 |
For comparison purposes, this is
a little, orange penis extension. The author would like to point out that
his scooter is much, much smaller than the one shown here. Draw your own
conclusions. |
| Peace, calm, tranquility. Maybe somewhere
else, not bloody well here. |
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 |
The oxygen arrives. Such a volatile
gas needs to be treated with the utmost care. President Fred demonstrates
DIS safety procedures by not smoking as he delicately manoeuvres the bottle
into place. |
| To prepare for the dive, the International
President goes through a regime of meditation, visualisation and a couple
of Marlborough Lights. |
 |
 |
I tried four times to write a caption
for this. I can't, I just can't. |
| The nappy wearing horse-doctor makes
a subtle attempt at advertising a non-DIS project. |
 |
 |
"You might be a president of DIS,
but get your hand of my arse!" |
| When the owner of the site turns
up we frantically try to bundle Jerome into the boot of his car. "Diving,
monsieur le owner? Of course not, we were just hunting for mushrooms. The
bottles? Oh, we have asthma. All of us. We need all that oxygen." |
 |
 |
Jerome eventually qualifies as a
DIS diver and President Fred presents him with the ceremonial helmet. |
| No sooner had Jerome turned his back
than someone tried to mug him for his fins. |
 |
 |
On his way, in search of gifts from
the cave. Note he sets off with only one scooter... |
| ... and returns with two. |
 |
 |
The faces of the (almost) innocent
have been hidden to prevent serious embarassment. |