Friday, November 03, 2006

Guess what I did last Wedesday! (Perth explained)

[I am posting an email that I got sent from someone else from a few years back now.

It is actually two stories and I have included both, although I like the second one the most. The second story is a perfect description of Perth and its so-called social life.]

"Guess what I did on Wednesday," I say to Sally with my dirty smirk.

"What!" she giggles.

"The National Queer Officer for NUS!"

"Mor hor hor," Sally laughs and she sounds like a fat man listening to a tit joke.

Just thirty minutes after I had left a disorientated and sleepy **** NUS-person at the busport I run into Grant in the Ref shoplifting chocmilks.

"Hey did you see Kate at the meeting last night," he asks and I go, "yeah, I did, she walked in with that other National Broad Left guy and I thought, hello, eastern staters here."

This was very true. They arrived to the meeting late and immediately, though I didn't recongise Kate, I immediately felt there eastern stateness. And to set the record straight on one Perth version of events, I did not take the seat next to ****, he arrived late, so he took the one next to me.

"And hey," says Grant,"have you talked to that **** guy who is with her. Dodgy."

"What do you mean dodgy?"

"Oh he was just really fucked all througth the NBL, quite anti-Resistance, lots of stupid autonomous marxist ideas."


"Yeah, an idiot."

Nothing I could do now, I thought, the stains of autonomous marxism were already on my sheets. I fill Grant in the details and he does a similar tit-joke oh ho ho at the end.

"You're quite dodgy, Justin" he says, but I can tell from his eyes he is quite proud.

A five month drought. Not a single smut, grope or fondle since early March. I was quite pleased all Thursday. My skin has cleaned up amazingly. It has generally done my health the world of good. I think it shows a certain style as well. A very Justin style.

I walked past Jane selling papers on Friday. "I've been hearing stories about you Justin," she says, but she is too embarrassed to say what they were.

His politics weren't great, but they were at least politics. It makes me realise the huge absense in Perth of left-wing young men who have sex with left-wing young men. It is so refreashing that when bedroom action comes to a standstill, you can always have a fight about working class autonomy or blockading as a stratergy or tactic. And when that gets boring, you can go back to giving head.

He is back at NUS office land at UQ now.

* * *

But anyway, that puts me in a good mood for going out.

Jill rings at the start of the week, "Nevermore (the 80's goth club night) Justin," she whispers, "its just a few days away, are you going?"

"But we always go Jill, every week."

"Yes but its so good."

"No its boring. Lets go to the casino."

"Oh, but, oh, I dont know. Nevermore Justin, its,.."

And a few days after that...

"Nevermore Justin," whispers Andy, "are you going?"

"I already said, no boring Nevermore. Bic and I are gambling our pay away on the money wheel."

And this is true. True in intent.

Somewhere along the line things got changed to going to a party in Como and a party in Nedlands. It was a med student party and I was told the address while drunk at a cocktail bar the Saturday previous.

"Its an easy street to remember". the girl told me. "It sounds like a really big street but its actually really small."


Anyway it is Saturday and we are in Como. I have participated in the drinking of six bottles of passion pop and some irish cream and some bourbon. I am making friends with some people who keep putting TLC on the CD player. There is a drug dealer with a coat hanger on his head and my pocket has a big dexie bottle in it. I am here with Bic and she is flirting with the coat hangered drug dealer.

Hannah, a seventeen-year old from work is there, and she keeps letting herself get pulled away into the toilets by really seedy older guys. Bic and I go get her and say "Save it for the carpark honey, people are drinking and need that loo to piss".

God damn Hannah was giving me the shits. We did get her kind of drunk, but that didn't mean she had to keep falling on me. In desperation I gave her a handfull of dexies on the proviso she wouldn't bother me anymore, and we didn't see her for about forty five minutes.

Then things got dodgy.

Christine and I were having a dandy time, munching away, pupils dilated. The clock ticks to 12 and we go, (Deanne as designated driver) "lets go to Nedlands party".

Jarvis, (Becs boyfreind) is suddenly all alarmed because Alannah is missing and gets all tireingly big brotherish.. ie: "little Hannah, where is she?"

We find Geet because she is going with us, and just to describe Geet she looked fantastic because she has this really dark skin with this bright red dress with flashing lights on the chest. But anyway.

Hannah we found doing walking boglaps outside.

"Get in the car Hannah," I say and she goes, "No! Lets just walk around all night!" and Jarvis goes, "Crap, who was stupid enougth to let Hannah have dexies" and I
think he he, waits till he knows how many his girlfriend has had.

You see Jarvis's a bit of bloke who likes to look after his shelias. The ways he looks after them we shall later see.

Anyway we are all in the car ready to go, after we physically restrained Hannah and shoved her in the back seat. But then Bec remembers that there is a male stripper arriving soon, so she decides we can't leave.

I say, "if I show you my nipple, can we miss the stripper" and Bec says yes. I show my nipple and Bec goes "nah, I'm still going inside".

It took over thirty minutes to get them in the car and in around thirty seconds they were all gone again.

A gay man with muscles walks into the house, and a bit later comes out again with less. Everyone gets back in the car, except Hannah, who I think Geet had to go get back out of the toilet.

Just as the back door is about to shut the drug dealer with the coat hanger on his head turns up.

"Hey can I get a lift to Nedlands too?" he asks.

"We have five in the back already. Sorry mate", says Christine. "We only leave with the ones we came with."

Then he gets shitty. "Well take me to the bank because Jarvis, you owe me $115 for that bottle of dexies, and I want that money now."

"I told you man," says Jarvis, "I'm paying you tomorrow".

"But I want it now, we're going to the bank."

"Excuse me," says hardcore little Christine, "this is my fucking car and your not getting in it and there will be no going to a bank. So fuck off!"

Then there is this noise which is Jarvis geting pulled out the car and punched in the stomach. Then there is the noise of Jarvis dry retching. Then there is the rustle of Geet's red dress as she flies out of the car and knocks the guy to the ground. He punches her in the jaw.

"He hit my sister," cries Jarvis all bloke indignant, but its a bit of a lost
cause because now there's a strangling noise because drug dealer is now again on his back, with Bic sitting on his chest, chocking him while Geet kicks him in the head with her boots.

I stay in the car and play with the cassettes. Christine gets out and tries to find Hannah. The fight goes on for at least twenty minuyes. At one point a stranger comes up and asks me whats going on.

"Its okay", I say, "we're just all going to a party in Nedlands".

Eventually the misunderstanding was cleared up, with our gang clearly triumphant. We were all quite pleased and I patted the offending bottle of dexamphetamine with love. We cranked up the car radio and, with all of us in the car Deanne turned the ignition.

The battery was flat.

It was really nice of the people we had bashed to help us find jumper leads.

However by this stage, Christine was less that cooperative, as she had kept talking dexies all through the drama and as soon as the car was started was a little edgy.


As it turns out I wish we hadn't because when she got home Bec passed out, so Jarvis felt up Hannah while Bic lay sleeping next to him.


But not that it mattered at that time because Christine and I got to speed off back to the city, to go of all places, Nevermore. (Andy and Jill looked relieved I couldn't really have meant the rude things I said about it.)

As it is I realise your attention must be waning. I will try to abbreviate the rest. I told everyone I saw, (including good old Anne P,) that I had been part of a street brawl in como where i kicked in a scull.

Nat and Gavin break up. I stay out till 6am. Gavin gives me more dexies.

We walk home and talk shit. "Hey Jus", "Hey Gav". At 8am we get home and have tequilla sunrises. Nat tells me about her career at the sex shop and Gavin describes how his penis pump works.

I get home at 11am and go through my pockets. I find an email address for this cute boy at Amplifier Bar. I told him I was producing a radio show for 100FM, did he want to be a radio star? He said yes.

Science has yet more reasons to get really drunk!

Science shows that drinking red wine is really good for you and helps if you have a fatty diet. (And let's face it, most drunks do.)

I don't want to say "I told you so" to all those health-freaks out there, but I did always say: "A cask a day keeps the doctor away".

Science has spoken.

Fatty diets may improve with red wine

Sydney Morning Herald, November 6, 2006

Lovers of fatty food may be able to have their cake and eat it too, according to striking new research into a special compound found in red wine...

Resveratrol is found in low doses in red wine and some plants and has been shown to extend the lifespans of yeast, flies, fish and worms in recent research...

Full article.

Drinking will help your career!

Don't believe those health-freak Nazis.

This article *proves* that the more you drink the more successful you will be, and the more money you will earn. Just think of all the expensive drinks you could buy with that extra money!

Although, strangely, the theory about great career and financial advancement going hand in hand with drinking doesn't seem to apply to me... Maybe I don't drink enough?

Or maybe the regulars at The Shannon don't qualify as the sort of "schmoozing" the article registers as likely to lead the career advancement...

Does Drinking Help Your Career?

A new study has stirred up debate about what role socializing plays in
the workplace.

Peter Hoy

While many were quick to dismiss the findings of a recent study
showing that drinkers make more on average than those that abstain
from alcohol, a number of CEOs cite a direct connection between
socializing and career advancement.

Regular drinkers make 10% to 14% more money than those who do not
drink, according to the study, conducted by the Journal of Labor
Research, published quarterly by the Department of Economics at George
Mason University, and the Reason Foundation, a Los Angeles-based think

full article

Sunday, September 03, 2006

No pants (or the point at which you realise you might be drinking too much)

This is another post culled from an old email to a friend (about who I intend to write soon).

It is a particular tale, about the visit by my sister and her partner to the grand city of Canberra.

I should point out now that my sister’s name is *Cathryn*. You would not know this if you were to meet her. Or meet her friends.

Ever since a particular point in her teenage years, the specifics of which I have never been able to figure out, she decided her name was *not* actually Cathryn at all, but *Cath*.

Now I have nothing against *Cath* as a name. Except to say that up until this 180 degree turnaround by my sister was most definitely known as Cathryn. She used to complain, in point of fact, against any attempt to mess withh that name. "Cathy" and "Cath" were right out. "Cathryn, or nothing!" That was her catch cry.

Then, it all changed. She became (for reasons never fully explained to me) “Cath”. That is what her “mates” called her. And that is what became her name. Well, who told me? No-one. As far as I was concerned, she was, as she has always been, “Cathryn”. And so she remains.

Maybe "Cathryn" seems weird. Maybe it isn’t fashionable. I don't know. But the name of my sister is Cathryn, and no-one, not least my sister, can convince me otherise.

Anyway there is a story below:

Cathryn, and her then-partner Holly, visited for almost a week whilst I lived in Canberra (back in 2002 or 3, who can remember?).

This meant all well-intentioned plans at that time of “drinking less” were off the cards. My sister distinguishing herself as an even bigger drinker than myself.

Cathryn and Holly seemed to have a good time during their stay. They got to meet the mixed bag of (mostly alcoholic) people I associated with in Canberra.

They were especially taken by the famous “Dan The Man”.

“Dan the Man” is a big guy: deep-voiced, large framed, but ultimately gentle public servant from Newcastle who works in the Prime Minister’s office. He wears a big black leather jacker, meaning if you were to see him from behind, you could mistake him for a character in The Matrix. But, on his face is almost always an easy-going, soft-hearted, friendly big grin.

His hobbies include reading classic literature and getting completely wrecked.

His favourite drinks are a schooner of beer with shot of whiskey mixed in and, often ordered simultaneously, a double vodka. Both of which, when he decides to drink, as he does with admirable regularity, he drinks at an amazingly rapid rate.

So, we go to the Civic Hotel with a group including "Dan The Man". This is a pub largely consisting of a large number of pool tables.

Holly has the misfortune of ending up as a pool partner with Dan.

Having drunk perhaps just a bit, Dan has decided to do his “drunken 30-year-old-bloke-who-can't-dance dance” when ever he sinks a ball.

The dance is actually quite similar to a belly dance, assuming the belly dancer in question has consumed a bottle of valium followed quickly by a double vodka.

Slow and wobbly.

And every time he sunk a ball, he would perform it for us all.

The basic rule being he would perform it *after* he pocketed a ball. However, the more he drank, the looser he got with the rules.

Holly, as his partner in pool, would get very uspet as Dan got drunker and started dancing before even taking his shot.

She would yell: “No, you haven't sunk anything yet!”

This was a little unfair. Having consumed far more than his fair share of booze, Dan was in no shape to sink anything but more double vodkas, which he proceeded to do. Therefore he would have been denied the opportunity to dance at all.

And that would have been just cruel.

However, it was the Saturday night of their stay that drove me to the point at which it occurred to me that, perhaps, I was drinking a touch too much.

We had consumed a fair bit of booze when, returning home, we decided to play Jenga.

Jenga is a tower-building game my sister had brought over. In this game, you make a tower out of rectangular blocks and then take turns pulling out a block and placing it on top of the tower, the aim being to do it without the tower falling over.

Cathryn had the game. Because it was my sister’s game, it was also a drinking game. With each block having an instruction written on it. For instance: “Have three drinks”.

I’ll admit, I was maybe a little tipsy. At one point, I decided the I just *had* climb on top of a swivel chair to show everyone my famous “funky dance”. It is a unique dance, said to resemble a kipper being electrocuted.

I ignored all pleas to get off before I fell.

I fell off twice.

In general, I behaved like an obnoxious prat, as is my wont when full of liquor. I forced my sister to get out Holly’s bottle of chocolate schnapps, and before too long that was almost gone as well.

Finally, with no more alcohol to be drunk, I stagger off to bed, and somehow manage to take my pants off, although my long-sleeve top proved too much of a struggle.

Collapsed in bed, it soon becomes obvious that before too much longer I would have to force myself up again, what with the room spinning out of control around me.

After a brief struggle I decided putting my pants back on was going to be far too time consuming. I staggered quickly to the toilet and emptied my stomach of its excess alcohol.

Then, feeling somewhat worse for wear, I slowly made my way to the bathroom to wash out my mouth.

As I turned the corner, I nearly ran into Holly, who stood there looking back at me. The next events occur in slow motion — I was far too wasted for them too happen any other way.

I looked at Holly. She looked at me. I looked down to confirm for myself that, yes, I was indeed not wearing any pants.

I said 'oh'. I turned and shuffled slowly and carefully back to bed.

However this is not the point at which I realised I was drinking too much.

No, that occured a short number of hours later when I wake up, and still quite drunk decide to take the last shot of schnapps left, waiting pre-poured in a host glass from the night before.

Hair of the dog works. I stayed drunk and not hung-over for quite a while — although I did drink my pint of beer quite slowly later that afternoon.

Thursday, August 24, 2006

Rum, sodomy and Johnny Depp

The Greatest Actor Of His Generation, known to some as Johnny Depp, is on the cover of the current Rolling Stone. It is a good interview.

Since Johnny Depp, for no good reason as this interview points out, decided to star in a Disney film that everyone (including Disney) had written off as bound to fail, and stole an entire film (most merely good actors are content with stealing a scene) everyone is beginning to recognise how great he is.

Not surprising, seeing as he took what was clearly meant to be a side character to provide a bit of comic relief, with a clich├ęd love story the main game, and created one of the most dominant and brilliant performances in a long time. So brilliant he managed, in a Disney film, to make the love story secondary and a side attraction at best. And the main character a sexually ambiguous drunkard.

Anyhow this is my favourite bit from the interview:

When people talk about your portrayal of Jack Sparrow, they generally mention Keith [Richards] but also point out a certain gay undercurrent

Well there was a great book I read [to prepare]… What was is called? Sodomy and the Pirate Tradition. A very interesting book. I like the idea of being ambiguous. of taking this character and making everything a little bit... questionable. Because women were thought to be bad luck on ships. And these pirates would go out for years at a time. S0 you know, there is the possibility that one thing might lead to another.

Could happen.

You’re lonely. You have an extra ration of rum. [shrugs] “Cabin boy!”


An outrageous attack on freedom of speech that *must* be resisted!


It has been brought to my attention that there have been attempts to censure this blogsite. According to my sources in at least one workplace in this supposedly “democratic” country, it is not possible to view this site. It is blocked by a bunch of “freedom haters” known as “ContentKeepers”. Apparantly, you canot view this site at this particular workplace because it contains “adult content”.

They want to censor my blog eh? So "The Man" can't handle the revolutionary message I am laying down? I guess I shouldn't be surprised... It contains a powerful message that they don't want workers — at the very site of their employment were they hold their greatest potential power - getting access to.

However, we cannot stand by and allow this outrageous attack to happen! Action must be taken, because, as Martin Luther King once said, an attack on freedom anywhere is an attack on freedom everywhere! How true! First, they come for the drunks…

We must take action! I urge everyone who reads this write a letter immediately about the issue the attorney-general Philip Ruddock. Demand that all workplaces in this country be allowed to access this site. I was going to write a letter myself last night, but I ended up going to the pub. I was going to write it today, but I was too hungover.

But they are scared alright! Just look at their excuse! “Adult content”. That is clearly a ruse. Jesus Christ, did they not read the poohey pants story? The content of this blog is as childish as you can get!

This is a wake-up call.

Sunday, August 13, 2006

Why does nature have to go and ferment? I hate it when it does that

Hungover. Why the hell did no one tell me this stuff was poisonous?

God damn it! I wouldn't drink so much except for the fact that scientific studies point to not drinking as a leading cause of sobriety.

Thursday, July 27, 2006

Great news about coffee! No wonder I am still alive!

Rarely does the mainstream media contain much to smile about. However, the article below from the British Guardian, reprinted in the Sydney Morning Herald in June, is great news indeed!

Scientists have discovered that drinking large quantities of coffee stops liver rot in big drinkers! And the more coffee you drink, the better it works! Fantastic! This explains why I am still alive!

So, health-freaks, what do you have to say for yourselves now? "Oh, you shouldn't drink so much, it'll damage your liver" "Oh, don't you know how terrible it is for your health to drink four pots of coffee a day ". Blah fucking blah. How stupid do you feel now, eh, with your bloody herbal tea and your... what ever it is people who don't drink alcohol consume. Air. (And that stuff will kill you, by the way.)

It isn't even that I particularly like my liver. We really don't get on. I think it is the age difference. I'm 28, my liver is on the pension.

However, unfortunately, scientists are yet to find a way to live without one. So this is positive news. It makes sense as well. It is lifes natural rhythm. Coffee all day. Beer all night. Repeat. Now science has proven it.

Coffee stops liver rot in big drinkers

June 14, 2006

DRINKING coffee could help protect you from liver disease caused by alcohol, research shows.

People who drink one cup of coffee a day are 20 per cent less likely to suffer alcoholic cirrhosis than those who drink none.

And the protective effect increases with the more coffee you have: those who drink two or three cups a day are 40 per cent less likely to suffer cirrhosis, while people who drink four or more cups are 80 per cent less likely to get the disease.

The findings were conducted by researchers at the Kaiser Permanente health care organisation in California, and published in the US journal Archives of Internal Medicine.

The link between coffee and cirrhosis was first reported by Kaiser Permanente researchers in 1993, but this new study - which followed 125,000 people over 22 years - "solidifies the association", said Arthur Klatsky, the head researcher.

He said: "Consuming coffee seems to have some protective benefits against alcoholic cirrhosis, and the more coffee a person consumes the less risk they seem to have of being hospitalised or dying of alcoholic cirrhosis. [But] we did not see a similar protective association between coffee and non-alcoholic cirrhosis."

The researchers studied people who underwent a medical examination between 1978 and 1985 and who, at the time, had no diagnosed liver disease. Participants filled out a questionnaire detailing how much alcohol, coffee and tea they drank daily.

By the end of 2001, 330 of them had been diagnosed with liver disease, including 199 with alcoholic cirrhosis, a condition where heavy drinking causes progressive damage and impaired function of the liver.

Blood tests conducted on the heaviest drinkers confirmed that those who enjoyed coffee were less likely to have high levels of enzymes in the liver - a key indicator of liver damage. But drinking tea had no effect, suggesting the ingredient that protects against cirrhosis is not caffeine.

The Guardian

Wednesday, July 19, 2006

‘Filthy and full of drunk losers ... A complete dive’

This is my first post and my first piece of advice as part of an alcoholic’s guide to modern life is you need to find yourself a good home.

For me there is no question: it is the Shannon Hotel in Chippendale (inner-inner city Sydney).

A lovely review of this delightful drinking hole can be found here

Some of the comments posted include:

"What a miserable place. Filthy and full of drunk losers..."

"A complete dive. Full of pissed middle aged yobos."

"Full of sleazy barman [sic] and low life sad, insecure alcoholic punters."


"Great place for squatters!"

But some of the comments are negative.

In other words, it is a fucking great place for your modern alcoholic to get away from the mobs of marauding young people with their pierced toenails and stupid ring tones, and enjoy a decent drink.

There is nothing worse than trying to enjoy the process of getting drunk surrounded by large numbers of people who are a thousand times more attractive and cooler than you. It is simply distracting.

The Shannon presents no such problems. It is a pub that, trying to be nice, the best thing the reviewer can say about it is it has its own dartboard.

But it is a good dart board, and most importantly, almost always available.

It is an Irish pub, which is defined as one in which the bar manager is always drunk. Paddy, god bless his soul, is no exception. Ever.

He is the only bar manager I have ever seen be thrown out of his own pub. When asked about the incident later, he claimed he wasn't being ejected, merely helped to the door.

And anti-smoking laws remain a "nice theory" within the Shannon's walls.

This, no doubt, makes me a "sad, low life alcoholic". I can only hope so.

At least the rest of you bastards are not getting under my fucking feet when I am trying to down my umpteenth schooner and aim for the general vicinity of the dartboard.

All that said, I do have to confess that if I was to offer one point of constructive criticism, it would be that perhaps The Shannon Hotel could be improved by, maybe, the occasional cleaning of the toilets.

Just a suggestion.