Take The Pill

Sometimes, just sometimes I fell like my life is the sum of the remainder of an unbalanced equation inherent to the programming of the Matrix.

Like I am the eventuality of an anomaly, which despite someone’s sincerest efforts has not been eliminated from what is otherwise a harmony of mathematical precision. While it remains a burden assiduously avoided, it is not unexpected, and thus not beyond a measure of control, which has led me, inexorably, here.

Twice a day I take this particular pill and have done for ages. Only today did I notice what it has written on it. Now it all makes sense.

Let me tell you why you're here. You're here because you know something. What you know you can't explain, but you feel it. You've felt it your entire life, that there's something wrong with the world. You don't know what it is, but its there, like a splinter in your mind, driving you mad. It is this feeling that has brought you to me. Do you know what I'm talking about?

Now if only it was red...

If the Jungle's Rockin'...

Serenaded by a comrade playing guitar nearby, fighters for Libya's new transitional regime battled forces loyal to disposed Libyan dictator Moammar Gadhafi on Oct. 10 in Sirte

This photo reminds me of that time Almo played ’10 Guitars’ as we went full auto on Charlies arse down the Ho Chi Minh trail in ’68. Sadly it was the only song he knew and it got a bit repetitive after a dozen renditions. I remember him asking if we had any requests to which someone muttered “Anything but fucken 10 Guitars”.

And with that the bastard started playing it again…

Still, spooked the shit out of Victor Charles, especially once Almo got his Maori boy strumming going. That's what we always meant by 'If the jungle's rocking, don't come a knocking'.

The Hitch Hike

Straight from the ‘I’ve seen a porno that started like this..” comes the story of JK and his boys last week picking up a hitchhiker on their way up North. Innocent enough but this was no ordinary hitch hiker, no, for she was:

1. Swiss
2. Single
3. A nurse
4. Ridiculously good looking
5. Not to mention happy to hop into a SUV with four strapping Kiwi blokes

To say she gave the lads a Toblerone is an under statement. Apparently she’d been trip hopping her way round the country using the same means of transport and had only had to turn down a ride the once. Sounds like me with the girls in my college days but then I was ridiculously good looking back then.

Hitch hiking is a funny thing. Personally I could never do it on account that I have a car and thus asking for a lift just doesn’t make sense, but even if I didn’t there is the whole stranger danger thing that would worry me too much.

What if they took a fancy to my pretty boy looks and decided to keep me, take me to some place off the beaten track and do things to me that I always dreamed would happen but never actually thought would? What if I did the same to them? It’s just a Pandora’s Box of opportunities really.

My sister did it for a long while, whilst on the run from all manner of child authorities I might add, but she absolutely swore by it. So did JK’s Swiss Miss but then like so many other things it’s probably a lot easier when you’re a sheila.

I see a lot of guys hitching and it makes me laugh at the state of them. Perhaps it’s a result of the lifestyle but asking to share the confined space of a car with someone when you look and possibly smell like road kill, is not a good marketing strategy I would have thought. Still, someone must take the chance.

Then there’s the awkwardness of it all like what happens when the conversation runs out or simply never starts. At what point would my Jonas Brothers / Oasis / Metallica iPod mix become an issue and who would have to kick who out. And Junior put the Jo Bros on there anyway.

The only time I’ve ever contemplated picking up a hitchy is when faced with the Tui ad scenario that JK had the other day but even then, knowing my luck, her minger of a boyfriend will exit from the bushes where he was hiding the whole time and want to sit up front with me. Chances are they’ll be from one of those fruity countries too, like Sweden and he’ll have cut off jean shorts on as well which will just add to the irony of it all.

Speaking of which, the missus and I watched ‘Love And Other Drugs’ a wee while back and yes, Anne Hathaway does spend a good deal of the movie naked but then so does Jake Gyllenhal and every time I closed my eyes for a long time after wards I saw his naked thighs.

I think I'll go back to imagining that porno I saw that started like JK's story...

Smooth Rolling Wayne Checks Out

Saxi Maxi rolled out of ClubDes this week, not because we told him his spokey dokeys were annoying but because he's on to bigger and better things.

It's not the first time some of us have waved goodbye to the big fulla, there was that one time in '67 as we Recon boys left for Vietnam (it's this whole other country) and he had to stay on account of articulated wheelchair tracks hadn't been invented then.

Fighting Charlie in the bush and paddy fields may not have called for a technical genius confined to a wheelchair but my life upon my return from the war zone as a psychopathic vigilante and all round nice guy - The Punisher - did, so it worked out fine.

I’ll think the thing I'll miss most about Maxi is those rides you used to give me around the place.

Funny how that brake lever of yours, the one that poked me in the back when I sat on your lap, never seemed to work no matter how hard I tugged at it. We just never seemed to slow down! You should get that looked out before you impale yourself.

Anyhoo, so long big boy. All the best in the new job, see you on Facey but not on a doggy date because you know how it is; love my dog, not yours. A dogging date on the other hand….

And yes, I know the locket I gave you is a bit sticky upon unwrapping it, but then it is filled with mans milk. Mine, obviously.

No, we can't go back to 'Nam now you've got your tank chair Maxi...

A Dildo By Any Other Name...

You may have seen the ad for this on TV. It’s on late at night, obviously and like all Durex ads is quite funny; in so much as an ad about massage lube can be I suppose.

And I know it’s supposed to be sensual and playful, but does it really have to come in a bottle shaped like something that could just as easily be accidentally-on purpose inserted into an orifice? Does it? Really?

Who would want to anyway? After it’s been on a supermarket shelf where it’s been fondled by some guy who’s gone on to make humorous but juvenile masturbation and butt plug gestures with it to his missus. And that’s just me; god only knows what other jokers have done with it before that.

It’s like those ‘personal massagers’ you can get at Farmers which are a packaging box change away from being the kind of thing single, middle aged women who have photos of their cats on their work desk and who have seen Titanic 17 times buy from D Vice.

I bought something from D Vice once and was quite impressed to find said purchase was placed in a discreet black carry bag. Only later, after having walked round town for a good half hour, did I realise that just the one side of the carry bag was blank whilst the other carried the store name in dirty gold lettering. Conveniently they had laid the embossed side down on the counter when handing it to me so I was completely unawares.

Still. At least the bottle inside wasn’t shaped like a vibrator. Only it was because that’s what it was but that’s irrelevant really…

Um, when is lube ever not 'intimate'...?

Three Long Years

I can't be a 100% sure but I think the missus is messing with me.

First we name the dog 'Charlie' and then she goes and buys Coke bottled for Vietnam from one of those one day sale sites!

And yes this photo is blurry, but trust me when I tell you the label says NUOC GIAI KHAT which, loosely translated from the Vietnamese, means YOU LOSE G.I.

Three long years, three consecutive tours and still on edge. Just saying.

The Unluckiest Break

Sometimes it amazes me how rudimentary we are in these highly technological times.

The young fella next door broke his leg playing football the other day and is now sporting a cast that starts at the foot and finishes so high up the thigh you just know Nursie must’ve plastered the underside of his baubles. The break itself is below the knee so if ever there was a case for inappropriate medical touching then that has to be close.

And it is one of them thick plaster jobs that you just know is going to make doing anything, like sleeping, nigh impossible. Not to mention the compound fracture he’s likely to sustain banging his wrist against it every time he has a wristey and given that he’s 15, it’s on for six weeks and he’s immobile for much of it, that’s a lot of solitaire.

Eventually they’ll cut it off and apply one of those snazzy fibreglass jobs but it always surprises me that the basics in life are still that; basic. If you break a bone then there is no quick and easy means of fixing it and you’re fucked. Basically.

I’ve never broken a bone. I’ve claimed to but only because it was a good means of hiding the fact that I was and am, extremely soft. Once such time was when I deflected a cricket ball, travelling at some velocity I might add, from me balls, with my little finger.

Some smug bastard in the team had the audacity to call that potentially life changing moment a ‘missed catch’. Admittedly it was a classic case of what they in the cricket fraternity call an ‘in and out’ though; my testes detracted in with fright and the ball fell out from the vacant area they once hung.

My finger wasn’t broken of course but it sure felt like it.

I tapped it to the phalange next to it and everything, for dramatic effect, but it really was only sprained. Still, my street cred went up that particular period in the neighbourhood and I was King Dick there for a while too, untill Dennis’s brother went and upped me by splitting the webbing on his hand whilst trying to catch a cricket ball.

The show off.