Tag: Scaramouche (page 1 of 4)

Camp Davey goes into lockdown—just three days after reopening

The grand reopening of Camp Davey has proven to be shortlived. The entire resort—once described as the most ‘untold’ experience ever—is now under lockdown.

Paige Turner, a spokeswoman for the D/DN Tourism Commission (DTC), confirmed the lockdown via email.

The closure began at midnight on Monday (Majorca time), just three days after the DTC recommenced selling tickets for the infamous Camp Davey Tour.

“The DTC has not taken this drastic decision lightly,” Ms Turner said via telephone. “But at this stage there is no suggestion of a viral outbreak on the island.”

“Rather, the issue seems to be that some of the staff enforcing quarantine have themselves been quarantined. To be specific, they’ve been barricaded inside a makeshift quarantine cell within the quarantine area.”

“It’s quite complicated,” she added.

An artist’s impression of what Camp Davey could end up looking like if the lockdown proves permanent. Photo by Dustan Woodhouse on Unsplash.

Draconian measures suggest threat of pandemic is real

The terms of the lockdown were apparently dictated by Davey Dreamnation himself, whose whereabouts remain unknown.

The lockdown order consisted of one line of text:

“No-one will be permitted to leave Camp Davey for a period of 40 days”.

Camp Davey Lockdown Order, 23 March 2020

While there appear to be no restrictions on people entering the resort, the measure effectively amounts to a complete lockdown.

Camp Davey is located some 550 nautical miles off the Australian coast. With airlines, chinook operators and submariners all refusing to service the island amid the global coronavirus pandemic, the situation is grim.

“Yes, it’s quite worrying,” stated Ms Turner, who resides in Tribesco in inner-city Melbourne, while teleworking for the DTC.

“For example, we received a long list of additional measures that Mr Dreamnation wanted us to implement,” Turner continued.

“Some of them—including the stipulation that Islands in the Stream of Consciousness be played over the loudspeakers—were already in operation prior to the announcement of the lockdown.

“In fact, we’ve not been able to turn the blessed music off, so that’s been an additional challenge,” Turner admitted.

Other measures—including the closing of the Scaramouche Bar and Grill—have proven less controversial.

“I think we can all agree one one thing. Even the thought of that llama getting his hooves on our food was repulsive,” tweeted one visitor, who preferred to remain anonymous.

Scaramouche, a carnivorous llama, remained unruffled when DTC authorities moved in to close his eponymous Bar and Grill. Photo by Denis Tuksar on Unsplash.

Staff and visitors in risky quarantine standoff

The sudden turnaround—which was leaked, once again, to journalists before being officially announced—has thrown the travel plans of dozens of visitors into disarray.

The first chinook-load of holidaymakers arrived on the weekend, and the chinook is currently reported to be stuck in quarantine.

As alluded to be Ms Turner, some of the staff enforcing quarantine have themselves also been quarantined within the quarantine area.

“We’ve received some information suggesting that a number of visitors were not happy with the lockdown. They appear to have taken matters into their own hands,” she said.

“This apparently involved subjecting the entire quarantine staff to quarantine. But the only way to do that was to create a mini-quarantine area within one of the Detoxantine™ Suites.”

“So, within that mini-quarantine area, they’ve introduced another quarantine cell, which is about the size of a small cupboard.”

“As far as we can tell, all of the quarantine staff remain trapped in that cupboard. The social distancing implications are unimaginable.”

One of the unsung but totally natural wonders of the world, Davey’s Lemonade Waterfall, is at risk of being spoiled by tourists swimming in its effervescent depths. Photo by Milada Vigerova on Unsplash.

Numerous Camp Davey icons under threat

The lockdown has also caused logistical headaches for staff attempting to herd nervous visitors through the resort’s 10 untold ‘zones’, including the Accommodation Zone, towards the Exit.

“Look, until all visitors have completely deloused in the Pool Bar, we can’t allow them anywhere near the Accommodation Zone. Let alone the Entertainment Precinct,” one staff member stated.

“I realize the water emits a weird odour, but that’s how it is. I swear, it’s like herding the cats from Cats in here.”

Other visitors have begun practicing extreme social distancing by hiding just below the surface of Davey’s Lemonade Waterfall.

“This is really not on,” warned the staff member, who refused to divulge their name or function.

“The Lemonade Waterfall is strictly off-limits. Once people start swimming in there, it destroys the delicate balance between the aerated lemonade and the random flavours injected by nature.”

“Upset that balance and you can kiss the World Heritage listings goodbye, is all I’m saying.”

“Do you see us drinking from the toilets? No? Well, don’t swim in the freaking waterfall. That’s my last word on the subject.”

“Oh, and screw you too, Scaramouche.”

Could this be the end of the road for the world’s most untold resort?

As reported on Saturday, the surprise announcement that Camp Davey was emerging from a decade of isolation shocked and confounded fans and critics alike.

“It really was too good to be true,” said Les Tombeaux, a Majorca-based journalist who has made a career out of stating the obvious.

“The first red flag for me was the whole Goulburn River Rampage thing. I knew, we all knew, that anyone who dared to go near that ride was going to regret it.”

“Turns out I was right all along.”

In response to sustained criticism, Ms Turner confirmed that the dilapidated ride would shortly be removed.

“We’ve listened, and now we have decided to act. I am pleased to announce that the Mangoplah-Cookardinia Wild Mouse will soon replace the Goulburn River Rampage.”

“However, the ride itself must first be subjected to quarantine. Given the current shortage of Camp Davey staff, this process could take months.”

Scaramouche found alive and well in a cave in the Goulburn Valley

In a possible sign that megalomaniac musical artiste Davey Dreamnation is set to rise from his post-DNRC slumber, news agencies are today reporting that the chanteuse’s long-time collaborator and manager, the incorrigible Scaramouche, has been found alive and well in a cave in the Goulburn Valley, despite rumours that he had suffered a fatal quiche lorraine overdose somewhere.

Back in 2030, the llama’s ‘swansong’ album (also entitled Quiche Lorraine) failed to chart, even in Majorca, where fans of Scaramouche number in the high tens.

Despite this apparent lack of interest in said llama’s soaring and angelic melodies (witness “Scaramouche’s Theme”, a pant-ripping, adrenaline-soaked anthem if ever you’ve heard one), international web-portal I Ate a Bee reported late last night (Majorca time) that Scaramouche is indeed ‘back on the radar’, and has now discovered a new way to communicate with the world, having been previously restricted to Esperanto.

The llama’s first message, delivered to journalists gathered at the Camp Davey compound, though slightly shocking, signals that he has now gotten over his life-threatening quiche lorraine addiction, and has reverted to one of his previous predilections:

Gimme a fucking neenish tart

While unavailable for comment, Davey Dreamnation is reported to be preparing an official statement, after watching Scaramouche’s rescue on closed-circuit television from within the comfortable environs of his Camp Davey bunker.

Scaramouche: “Quiche Lorraine”

quichelorraine

DNRC100 | 7″ | 2030 | DELETED

Perhaps it’s fitting that DNRC’s one hundredth release came from its founder’s long-time muse and benefactor, Scaramouche. After all, if it wasn’t for Scaramouche, it’s doubtful that Davey Dreamnation would have had the stamina to last so long, nor to get away with so much.

Nevertheless there is something more than a little disturbing about a failed pop icon using a musically-challenged llama as the penultimate vehicle for his long-ago conked-out idea of a record label. Therefore it is worth pausing for a moment to consider the chain of events leading up to the release of this abominable piece of toejam.

Recall, if you can, Scaramouche’s Theme, a soaring, pant-ripping anthem from the other side of Uranus that touched more than a few nerves when it was originally released, way back in the early noughties.

While that song became something of an underground cult hit, and was later featured on one of Davey Dreamnation’s own releases (I speak, naturally, of the fair-to-middling Themes EP), it is difficult to find even one trace of its unbridled (if foolish) optimism on ‘Quiche Lorriane’.

In fact, it would be possible (if not also legally advisable) to go on and state that ‘Quiche Lorraine’ might well be one of the most dreadful 7″ singles ever released were it not for the happy fact of its deletion, just seconds after being named in a class action brought by survivors of the late Christy Burr.

Nevertheless, we will never have the opportunity to write about such a shameful release again, and so let us savour for a moment the merest possibility that the spirit of Scaramouche’s ‘Quiche Lorraine’ survives in a small corner somewhere on the Intranet … before snuffing out such maudlin thoughts, secure in the knowledge that it never will get any worse than this.

“Pretender” (after Madonna Ciccone)

I may have a thousand hands
but that doesn't make me a Bodhisattva -
in fact, the only things my hands are good for
are mundane things, practical tasks,
not spiritual enlightenment. 

I use my thousand hands to play
five hundred games of solitaire against myself
and whenever I win the cards cascade
like a waterfall of poker chips 
built by a fake Buddha.

You see, I'm just pretending to have a thousand hands. 

When I'm alone, I amuse myself by
shaking my own imaginary hands,
slapping myself on the back one thousand times,
squeezing my one thousand fabricated zits,
picking my nose by shoving five hundred
index fingers inside each of my gigantic nostrils.

In short, I am a pretender. 

You should have stopped listening
or walked out while you had the chance. 
You should have listened to Madonna.
You should have told me where to go
but it's too late now.

As witnesses to my pretence you too are pretending
to breathe, acting as if you are alive,
wanting to believe that this is poetry
and not some pathetic charade. 

I own one thousand llamas
but each of them answers to the name "Scaramouche".
This might lead you to believe that each of these
one thousand llamas is in fact an illusion, a chimera.
But don't be fooled - 
they don't call me a llama wrangler for nothing. 

Just like Heath Ledger in Brokeback Mountain
I'm pretending to be a cowboy,
willing myself to believe that I am in fact gay.

I have one thousand gay friends.
Some of my best llamas are gay. 
We are all gay, only some of us are pretending 
to be ambivalent.

Scaramouche is the name of my favourite llama.
Scaramouche may well be a Bodhisattva. 
Maybe in his next incarnation, 
Scaramouche will be reborn as a pretend llama,
pretending to be gay. 

Or perhaps I'm just making that up. 

When I think of Madonna, I think of
a thousand virgins who are not actually virgins. 
In fact, they are only acting like virgins.
In other words, pretending to be touched
for the very first time. 

If you ask me, all virgins are fakes. 
Or maybe I'm just pretending not to realise
I said that last statement out loud. 

Either way, we're all as fake as cubic zirconias
in a world that's full of rubies. 
Would you rather be a ruby or a cubic zirconia
pretending to be a diamond? 

I predict that you will find my question
puzzling, if not slightly odd.

Who is this guy? 
Is his name on the program?
I thought this was some kind of tribute to Madonna?

To which I reply: even Madonna is pretending 
to be the Virgin Mary. And who knows,
maybe she's fake too. 

I may have a thousand names 
but they all rhyme with the word "pretender".
I write "request for tender", while at the same time
resisting the temptation to return this pretender 
to sender. I'm a gender-bender. 
I'm bananas in a blender. I despise 
imitation fenders. Does that make sense?

I'm a lover, not a mender. This poem
has been rendered obsolete. 
I'd rather write "request for tenderness".
I'm a beginner, not an ender. 
I like Larry Emdur. He's no pretender.
He's the real deal. I should have told him
while I had the chance. 

Instead, I'm standing here playing solitaire
with your minds. Now I'm playing Old Maid. 
And maybe that's who Madonna's pretending to be. 
Old Madge, in a leotard, playing patience
with the future. And she's losing every time. 

She should have called "barley" while she had 
the chance. But she didn't, and that's why 
I'm standing here pretending to be a poet tonight. 

Pretty good, huh? Not bad for a thousand-handed,
llama-wrangling, solitaire-playing virgin from
an island in the stream of consciousness.

I may have no idea what's really happening here
but at least I'm not pretending that it matters.
It doesn't. Well, actually, it does. 

But let's pretend I never said that. In fact,
let's pretend I never got up here at all. 


First performed live at Liner Notes Volume 3,
Bar Open, Wednesday 20 February 2008.