Sunday, February 15, 2009

the pre-St Valentines Day Non Massacre...

I'm not constantly in trouble with the law these days...but you wouldn't know it from this...

Last Wednesday evening, after a thoroughly ordinary meal at the trendy new ‘Beresford Hotel’, I’d had enough red wine and port for my clients to convince me to take them for a lap dance back in the CBD.
They hopped in a taxi…whereas I was so drunk I thought a ride on ‘The Stealth Vespa’ might be in order…and we arranged to meet inside ‘Madam Chang’s Imperial Whoopee Parlour’ * in twenty minutes.
I arrived at the ‘Pitt St Ballet’ ** and to say that I was off my chops would be an understatement. If the universe is very, very big…then I was very, very off my chops. Nevertheless, I proceeded to stroll through the front door, past the two bouncers of unknown but decidedly Pacific Island extraction, when one of them noticed my little rucksack and asked if he could look inside.

Rewind about three days…
One of my work colleagues had broken the tip off the office carving knife, a whacking great 33cm hunk of sharpened, Japanese stainless steel…and I had put the knife into my rucksack with a view to taking it home, grinding off the damaged tip and re-sharpening the blade. I had not got around to doing this yet…and the knife was still in my rucksack.

Fast-forward back to the story:..
So, I was standing at the door to ‘Booze and Smoos’ ***, casually smoking a cigarette while Fella Felloffalori and Mia Fartuesele rummaged through my rucksack, quickly discovering the carving knife which they pulled out for everyone to see.
‘What the fuck is this eh, bro,’ one of the amazed bouncers asked.
‘Well, it appears to be a large carving knife,’ I replied…too drunk to think of what else it COULD be besides a large carving knife.
‘And just where did you think you’d be going with it, bro,’ they continued.
‘Well, obviously I was looking to perhaps cruise into the club and cut a few of the girls from ear to flaps,’ I ventured, wondering whether these two bouncers had keen, bouncery senses of humour.
Of course they didn’t.
‘Well how about you get the fuck up against the wall while we call the cops eh, bro,’ they yelled instead of falling to the floor in hysterical laughter at my timely joke…like I had hoped.
Ten minutes later the police arrived, by which time I’d managed to explain to the bouncers what had happened…and amazingly they not only believed me but even told the cops it was a false alarm and that it had all been a huge misunderstanding.
I was then allowed to enter ‘Naked Overpriced Greedy Money-Hungry Coke Molls R Us’ **** and spend a stupid, stupid amount of hard-earned cash (which I thoroughly regretted the next morning)…after checking my carving knife at the door.
And they say capitalism is dead…

* Obviously not the club’s real name.
** This isn’t the real name either.
*** This is closer; but still not the real name
**** OK, I’m just being a little bitter and twisted about the whole experience now…

Tuesday, February 10, 2009

road tripping part II...

In what has been a trying week for many people, I hope this post brings a smile to someone's face...

As I sat there in the wreckage of Dad’s nice, new car…it began to snow.
This was strange for February in Sydney but after a litre or so of Cointreau, the old meteorological reasoning faculties were a little skewed, so I simply chose to believe what I was seeing. What I was actually seeing was the apparently fine powder storm created when an airbag inflates automatically.
Staring at the winter wonderland going on around me, it seemed as though I was a figure in one of those kids’ toys you shake; I half-expected to see a reindeer sitting next to me in the passenger seat.
Then I noticed the small pillow against my chest, unaware that it was in fact the driver’s airbag, since I’d never actually seen one before. Either way, it looked inviting enough to lay my head down on and take a well-deserved nap, which I was just about to do when the car-door opened unceremoniously and a gun was leveled at my head. Of all the weird things going on…the snow, the pillow, the absence of any reindeer…it was the gun that seemed totally imaginary…so I ignored it.
‘Huh ?? What ??’ I managed to stammer, hoping like hell I was also imagining the enraged police officer now yelling into my ear.
When the full second I’d been given to comply had elapsed without my managing to do any of these tasks, a large hand reached into the cabin, grabbed me by the collar and hauled me out onto the street. Rough treatment for sure…but as I later found out, the police officers were exremely pissed off, assuming quite fairly, although erroneously as it turned out, that I had deliberately tried to run them over.
After patting me down for weapons, ‘Constable Cranky Pants’ spun me around, stared deep into my eyes, which must have resembled a pair of smashed ‘Jaffas’ and said, ‘Have you been drinking tonight ??’
To which I replied, ‘Mate, I’ve had about 25 Cointreaus on ice…maybe more…and some had vodka in them too.’
To which he replied, ‘Well I’m going to have to ask you to blow into the bag.’
To which I replied…in a line that has passed into Eastern Suburbs folklore…’Why…don’t you believe me ??’
(Now, truth be known, I don’t claim to have thought of this line myself. I’d heard the gag somewhere before and dreamed of the day I’d be in a good position to use it. That day had come…I took my opportunity for glory and ran with it.)
At this point I was convinced the cop was going to punch my face in…

To be continued…