My good mate Big Gay Ray has a new big bore exhaust on his passion wagon. Ray’s not really gay by the way – he just helps out on the weekends when they’re busy.
The exhaust is impressive alright and it comes with two settings: obnoxious and jet engine. Because it needs to be legal, it came with a silencer that makes his exhaust sound like the automobile equivalent of a puckered anus. When he takes it off though it sounds so much like a 747 just passed you by at ground level that its you who has the puckered anus. He tells me he’s working on his own modification which he simply refers to at this developmental stage as a ‘loudener’. Bugger me.
It’s funny just how many of us get off on pissing people off these days isn’t it? The times have certainly changed from when I was a boy and so too has the reasoning behind having the same things. In my street, back when my balls were naturally smooth, the bogan up the road who had the Dixie horn on his Valiant set it off every time he passed us kids by cause it sounded like the Dukes of Hazard and we though it was cool. He loved the attention and we loved his horn. It was a mutual reach around, hypothetically speaking. Anything else would have been just plain wrong.
Now the bogan up the road has an exhaust like Rays on his Mitsi. He’s a boy racer and feels the world has something against him, which we do, we hate his fucken exhaust and the fact he likes to leave his car running several minutes before and after he’s left or arrived. The exhaust doesn’t mark the car perform any better, it only makes him look like a bigger wanker than I suspect he is. That’s why boy racers lower their seats incidentally, so as to safely have a jimmy at the lights with no one noticing.
Back in our day 'loud' was a Hemi V8 roaring up the street, But man was it a good loud.
My local Dusties always leave the recycling bin in the middle of the driveway so that I have to get out and move it before I can pull into the garage. Every weekend I take the time to sort my recycling to make it easier for them and that’s the thanks I get. I imagine they think I’m taking the piss by sorting my plastics and in some perverse way probably think I’m making them out to be too stupid to sort it themselves. Well, I wasn’t, but I’m beginning to see the light fellas. One more bin in the driveway and we’ll see how pleased Sione is when he has to sort my fecal matter because I’m more than happy to shit in a plastic bag every day for a week and chuck it all in the recycling bin.
Speaking of which - is it just me or am I the only one who doesn’t find Bro Town funny? I thought we’d done all the 'fresh of the boat' penis, puberty, toilet and Asian jokes that one little country could muster?! It was funny the first few times Billy T did it but 47 wannabes later and the shine has worn off I reckon. But maybe that’s just me? But you know a show’s really crap when Politicians are lining up to appear on it. They might not be the smartest cats on the planet but politicians have an eye for anything that appeals to the lowest common denominator in terms of intelligence, because that means votes.
Lets not forget Posties who jam crap into your letterbox when it’s clearly full and ignore all the rubbish they just pushed out the arse of it. Junk mailers are the big perps of this too. I realise that delivering the junk mail doesn’t require anything vaguely resembling a physics degree but use some common sense, if its full, it ain’t going to go in. My wheelie bin is pretty close to the letter box, pop it in there, that’s where it will end up eventually anyway.
I’m always genuinely surprised to see how dedicated junk mailers are to their jobs. It’s only junk mail after all and if I was faced with having to deliver a couple hundred copies of K Marts latest rubbish to every house in a 5km radius on a day when it's blowing like fifty bastards, then I’m going to do the world a favour and dump those bad boys in the first creek, clothing recycle bin, Post Box or Church grounds that I came across.
But then that’s life isn’t it? One puckered anus releasing on another. Every time I don’t turn up to an appointment I’ve booked I piss someone off. Every time I don’t pick up something I ordered at great cost to the place that got, I piss someone off. Every time I whiz all over the toilet seat in the men’s at work because I can’t be bothered touching it to lift, I piss somebody off.
And Big Gay Ray doesn’t really mean to piss anyone off with his big bore. He may be afflicted with the terrible social affliction that is fire crotch, but he’s not an angry man really. He’s a genuine car enthusiast who likes to deafen boy racers at the lights with his portable jumbo jet engine.
And there’s nothing wrong with that I reckon.
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