Just a goofy, dumb little sketch.

"Oi'm a snoipah and Oih need ta foind moiself a mate, mate!" the marksman cried inexplicably, waking suddenly in his nasty camper van. His startlement rocked the whole affair, causing the contents of many a jarate jar to swirl. The slanted rays of morning refracted in them like weird stained glass, piss-light playing off of Mundy's stolid Aussie features and the hot sweat of his brow.

"Eeeah, eucalyptus and koalas! Let's throw some shrimp on this barbie!" came another sudden exclamation, followed by a crash as he fell from his sleeping shelf and flailed about wildly in the cabin. His vision glazed over and for a moment he could perceive nothing but opera houses and kangaroos, hear nothing but the solitary laugh of the kookaburra, and taste nothing but an unholy mix of that koala tree and beer. Australian beer. Hands and knees on the crusty floor he crawled like a wombat to the exit all the while crying, "To tha bush mates, to tha bush!" With a hearty kick the flimsy door flew open and he bounded out, feeling his upper lip start to tingle.

Exposed to direct sunlight, morning though it was, a strange transformation began to take place in the dandy from Down Under. Like the demons of Tasmania he screamed wildly and thrashed about, ripping the sweat-stiffened shirt from his body and kicking up a paltry dust from the desert floor. With great and painful magnificence the strong tawny hairs of a moustache began to appear, growing at two thousand times the normal rate. Within minutes of his bizarre display Mundy sported the characteristic facial hair of his people.

"Oi croiky!" he bellowed with great blasts from his lungs while thrusting his arms out in challenge to the northern hemisphere, "Oi need ta put moi dick somewheres!" the new moustache twitching slightly in brazen pride. It was a noble scene and by now one that had alerted a few of his colleagues.

The perpetually young and irritating scout came racing first into view, bounding to a stop upon seeing the fearsome sniper. "Da fuck?" he said stupidly to himself, screwing his dull brow into confusion. "Yo Mundy, 'the fuck are ya doin' over there?" he called in a characteristic accent.

"Wankah!" was the only reply, the Aussie glaring and chest heaving. The density of hair upon his breast had tripled and hung there in the early morning, glistening with sweat.

"Yo, what is up wit' that fuckin' moustache bro?" Scout guffawed in return, "Ya look like some fuckin' faggoty porn freak." He paused, thinking to himself for a moment before adding, "Not that I'm inta' that sorta' thing or nothin!" The Scout then smirked dorkily in satisfaction, waiting for the usual stream of abuses to come.

"Wankah!"

"Wo in the bloody flippin' name oov mah undead ancestors is gooin ahn hea?" then came an explosion of impotent and hungover rage from around the corner, "Cain't a poor mahn git some blinkin' shuteye without havin' ta listen to soom bleedin' Nancy wail ahn aboot 'is bloody dick?" The Demoman stomped into view, before adding, "It's bloody unnatural if yea ask me, I oot ta beat your arse inta' next Toosday." He paused though upon noticing Mundy the half-naked Australian hulking about with that great brush of facial hair. A mask of irritable perplexion drew across the Scotsman's face only for a moment before he erupted into a tirade.

"Are yea bleedin' jokin with me mahn? Wot in the name oov all the fockin' focks are ye dooin? Yea oot hea shirtless paradin' aboot like ah fockin' boogger, screaming aboot yea dick like someoon's goon ahn made oof with it. It's bloody six in tha' morning, yea think ye cain loower yea voice ah wee smidgeon? Yea think yea cain bootle thait oop ahn keep yea peace soo the rest oov us civilized foolk doon't 'av ta listen to yea? Wo if Ahm tryin ta mix soom oov mah bloody chemicals? Thes whool place cood go oop in a bloody cloud because of ye! Yea bleedin' ooil-faced moother-toochin' caindy-lickin' spoon-fed' arse-bloowin' soory-shootin' kaingaroo-fockin' loosy – "

"Yo Scot!" the scout interrupted.

" – boogger-lovin' shrimp-teethin' tiny-armed piss-throowin' nest-caimpin' shoo-wearin' shiv-weildin' spy – "

"Yo SCOT!"

"Wankah!"

"Wot?" Demoman wheeled around on his skinny compatriot, "Yea wee blinkin' runnah, cain't yea see Ahm tryin' ta toolk soom sense inta' thes bleedin' git?"

"Yo man, I got that." Scout replied, then gesturing to the Australian who at this point was pacing in circles and muttering something about bushes in a low breath. "Yeah I think there might be somethin' wrong wit 'im."

"Well thas bloody obvious yea imbecile," the demoman spat.

Scout looked incredulous for a moment, screwing up his face, "Naw retard, I mean somethin's actually wrong." He pointed again with a rigid finger to Mundy, "Look at 'im. See, I mean, that ain't freakin' normal. I've never seen 'im before wit that moustache, an' definitely not wit that fuckin' dead animal on 'is chest."

The demoman cackled and with a sneer raised his one eye suggestively, "Ye been payin' cloos attention ta that, eh laddie?"

"Aw naw man! C'mon!" Scout snarled back like a small dog, "It's fuckin' obvious ta anyone wit' two-eyes ya' drunk faggot!"

"Ooh, tha' was loow oov ye," the demoman replied mockingly, "bu' I understahnd yoor embarrassment, ahn Ah promise yea Ahl keep yoor booggerin' ways a secret mah friend."

A fistfight would have assumed directly if not for the shirtless sniper who came careening into the demolitions expert with cries of, "Oi'm a wankin' snoipah an Oih need ta' find moiself a mate, mate!"

The two went tumbling into the dirt as a writhing heap, punctuated by the violent and continuous stream of unintelligible curses from the Scotsman. At this the scout laughed raucously like a twelve year old, kicking dust on the two men. "Yeah there ya' go fuckers!" he scoffed, feeling quite satisfied with the situation.

The sniper was, however, no match for the demoman and quickly the sweaty Aussie was pinned down, struggling with cries of, "Let's go surfing, mate!" and "Oi! What a beauty!"

Demoman delivered another punch to Mundy's face before looking back up at Scout, "Yea, Ah thenk yea got ah point there laddie. Yea thenk we shoold taike 'im to tha infirmary?"

"Croiky!"

Scout raised his eyebrows, "Wha? To that freakin' psycho?" After a split-second deliberation he shrugged, "Yeah okay."

(X)

Not too much later the two burst through the doors of the operating room, struggling to drag Mundy in and sending up a frantic tornado of flapping with a hail of droppings. The medic, who had been bent over a long steel table stacked with organs, jumped at the sudden intrusion, sending a slimy trail of viscera slopping onto the floor. Though it was still very early he was already covered in blood and a scattering of feathers, and he wore an expression somewhere between pure irritation and unadulterated hatred on his face.

"Earrh!" the medic cried in a peculiar growl, stooping to gather up the slick intestines, "Vhy on earth are you idiots bozhering me? It is far too early in zhe morning for anybody to be injured!" Standing back up he carelessly threw the organs aside before adding in a tone at once both sinister and curious, "Unless, of course, somevone here vhould like to make a donation to my collection?"

"Now that's a knoif!"

"Oh good heavens," the medic then said, peering through his glasses while adjusting them, "Vhy have you brought Herr Sniper to me, und vhere is his shirt?"

"Yeah doc, that's uh," Scout started while being jerked around by the thrashing Australian.

"Thes bleedin' idiot woos roonnin' aroond ah tha bloody crack oov dahn yellin' aboot 'is dick!" the Demoman continued for Scout, with great clarity.

"Vhat?" the medic responded, furrowing his brow in confusion and looking at Mundy. "Bring him here!" he then commanded with a grandiose gesture towards the gurney.

The two complied with an exchanged glance and rolled eyes, hauling the Aussie over to the low bench while knocking aside various instruments as they slid around on patches of blood and fresh urates. Sniper continued to struggle, puckering his mustache in a grimace with the effort. Once they tossed him onto the bed, however, the medic strapped the bushman's limbs down with disturbing speed and bent to examine his new patient.

"Most curious," Medic said to himself absently while looking over Mundy.

"What is it doc? Scout asked, on cue.

"Vhell," he shrugged, "I have only read about zhis condition in medical journals, but if I had to make an initial observation I vhould say our comerade Herr Mundy has zhe – " Medic paused, " – oh vhat vas zhat vhord? Ah, yes," he leaned forward for added dramatic effect, "Zhe boner-fever."

"What?" Scout cried in disbelief as Demoman simply stared on in dubious silence.

"Zhe Vhalkabout is vhat his people call it." Medic added quickly, straightening up and again adjusting his glasses, "It is zhe mating season of zhe Australian people, occurring every six years or so."

"Oi'm a snoipah!"

"Yes, yes you are," the medic replied absently before continuing, "Zhey are already a schtupid people, as you know. But zhey become even more ridiculous during zhis time, constantly brawling to determine zheir," he held up his fingers in quotes, "mates," before continuing, "und zheir next king."

"So wot's wi' tha bleedin' moustache?" Demoman interjected.

"Vhell, outside zheir continent Australians lose some of zheir potency – excepting of course, zheir king und ozher outshtanding males," the medic raised his eyebrows as if confirming that Mundy was in fact exempt from this category, "und zhe facial hair tends to disappear entirely. Zhey become more gangly und veak as vhell, und commonly ignore basic hygiene."

"Ooooh," Scout replied in a long and studious manner, "Suddenly everythin' is makin' more sense fa me here. No wonda' Mundy is such a disgustin' prick!"

"Yea shoor do know yea medicine, doc!" Demoman added, with just the slightest hint of sarcasm.

"Vhell, zhank you," Medic replied, "but I really should do some tests to ensure zhis is indeed zhe situation vhe speak of." With a slight grin he walked over to nearby cabinet and pulled out a few items, "Normally," he started while digging around, "I vhouldn't even bozher vith it, since you schweinhunds are simply a vaste of my time. However," he continued with a slightly sinister chuckle before heading back to the table, "I vas but constructing a bath for Archimedes before you came in, und such a zhing may vait for me until later."

"Uh, gee doc," Scout said slowly, looking over at Demoman who returned the glance, "that's nice of ya."

"It's no problem," Medic replied in a phlegmatic tone, bending over and plucking several hairs from Mundy's sporting moustache. The tough strands, to the surprise of those involved, grew back instantly.

"Wankah!"

With a grimace towards the sniper Medic then placed a hair on a glass slide, dripping some liquid on it before moving over to a nearby microscope. After a few adjustments while examining he exclaimed, "Ya, just as I suspected! Zhese hairs are vhun hundred percent Australian in origin. You can even see zhe Outback vizhin zhe follicle. Zhis is somezhing incredible, I zhink."

"Yeah, but what should we do about 'im doc?" called Scout, starting to grow irritated.

"Oh," the medic replied, looking up distractedly, "Yes, vhell, I vhould like to get a copy of his moustache. It's a compound of vhallaby hair, beer, und trace amounts of Australium, und zhe healing properties are quite substantial." He glanced at the ceiling thoughtfully, "Ozhervise, vhe must confine him until zhe boner-fever passes or vhe vill risk losing him back to," Medic straightened to his full height before saying with gravity, "zhe Great Down Under."

"Well I'm fine wit' that, what about you Demoman?" Scout replied casually.

"Yea, it ain' mooch oov ah looss." Demoman agreed, nodding sagely.

"He vill also begin humping zhings uncontrollably in about four hours."

"Yeah…" Scout added after a pause, "On second thought, let's lock 'im up."

The three looked down at their twitching Australian comrade with a mixture of pity and disgust, all considering the seriousness of a sniper left wild among them during such a sensitive time.

After a long silence, Demoman shifted a little and postulated, "Yea thenk we cain le' 'im loose ahn tha oother tem?"

There was a brief penultimate moment of thought.

"Or vhe could do zhat."

"Wankahs!"

Those Australians, amiright?

So, it's just a silly sketch, clearly to be taken with a grain of salt. Or two, maybe.

Deep, within my heart, I'm just trying to understand why so much Sniper/theWorld exists. One of life's great unanswerable questions, I suppose.

Thanks for reading yo!