I'm a bit of a martial arts fan, and have fucked around with various styles over the years, so when the opportunity to go and see the Shaolin monks doing their shit in the big smoke came up a couple of years ago, I had to go and have a squiz at 'em.

Should be an interesting night.

So...

A mate of mine is interested as well, so his missus scores us fucken beaut seats. Dead center and about ten rows back, just above a walkway, so we're elevated above the rows in front. Fucken ripper.

Now me an' me mate, we get dressed up in the going to town black jeans, flanno's and ripple sole black DB's. (Sort of like usual, but newer, and with out the ripped bits). Funnily enough, we don't seem to fit comfortably with city folks in town for some reason, none of the cunts say gooday or even look at ya. Fucken rude cunts. I think that they just don't feel comfortable around 6ft+ blokes with beards and tatts. Fuck knows.

My mate monster has a different personalty to mine. Whereas I tend to be a thinker and mostly speak little to cunts I don't know, apart from gooday, or telling them to go fuck themselves that is. Monster is, as well as being a top bloke, there to speak his mind or laugh loudly if he sees something funny and sometimes can come out with the most wonderful and very public comments when in town...

(those are a story unto their own)...

So there we are...

At the big event. The stage is set, huge gongs and draped red ribbons, vats of incense waft copious amounts of smoke, and, to make sure no cunt has tried to gaff our seats, we are there watching the stadium fill up.

the lights dim.... every one goes quiet...the moment is at hand...

and slowly... one, then two, then.... after a pause, a third....

orange clad monk files out into the mist of the incense clouds amongst the forest of red silk banners, to the sound of the slowly booming gongs, bringing back memories whose reality was only missing the little 'cling/cling' bells, tambourines, and conga line moves of the Hari Krishna's from a few years back ...

Only two of the fuckers at first, then a third, older than the others, who treat him with deference.

And one of them hands him, as he slowly meditates through the mist, past his subordinate colleague. A tyre lever. At least that's what it looks like from our good vantage point.

The old boy grasps it firmly at the lower end in both hands...

The gongs boom as one....

He slowly moves forward, lifting the tyre lever slowly towards the middle of his forehead, incense swirls around him, the pungent smell fills the auditorium...

The gongs boom as one....

He stops, and faces the audience squarely....

The gongs boom as one.... the incense wafts in plumes...

He takes a braced stance, complete harmony and peace with his internal energy written all over him, and slowly raises the tyre lever to his forehead again...

The gongs boom as one....

And he smacks himself really fucken hard in the middle of his head with the tyre lever, looks a bit shocked and gives a little stagger, as you would I'd imagine, and dead silence...

Except for Monster...


Laughing his fucken ring out...

"HAHAHAHAHHAHAHHAHA DID YASEE THAT FUCKEN SILLY CUNT HAHAHAHAHAHAHA"

Which got me snorting a bit as well, as the monk and the audience seemed, well, a bit out of their comfort zones...

anyway...

The gongs boom as one, again....

And, again, he smacks himself in the middle of his head with the tyre lever, looks a bit shocked and gives a little stagger, as you would I'd imagine, and dead silence...

Except for Monster...


Laughing his fucken ring out, but louder...

"HAHAHAHAHHAHAHHAHA DID YASEE THAT FUCKEN SILLY CUNT HAHAHAHAHAHAHA" "FUCKEN SMACKED HIMSELF IN THE HEAD AGAIN HAHAHAHAHAHA _ WOT A FUCKEN DICKHEAD!! HAHAHAHAHAHA >> HAHAHAHAHAAAHAHA"

and dead fucken silence...

from everyone else, monks ... audience...

'cept for me cackling along. It was funny as fuck!! The fucken look on the faces of the old cunt and the audience were fucken priceless.

To his credit, the old boy ended up smacking it on his head and breaking it.. but he did seemed a bit miffed for the rest of the show- so did the rest of his crew.

the rest of the night was a top laugh as well, I'd class them as more acrobats than martial artists, but I 'spose it's only a show and we had a good fucken giggle throughout it.

As we were leaving, some dickhead in front of us goes cunt up down the stairs 'cos he wasn't looking where he was going.

Goes monster..."he said not to fucken try this at home you fuck wit, are your fucken ears painted on?" ...

and we stepped over the cunt and went back to the bush.




maybe one day I'll relate our trip to the Monet exhibition....

Well there are some interesting times to be had at times ay!

Like when your MD flies over with his main hatchet man and, in between discussing the weather with folks at work, tells them that the WA part of our national operations is being sold. And so are they. In the next month or so.

Now I'm surrounded by glum cunts - most of whom are working to pay the mortgage and all the other shit that they can buy with the glorious dollar. I'm lucky in that I don't owe anyone fuck all and having previously been 'retired' for ten years on the good ol' rock an roll found that I quite enjoyed doing my own thing and can survive on fuck all. Money has no hold on me, which is good, as it means that no other cunt has control of me either.

However, the plot thickens. Apparently I'm a corporate asset and I'm not getting sold at market like the rest of the folks. I just won't have an office to go to anymore.

Howdya fucken be. Looks like I'll be working from home - what a cunt.

In the meantime, I can feel a fishing trip up north coming on soon. I'll just have to wait until after all the easter tourist cunts have done their thing and pissed off back to work.

That'll give me time to do some running repairs and a few more modifications to the battle ute and get the fucker ready for action. This time it's getting sassed up with;

• new suspension, (she's getting saggy in the arse end)
  
• shockies, (while I'm fucking around with it)
  
• air locker front diff, (so I can get myself into deeper shit)
• hi-lift jack, (to help out a bit when I get in the shit)
• a winch, (a turfor for now - to get me out of even deeper shit)
• third battery, (in case the piss fridge battery goes flat)
  
• and a solar panel - to run the fridge battery and thus ensure a supply of cold piss for many days. Like if I really get in shit in the back blocks of nowhere)

The way the price of fucking petrols going, travel holidays will soon be a thing of the past, so the sooner I get a couple of hundred acres and become a fucking hermit the better. Then I can obtain a few horses for getting around on. (You'd have to have a few 'cos the cunts are pretty fucken unreliable at times.)

I should be able to get a few for fuck all through posting a "horsey retirement home" add in the Quokka or somewhere. I may even be able to charge rent.

Luckily, as I don't intend to race the nags or win shows or anything, if one gets damaged I can still get $5.95 a kilo for the fucker.

I saw a property the other day that looked good in some aspects. Ten thousand acres. For 150k. In the Gascoyne region. It's the right sort of size and would be fucking spectacular in wild flower season - but I kind of like trees...