The luck less monster

YAKKERBOO the bunyip needs to hire a publicist.
While the annual festival is always a popular event with the people of Pakenham and surrounds, it seems its fame has failed to spread far and wide.
Passengers on the V/Line service to Bairnsdale on Sunday morning were treated to the sight of the morning’s Yakkerboo activities getting underway.
But as the train trundled past Bourke Park, one traveller turned to her companion and said: “Oh look, it’s the YANkerboo Festival.”
Yankerboo! Since when has it ever been called Yankerboo.
At the very moment she spoke, a squall of rain lashed the compartment windows.
Surely the sudden shower was the spirit of mighty Yakkerboo raging against the casual ignorance of this careless commuter.
If only they could have seen Yakkerboo’s crazed buck-toothed grin or felt the earth shudder as the bilious bunyip moved his morbidly obese body.
Perhaps then they would have addressed Yakkerboo, a.k.a. Mr Yakkerboo, by his correct title.
Would the same traveller have said, as they passed through the Scottish highlands, “Oh look, it’s the Loch Sness Monster”? Would they have yelled out “Yenti” when surprised by a hairy man in the Himalayas. Of course they wouldn’t have.
But in the 21st century, it’s all about marketing. Perhaps Max Marxson or Harry M. Miller could get their hands on Yakkerboo and work their magic.
A sham marriage to Delta Goodrem could do wonders for Yakkerboo’s profile.
Strategically releasing “private” photos of Yakkerboo frolicking semi-naked at Warneet beach could create the buzz he needs.
A New Idea interview talking about his struggle to rise up from one of the nation’s poorest billabongs could do the trick.
For a wanna-be celebrity, they say the only one thing worse than being talked about is not being talked about.
Having your name mis-pronounced is a step below them both.