Saturday, 1 December 2012
SELLING LIVER DAMAGE AND DEBAUCHERY IS PRETTY HARD YARDS THIS TIME OF THE YEAR . . . . THE BANE OF MOST REPS LIFE IS TIME SPENT IN YOUR CAR . . . . DOESN'T WORRY ME IN THE LEAST, LET ALONE HALF MY CALLS ARE DONE ON BOARD THE PURPLE PENIS . . . . THE LAST FEW WEEKS THOUGH, I'VE BEEN FLAT OUT FUCKED BY THE END OF THE DAY . . . . FINE WINE IS LIKE CRIME . . . . IT'S A GROWTH INDUSTRY.
It's been fucking hot the last couple of days on the fabulous Glitter Strip, as the hipster retard press designate my home town these days, hot enough to boil a monkey's bum your majesty, if not, certainly hot enough to be the catalyst for severe jock rot and general high humidity in the crotchal region . . . . so tonight after a damn good feed, once the heat had backed off a bee's dick, I threw a leg over the Purple Penis and pissed off for a wee spot of two wheel head therapy, blow out the cobwebs, think about not fucking much at all, just point and steer . . . . just me, the bike and a moonlit night, bloody perfect really.
The Gold Coast is a reasonably facile, shallow, scuzzy, tawdry place these days, and nights for that matter, especially the festering heart of Sufferers Palestine, so the object is to get as far away from the whole sordid clusterfuck as quickly as possible . . . . easily achieved, five minutes onto the back highway and it's open road heading north and south, tonight it's the southern option, fuck all traffic, balmy temperature, just a tee, shorts, boots and the brain basket . . . . wind it on to around the 140 klm/hr knowing full well the local and imported Cuntstabulary are flat out dealing with all the kiddies fresh out of school who flock to Surfers to run amok and hurl themselves from the balconies of the highrise skyline onto the surprisingly hard pavement beneath with nothing more than extreme levels of booze and stupidity to cushion their impact.
The border is only less than twenty minutes away at this speed and time of night, there in a flash, chuck a U turn and start a more sedate chug heading north, this time along the coast road, past the airport as a late night jet comes in to ejaculate more tourists like gobs sperm from it slender, phallic body, so close I want reach out and pull the fucker out of the sky . . . . flashing blue lights up ahead, an RBT team, an entire division of the boys in blue pulling over both northbound lanes of traffic for the old Random Breath Test, yippee, fun, fun, fun, [so much for my no cops theory] I pass with flying colours and not so much as a hassle about the lack of second mirror, absence of belt guard, pulley guard, respect or absence of care factor . . . . on my way once again.
Pull into Burleigh Heads, world famous point break and home to many hardcore surfers and mates of mine, I can never figure out why it is that so many of these once fit, bronzed Aussies end up riding the white horse, winding up just another burnt out bunch of junkies, bizarre as it is sad and pathetic . . . . the view to Surfers with the near full moon flooding the hill with its radiance is fucking gorgeous, take out the Intergalactic VI and document said visual splendour, suck in some quality Marlboro 'No Longer Red' and it's back on the bike. Out onto the back highway for the final flog home, totally forgetting that the tank is near empty . . . .
Splutter into the Caltex just as the pick-up starts to run out of guzaline to pick up, my luck is in, yee ha, treat myself to a double shot small black and a sit down on the Macca's fashionable outdoor setting chairs, my constant travelling companions, coffee and the ciggies, a chat to the driver of a flatbed tow truck, he likes the Penis action, gets a call and he's off like shit through a goose . . . . enjoy a second cancer stick, bin the cup, lid on, hit the go button, back onto the highway, twist the wick up to near the 160 zone, home in just over ten minutes . . . . I'm now super tired but feeling stoked, I'll do a quick post then off to bed for some serious shuteye . . . . life's good, fuck yeah !!!