Fark: the Australian national bird call.
It was the plaintive cry of the crow adopted by the original inhabitants of Australia as their clarion call.
It was borne on the wind, through the trees, down the beach and across the water at the landing of the First Fleet. It was there at Gallipoli, Flanders, Kokoda and Khe Sahn. It rode with Breaker Morant and froze with Douglas Mawson; it flew with Kingsford Smith and Andy Thomas to the end of the earth and beyond; it ran in beside Keith Miller at Lords and texted Shane Warne in Durban; it raced up into the stands with Pat Cash and soared above the pack with Gary Ablett; it shat on Don Bradman's cap.
It’s been there in disappointment, shock, elation, amazement, pain and anger.
It’s breathed character into the language of every sporting field, workplace, farm, back-yard shed, school, public house and parliament.
It’s brought life to literature, books and magazines, the common touch to theatre and moving pictures; was immortalized on the flickering blue screen by Graham Kennedy.
Fark, fark, fark, fark, fark!
I'm all farked up. I'm ready to go. I'm hot to trot.
I'm all farked up, I'm as toey as a Roman Sandal. I'm rearing to go. I'm filled with anticipation.