WALK LIKE A MAN…

Well, they say variety is the spice of life – and last weekend, I got a heavy dose of ‘variety’. One of my best friends, Harvey, a delightfully butch builder, is getting married to the girl of his dreams – another of my best friends, MJ – at the end of next month. So it was off to Brisbane for Harv’s bucks weekend – me, Harv, and 15 of his builder mates.

    I had come to terms with the fact that I was going to spend most of the weekend drowning in testosterone and bad (but adorable) language skills – ‘my’ would become ‘mi’, ‘here’ would become ‘ere’, and ‘I’m just going to pop to the bathroom’ would become ‘I’m just going for a dump’.

    Now, we were staying in Fortitude Valley (‘The Valley’ as the locals call it). Someone told me The Valley is like Brisbane’s Newtown (where I live). Yeah, right! Fortitude Valley is akin to Newtown like Bondi Beach is akin to the south of France.

    Surprisingly we went to the Wickham, one of Brisbane’s gay joints, on the Friday night. Pretty standard – except for the bathrooms. Now, I’m not a prude, and I don’t often suffer from stage fright or size anxiety, but the urinals were mounted in a row on a wall of mirrors! So everyone’s tackle is in full, bold relief under fluorescent lighting, clearly visible to everyone in the bathroom! Now that’s a little perverse – and I caught more than a few guys giving their member a series of frantic encouraging strokes so they weren’t too outdone by the gentlemen next to them. Way more exertion than mere urination usually requires… It was like I’d walked into Bodyline.

    Saturday saw us hit the ‘Doomben’ races. The horses didn’t interest me at all – in fact I find it all cruel and unnecessary. I had a little morbid laugh at the sight of a turnstile that once held anti-gambling brochures – it was entirely empty, rattling eerily in the wind. I was mainly concerned with the ‘fashion’ walking through the place – the number of men I saw in baby pink shirts with charcoal grey slacks was disturbing. It’s certainly a very brave outfit, especially when it’s paired with white leather loafers. And I never got the memo that skorts and apple-print wedge heels were in for the ladies. Holy mother of god.

    Anyway, a great end to a great day was the strip cub I was dragged along to at about 8 in the evening (apparently the strippers get uglier as the night goes on, as the men get more and more inebriated, hence the early arrival) – imaginatively named ‘Bad Girls’. Let me tell you, the only thing that was ‘bad’ about those ladies was their dancing skills. A life-sized Barbie doll controlled by a series of mechanical wires would have looked more sensuous. But they certainly leave nothing to the imagination – the ‘routines’ were a real anatomy lesson for me. I had to pay $30 to get in though! I asked if there was a gay discount, but apparently that one’s been used before. The strippers all loved me however – probably because I was the only guy in the place who wasn’t trying to grope their ‘titties’.

    But overall, the weekend was fun – and when I got home and said to my housemate that I ‘was going to go for a leak’, I knew some of the bogan had rubbed off.

I DESERVE A RAISE (OR NOT)

My delightful father, of all people, sent me this in an email last week… ‘The day the penis asked for a raise’:
I, the Penis, hereby request a raise in salary for the following reasons:

I do physical labour.
I work at great depths.
I plunge headfirst into everything I do.
I do not get weekends or public holidays off.
I work in a damp environment.
I work in a dark workplace that has poor ventilation.
I work in high temperatures.
My work exposes me to contagious diseases.

Sincerely, P. Niss
The Response:

Dear P. Niss,

After assessing your request, and considering the arguments you have raised, the administration rejects your request for the following reasons:
You do not work 8 hours straight.

You fall asleep after brief work periods.
You do not always follow the orders of the management team. You do not stay in your designated area and are often seen visiting other locations.
You do not take initiative – you need to be pressured and stimulated in order to start working.
You leave the workplace rather messy at the end of your shift.
You don't always observe necessary safety regulations, such as wearing the correct protective clothing.
You will retire well before you are 65.
You are unable to work double shifts.
You sometimes leave your designated work area before you have completed the assigned task.
And if that were not all, you have been seen constantly entering and exiting the workplace carrying two suspicious bags.

Sincerely, V. Gina

I suppose ‘V. Gina’ could well be ‘A. Nuss’ – whatever floats your boat.

Thanks Dad.

Garrett Bithell
Email me at This e-mail address is being protected from spambots. You need JavaScript enabled to view it

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