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 Music, australiana, tagged awful music, Melbourne rap, RAED on November 12, 2009 | Leave a Comment »
Hmmm… not for as good reasons as Brandon Block in the story that inspired this track, but hey, still two months.
There have been many reasons to wish to restart, not least the abomination that the Grace Darling has become since its wanky takeover, but in the end it was this incredible [...]
Posted in Music, australiana, melbourne, tagged chasing waterfalls, faux pas, melbourne, Music, rrr on August 21, 2009 | Leave a Comment »
Never one to trouble himself with being up to date, on the ball, fingering pulses or any such thing, Bruce has fallen in love several aeons after the fact. Driving through town listening to the RRR signupathon yesterday, patiently waiting for the presenters to shut up and play some tunes, he was rewarded with a [...]
Posted in australiana, food, tagged bill hicks, COPS, cravat, Masterchef Australia, Matt Preston, television on June 22, 2009 | 5 Comments »
Sadly, the program has become to them what COPS was in the early 1990s to Bill Hicks: the sore tooth that you can’t stop touching. Every time Mini-Me appears with his snear and yells some inane encouragement (yesterday to declare that the reputation of Australia itself rested on their ability to make dim sum) or Jabba the Hutt does another impersonation of the over-indulged eight-year-old posh kid trying to please mummy before morphing into a lecherous version of the lizards in Fear and Loathing In Las Vegas’ acid-tripping bar scene, Bruce begins yelling while Fran starts writhing uncomfortably on the sofa next to him like a smack addict convinced there’s something under her skin.
Posted in Music, aussies, australiana, expats, travel, tagged Music, Palais, Paul Kelly, Robert Forster, Songs from the South, st kilda on May 22, 2009 | Leave a Comment »
Fran was the first to fall for his iconic Aussie charms. And boy did she fall. One afternoon she started crying while walking along Smith Street just thinking about How To Make Gravy. That’s right: thinking about it… When Bruce surprised her with tickets for the show it was like watching a five-year-old susceptible to sugar rushes being force fed half a kilo of Redskins washed down with a gallon of Coke and a couple of sherbert fountains then let loose on a bouncy castle. When she later got hold of Songs From The South vol. 2 and realised he penned Every Fucking City – the tune she rewrote into an Ancient Mariner-type odyssey with her road sisters while travelling the States in pre-Bruce days – it’s a miracle she didn’t shift a couple of tectonic plates.
 | 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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