floor of the bus. This didn’t concern some, and the songs continued to come.

The now shitpot on wheels finally arrived back at Kingston at 10pm. Another funny, but ultimately worthless expedition to see the Raiders have their pants pulled down, and someone do the nasty to them.

Anyway, next week the Raiders take on the Storm in Canberra. Lets hope the Raiders win, inshallah, we need it.