Posted in aussies, australiana, drink, tagged adelaide, bogan, Chris Franklin, Wild Turkey on November 17, 2009 | Leave a Comment »
What followed was several hours of trying to get everyone to punch him, cooking a bbq with his cock out, falling off his chair repeatedly, wandering around with some form of pickaxe, getting his cock out, sticking his head in an oven, drinking more Wild Turkey with his cock out, singing a new song he’d written, then finally passing out with the axe in the host’s bed, although not before declaring:
“What’s wrong? It’s only a fucking cock.”
Posted in aussies, melbourne, tagged headlines, media, melbourne, taxi drivers on September 9, 2009 | Leave a Comment »
It’s well documented that Fairfax, owner of The Age and Sydney Morning Herald among other things, has been struggling for some time. There’s even talk that those two papers might disappear with only their mastheads retained into the future. However, after Saturday night’s experience, Bruce and Fran believe there may yet be a solution: they [...]
Posted in aussies, food, tagged Cavallero, collingwood, fire, Jim's Greek Tavern, laundrette, smith street on June 21, 2009 | Leave a Comment »
The Sunday afternoon visit to the laundrette had already thrown up an amusing little piece of Collingwood. The first of the tumble dryers to finish its cycle contained nothing but pairs of Levi 504’s in shades varying from very black through black to very dark blue and dark blue. All the same size, all clearly [...]
Posted in aussies, travel, tagged swine flu, victoria on June 11, 2009 | Leave a Comment »
“Swine flu is a lot of smoke, little fire,” he reasons.
Posted in aussies, melbourne, travel, tagged Angela Lansbury, Melbourne CBD, Melbourne trams, Murder She Wrote, tram on June 3, 2009 | Leave a Comment »
The bag appeared to hold the key to her excitement and, sure enough, soon her mitts were inside. Her body tipped forward, the faded workplace identity card swinging from her neck nudging against the bag, so she could sneak a glance at her prize as it was retrieved. A smile spread across her face as she leant back; there it was: the complete series nine of Murder, She Wrote.
After carefully removing a strip of sticky tape (and folding it perfectly in half) her chubby fingers began clawing at the plastic wrap. As they did, her face became a study in concentration: jaw working overtime like a champion gurner OD’ing on MDMA crystal, tongue lapping at her lips like a dog anticipating Sunday dinner leftovers.
 | bruceandfran on The Karova Lounge, Ballar… |
 | paddy on The Karova Lounge, Ballar… |
| bruceandfran on Go white boy, go white boy, go… |
 | Carolina on Smith Street never offered up… |
 | sarah on The number 64 tram, 10.50… |
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