Beardy Twat, Gorilla Hangover Theory, Blocked Comments,Dozers

I mentioned beardy nutter elsewhere in response to someone else's blog entry about being evil. Here’s a recap.

Beardy Nutter

I encountered beardy nutter in late February this year. It was a Sunday and I was feeling a tad sorry for myself after a hard night and I was assessing the damage wrought by the hangover gorillas. The night was half a dozen gorillas, three chimpanzees and a family of crab eating macaques. Tough I tells ya, tough. Remind me to explain to you Toronto Doug’s theory of hangover gorillas later on. So I drove into Eastgate shopping centre at Bondi Junction and parked my car, thinking of chocolate milkshakes and donuts and calculating what the fridge needed in terms of remedies. I’m a traditionalist in such things so I was pondering bacon, sourdough, eggs and bottles of beer, coke, vodka and shiraz. I parked in a space which had a stencil of a pram on it. There were plenty of similar spots still vacant and hardly anyone was around so I felt no guilt. I don’t really understand what the symbol is for. No-one has ever explained it to me but I guess it must be for people who have those stupid “Baby on board” signs stuck to the inside of their cars. You know, the signs which encourage you to be loud, aggressive and generally dangerous to bassinet-bludgers.
So I get out of the car and this bearded do-gooder type approaches me with a fairly workable scowl on his face. These buffoons always seem to be frowning about something don’t they? I guess its because their brain is trying to figure out how to talk their ropey beards into jumping off their faces and straight down their windpipes so the bastards die of strangulation. Anyway, this arseclown came up and said “those spaces are reserved for people with kids.”
Great! Fanfuckingtastic! I’m hungover, wanting remedies and this dickhead is up my arse about a stencilled outline of a pram. Tosser. I pointedly looked around at the gazillion similar spaces which were vacant, sighed and walked to the back of my car. I banged on the boot lid and said loudly “Jayden! Don’t drink the dog’s water and make sure your sister gets her bottle in half an hour. If you stop whingeing I might even get you a lolly.” Or words to that effect.
I looked up at the local Member For Being Concerned and he shook his head, muttering something like “That’s outrageous!” My reply, in a loud voice was “At least I know where they are!”. Tosser.
From memory I ended up with beer, bacon, Turkish bread, cab-merlot, lemonade, 2 packs of B&H Classic and a dvd (Ironman).

Toronto Doug’s Hangover Gorilla Theory

Doug was a bloke I team up with in one of my ratsacking jaunts around Europe. He was ostensibly riding a bicycle around said continent but had fuck all chance of success with that noble plan once he met up with me. He may as well have had the ambition of invading Russia armed with a cotton bud and a pair of tweezers. Once we joined forces (along with Dave from Preston) he mostly caught trains with the occasional exception when we guilted him into riding. That only worked twice. Anyways, one morning at Montreux we were getting over an argument with Feldschlossen and he explained his hangover theory.
What happens is that after a night on the turps you are visited by gorillas and their assorted hench-apes. They beat you around the head, take all your money, put a couple of light cuts on your body, piss in your mouth and blow smoke all over you and your clothes. They then strew all of your belongings around the room, throw up in the bathroom without cleaning up and rip the shirt you were wearing the previous evening. Some adventurous ones even park your car awkwardly on the footpath.. So that’s how you end up broke, feeling sore and sorry, with your clothes smokey, ripped and strewn everywhere, a mouth that tastes like gorilla piss and unexplained cuts on your body. And a jauntily parked vehicle. You gauge the level of the night by saying stuff like:
“It was a dozen gorillas and a troop of baboons visited me last night. Bastards.”

I think you now get the idea.
Doug was pretty useful with this sort of thing. He was also handy when it came to breaking into youth hostels which had shut because of their stupid Teutonic curfews. Remind me to tell you about the evening Dave, Doug and I had to break into a YH elsewhere in Switzerland after another night on the beers and our subsequent encounter with The Crazy Belgian. Oh yeah, speaking of Belgium I’ll have to tell you of the bestest YH we ever visited – Namur. It was a corker.

Commenting on other blogs
All of a sudden I’ve found that on some blogs I can’t comment. I go to the comments area and nothing happens when I click into it. Sure I can read comments but not make any. Dunno why this is happening but I thought I’d send a shout out to Yankeedog seeing as how his is one of the blogs I’m not able to talk to. Sorry to read the news, hope it goes respectfully well. Cheers mate.
My old man was ex-navy and when he set his final course they set up a memorial plaque for him at Rookwood Cemetery (Sydney). It was a nice touch. We scattered his ashes at his favourite beach, Avalon.

Okay, okay I'll end with something brighter.

Doug 'n Dave 'n Me - The First Innings

I ended up at Basel, hoping to meet up with a couple of friends from Sydney. They were meant to leave a message at the YH. I front up and nothing. Fucking slackers. So I forgot about them and booked a bunk, cleaned up and started swapping bullshit with a few Yanks, Canucks and Kiwis. I told them some crap about how in the 19th century kangaroos were trained to go between cattle stations (ranches) in the outback and carry mail in their pouches. Luckily the Kiwis didn't blow the gaff and I had a couple of these Joe College types well on the hook and was reeling them in. All of a sudden this Canadian bloke breaks out with the mother of all guffaws and screws the pooch. His howling was so infectious I was soon cracking up with laughter as well. That was Doug. The laughter circle quickly consumed Dave and Chris (Kiwi), a real Commonwealth Games challenge.
Next morning found us wandering around Basel together and sooner or later it was bound to happen. There's only so many bars you can walk past when you're in fine company without calling a halt to the tourist bullshit and get down to brass tacks. Or beer. We did that and it was a confluence of like minds. None of us really gave a stuff about being serious travellers, we were just out and about seeing whatever we felt like seeing. After the bar we grabbed six packs and ended up by the river sprouting all sorts of bullshit and finding cultural meeting points. For example Dave and Doug were discussing what they called big bulldozers and graders. They had various names for them and asked me what we called them in Australia.
"Fucking big yellow things, you drongos" was my reply and I reached for another Feldschlossen. That sort of set the tone for our relationship.
Remind me to tell you about Dave's birthday jaunt.