Sunday, July 18, 2010

Crab Country

I've just got back from a trip up north where the waves are big and old people drive massive caravans with television antennas really slowly. I saw a seal, a whale, expensive groceries and some of the strangest characters I have ever met outside . It is here that I will document them.

The first was a talker. Actually they were all talkers. Didn't need any prompting either. Just kept going and going and going like some sort of generous soothsayer, except it wasn't sooth they were saying, more like getting sprayed with a constant squirt from a bullshit uzi.

We met old mate from Byron while trying to fish out on a jetty. He said he'd only "been there for as long as it took to drink two beers which was ABOUT FIVE MINUTES!!!!!!HAHHAHAHAHAHA". It was made clear quite quickly that he was obviously an exceptional guy as he could drink beer fast and talk about fishing. He told me the tide was coming in when it was going out and then quizzed us on our choice of bait. He didn't seem to grasp that we had no idea what we're doing. Blah blah blah. Then he said he had to go and that we could hold his special spot until he returned when the big fish came in. I went there and almost got eye gouged repeatedly as some ranga kid who was out before sundown tried some sort of karate rod casting moves. His beret wearing mother almost lodged a lure in my nose as she flicked her rod around like a a chubby plumper trying to whip butterflies with some dental floss. There is no way you can catch a shark(which is what I was aiming for, a hammer head or a whale shark) between someone that actually chooses to wear a beret and a hyped up rang-ingitis sufferer. Old mate had given me a big slice of the dick pie. I cursed his name and hoped that he developed weeping sores in his armpits or his son grew up to be an active member of a university guild.

The second unsavory character was sunburnt. We met him on the jetty as well. It was obviously a hang out for bull twanging men searching for some extra marital bull twang. He told us everything that was "FUCKED" about everything. Except sometimes he forgot to finish his sentences. He just left them hanging.
Things that are FUCKED:
1. Boggy Bay. I'm not really sure where this is but apparently it's "FUCKED". Don't go there. "FUCKED".
2. The jetty we were standing on. He came there when he was 11 and it was 100 times better then. You could catch fish with 'big noses on them'. It's "FUCKED" now though.
3. Fisheries inspectors. They just check buckets and shit but they don't check every bucket and some guys tip their buckets out and if you turn your lights off you can get your boat through security and one time a guy dropped his gold watch and a crab took it and he fucking pissed himself mate.
This guy scared me. He was all pink. And he talked shit.

The third guy kind of looked like a stalk. He was tall and skinny and his eyes were a little too far apart. I'll call him Stretch Polo Fleece. We were at a little campsite where some bogans had come to do burn outs around the lake and drive into all the bins. He wanted to join forces with us like Voltron in case shit got rough. Wise move. If there's one thing I'm rad at it's duking it out. I'm like a salmon. Anyway he started talking to us and then paused. Then he dribbled. A big mouthful of dribble and went "Ughhhh". Then he dripped to his knees and dribbled some more. Then he heaved. I thought he was about to make like a pokemon' and bulbasaur some parmesan queef all over my Wallabees (May not actually wear Wallabees. Ghostface!) He retained his composure and said "Do you guys take tablets? Don't ever take 'em." Sound advice. Then he said we may need to use our fist against the UDL drinking bogards. "I've got something better than fists, not that I'm afraid to use them, but I've got something much better".

Awesome! I was surrounded by dudes driving tonka trucks and chucking gas bottles into fires and some wierded out yack king packing heat. Sweet dreams.

I also saw a condom with spider man webs of gack on the lawn of a caravan park. I'm guessing ol' Spidey had some sort of danger mazz in between a flotilla of Winebagos. He's a sicko and should be killed. Who jerks it with a glove on?

1 comment:

Anonymous said...

we call this going down south