On the 10th of January 2011, a catastrophic deluge unleashed an unprecedented "inland tsunami" across Toowoomba and the Lockyer Valley, leaving a trail of devastation in its wake. Torrential rains transformed creeks into raging torrents, sweeping away cars, homes, and lives in a matter of minutes. Entire communities were submerged, as families clung to rooftops, desperate for rescue. With over 20 lives lost and countless others left homeless, the disaster became one of Queensland's darkest chapters, a stark reminder of nature’s unyielding power and a day I will live long in my memory. 

" A 3-metre wall of water came without warning, tearing through Toowoomba -  Queensland’s largest inland city -  when rain of “biblical proportions” fell on already soaked earth after months of record-breaking falls across the state  "The inland tsunami swept through Toowoomba, washing away cars, damaging buildings, picking up water tanks, and thrusting people into the torrent. "

I will never forget the day. It had been raining in Toowoomba. It had been raining across much of Queensland and everywhere was soggy.  The rain had been falling steadily all over the state and I had no idea just how bad things were about to get.   

Knees Up, Feathers Down: Trevor the Wallaby and the Great Knee Caper of Dusty Gulch
By Roderick (Whiskers) McNibble -  Rodent Correspondent-at-Large
Dusty Dingo Pub, beneath the third wobbly table near the dartboard

They came honking across the border like confused geese with diplomatic passports -  the Honklanders -  promising “unity,” “transparency,” and other words that look good on bumper stickers.

But every invasion brings a surprise. In Dusty Gulch, the first loose thread was Trevor's knees and his missing joints. Tug at it, and suddenly masks slip, Pigooses squeal, and an entire empire of deception begins to unravel.

And that, dear reader, is where your humble rodent correspondent picks up the scent… 

Dusty Gulch Gazette Special Dispatch

“The Art of the Iceworm Deal: From Venezuela to Orangeland”

By Roderick (Whiskers) McNibble - Rodent Correspondent-at-Large
January 7, 2026

Ah, dear readers - it’s me, Roderick “Whiskers” McNibble, scurrying back from the cheese cellar with the latest scoop on this icy saga. My whiskers have been twitching overtime, and not just because the Dusty Dingo Pub hasn’t cleaned behind the fireplace since 1994.

Yesterday -  mark it down -  the Big Orange Cheese himself doubled down harder than a walrus on thin ice.

Fresh from that Venezuelan escapade -  where U.S. forces swooped in like a bald eagle on a " defenseless "  fish and nabbed Maduro -  President Trump leapt aboard Air Force One and declared:

“We need Greenland from the standpoint of national security!”

He even grumbled that Denmark isn’t pulling its weight, adding only “one more dog sled” to Arctic defense.

Money Still Makes the World Go Around - And Boy, Has It Gotten Wilder

When you control the currency everyone must use, you don’t need tanks on every border -  the money does the conquering for you.. Back in 2021, I argued that money doesn’t just grease the gears of civilisation - it controls them. Not just any money, either. Real money. The kind measured in ounces, not printed in truckloads.

I warned that the global system’s crown jewel was the petrodollar: the rule that oil could only be traded in US dollars. That arrangement kept America king of the hill, let Washington run giant deficits without collapsing, and ensured that the rest of the world would toe the line.

Mess with that system, and you get a lesson. Saddam Hussein tried to sell his oil in euros. Muammar Gaddafi floated a gold-backed dinar. Both ended up out of the picture - permanently.

I wrote back then that if the world ever moved back toward real value - gold instead of IOUs - the whole fiat charade would be exposed.

Well, here we are. And the cracks are turning into chasms.

From Floppy Disks to the Cyber Monster: How the Internet Changed Us

It all really began with my boys in the basement.

I didn’t know them, not properly. There was no glossy “About Us” page, no mission statement written by a marketing department, no stock photos of smiling executives with their arms folded. Just a small overseas outfit that felt as though a handful of clever young blokes had commandeered a few servers, plugged them in somewhere underground, and decided to see what they could build.

They answered emails. Actual emails. If something broke, someone fixed it. If you had a problem, you weren’t funnelled into a system...you spoke to a person. Even then, I sensed it mattered that there were names at the other end, not departments. That if something went wrong, responsibility lived somewhere human.

You weren’t funnelled into a system -  you spoke to a person.

At the time, it didn’t feel remarkable. It was simply how things were.

The internet itself felt like that too.