However I noticed an unpleasant odour on the wind. After checking it wasn't me I knew something was amiss. It smelled of… DARYL!!! My old bowling buddy from the War of the Jam was in trouble.
I changed into khaki trousers, a string vest and a red bandanna, hopped into my condo, and sailed downstream. I started my search in Borneo, the last documented sighting place of my long-lost friend. Unfortunately he was nowhere to be found, and I had to make do with befriending the local orangutan community, who allowed me into their "dirty book" shop.
Three days later I emerged, emotionally and physically drained, and restarted my search. Just as I was preparing to leave the island, I bumped into an international trader and bearded pig farmer. After a short scuffle we walked down to the local publican's house in Chester, where he allowed me to inspect his bearded pigs. I have rarely seen such a hideous beast.
Sighting the biggest and strongest of the bearded pigs I wrestled it to the ground and thus gained his respect. Shaking hands with Ryan, I rode off into the distance to seek Daryl.
Ryan had given me a roast chicken before I left, and upon eating it I found two words on the inside: TURN OVER. I rolled over and saw two words carved into the bottom of my boat: DARYL ISLAND.
Of course! It was so simple! However, in my excitement I fell overboard and was immediately set upon by a horde of ducks! Luckily my SAS training meant I knew exactly what to do in this situation. I grabbed the lead duck by the "goolies" and whispered in his ears.
He proceeded to tap repeatedly on my head, knocking me out.
I woke up on a deserted beach surrounded by scantily-clad women. And David Hasselhoff.
I started screaming and ran down the beach, stopping only when I tripped over a duck. I recognised those eyes. I flicked hi on the head till he was unconscious and roared in triumph. However evn as I roared my emotional arthritis told me things were getting worse for Daryl. I wandered into the jungle, where I found Lama Steven Seagal meditating in front of a pot of jam.
I stole his jam and ran, turning round to shout "Yoink!" and ran into a tree, rolling down a hill. I stood up, raised my nostrils to the sky, and my emotional arthritis forced me to collapse in pain. I crawled into the town and saw the same two words I saw on the bottom of my boat: DARYL ISLAND.
