Clint Johanssen: Alternative Comedian

"This aint overrrr." More to come.

Clint Johanssen: Alternative Comedian






[Blank screen with voiceover.]

CJ: All my heroes…all the guys who really pushed the boundaries…at some stage, have had to overcome hardship. All of them.

[Shot of man sitting on a couch. He’s in his mid-thirties, with receding hair tied into a ponytail. He is wearing a “Good Bush, Bad Bush” T-Shirt (depicting a hairy mons pubis and former US President George Walker Bush, respectively) and has a single gold hoop earring in his left ear. He wears glasses and appears slightly uneasy about the interview. The man speaks again.]

CJ: I mean, for example, right...Richard Pryor: set himself on fire trying to smoke crack cocaine. Umm…Rick Shapiro: Worked as a male prostitute. A homosexual male prostitute, actually. And of course, Bill Hicks…pancreatic cancer. Dead.

[Man pauses for a moment.]

CJ: And…if I have to suffer any of those things to see my name up in lights…then so be it.

[Wistful piano music as camera cuts to a shot of CJ sitting on the edge of his bed.]

CJ: I guess I’ve always been drawn to humour and making people laugh…I think it’s just something you’re born with.

[CJ smiles softly, then chuckles to himself.]

CJ: I remember actually, in Primary School...I used to be a bit of a class clown, used to get up to a bit of mischief…I did this one thing where I’d impersonate the Principal, you know – he had this horrible lisp – and I’d say to the other children you know, stuff like “sssssthufferin’ sstttthuckatash!” and “stttthtop being sthiilly in sssthex ed!”

[CJ laughs with more conviction.]

CJ: I used to get a lot of “Clint, stop distracting the class!” and “Go outside, Clint!”...and the teachers liked it even less.

[CJ sits silently, still smiling and nods to himself.]

CJ: So I guess I’ve been stirring the pot, so to speak, for as long as I can remember.

[Cut to home video footage of Clint onstage. He’s wearing a ‘Vote for Pedro’ shirt and cargo pants. He paces backward and forwards across the cramped stage.]

CJ: “And Labor’s solution to this is to ask us to vote for Mark Flippin’ Latham! The guy who makes the Khmer Rouge look like the effin’ Democrats!”

[Silence from crowd.]

CJ: “But you know what they say about the ALP, right? The Crean will always rise to the top!”

[More silence. Camera pans away to a disinterested member of the crowd reading the label of a beer bottle. Clint can be heard in the background exclaiming “so I was thinking the other day…imagine John Howard on Dancing With the Stars, wouldn’t that be..” (tape ends).]

[Back to CJ sitting on couch.]

CJ: There is definitely a political edge to the stuff I’m doing, yeah. I mean, I sometimes think, you know…Clint, you have a degree in Cultural & Media Studies

[Sudden cut to a photo of young CJ in a mortarboard. His gown is open and underneath he’s wearing a Hole t-shirt. He has one of his parents under each arm. They’re typical sunburnt suburbanites and have both got their eyes closed in the photo. A gigantic ECU banner is visible in the background.]

CJ: …you’re an educated guy. Why are you acting up in front of a bunch of strangers instead of being out there making a difference? But…to me, comedy is making a difference. You can make people think about things, sure. I mean…I could write a book, or a newspaper article…and I have written newspaper articles, actually…

[Another cut to a photo. It’s an opinion piece written in a local paper. There’s a small black and white photo of CJ baring his teeth and doing the ‘devil horns’ sign. Article reads “SUBURBAN SLAM WITH CLINT JOHANSSEN” with sub-title “ILUKA COUNCIL WHEELIE BIN EDICT UNJUST, TOTALITARIAN.”]

CJ: But all that would do is educate people. I want to make them laugh. And if they’re educated too, well…I’ve done my job.

[Cut to CJ sitting on an empty stage in a chair.]

CJ: I guess because of the kind of thing I’m trying to do with comedy, there are times when the audience doesn’t quite get my angle. Which I understand, you know…the first thing you learn is that the audience is never wrong…just sometimes maybe slightly uneducated, but it’s your job to reach out to them…I always try to lace my sets with some jokes for, ah…Joe Average, if you will. You know, the guy who gets home from pushing wheelbarrow or, um, welding… and has a beer, opens the paper…probably straight to the TV guide or…Hagar comics…then, you know…ahh…well I guess he goes to bed after that. Hopefully without having beaten his wife, or gambled away their food money on greyhounds. But I make sure there’s something for him in all my sets.

[Cut back to CJ’s performance tape.]

CJ: “So I, I um…I recently got dumped by my girlfriend, and you know, I asked why and she said “It’s because you’re a loser.” And that came as a real shock to me, because I don’t even support the Dockers, let alone bloody play for them!”

[Cut back to CJ sitting on chair.]

CJ: So yeah, it can definitely get a little trying, you know…but it’s certainly not going to deter me from doing what I love. I have an analogy, actually: the audience is like a computer. You need to fill it with information, you know…but if you try to cram too much onto the hard-drive…or the audience’s heads…the computer slows down and stops working. And sometimes that makes the computer a bit angry, and it will go and yell at me, or key my car…but really, it’s your fault for not having a better computer.

[Cut to CJ sitting in a café. He is reading a copy of ‘The Portrait of Dorian Gray’. He traces the text with his index finger and mimes the words as he reads. He pauses for a moment, puts the book down and produces a copy of the Oxford Modern Dictionary. Finding the word in question, he replaces the dictionary and resumes reading. Almost instantly, he puts the book down again and reaches for the dictionary.]

[Cut to CJ being filmed from across a table in the café.]

CJ: This is where I like to come for inspiration, just to, umm…people watch, I guess. I’ll sit here with a flat white, a novel…and just watch. I might think, you know “isn’t it funny how we’re in an economic crisis and yet…people are still buying things,” or…”why do men drink their coffees differently to women?” or…”oh, doesn’t that guy have a funny limp!” and just brainstorm for a while. I like to think of this as my office, so to speak. The dream factory.

[CJ chuckles to himself.]

CJ: The staff here are great, too. Really great senses of humour. There’s a little board outside where they like to write little poems or messages, just to give people a chuckle.

[Cut to a shot of a blackboard outside the café. It has ‘A Spoonfull (sic) of Sugar May Help the Medacine (sic) Go Down, But Our Super Sweet Lattes Will Bring You Up!”]

CJ: I help them out sometimes, actually…I said to Breeanne, the manager – she’s not here today – but I said, how about this one: “Henry the 8th: tyrant or twitcher? Go decaffeinated, not decapitated!” Haven’t seen it up yet…maybe a bit too highbrow, but all the girls had a real chuckle at that one.

CJ: But, ah…this is a really special place for me. I met Marnie, here actually. I was carrying a pot of hot tea over to my table and there was this, just…absolutely gorgeous woman sitting cross-legged on a chair, and I was…I was gobsmacked. I was so busy looking at her, actually, that I didn’t see this raised floorboard and…


[Cut back to CJ’s couch. A timid woman in her thirties is sitting down, dressed in a burgundy crushed velvet dress over green leggings. She has a single blonde plait in her brown hair and pulls distractedly at it as she speaks.]

Woman: …and it actually burned me quite badly. I still have this red mark…

[Woman goes to roll up dress over her stomach and shot cuts abruptly to CJ on the couch next to the woman.]

Marnie: I think…what attracted me to him most was definitely his energy. There’s a real vibrancy in Clint, a real passion that I haven’t found in any other men. He really loves to let you know how he’s feeling, to tell you what he thinks is wrong or unjust in the world and how he wants to go about fixing it. The whole car ride back from the hospital he wouldn’t stop talking about it. I think that’s when I fell for him.

[Camera shows close-up shot of CJ getting all misty-eyed.]

CJ: And with, Marnie…we just clicked. We love all the same things. Literature; film; nature; coffee, of course! I can have dairy, and she can’t, but that’s the only real thing. She actually gets violently ill. But you know, “soy be it!”

[CJ and Marnie share a laugh.]

Marnie: Clint’s really supportive of me and my career choices, too. I…I used to run my own Reiki clinic, and it was quite successful…but my passion has always been to write and illustrate children’s books that teach environmental awareness.

[Cut to a picture of a children’s book with a crayon drawing of a manatee with a plastic bag over its head. It reads: “PORPOISE IN PAIN” by Marnie Fern Morris.]

Marnie: So I decided to pursue that. And so Clint’s been great with supporting both of us. We just need to be a bit thrifty sometimes.

CJ: That’s right. I mean, Marnie always says “Clint, you have enough energy to power the whole shire!”

Marnie: It would be nice to be able to use the dishwasher sometimes, though…

CJ: I…yeah, but we’ve made choices, and we’re happy. Aren’t we?

Marnie: Oh, yes, absolutely. I just…no, it’s OK.

[Camera lingers on the couple. Marnie bows her head and looks like she’s crying. She squeezes CJ’s thigh. CJ looks limply at the camera without saying anything.]

CJ: Right….I’ll go check on dinner.

[Cut to CJ in the backyard with a shovel. He’s standing next to a shallow hole full of embers and is holding the shovel towards the camera. On it is a small alfoil parcel.]

CJ: Damper. Full of carbohydrates, easy to make…patriotic. Doesn’t require electricity…or hot water.

Clint Johanssen: Alternative Comedian

Clint Johanssen: Alternative Comedian






[Blank screen with voiceover.]

CJ: All my heroes…all the guys who really pushed the boundaries…at some stage, have had to overcome hardship. All of them.

[Shot of man sitting on a couch. He’s in his mid-thirties, with receding hair tied into a ponytail. He is wearing a “Good Bush, Bad Bush” T-Shirt (depicting a hairy mons pubis and former US President George Walker Bush, respectively) and has a single gold hoop earring in his left ear. He wears glasses and appears slightly uneasy about the interview. The man speaks again.]

CJ: I mean, for example, right...Richard Pryor: set himself on fire trying to smoke crack cocaine. Umm…Rick Shapiro: Worked as a male prostitute. A homosexual male prostitute, actually. And of course, Bill Hicks…pancreatic cancer. Dead.

[Man pauses for a moment.]

CJ: And…if I have to suffer any of those things to see my name up in lights…then so be it.

[Wistful piano music as camera cuts to a shot of CJ sitting on the edge of his bed.]

CJ: I guess I’ve always been drawn to humour and making people laugh…I think it’s just something you’re born with.

[CJ smiles softly, then chuckles to himself.]

CJ: I remember actually, in Primary School...I used to be a bit of a class clown, used to get up to a bit of mischief…I did this one thing where I’d impersonate the Principal, you know – he had this horrible lisp – and I’d say to the other children you know, stuff like “sssssthufferin’ sstttthuckatash!” and “stttthtop being sthiilly in sssthex ed!”

[CJ laughs with more conviction.]

CJ: I used to get a lot of “Clint, stop distracting the class!” and “Go outside, Clint!”...and the teachers liked it even less.

[CJ sits silently, still smiling and nods to himself.]

CJ: So I guess I’ve been stirring the pot, so to speak, for as long as I can remember.

[Cut to home video footage of Clint onstage. He’s wearing a ‘Vote for Pedro’ shirt and cargo pants. He paces backward and forwards across the cramped stage.]

CJ: “And Labor’s solution to this is to ask us to vote for Mark Flippin’ Latham! The guy who makes the Khmer Rouge look like the effin’ Democrats!”

[Silence from crowd.]

CJ: “But you know what they say about the ALP, right? The Crean will always rise to the top!”

[More silence. Camera pans away to a disinterested member of the crowd reading the label of a beer bottle. Clint can be heard in the background exclaiming “so I was thinking the other day…imagine John Howard on Dancing With the Stars, wouldn’t that be..” (tape ends).]

[Back to CJ sitting on couch.]

CJ: There is definitely a political edge to the stuff I’m doing, yeah. I mean, I sometimes think, you know…Clint, you have a degree in Cultural & Media Studies

[Sudden cut to a photo of young CJ in a mortarboard. His gown is open and underneath he’s wearing a Hole t-shirt. He has one of his parents under each arm. They’re typical sunburnt suburbanites and have both got their eyes closed in the photo. A gigantic ECU banner is visible in the background.]

CJ: …you’re an educated guy. Why are you acting up in front of a bunch of strangers instead of being out there making a difference? But…to me, comedy is making a difference. You can make people think about things, sure. I mean…I could write a book, or a newspaper article…and I have written newspaper articles, actually…

[Another cut to a photo. It’s an opinion piece written in a local paper. There’s a small black and white photo of CJ baring his teeth and doing the ‘devil horns’ sign. Article reads “SUBURBAN SLAM WITH CLINT JOHANSSEN” with sub-title “ILUKA COUNCIL WHEELIE BIN EDICT UNJUST, TOTALITARIAN.”]

CJ: But all that would do is educate people. I want to make them laugh. And if they’re educated too, well…I’ve done my job.

[Cut to CJ sitting on an empty stage in a chair.]

CJ: I guess because of the kind of thing I’m trying to do with comedy, there are times when the audience doesn’t quite get my angle. Which I understand, you know…the first thing you learn is that the audience is never wrong…just sometimes maybe slightly uneducated, but it’s your job to reach out to them…I always try to lace my sets with some jokes for, ah…Joe Average, if you will. You know, the guy who gets home from pushing wheelbarrow or, um, welding… and has a beer, opens the paper…probably straight to the TV guide or…Hagar comics…then, you know…ahh…well I guess he goes to bed after that. Hopefully without having beaten his wife, or gambled away their food money on greyhounds. But I make sure there’s something for him in all my sets.

[Cut back to CJ’s performance tape.]

CJ: “So I, I um…I recently got dumped by my girlfriend, and you know, I asked why and she said “It’s because you’re a loser.” And that came as a real shock to me, because I don’t even support the Dockers, let alone bloody play for them!”

[Cut back to CJ sitting on chair.]

CJ: So yeah, it can definitely get a little trying, you know…but it’s certainly not going to deter me from doing what I love. I have an analogy, actually: the audience is like a computer. You need to fill it with information, you know…but if you try to cram too much onto the hard-drive…or the audience’s heads…the computer slows down and stops working. And sometimes that makes the computer a bit angry, and it will go and yell at me, or key my car…but really, it’s your fault for not having a better computer.

[Cut to CJ sitting in a café. He is reading a copy of ‘The Portrait of Dorian Gray’. He traces the text with his index finger and mimes the words as he reads. He pauses for a moment, puts the book down and produces a copy of the Oxford Modern Dictionary. Finding the word in question, he replaces the dictionary and resumes reading. Almost instantly, he puts the book down again and reaches for the dictionary.]

[Cut to CJ being filmed from across a table in the café.]

CJ: This is where I like to come for inspiration, just to, umm…people watch, I guess. I’ll sit here with a flat white, a novel…and just watch. I might think, you know “isn’t it funny how we’re in an economic crisis and yet…people are still buying things,” or…”why do men drink their coffees differently to women?” or…”oh, doesn’t that guy have a funny limp!” and just brainstorm for a while. I like to think of this as my office, so to speak. The dream factory.

[CJ chuckles to himself.]

CJ: The staff here are great, too. Really great senses of humour. There’s a little board outside where they like to write little poems or messages, just to give people a chuckle.

[Cut to a shot of a blackboard outside the café. It has ‘A Spoonfull (sic) of Sugar May Help the Medacine (sic) Go Down, But Our Super Sweet Lattes Will Bring You Up!”]

CJ: I help them out sometimes, actually…I said to Breeanne, the manager – she’s not here today – but I said, how about this one: “Henry the 8th: tyrant or twitcher? Go decaffeinated, not decapitated!” Haven’t seen it up yet…maybe a bit too highbrow, but all the girls had a real chuckle at that one.

CJ: But, ah…this is a really special place for me. I met Marnie, here actually. I was carrying a pot of hot tea over to my table and there was this, just…absolutely gorgeous woman sitting cross-legged on a chair, and I was…I was gobsmacked. I was so busy looking at her, actually, that I didn’t see this raised floorboard and…


[Cut back to CJ’s couch. A timid woman in her thirties is sitting down, dressed in a burgundy crushed velvet dress over green leggings. She has a single blonde plait in her brown hair and pulls distractedly at it as she speaks.]

Woman: …and it actually burned me quite badly. I still have this red mark…

[Woman goes to roll up dress over her stomach and shot cuts abruptly to CJ on the couch next to the woman.]

Marnie: I think…what attracted me to him most was definitely his energy. There’s a real vibrancy in Clint, a real passion that I haven’t found in any other men. He really loves to let you know how he’s feeling, to tell you what he thinks is wrong or unjust in the world and how he wants to go about fixing it. The whole car ride back from the hospital he wouldn’t stop talking about it. I think that’s when I fell for him.

[Camera shows close-up shot of CJ getting all misty-eyed.]

CJ: And with, Marnie…we just clicked. We love all the same things. Literature; film; nature; coffee, of course! I can have dairy, and she can’t, but that’s the only real thing. She actually gets violently ill. But you know, “soy be it!”

[CJ and Marnie share a laugh.]

Marnie: Clint’s really supportive of me and my career choices, too. I…I used to run my own Reiki clinic, and it was quite successful…but my passion has always been to write and illustrate children's books that teach environmental awareness.

[Cut to a picture of a children’s book with a crayon drawing of a manatee with a plastic bag over its head. It reads: “PORPOISE IN PAIN” by Marnie Fern Morris.]

Marnie: So I decided to pursue that. And so Clint’s been great with supporting both of us. We just need to be a bit thrifty sometimes.

CJ: That’s right. I mean, Marnie always says “Clint, you have enough energy to power the whole shire!”

Marnie: It would be nice to be able to use the dishwasher sometimes, though…

CJ: I…yeah, but we’ve made choices, and we’re happy. Aren’t we?

Marnie: Oh, yes, absolutely. I just…no, it’s OK.

[Camera lingers on the couple. Marnie bows her head and looks like she’s crying. She squeezes CJ’s thigh. CJ looks limply at the camera without saying anything.]

CJ: Right….I’ll go check on dinner.

[Cut to CJ in the backyard with a shovel. He’s standing next to a shallow hole full of embers and is holding the shovel towards the camera. On it is a small alfoil parcel.]

CJ: Damper. Full of carbohydrates, easy to make…patriotic. Doesn’t require electricity…or hot water.

PNG Farmers Seek to Dangle Carrot

Shaft!

Carrot exports from Papua New Guinea have hit an all time nadir as farmers continue to engage in a bizarre practice known as ’shafting.’

The island nation - famous for it’s laissez-faire attitude towards clothing and trendsetting in the field of hoop earrings and melanomas - is feeling the sting of an unprecendented downturn in carrot demand.

Head of the PNG Carrot Farmers’ Union Solomon L’Aulua said other countries were reticent to import the nation’s carrots due to the recent trend of farmers hollowing out their produce and wearing them as codpieces.

“To be honest, I don’t see what the problem is. People in the west have stylish hats or going out trousers; we whittle carrots into lovely little cock-extenders,” he said.

Mr L’Aulua dubbed the waning demand for PNG’s carrots “disappointing” and claimed “if they knew what we were doing with our butternut pumpkins, agriculture in this country would grind to a slow, sticky halt.”

Dubious agrarian practices are nothing new to the region; Fiji was temporarily evicted from the the United Nations in 1994 following reports that their corn was being erroneously marketed as clitoral stimulators to impoverished townspeople.

That boy needs therapy.

Here are my thoughts at this point in time. They may continue to be my thoughts at other points in time; conversely, I may have had these thoughts for a period of time preceding their commitment to this blog. I am nothing if not chronologically adaptable.

1. Waste coats

What is the fucking point of waistcoats? Did someone one day suddenly decide; ‘Geez, my shoulders and back are freezing, but my chest and arms are already sufficiently toasty. If only there were some practical solution!’

There is a practical solution, waiscoat wearers: it involves a length of garden hose and an exhaust pipe. Anyone who wears a waistcoat without intending to rob a stagecoach deserves to be beaten about the head and body with rakes.

2. Papacy Don’t Preach

Everyone’s favourite Hitler Youth - that zany Pope Ratzinger - continues to lambast the use of condoms and other contraceptives and encourage the impoverished, swarthy peoples of faraway lands to abstain from sex. After a day of mining blood diamonds and/or firing RPGs at opposing forces of nine year-olds, I think a man (boy?) is entitled to want a decent shag.

The inherent paradox in all of this is that despite preaching abstinence, Christians themselves worship a lifelong bachelor who was infamous for getting nailed.

3. Class discrimination in baked goods

I recently went to BP to buy a pie and noticed there was a variety called the ‘tradies’ pie. Being an arts student has imbued many traits in me - most relating to poor hygiene - but has also taught me to question everything. That I have paid thousands of dollars in HECS to basically learn advanced pedantry doesn’t bother me as much as it should. Anyway, I decided to debate the issue with an employee.

“Do you realize that in selling this product you imply that pies are somehow an exclusive staple of the tradie diet? What if a tradie felt like an open-faced salmon sandwich with cumquat chutney? A tapas plate to share with the other plasterers? Some pinot noir and a loaf of Italian bread with relish and assorted olive oils? Alternately, you’re suggesting that in buying this product, one then becomes a tradie; highly unlikely. I feel this pie is encouraging the kind of class tension that led directly to Stalinism and the deaths of tens of millions of people and I have to say I’m disappointed you’re complicit in this, Rajit.”

I bought the pie anyway, and upon my first bite immediately became prejudiced towards Asians and started to reek of sunscreen. I think I owe Rajit an apology.

4. Phil Collins could stand to learn a thing or to about symbolism.

I heard a Phil Collins song the other day where he sung about how he and some lucky lady had ‘two hearts living in just one mind.’ That’s a troubling thought. Imagine a baby born with two hearts within one mind in Viking times. They’d be put in a wicker basket, doused in accelerant and then WHOOSH…off to Valhalla. Sorry, Gunnar - next time get born with your vital organs in the right quantities and locations.

Furthermore, what kind of bullshit co-dependency is that? I feel uncomfortable sharing my toothbrush with a girlfriend, let alone allowing her to annex parts of my brain for her needy fucking cardiovascular system. Get out of here.

The End

Wildlife

Wildlife

I’ve never grasped the human capacity for possessiveness. I wish I had – it may help explain away the dry humping going on in the booth adjacent to mine. They’re sitting; her on his lap, legs together; him with his calves wrapped around her shins and his hands atop hers, which rest on his thighs - a cloistered circuit, conducting desperation. I’ve watched them since they entered, giggling hysterically at an inane aside made by the boyfriend and stumbled to the counter as she sheepishly whispered her order into his ear, which he then relayed to the cashier. She attempted to pay – this seemed to offend his sense of propriety – and he desperately batted away her hand, producing a fifty of his own that was thrust upon the counter. She feigned outrage and then slapped him playfully in the stomach. He cracked the giddy grin of a dullard who knows no better. She stared dimly at the counter whilst resting her head on his shoulder. I wondered if it embarrassed her to be with someone so short.

They’re splitting an horrendously large iced coffee, doused in cream and several other carcinogens. This pleases me. Despite being provided two straws, he makes a point of drinking from the same one as her whenever she passes him the bucket. I’ve stopped reading my book, and decide to listen to their conversation. I prefer to critique the lives of others, because providing such studied scrutiny to my own life makes me fidgety.

"Did you end up going to, umm…" he asks, trailing off.

"To….?" she responds, nuzzling further into his jugular.

"To…you know?"

"Do I remember going to you know? Do I? Babe, you have to tell me!" she squeals.

"I’m trying to!" he yelps, squeezing her hand harder.

"You’re useless!"

They suck the enamel off each other’s premolars for another fifteen seconds or so, then he laughs again for no reason. I cannot convey how strongly I yearn for him to be on fire. The anthropologist in me would like to conduct a Pavlovian test on them; provide stimulus (a text message riddled with malapropisms and “xoxox”s; matching sets of manacles; familiar scent on a pillowcase) and watch them salivate rivers over the table.

They’re beginning to bore me. I remember the pot of tea I’ve had at the table for the past half hour. It’s unsalvageable; the leaves at the bottom have coagulated into a dense mesh and will doubtless taste like peroxide.

"What are you thinking?" she asks me from across the table.

"Things."

"No shit?"

She goes back to her book. It’s unlikely she wanted an answer.

There’s a group of middle-aged men at a table in the corner. They laugh too boisterously at each other’s jokes because they each individually have an enduring dread within them. The loudest of them, wearing a dress shirt that fits too tightly in the arms – the sleeves don’t reach his wrists – bangs on the table to accentuate his point and the rest of them seem impressed with his story. There’s nervousness in the way they drink their coffees and they seem ashamed to be here. None of them wear rings.

Out on the street, groups of drunks amble past hollering the last song they’d heard at the pub. A guy with no shirt whose forehead is far too close to his chin yells across the road at a cab, before leaning face first against a stop sign, waving his phone as if conducting some cretinous orchestra. A pod of plastered bleached blondes in stilettos strut past, one of them exclaiming:

"I’m ready for some DICK!"

This offends the man sitting by the window with a group of friends. He raises his eyebrows and looks at his girlfriend; seemingly abhorred, but secretly wishing she’d talk like that sometimes. She gives a blithe smile and continues talking to the man next to her. Their conversation is vibrant, peppered with laughter and fleeting brushes of thighs and hands. The boyfriend appears rightly concerned, and smiles from beneath a mask of restrained, irreconcilable torment. Despite frequent interjections, he doesn’t seem as canny as the other guy, and is unable to wrest control of the conversation from him. The boyfriend looks like a Phil, which is what I decide to name him as I imagine the nature of their conversation.

Girlfriend: “Oh, wasn’t it brilliant! And the casting was just spot on…”

Unscrupulous Buzzard: “That’s so true. Like, you just get the impression they knew it was the right role for Jodie Foster, and she is brilliant, I mean…have you seen Silence of the Lambs?”

Girlfriend: “No, I haven’t…”

UB: “Well it’s nothing like that, obviously, but she’s very good in it.”

Phil: “Yeah, she was…”

[Ignored by both parties.]

UB: “But I also thought the score was just tremendously done as well…you know, just the…emotion…that they managed to put into that and it really…well, I don’t know, but I’ll definitely pick up a copy of the soundtrack.”

Girlfriend: “I’m not really into classical…I like my music like my wine: Simply Red.”

[Laughter]

UB: “U2?”

[More laughter.]

Phil [Belatedly]: Gee it’s a bit hot in here…maybe we should go to the Beach, Boys?

[Silence.]

Phil then loses it and pours his hot chocolate all over his head before soiling himself and rolling around on the linoleum whilst the girlfriend excuses them both and says he’s had a very long day and it’s time for bed.

The reality of the situation is far less entertaining. Unscrupulous Buzzard is drawn back into the general conversation of the table, where the men are discussing something blokey. Phil makes a lewd joke, which elicits genuine laughter from the table until he realizes the girlfriend is looking disdainfully over her napkin at him and he quietly sips at his drink, allowing the conversation to stagnate until one of the women takes orders for the second round of coffees. The big wheel keeps on turning.

Phil’s struggle has a strange personal resonance. I recall feelings of abject despair; of terrible, unyielding sweats on winter nights; of frantically clawing at something that seemed such an imposition when it was attainable, but near-illusory the moment I allowed it any significant stake in my psyche. A thousand memories of a thousand paeans to futility and temporality… I’m uncomfortable.

"How’s the book?” I ask.

“I’ve already told you.”

She has, and I take this as a gut-searing personal defeat.

"Oh yeah. One day I’ll start listening to you. Maybe."

"I’m giddy."

The droll bitch has me, though there will be further exchanges. Redemption is not unattainable. I’m slightly flushed and I don’t want to know why because there’s probably no lesson here.

"Let’s go."

And we do.

A Current Today: Fiddler Fun

Garrick Hopkins-Featherwaite: Good evening and welcome to another edition of A Current Today; the show that’s totally cool with just keeping things platonic, I mean really, why ruin such a beautiful friendship? It’d be crazy. Yeah, I’m totally cool just being mates. That’s that sorted then.


We begin tonight with a story featuring a man using a net to catch predators. A Current Today must stress that this is not a follow-up story about Hoos van Swiessenjoonk, the South African big game poacher who, at the time of filming, had suffered from an hitherto undiagnosed case of bi-polar disorder: Furthermore, we wish to divest ourselves of any responsibility for any figure-four leg locks, Indian burns or sautéing suffered by heavily-sedated Leopards during the aforementioned story.

[GHF shuffles papers at his desk, expecting to have already cut to story.]

GHF: Damned fruity yarpies…

[Story begins – GHF is sitting on a desk next to a computer, trying to act nonchalant. His top button is undone, left leg resting on the desk, right leg planted on the floor. He goes to plant his left hand on the desk but accidentally places it on the mouse, causing it (along with GHF) to violently lurch sideways. He regains his balance, looks at the camera despairingly and begins.]


GHF: The internet; where would we be without it? For millions worldwide, it is an indispensable tool, allowing us to bank, interact, enjoy sporting and cultural events, broadcast…

[Female voice interrupts.]

FV: Don’t forget shop!

[Camera pans across to where middle aged woman is sitting at another computer. GHF smiles sheepishly at the camera.]

GHF: My lovely wife Celeste! That’s right dear, don’t go spending too much on that sequined purse you found on Ebay (pronounces it “ebb-ay”).com!”

C: It’s a handbag, not a purse!

GHF (mumbling): Call it what you like, had my bloody balls in one for years…

C: What was that?

GHF: I said: “Check your emails, I forwarded you a hilarious slideshow of cats in various captioned predicaments!”

[GHF grimaces slightly then turns back to the camera.]


GHF: But although many call the internet the information superhighway, this is not a highway free of blights. Indeed, this highway is littered with seedy truckstops, in the fetid restrooms of which - amidst the caked-in stench of urine and semen - unsavoury lorry drivers and world-weary, ostrich-like prostitutes wash their genitals in hand basins of remorse, trying in vain to rid themselves of the viscous traces of another loveless, mutually-unfulfilling cyber-tryst all the while wondering why their moral compass has been thrown into disarray by the magnetic field of readily-accessible smut. Indeed, there is a dark side of the internet, a side [pause for effect]…that threatens perhaps our most precious commodity…besides nickel or maybe zinc….I mean…our most precious human commodity: our children.

[Camera cuts across to computer next to GHF which is displaying “Fatal Error 404.” Camera zooms in on the word “Fatal”/shot overlaid with a lingering and ominous synth stab.]

[Cut to GHF standing in front of a door.]

GHF: Internet chat rooms are a popular medium for young people to interact and discuss demographic-specific topics such as fashion trends and ribald dance manoeuvres. Secure in the company of their peers, today’s youth use the internet in the way previous generations used the school fete or fishing down the creek with the kids from across the road and congregate on - as they affectionately call it - “the W-W-W.” However, such chat rooms have also given sexual predators the means to prey on unsuspecting children by themselves posing as pre-teens and arranging rendezvous’ away from the watchful gaze of parents. There are, however, forces opposing these opportunistic perverts. Today, I meet with one of the men who fights paedophiles at the front line, on line (said in forceful, authoritative sexily-punny way.]

[Camera cuts to close up of SPAULDING – the word is obviously embroidered on a garment. Camera zooms out and reveals a man in his late 40’s. He is balding and sports a combover, has a chinstrap beard, blue zip-up nylon Spaulding track top, a pair of mustard track pants and a pair of Velcro Dunlop KT-26s. He has his arms crossed and is trying to look stoic and macho but doesn’t realise he has a large framed photo of himself dressed in drag on his coffee table. Camera pans away from man and zooms in on photo instead. He realises what is going on and shuffles sideways to block the shot. Shot ends on his mustardy crotch.]

[Cut to montage of man doing boring household things like watering plants, making a cup of tea, showing GHF photos of cats etc. “Heroes” by David Bowie plays during montage until GHF voiceover.]

GHF Voiceover: This is Warren Spenk; Warren might look like your everyday Aussie bloke, but his laid-back demeanour belies the fact that Warren is one of society’s unsung heroes. From the unlikely command post of this single-room flat in Rivervale, Warren wages war on paedophiles in children’s chat rooms.]

[Cut to Warren sitting down. Shot captures him from waist up, he’s at left of frame.]


W: A lot of people say you can’t combine business and pleasure, you know…but this is my business and it also brings me a great deal of pleasure. (Pauses.)
A great deal.


[Cut to GHF and Warren standing in W’s bedroom. Computer is visible in the background.]

GHF: So, Warren, this is where the magic takes place?

W (chuckles): I suppose you could say so, Garrick…

GHF: It certainly doesn’t look like much, but you’ve done a lot of great work here, haven’t you.

W: Well I’m just an ordinary bloke, Garrick, but I like to…y’know, it feels damn good to make a difference.

GHF: And of course you can always have a nap when you’re tuckered out! Working hard or hardly working, eh Wazza!

[GHF slaps W hard on the back and he noticeably recoils, laughing nervously. GHF looks at one of W’s bedposts.]

GHF: Ah, are those notches I see?

W: Well, umm…

[GHF cuts him off.]

GHF: There’s only two!

W: Well I uh, I lost count at…two.

GHF: Looks like there’s a bit of moss there in them…

[Camera lingers on W as he looks at the ground and rubs his brow, nods slightly and stays staring at the ground. Shot lingers for a few more seconds then cuts away.]

[Cut to GHF standing in front of W’s computer. W is sitting at the PC, back turned to camera, typing.]

GHF: Warren operates by assuming the identity of a young chatter and building rapport with legitimate youngsters by speaking to them in their own colloquialisms.


[Cut to computer screen showing an MSN chat.]


Sk8boiKevinSheedy666 says:

Have u got the new Doctor Dre album? It’s pretty whacked!

~/{MyFlAmeBuRnS4U]\~ says:

na I dun like him

Sk8boiKevinSheedy666 says:

Word!

[Cut back to GHF]


GHF: Once Warren has spent sufficient time chatting to another user, he will arrange a meeting with them in a secluded park on the outskirts of the metropolitan area. Upon meeting the child, he then reveals his true identity and drives them home in his panel van. No paedophiles are caught, but the process provides young chatters with a sobering lesson in the perils of trusting unknown internet contacts.

[GHF goes over to W at computer and squats down beside him.]

GHF: How are we going there, Warren?

W: Yeah, good mate…making a bit of progress with this one.

[Cut to computer screen again.]

Sk8boiKevinSheedy666 says:

Argh! It’s a damned repeat of Degrassi this arvo! I’m sooo devo! Like srsly!

Me n’ stef are the la la sisters n’ u ALL no it! says
lol yer I gess


Sk8boiKevinSheedy666 says:

I hate my dad.

Me n’ stef are the la la sisters an u ALL no it! says

lmao ur random ey do u goto st patrikss.?


[Cut back to GHF and W sitting at computer.]

GHF: There really are a lot of risks involved for children who use the internet, aren’t there Warren?

W (nodding): Oh yeah, Garrick…there’s all kinds of nasties out there.

GHF: Can you tell us about a few of them.

W (befuddled): Well there’s, um…there’s pedos. obviously; blokes who would take the kids to a park and take their beep and maybe do a bit of beep beep beep, twirl it around a bit and –y’know- beep them basically….there’s um…poofs…dykes…ahhh…viruses…Hindus…

GHF: Sounds like a bit of a minefield, Warren.

W (regaining confidence): Oh, it certainly is! It makes me really thuyen bak!

GHF: Come again?

W: Oh, I’m sorry…I drift in and out of Cambodian sometimes. I meant hopping mad.

GHF: Man of many talents! Where did you learn to speak Cambodian? And why?

W (curtly): Business trip. Business trips. Long time ago, I’m getting rusty…a-heh. Anyway, I think I’ve got one here!

GHF Voiceover: Warren has managed a breakthrough with a thirteen year-old girl who goes by the user name “Percentage sign, RITA, percentage sign, exclamation mark, LOL.” He’s going to attempt to take the conversation up a notch and lure her into what those in the industry refer to as “cyber sex.”

% RITA % ! LOL says

sooooo…u skate?


Sk8boiKevinSheedy666 says:

You bet your arse I do! Toni Hawk 4ever!!

% RITA % ! LOL says

ye ma xbf use 2 but he got hit in da hed pritty hard n coodnt do it ne more.

Sk8boiKevinSheedy666 says:

Oh, Snap!

% RITA % ! LOL says

ye. U got a pic I wana c if ur cute hehe

% RITA % ! LOL says

ima flirt if u dint notice!! ;)

Sk8boiKevinSheedy666 says:

I’m going unload my sac on you.

[Cut back to GHF and W at computer.]

GHF: So from here you’ll consolidate the relationship and arrange a meeting?

[W is distracted and doesn’t here the question properly.]

W: Hm? Oh…yep, that’s the one. Yep. Will do that.

[W’s wall phone rings.]

W: I’ll get it.

[W gets up abruptly and turns sideways, knocking over a pencil pot on the desk with his prominent erection. Camera once again lingers as GHF and W look awkwardly at each other.]

[Cut to GHF and W walking next to each other down a suburban street.]


GHF voiceover: Warren is a diligent servant of the community, and doesen’t confine his vigilance to the online environment. He frequently spends his time scoping out other real-world paedophile hotspots such as public swimming pools, playgrounds, neighbours’ backyards and primary schools like this one.

[GHF motions with his hand and camera pans across to show local primary school.]


W: Well they could be anywhere, really Garrick. That bush over there, for example…you could quite easily hide in there with a camera…maybe one of the boys would come over there because he’d been drinking a lot of cordial and needed to do a widdle but didn’t want to run to the toilet…maybe he’d get his willy out and just do a wee on the bush, and god knows you could get one, maybe two cameras in there and no one would be the wiser…no one at all…

GHF: Frightening, isn’t it?

W: Hrm? Oh…yeah, terrifying. Very, um…scary. And I mean, there’s safety houses around but the sign is what, a yellow triangle and a smiling house? You could forge one of those easily. All you need is some plastic from Bunnings…can get it for about five bucks…use a mounted saw to cut it down nice and evenly, maybe buff the edges once you’re done… then you’d just need one of those thick Artline markers…not hard at all. And the kids, well, they’re none the wiser.

GHF: Certainly an alarming thought for upstanding citizens like yourself.

W: You betcha.

GHF: Anyway Warren, let’s go in and speak to some of the teachers.

[GHF tries to usher W through the schools front gate.]

W: I’m not sure that’s such a good…

[A piercing alarm sounds from around W’s feet.]

GHF: What was that?!

[Camera pans down. W is wearing shorts and his legs are visible. Around one ankle is a bright silver band.]

W: Oh…it’s me umm…heart rate monitor. Plays up a bit when it gets near…grass.

GHF: The price we pay for good health, eh! Maybe next time then.

[W exhales loudly and wipes his brow as he and GHF walk away from school.]

[Cut to GHF standing with his back to the crest of an embankment at a local reserve. Children can be seen playing football in the background.]


GHF: Warren’s passion for community wellbeing isn’t all about preventative measures, either; he’s also concerned with nurturing young people and helping them engage in more positive aspects of childhood. It is for this reason that he revels in his volunteer work at the Thornlie Junior Football Club.


[Camera cuts to man in a cap with whistle around his neck.]


Coach: Yeah, Warren certainly makes a...unique contribution around the place. We didn’t actually need any volunteer orange-cutters, but he seems to enjoy the work…

[Cut to W, dressed in tight shorts with a tucked in tracktop, a foam tennis visor and thigh-high socks breaking out a Tupperware container full of orange halves. A boy approaches him.]

W: Oh, G’day Tim! Get a few touches out there?

T: I spose.

W: Well watch out, ya might get leather poisoning! Hahah!

[T reaches for an orange slice.]

W: Whoa! Your hands are all grubby there matey, you’ll get the shits if you eat it with them! I’d better feed it to you…

[T looks uncomfortable.]


GHF Voiceover: Whether it be slicing oranges, teaching the lads the secret behind his legendary torpedo punt [shot of W holding the ball sideways and kicking it straight up in the air in front of a group of disinterested kids and a fuming coach], providing moral support from the sidelines [W doing the Macarena and yelling “GO THORNLIE”] or affectionately dousing the team in canola oil [kids running out onto the field, W grabs one by the arm and sprays him with aerosol can of cooking oil, kid is wriggling, W: “Get ya nice and slippery there mate, don’t watch the tackles sticking!”], Warren does it all for the kids.

[Cut to GHF and W standing in front of the team, who are stretching.]

GHF (patronisingly enthusiastic): Cor, they look like a pretty well drilled unit Waz!

W: Oh, too right! They keep me on my toes, don’t you fellas!

[Kids all look blankly at W]

W: Yep, my little terrors! Stretch your groins, there lads, don’t want to pull a groin! Have to be a bit older before you start pulling down there!

GHF (confused): Heh…

W: You boys’ll be right into that one day…

GHF: Oh, wanking! I bet!

W (getting more excited): You’ll be at it all the bloody time!

GHF: All the time!

W (more excited): Telling mum you’ve been eating sprouts in your room again! Four times a day!

GHF: Ah, hormones eh!

W (yelling): OH NO MUM, I’VE GONE AND BLOODY SPROGGED EVERYWHERE!

[W laughs wildly as GHF chuckles, still oblivious to W’s depravedness. The kids look alarmed. W settles eventually.]

W: Right kids, stretch it out nice and hard for ten more seconds and we’ll finish up.

GHF: All in a day’s work, eh Warren?

[W turns to face GHF. There is a trolley with waterbottles on it between them. In profile, we see that W again has a prominent erection, which knocks over the bottles when he turns to face GHF.]

W: Ah…yep.

[Cut to GHF and W standing back at W’s front porch.]

GHF: Well mate, it’s been a pleasure and I think I speak for all of us when I say: Keep up the good work, cobber!

W: Thanks Garrick…I do it for the kids. All about the kids.
[As GHF is about to leave a girl scout selling biscuits arrives at Warren’s doorstep.]

GS: Would you like to buy biscuits to support…

[Girl steps onto porch and the shrieking sound from before is heard.]

GHF: Heart rate monitor?

W (hurriedly): Yep.

[“My Hero” by Foo Fighters plays as we see W scurry back into his house, leaving a bewildered girl scout and GHF on the front verge. Ten seconds pass, then we see one of W’s blinds move slightly and W peers out at the two from behind it before moving away from the window.]

[Cut to GHF back in studio.]

GHF: Warren Spenk; truly a paragon of selflessness. That’s about all we have time for tonight, but before we go I’d like to thank Primrose Orchards for their donation of a crate of navel oranges for tonight’s story; with any luck, men like Warren will be around our children’s navels for some time yet. Thanks for being with us, and, until next time, I’m Garrick Hopkins-Featherwaite for A Current Today.

A Current Today T-Shirt Troubles

GHF: Hello and welcome to another edition of A Current Today; the show that really, really, really wants to zig-azig-AHH. I’m Garrick Hopkins-Featherwaite and I’m [GHF squints as though looking at autocue, hesitates for a moment and continues slowly and sternly, though obviously perplexed] not…wearing any panties.

GHF: Tonight we bring you a story featuring two young Australians who have fallen afoul of the draconian laws of another country in a bizarre case of mistaken identity. Dominic Andericci and Tony Voulos now find themselves on death row in Bahrain, with Australian authorities seemingly unable to assist them.

[Cut to GHF standing at a desk with a globe on it. He spins the globe and places his index finger on what he thinks is a country.]

GHF: Bah…

[Camera zooms in on globe; his finger is in the middle of the Atlantic Ocean. Camera zooms out as GHF frantically rotates and places his finger on Bahrain (Marked with a bright red X)]

GHF: Bahrain; most of us couldn’t even spell it, let alone locate on a map. But this small country, with it’s population of just over a million and it’s inconsiderately difficult to spell name is at the centre of a diplomatic maelstrom that looks set to result in the executions of two Australian teenagers.

[GHF standing outside Challenge Stadium]

GHF: Earlier this year, a Shotokan Karate competition was held here in Perth, attended by representatives from over fifty countries, including Bahrain. Bahrain, a martial arts-mad nation where statues depicting scenes from Jean-Claude Van Damme’s “Bloodsport” are commonplace in schools and outside of mosques, sent two competitors to the meet. The men, Courtney Hussein-Hussein and Tariq Akbal Nasser al-Bundy went missing upon touching down in Perth and are currently believed to be in hiding, hoping to be granted permanent residency. Under Bahraini law, the duo’s actions constitute treason; a crime punishable by death.

[Cut to GHF standing outside a JayJay’s holding a shirt.]

GHF: This [GHF holds shirt up, revealing that it says “Bahrain Karate Team est. 1979”.]
is the shirt responsible for the wrongful arrest of Dominic Andericci and Tony Voulous. Purchased by Dominic here at JayJays Morley along with shirts reading: “Wet Beavers: We Bring Logs to Your Dam” and “MILF AND COOKIES”, this shirt was mistaken as legitimate by Bahraini officials sent to Australia to apprehend the two athletes; a terrible case of mistaken identity that has seen Dom and Tony placed in Bahraini custody. Officials in Bahrain have refused to comment other than to say the pair were arrested largely because they were “kind of brown” and Bahrain “gotta execute some motherfucker.”
[Cut to GHF outside a building in the city.]

GHF: As there is no Bahraini embassy here in Australia, A Current Today has thus far been unable to contact any of their diplomats to discuss the case. We have emailed the office of this man, Bahrain’s Minister for Justice and Vending Machines, Taqir Omar Gawd [stock photo of Brad in condom helmet] but have as yet received no response. Amateur video has been released of the boys’ trial, where they were represented by the only English-speakers they were able to find in the country; a misdirected shipment of speaking Pierce Brosnan greeting cards.

[Grainy footage of the two boys sitting in cheap plastic chairs at a table. The judiciary panel consists of three men in robes sitting cross-legged on the ground holding assault rifles. They are accompanied by a small dog in a cowboy hat. One of the men aggressively addresses the boys in a foreign language (gibberish) and then glares at them. One of the boys stands up after the other elbows him under the table and opens a card.]

Card [Brosnan voice]: May this Christmas leave you shaken, not stirred.

[Judiciary begin screaming and firing their guns in the air.]

Seated boy: Nice one, pooftah!

[Cut back to GHF in studio]

GHF: As far as we can ascertain, the two boys have been sentenced to death. In accordance with Bahraini law, they will be doused in molasses and then brutally beaten with a donkey’s shinbone. As Australian representatives try desperately to extract the boys from this horrific situation, A Current Today has managed to secure the first ever interview with the boys. Tonight, we are joined via satellite link-up with Dominic Andericci.


GHF: Dominic, thank you for sharing your time during what must be a most trying period for you.

[Dominic is shown in stock photo in background. He is standing next to a plaster lion doing an “archer” pose in a pair of Adidas trackies and a backwards Juventus FC hat.]

Dominic: Yeah bro.

GHF: Now like everyone else, I’m curious as to just how Bahraini authorities managed to confuse two Australian teenagers for a pair of AWOL martial artists. Can you tell the viewers exactly how events unfolded on the day of your arrest.

Dominic: I dunno mate, I was going to pick up my nonna when she got in from Tripoli and I was like, wearing some bullshit shirt Jacynda bought for me but I had to cause she was coming with me and I had to pretend I liked it so I could get a wristie later but these lebbo blokes grabbed me and started yelling and shit and then they put me and Tony in handcuffs.

GHF: And no airport security came to your aid?

Dominic: Nah man, they had it in for us cause I wouldn’t take out my nipple rings when I went through the metal detector and some fat skippie poof had a go at me.

GHF: I see…and are you being treated well in custody?

Dominic: It’s a bit shit mate…like, it’s a co-ed prison but I don’t like asian chicks. If Jacynda is watching tell her that, I could have rooted heaps in here but I haven’t.

GHF: I’m sure she’ll be pleased to hear the news. From what I’m told, Bahraini prisons are notoriously brutal places; have you and Tony been subjected to or witnessed any acts of brutality?

Dominic: Well like, sometimes I do this thing where I yell “Guards, guards…oi, come quick mate, someone has guns in the cell!” and then they come running and its just me and Tony flexing and they like taser us and shit.

GHF: That sounds horrific…

Dominic: Yeah all the electricity fucks up our hair bro, it’s fucked.

GHF: We’re almost out of time, but do you have any messages to pass on to loved…

[Dominic interrupts]

Dominic: Oi, fuck off faggot!

GHF: Excuse me?

Dominic: Fucking Tony is making a face at me like he’s licking a pussy.

GHF: I…

[Dominic interrupts again, his voice more distant now as he moves away from the phone.]

Dominic: FUCK OFF! You’ve never even seen a mut!

Dominic [back on the phone, voice clearer]: Oi, I just want all of Australia to know that Tony has never eaten a pussy and the one time he hooked up with some dirty chick he sprogged his pants. [Distant again] Hahaahah! Sucked in, pooftah!

GHF: Dominic, this is a serious…

Dominic: Mate, you should see how red he’s going! He’s fucking crying mate!

GHF: You’re going to be beaten to death with a donkey bone!

Dominic: I have a donkey bone right here, Mr Reporter.

[Sounds of a struggle]

Dominic: Fuck off! Fuck off! Don’t touch my dick!

[Phone cuts out]

[Cut back to GHF in studio looking bewildered]

GHF: Tony Voulos and Dominic Andericci…two very brave young Australians. Now to the results of last week’s phone poll topic: “Is the road to Stalinism paved with low-rider jeans?”

[Cuts again to a photo of Brad in condom helmet]

GHF: Um…I think…

[Credits begin abruptly]