The National Anthem

He puts the iron down and pulls himself through his warm, crisp pinstripe collared shirt. He's got a nice pair of slacks on, some affordable yet expensive looking square toed shoes that he picked up at an affordable yet expensive looking shop in the city two weeks ago. His hair is gelled, his teeth are white, his undercurrent of rage bubbles away, unrelenting beneath.

Where does he go? Where can possibly satiate his lust for goodtimes? Where can he go to pick up? Where the women bubble with the same rage?

The atmosphere was palpable when for the first time in 6 years I walked past the fast food burger place on Stirling st and entered what I liken to the place God ate some expensive food, pulled down his trousers and squeezed out a fat turd onto Perth.

We had been taken (against our good judgement) to a party in Claremont. This party turned out sour and so a friend and I took our leave and walked down the street to the party area of the illustrious suburb. A man passed in a blur, chased on by another with a police issued baton, girls shreaking and worrying behind them. We walked on.

One bar had a line like it was to get into a ride at Disney land, except the kids are jostling and shouting and beating the shit out of eachother while others attend a nearby hotdog stand that's sole buisness is said line. We walked on.

We went into another bar and began the usual pilgrimage to the bar for drinks. At the bar there was a tender who was the angriest person I have ever seen in the Hostility industry. He couldn't even do his job properly because he was so angry, kept breaking glasses. I don't know about you but I love my drinks served with a side of seething hatred. It's very easy to get pissed off when you work in the Hostility Industry but I worked in it for nearly 4 years and I was never has openly hostile as that young lad before us. After receiving a gin with the least amount of gin I have ever seen. We walked on.

At another bar I spent half an hour talking to two girls who's enquired as to wether I was gay or not. Now I can forgive them for this because I am definately not the most manly man in the history of men. I don't give a shit about cars or football, I like clothes, the arts and have the arms of a 13 year old. But the reason they gave me as to why they thought I was homosexual was not these things. It was because I was enjoying myself, I was outgoing, loud, laughing, generally doing what I do when I am in good company and well oiled with liquor. To me that shows that something is not right in your life if these are your reasons for making assumptions on others sexuality. We walked on.

It's a completely different world to what I experience. These guys and girls are rich and miserable and angry. They go out for a what they brand A Good Time and the result couldn't be further from the truth. Wether they hate their job, their studies, the fact that they are trapped in a predetermined life set forth by their family or themselves. They use alcohol as a means to escape and it only serves as the only release of these emotions. Claremont prides itself as a bastion of good taste and opulence. But beneath the façade is a place uglier and more perilous than other low socio economic suburbs like the ever vilified Balga. A place where boys hang out with boys and girls hang out with girls, conversing only when it serves the need to breed. The fact that I was having a great time with both male and female and fucking laughing and smiling and therefore I must not be interested in females reinforces this statement. Being a miserable cunt must be so in right now. In Claremont's case. I Walked on.

This may sound like a practise in arrogance and over inflated sense of self. But I honestly wasn't expecting to find that in Claremont. Maybe I am too old for my age, if so when did I become such a jaded old bastard stuck in the body of underdeveloped 24 year old? I don't mean to sound this way, I really just don't get it. Something Daniel Kitson said when I saw him MC one night at the Hifi Bar comes to mind and I'm not sure its totally relevant or suitable to sum up with but fuck it. If your boyfriend is an asshole that likes to get in fights then you are just as much of an asshole as he. Because only an asshole wants to hang out with other assholes. So walk on.

I Drink Your Milkshake

One day I was walking on James st in Northbridge. I was passing that nightclub next to the Brass Monkey. One of those nightclubs that kept changing it's name every three months. It was TIME for a while then something else, then DV8. Who calls a nightclub DV8 and isn't the kind of person that sits in the park and stares at women passing for 6 hours? I ask you. It was like someone just had alot of money from our recent Boom and just went "Fuck it, I'm going to make a club so that I don't have to sit in the park. I'll make them come here. Then we can stare at them and get them drunk". Awesome. I don't know about you but I when I come into Port from fighting badguys I would definitely go to Northbridge - more importantly - I want to go to the one that has painted my flag right across their club, then tried to paint over it, only to do half of it and then leave it so that there is just white and red stripes - the Swiss sailors love that shit.

Anyway, I digress. I was walking past DV8 or whatever the fuck it was called at that point. What do the owners think?

"Business isn't so great Sampson. What should we do?"
"Change the name, that'll fix our monetary woes"

Awesomeness.

Anyway, I digress. I was walking past that place that I love and there was a promotional poster for some HipHop night, Presumably on at the HipHop Capital of Australia DV8 or whatever the fuck it was called at that point. In true HipHop style there was a pretty lady (I say "Pretty lady" with my generic European accent in my head as I type it... Pretty lady... Gets me everytime).

Anyway, I digress. But not really if you think about it. Actually you don't need to think about it because it is quite obvious that I wasn't digressing then, I just said it to fill up time and feel better about how much I wrote today. Well Done Ben!

Anyway, I digress. At that precise moment a young man was skate boarding and he stopped at the poster. I stopped. He looked at the poster. And without looking to see if someone was looking he reached up and touched the pretty lady (Oh Edwardo) on her 2 dimenional breast. The man; who shall be called Faceman from now on, then mumbled something and took off leaving nothing but a confused Ben and a felt up poster.

Then. the other day I was standing at a bus stop waiting for it's namesake to come, when the same thing happened again. Sans Faceman and his crazy skateboard antics of course. This time this older guy; who shall now be called Mr Catcher Fellowgood, was standing next to the advertisement - which was for Sultana Bran or some shit - looked at the poster, then proceeded to reach and grab the glassy 2 dimensional breast of the chick who was happier and more successful because she ate Sultana Bran or some shit. He didn't even care if someone was watching. Which they were. They being me.

Is there something that these ladies of advertising are offering that I am not aware of?Mr Fellowgood, Faceman, if youby some cosmic transaction stumble upon and read my fair internets page you should be ashamed of yourselves. Those ladies didn't do anything except try to inform you about what was going on and all you did was tarnish their good reputation and disrespect them by copping a feel. Now if you excuse me, I am going to touch pictures of myself... I think I even freaked myself out when I said that.

Anyway, I digress.