I was stoned, he was dethroned!
The brekky cones had just come on and I found myself staring stupidly in the mirror.
I was clearly stoned.
My eyes were red and felt as if they were receding into the back of my skull. A foolish impudent grin made me look even more obvious. The seeds of stoner paranoia were just beginning to sprout in my mind.
"How the hell am I going to get into town looking like this?," I asked Billy, my partner in crime.
Had he been able to speak he would've answered me. Billy was one fucked-up, sad, pitiful spectacle. His inflamed half-shut eyes gave him the appearance of some deranged gargoyle. Drool was matted into his goatee beard and slurred words slipped slowly out of his mouth.
"Mmmmmmm. What. Shit, man. We gotta go get the train...fuck," he mumbled.
When I first met Billy he was a weekend billy-head. But somewhere along the line he turned into a shameless pot-slut. It was my fault. I'd rock on over to his place most nights with a bag and exploit his social nature. But after being coaxed into coning, he matured into a bong-sucking beast.
"Listen man, we'll be cool. Have another cone," he suggested.
Billy was right. A quick lung-full would transform me into a haphazard wastoid - it would be a struggle to walk let alone worry. Great idea! I took the advice and breathed heartily.
Somehow we got the train and found ourselves in the centre of town, deadset in the heart of the Queen Street Mall. The weed had well and truely kicked in.
I began to zone in onto the world around me.
It was lunchtime chaos and the freaks and fools were out in force. Police, ugly shoppers, sidewalk-hogging groups of business men, crappy buskers, and the familiar face of Black Elvis sent us into spasms of laughter. But in the distance I saw my target and decided to prepare for war.
I headed to it at speed. Even in the state he was, Billy Bro couldn't but see my quarry.
Surrounded by a herd of obedient journalists swallowing his every word and guarded by a phalanx of police, detectives and lackeys was our beloved Premier of Queensland, Wayne Goss.
It was a moment too good to miss. I had to make my move.
Billy had been witness to my pot-crazed antics before and knew something was gonna go down. All I heard him say was "Oh fuck no !!!" as I raced towards the press conference.
I stopped and turned back.
"Listen, relax. I'm just going up to watch OK." . It was a poor attempt at placating the fool and for some reason he fell for it, joining me. I had to punish him for his naivetť.
After he relaxed enough to stand beside me, I manoeuvred us to Gossie's rear.
We tried to cram ourselves in the camera frame as the TV crews kept Goss in a tight medium-shot.
Goss raved on with his usual bullshit, using words like possibly and projected to avoid actually saying anything. I was getting quite fucked off with the rhetoric. I waited until Gossie was in mid-sentence.
"Decriminalize POT, DECRIMINALIZE POT !!!"
HAHAHAH try editing that one out.
Before I knew what I'd done the Premier had spun around to see my blazing red eyes and stupid grin. So did the cops. It was a cold long 15 seconds.
Billy raced off in pure panic while I tried to anonymously melt into the crowd as well as anyone could whilst wearing a green Nepalese T-shirt which featured embroided red eyes and green mull leaves.
Billy was cursing me as we met up in a nearby shopping centre.
"You fuckin bastard. You prick. You'll get us busted. You couldn't give a shit."
I was in paroxyms of laughter.
"Sorry," I said. "It was too good an opportunity to miss."
Tribute bands - a brief rant
Tribute bands are big business. The Abba tribute, Bjorn Again, grossed several million dollars last year. But for every successful act, there are many who flounder. Forget what they may sound like, it's the physical impersonation of the stars which is a crack-up. Some of these guys have no fucking idea how stupid they look!
Links that matter
Literary outtakes - Amorous Annies Amazing Arduous Antics
Amazing as all this singular activity was, Anne was still willing to put it about as long as I didn't object and ALWAYS went first.
Being a smart boy word soon got round that if people were nice to me Anne was nice to them! During one of these escapades when Anne was being serviced from both ends,I managed to ask her why she did it.
In between mouthfuls she gasped because she loved me and that she just lived men. Good enough for me!!
Wanting something for posterity,I decided to invest in the recent polaroid technology and bought a b/w camera with film.(I couldn't really take a 35mm film to a chemist and hope to get it developed!!)
Unfortunately I neglected to invest in Flash cubes and the results were very disappointing.
Being an electrical Engineer and now the Chief Lecky I procured some 500W floodlights from one of the adjacent boats engine rooms and set them up in my cabin.
Once I'd had my wicked way and got sexually bored, I brought in the guys who were favoured for that night and let them get down to business.
I got the camera set up, positioned Anne in the most exposed position and switched on the floods. BLACKOUT!!!
I blacked out the entire accomadation deck!!
Back to square one, well back to flash cube squares anyhow! The results were good but lacked the fleshy tones of colour so more investment procured a colour polaroid.
This resulted in perfect shots which out of over 100 taken I now have only 10 left!! Boys being boys,well me being me, I soon got tired of Anne and as soon as she'd come on board and I'd banged her I'd pass her on.
This got to be ridiculous when I met a gorgeous little petite blonde called Claire(who incidentally joined the Merchant Navy as an Officer Cadet and who's first ship was very aptly MV Beaver!) who used to come down and service me on board too.
Things between Claire and I were getting quite cosy when the cabin door was nearly jolted off its hinges by the old bosun shouting "Chief,Chief, out her quick"
I got out of bunk and answered the door and the bosun whispered "It's that Anne. She's at the bottom of the gangway.I've just brought her aboard. I was going to let her on but the 2nd Engineer said you had Claire with you"
I thought faster and decided a man had to do what a man had to do so I went to the bar and got 3 guys who owed me and told them to get a cabin....anywhere.
I went down, picked up Anne,took her to the cabin indicated, did the biz,left her with a kiss and said "Look,Security is tightening up.We'll have to meet in the pub.I'll phone you"
I left her with her last gangbang and went back to Claire who was very pleased that our love making was so long!!
The amazing thing about Ane was that she only got a job as a nurse so that she could keep herself genitally clean and in fact all the women, working or otherwise, that I'd been with throughout the world who you could class as easy were very particular about keeping themselves clean.
FACT: The only dose I ever caught was from a married woman in Wallasey where I live!!
But Anne was an amazing one off, a real nymphomaniac but with standards. She swore she was in love with me and would only go with the other blokes with my permission and remained truly faithful in her way while I was with her.
I met her just before I shipped out to Kuwait and she asked me why I'd dumped her. I could have said a lot of things but I opted for what I thoguht was the kindest. I said: "Sorry Anne, I just didn't love you"
For a more involved story please feel free to e-mail me:
Oh,and if Claire is reading this I'd REALLY love to hear from you again.
This ends this section of SeaDog. I hope you enjoyed my relating my past VERY TRUE experiences to you. In fact, a lot of things, especially regarding the nympho nurse Anne, I've actually toned down!! Anyway,best regards to all readers and please feel free to e-mail me about anything, even travel info!
Oasis Vs Radiohead
Liam and Noel Gallagher of Oasis both love talking about Radiohead. The May issue of Q magazine has an interview with
brothers and of course, the subject of Radiohead was brought up:
WERE YOU GOOD HUSBANDS?
N: I get unfairly singled out about marriage. No one asks
Thom Yorke about his marriage.
L: She's probably a miserable bastard like him. The miserable
ginger dwarf and his miserable wife. Who wants to know about them?
RADIOHEAD AREN'T THAT BAD THOUGH, ARE THEY?
N: No! Radiohead don't want anyone else involved in that little thing they've got going on. Their thing is: Don't look at us. Don't photo us. Don't interview us. In fact, don't listen to our music. Where does it end? It ends with Thom Yorke saying I've written the most fantastic piece of classical music ever but the only way you can hear it is by jamming a jack plug into my ear.
L: They're a band of Morris dancers.
N: They seem so pissed off being in a band. That doesn't inspire kids to pick up guitars. They're moaning about the marketing, the videos. If i was 15 I'd think, I'll get a job down the car wash. Whereas us, we love it. It's the best job in the world. Granted, some of the stuff on Amnesiac is brilliant. The Bends is the bollocks. Karma Police is mega. But they don't want people to like their music so they can go fuck themselves.
YOU'VE MADE IT CLEAR YOU'RE UNIMPRESSED WITH THE CURRENT STATE OF ROCK MUSIC. IS THE NEW ALBUM GOING TO SHAKE THINGS UP?
N: We don't need to prove anything to anyone. At the end of the day you can go to a Radiohead show and stroke your fucking beard and watch the miserable cunt complaining, or come see us, put your arm around your best mate and have it.
L: What do you want for fuck's sake? Tell me what you want from us.
N: Is anyone making mind-bending music anymore? We're a rock'n'roll group. We're not fucking Blur.
L: We're not fucking wizards. We're four blokes from Manchester who happen to be in the BEST BAND IN THE WORLD.
N: We're all heathens. Few of us practise a faith but we're after something. I'm after something. I'll say no more than that in case I start to sound like Thom Yorke.
L: And that my friend is the day this band is over.