Deafwish

Today a girl next to me with headphones began singing really loudly. I had headphones on too but I could still hear her. I looked across sideways to see what was going on. There was no way I wanted to make eye contact. If I did we were both fucked. What are you meant to do when you look someone who is singing loudly in the eyes? There's no walk out - everyone dies. It's like someone catching you smelling your finger. You're not doing anything wrong; you're savouring the smell of a small slice of flourless chocolate tart yet to the passerby it looks like you're some kind of digit sniffing pervert whose probably just done some sort of self prostate examination on the sly in the cafe's toilet. This suspicion is further enhanced and becomes an undeniable fact if a sliver of chocolate tart has unfortunately wedged itself under a fingernail.

So I pointed my eyes sideways like a year ten trying to look down the top of a young teacher while she marks his work. She hadn't realised she was singing, well I don't think she had. Perhaps she was in the moment, lost in the joy of music. She began doing a little bit of that breathy worble that's usually accompanied by hand movements that look like someone's dialing an old style telephone. It was bad. I turned up my ipod and pretended I was deaf.

A gazillion years ago when I was at uni I happened upon a similar situation but to greater degree. A girl was recording a radio show with the door open. Her head was back and she had a pair of headphones and was singing a Tatu song at top volume. I cautiously looked in and she was dancing with her eyes closed holding a ruler for a microphone. It made me laugh.

Born Against

I saw a transit guard car the other day with a massive Australian flag flapping from the bonnet. 'Holy fucking shit' I thought. The choo choo play-police had been given special powers. 'We must be under attack' I thought. The guberment must have given the guys who make sure students aren't evading fares the right to act autonomously and punish enemy spies who must surely be commuting on Perth's slow trains (without a ticket and probably thinking un-australian thoughts).

And so there it flapped like a big empty ballsack. Any spies/terrorists would know that the boys were back in town. Rick and Trav the transit guards with 10 weeks training and twitchy taser fingers were out on the street, patrolling train stations and flying flags. They'd get those pesky travelers, they'd get them good and when they'd finished they'd take that patrol car down to Cottesloe beach and try and pick up some Australian tail. Rick would grab the flag and whistle at 16 year olds as they walked into the carpark. If that failed they'd pick up some fish and chips and motor back to Trav's for a quick danger maz before his mum came home. When the flag flies you're allowed to do anything. It's the rules. You can piss on things and punch shit and do sweet impressions and just be totally mad and shit.

"get over here!" I'm scorpion from the Sega

I've been playing NBA Jam for a few days in a row. When I was younger I always thought it was called NBA Jam Session and I would always yell "LETS PLAY NBA JAM SESSION!" and try and jam a prickle-ball between the rungs of the monkey-bars while shouting "BOOM-SHAKA-LAKA!" or if I happened to find a kid standing underneath the bars, "IN YOUR FACE!"

Boomshakalaka instantly became a primary school catch cry. Get a muesli bar from a fellow class mate? Boomshakalaka! Draw a super cool picture of Captain Hook that Mrs Murray said would be going into the library for the whole school to see? Boomshakalaka! See Upson sitting in the sink while still managing to pee in the urinal a good four metres away without the aid of a stiffy? Boomshakalaka!

Another good saying was "hubba hubba". This could be used when watching television. Especially when April O'neal appeared. Or Alex Mac. Or when you had the opportunity to do some public speaking. You could start by reading your story and then before sitting down you could yell "HUBBA HUBBA" and throw double peace signs. This would almost be the pinnacle of funniness, only eclipsed by a public dacking or seeing someone kiss.

*I just realised that NBA Jam Session was a sweet video featuring NBA jamz. I got it out from the video shop about a million times and would say "not in my kitchen" whenever there was a sweet rejection.

Viva la evacuation: Bowel movement

The other day I went in to IGA to buy some protein for the muscles I am working on in my neck. I figured 24 eggs, a kilo of tuna, 45 dollars worth of chicken thighs and some soy milk would do the trick. I want a really muscly neck as I feel it will help me if I ever go to the movies, a concert or am on a jury, and a tall guy with curly hair sits in front of me. With a strong neck I will easily be able to crane my head to one side (like a crane) for extended periods of time without getting a nervous spasm or a sweaty back. I haven't got any exercises planned but feel if I swallow the food really slowly the protein will understand that I want it to congregate in my neck. It's basically a fool proof plan and I'm surprised I hadn't thought of it sooner.

While sniffing for 'tein or 'pro pro' in the dusty aisles I saw two supermarket employees stacking the shelves with yoghurt and cheese. One was in his mid thirties and had a sweet gold chain, the other was about sixteen. They were talking about Nissan Skylines and date rape and how "yesterday there was fricken 100 palets to unload and I was all by meself because Allan was meant to come in but he's in Bali being slack and they had to be friggen joking if they thought I could get through all by meself".

Their conversation was interrupted by an old lady with amazingly floppy canteen-lady arms. She was leaning over the ice-cream freezer with a look of hatred. "I'm not buying Peter's ice-cream anymore!" she yelled at the shelf stackers. "It tastes horrible since THEY SOLD OUT!" And she looked at the two employees as if she'd made a point that would forever change the sale of ice-cream in Western Australia. This was a momentous occasion. She'd taken the fight right up to two power makers! Two guys in decision making positions. I mean, they control what goes in the freezer - they're practically gate keepers. She hadn't nancied about with 'excuse me sir', no way, she'd got up there and told them what the whole bloody world had been thinking! The revolution had begun, she drawn a line with her kumfs and no prick was game enough to cross it. Bloody Peter's - they'd be quaking in their horrible ice-cream boots!

The two shelf stackers didn't say a word. They probably knew they'd been bested. There was a new regime in town and it didn't like bloody Peter's sellout ice-cream or the price of meat these days. It did however like Mr Arnott's milk arrowroot biscuits and aspro.

I really wanted to get to the ice-cream freezer but knew she'd be there all day.

Free Love of the Fizz Wizz Freeway

A telemarketer just called me and said "How are you today sir?"
To which I replied "Not too bad"
"How about we turn not too bad into excellent?"
What a pro. He had an FM radio voice. I bet he had a 'prickle cut' and drank coke all day while sending texts to chubby 16 year old girls.

I passed the best car ever on the freeway the other day. It had this really cool Monster Energy drink sticker across most of the back window. I looked at and thought "Hey this guy likes energy drinks! I bet you he goes pretty hard most nights. That Monster Energy is strong stuff. I personally wouldn't mess with it - I'd leave that stuff to Woody '83. The guy must be a complete and utter maniac! Lock up your ozzie daughters"

The sticker job was well thought out. There was a really cool Southern Cross in the top left corner which worked really well with the Monster Energy piece. There was also a really nice 'MULLISHA" between the tail lights. Moto Cross is awesome. Like almost as good as Jet Skiing. Moto crozz is the thinking man's cycling. Best way to enjoy nature and chicks in bikinis. I was impressed with this guy. He knew what he liked - energy (heaps), sick moto jumps and shit, and punching guys at the beach.

The best sticker was given pride of place along the top of the window. It was a little hard to get a first - it took me a good half an hour or so to work it out. Once I got it however, I couldn't stop laughing - it was perhaps the cleverest joke I'd ever heard. See if you can work this out (trust me it's worth it !):

B 4 I √ U R U 16?

HAHHAHAHAHHAHAH! Woody '83! What a complete and utter maniac!! It's actually good that he's put in an age clause. A lot of guys don't have such high morals. Funny and responsible. Absolute champion.

President Rogaine can shove it.

Once I met a tall man who had a somewhat curly mud-flap of a mullet. I mean it was a mullet of sorts, more a mullet of nature than a mullet of design. He was going bald on top and you could see a pink hammy dome poking through receding whiffs of blonde. He had these big fat pale hands and wore tiny little shorts so you could see a huge white flank of thigh whenever he jumped out of his 4wd.

He'd lived with a 'total health nut' he told me. He'd read up on nutrition and alternative medicine. "All he'd eat from a cucumber was the skin and the seeds. Just peel it and scoop out the guts, throw out the rest. It's shit, it doesn't have any nutritional value".

I thought about this and considered the type of person who would go to the trouble of tea-spooning the seeds out of a cucumber and then proudly proclaim "I'm a health nut. I'm going to eat some egg shells".

What a fuckwit, I thought.

He also peed on his feet to stave off tinea. Genius.