By Warwick Evans
Deep in the heart of the reservation, Big Chief Sitting Duck was addressing his Christmas
cards. He would have been addressing his braves, but it was a weekend and most of
them were at home - and those that weren't were doing some silly rain dance.
(drumming)
Sitting Duck:
Holy moccasins and great bottles of fire water. When on earth will junior braves
cease this accursed non-stop drumming? They pray for rain in midst of typhoon season,
when all our reservoirs are full to overflowing. This way they know they cannot fail.
But let them continue. Like buffalo with pained expression on face and water in eye
- I couldn't give a foofy. Just like tribe from north, who try to stop construction
of new landing strip along with road for iron horse to run on. More noise they make,
the better. So long as troublemakers play with silly drums and senseless talk, Big
Chief sitting Duck know him safe from any harm.
(drumming stops)
Sitting Duck:
Oh ... This not good omen. Me now make urgent smoke-signal to Great White Hurd in
Downing Street. Not herd of Buffalo, but Douglas Hurd. Him come back and go make
pow wow once more in Great Wigwam of the People. Perhaps smoke pipe of peace. But
I know him not stay there too long. Tribe from north cannot make up their minds on
what to say. One moment it's peace okay - the next, peace off!
