Sunday, 23 October 2011

My girlfriend was a lady boy!

I've decided to record my stand-up routines on this blog. The following has been performed a number of times in various forms. This is based on those routines, although altered fairly significantly because stand-up's advantage is the unexpected flow created with an audience's reaction.

For those wondering why I'm suddenly straight when I do stand-up - I'm not, I do have a number of routines that I'll get to in time that deal specifically with being a 'straight' acting gay man. Interestingly these routines are always difficult as stand-up because most men in the audience find it confronting to have a gay man comment on how confusing the signals are that straight men give off these days about sexuality - the 'metrosexual' generation. I've been told many times when I do stand-up that if I suddenly drop the 'oh by the way, I'm gay' line half way through, the audience get so thrown expecting it to be a joke set-up, that they stop listening to what I'm saying. So often, like with this routine, it's simply easier to pose as a straight man and let the chips fall where they may.


I recently turned 42 and suddenly realised -
"Oh, my God, I've forgotten to have a mid-life crisis."
So I immediately made plans to rectify this situation, because every-one knows that a life's not complete without a crisis midway.

I made a list.

First thing I'd need to do is quit my job. But then I remembered I work as a writer for television and therefore lose my job on a regular basis. At the time I was working on a show called The Bounce, an Australian football show mixing sketch style comedy and sports interviews. The network showed a great deal of faith in the show and held off cancelling it until after the fifth episode.

Job - check.

Next I'd need to make some changes to my life that were completely age inappropriate. I had no idea sports cars were so expensive. I tried sagging my pants, but when your stomach is bigger than your ass, sagging isn't sagging. Once those bad boys drop below the central meridian they're headed all the way to the floor. I did the next best thing. I jumped online and started dating a Thai Go-Go dancer. Awesome! None of the mid-life crises I'd ever heard of included that sort of stupidity. I was off to a great start!

In her photos and through her poorly connected Skype, I could see her long blonde hair, her long legs and glitter in the most extraordinary places. Perfect. Now all I had to do was get her to Australia to assure everyone I was deep in the midst of one almighty mid-life crisis. I was sure my rendering of this classic phase would become the stuff of legends. In years to come, men would discuss it alongside great sporting and drinking achievments of the past. ESPN may even make a documentary about it.

My friends had all gone down the more mundane tracks, buying flashy cars, traded wives in for beauty queens who only remained attractive as long as they didn't speak. I read of a man who took up base jumping and died, but he turned out to be a former lawyer so no-one really dwelled. (There is an interesting issue here: does killing yourself recklessly during a mid-life crisis negate the mid-life crisis and turn it into more of a final last stand. Can the label of a mid-life crisis be correctly applied if the person in question turns out to be at the very end of their life?)

So I paid for a visa and ticket for my dancer to come to visit. I chose Christmas, feeling the arrival of a glitter covered, dyed blonde Thai dancer at the family Christmas dinner would have maximum affect. I should point out here my parents are conservative. My father is a retired surgeon and from a different generation. He remembers a time when his generation led simpler, cleaner, healthier lives. He chooses to forget they also hit women if they annoyed them, reduced whole races to insensitive stereotypes and refused to give Aboriginals the right to vote. Ah, the world was so much simpler then and I felt my dancer at a family Christmas dinner would be a cathartic release against all the things any middle class child holds against their parents for an unhealthy length of time .

I went to the airport to pick up my lovely and stood waiting for what seemed like hours. I received a call from customs to ask if I was serious? I was and they agreed to let her through. In Australia we don't like letting in foreigners who don't look like the Australians who first arrived as convicts and then set about committing genocide. We have very high standards when it comes to the neighbours we're prepared to live next to.

The doors opened and .... dressed in sagging jeans and a tight flat top where her breasts had been, stood a young twenty-one year old Thai boy.
"Mr Scott, I think maybe I forget to tell you everything."
My gorgeous glitter covered Go-Go girl was a boy. I was stunned for a moment, then figured... he is pretty cute and I'm in a bit of a drought. Besides the idea of arriving home with this exotic man on my arm thrilled me. The havoc I could deliver in one single sitting would be truly spectacular!

Now the only other thing you need to know about this story is that my older sister has recently undergone her own midlife crisis and converted to strict orthodox Judaism. She's a lawyer, so no really big changes - won't work on Saturday etc. But this was to be the first Christmas she had agreed to attend since the infamous three year conversion boycott. I believe she wasn't able to attend during those years because she was busy reading texts and precedents to find a valid angle to clear her people of hanging the first recognised Christmas decoration, but I can't be sure.The facts you need to know are that she agreed to come to the family's traditional Christmas dinner after some years away. She did have some stipulations: she'd arrive only after presents had been given and received - because she no longer recognised Christmas as a time to celebrate and she didn't want anyone mentioning ... he who shall not be named.

So that's the stage set. My sister arrived before me. I arrived with my arm around my boy, who stood five foot six or five foot eleven if you counted his gelled hair. His eye-liner and see through string top showed off his many tattoos and his purse went perfectly with his effeminate ways

My father answered the door, took one look at my 'date' and screamed, Jesus H Christ!

At that point my sister took up an extremist position, because she exploded.

Wednesday, 19 October 2011

Rudd and Gillard - the Jan and Marcia of Australian politics

Marcia, Marcia, Marcia!

Kevin has the glasses, the blonde hair and the same cold dead eyes seeking revenge that haunted the Brady house for so many years.

Once upon a time this Jan in Kevin's clothing was seen as a breath of fresh air. He seemed decent, inoffensive, even passably life like. Then we discovered he was one of those with more than a passing hint of autism alongside above average intelligence that go together like the squares of a Rubik's cube in the hands of a master - which of course Kevin would be. Finished!

If this half gene from an albino man walked into your office to answer a call to fix the computer network, you wouldn't think twice. You'd forgive the socially offensive observation he makes when he greets you with such disconnect, that you assume he's inadvertently labelled you fat by misspeaking. He didn't - you are fat, but he thought he was making charming small talk and has no idea he's plunged you into two weeks of depression.

When Kevin was Jan dressed up as Marcia he sat in his room and gave orders to his sisters to compile reports and form commissions to provide estimates and projections on all things, regardless of whether they could be calculated or not. The reports and commissions protected him from making any real decisions and when he finally had to act it revealed this was Jan and not Marcia at the helm.

Granted, Marcia turned out to be a spectacularly angular bogan, but once she had control of the girl's room, Jan was cast back to the middle bed and told to tow the line. And there this blondilocked not-by-choice virgin sits and plots. One day soon he will have the opportunity he's waited for to deliver a Carrie like humiliating blow to the woman he feels the need to outshine. But will anyone notice the blood red delivered to an already rudely ginger head?

If you understand there is no situation in life that can't be related back to a particular episode of the Brady Bunch, then you'll know there is always the wise counsel of Carol, Mike or in times of desperation, Alice to rely on. The advice this time is that middle child Kevin is destined to live out his days in the middle bed silently cursing into his sheets those words almost as famous as the whole of Macbeth - Marcia, Marcia, Marcia!

Marcia of course is destined to be the most popular girl in the school. Remembering our Marcia is an Australian, ginger bogan - the corresponding level of popularity places her passed out on some unbelievably cool guy's lounge-room floor with her skirt up, alcopop in hand and a penis drawn on her cheek. When our Julia gets to be the centre of attention she makes so many people happy and deserves her well earned nickname as the lucky count - ry.

She is our Marcia and Jan should come to terms with that. The honest truth is, Australian's would rather have an angular, ginger, bogan as the sister in charge than some socially awkward, albino, number crunching middle child.

Tuesday, 18 October 2011

Gay Marriage

This was originally written as song lyrics for my Brother's show, but he worried the audience may rise as one and hate it. He feared they may misconstrue it as a genuine Anti-Gay marriage protest song. I think it's pretty clear what's being said, but you be the judge. (His show played at Chapel on Chapel in Melbourne and then at the Edinburgh Festival to rave reviews btw. The show was called 'So Inappropriate' - so it would have been perfect!)

The sanctity of marriage is the new topic de jour
Anyone can do it, doesn’t matter, rich or poor
It’s a sacred oath to God that shouldn’t be ignored
Unlike other oaths to God that make us kind of bored.

But don’t let those gay folk reach the altar
They wouldn’t know their fingers from their ring
They’d decorate the church in gaudy colours
And they’d all be booking Elton John to sing!

Marriage is a union, till death tears you apart,
Unless you’re young, you rushed a bit or needed a green card
The ring, the dress, the spot-lit vows, it’s all that we adore,
And I should know, the records show, I’ve done it twice before!

But don’t let those gay types reach the alter
It’s reserved for those who understand the vows
The church is not a toy, like a priest’s young altar boy,
It’s entirely there to join the Herr and Fraus.  

You can read all my published poems at Outrageous Rhymes or my other published works at Smashwords.

Also - if you're a composer and feel like finally giving these lyrics a tune - Go for it! I'm sure there's a group who would love it in a revue somewhere. 

God is Gay

Because I like to stir the pot - I thought I'd post some of my poems individually - especially the ones that will offend! I just can't help myself. If you're inclined you can read the whole volume of Outrageous Rhymes along with my other published work for free HERE.

God’s older than time, that’s not just a line, 
Even Gaydar would list him above 39.
He’s certainly single, no wife on the shingleNo fiancĂ©e, or girl, no regular twirl.
And a lot has been penned about God and his friends,
But never a line of a girlfriend spoken
In his house the male form goes unbroken
So he’s up their alone, in a home he calls heaven,
Avoiding suspicion with Romans 1:27
But he’s not all alone as he works on our fates
There’s talk of his friend, attending the gates.
Peter his ‘flat mate’ who works the front yard.
Toiling all day, his abs cut rock hard.
And the bible tells more, about others before,
One of them Gabriel who God once adored.
Cast out of heaven in a terrible fight
God took off his wings denying him flight.
And unlike straight couples who argue for debts,
A gay separation is about wardrobe and pets
So Gabriel’s wings, the metaphor clear,
The wings were designer, the season last year.
And why should we argue or take any bets,
When Noah’s quite famous for taking the pets. 

Monday, 3 October 2011

Robbing the poor to give to the rich!

When did we stop caring about Quality? Because we don't care any more. There's an ad on TV that has Kmart rounding up a group of women and challenging them to guess the price of a number of items. Of course they're all shocked to find out the cushions/scarfs/shirts/sheets/pants cost so little.... and they laugh and celebrate at how wonderful life is in a world with a store that's a large shed and able to sell products for a price that is far less than the sum of any of their parts. God bless our modern world!

Of course the fact a multinational/multi million dollar profit making company is so comfortable to put an ad like this on TV is the real story here. And even worse is this real story is no longer even noticed. It doesn't shock anyone as cruel of the super chain stores to gloat at the bargains they can bring to our everyday lives. How well we've all been deceived by the rich about the world we live in and the quality of the lives we lead!
How does anyone offer a microwave for $45 or a pair of jeans for $10 and shoes for $5.

There are a number of possibilities - 1/ Slave labour. Third world sweat shops as producers. 2/ Electronic components being sourced from raw materials from third world countries, 3/ A buying power so enormous that individual units are incredibly cheap, or 4/ Make the products as cheaply as possible with little regard for longevity or ongoing quality.

Once you factor in the fact that corporations are now legally ruled to be people, a decision that still defies any sense of credibility, and they only answer to shareholders and shareholders are only after or happy with one thing, increasing share prices - you can safely bet all of the above go into keeping prices low and profits high.

 "The United Nations issued a damning report on the, "illegal exploitation of natural resources and other forms of wealth of the Democratic Republic of the Congo."  Guns, Money and Phones. Global Issues.

And these resources are going into all electronics. Now every company will declare they never source any of these raw materials or labour from third world countries. They source their supplies only from reputable manufacturers. And those reputable manufacturers source their raw materials from reputable suppliers who get their materials from many varied sources and they in turn - HEY LOOK OVER THERE! IS THAT A MICROWAVE FOR $45!!!!

And the corporations wash their hands of the whole thing. 

To be tarnished by exacerbating the plight of an innocent impoverished third world people would be bad for the image and may cause a backlash that would reduce sales and then reduce profits. So lets not dig too deep - because we love profits and we love $20 bedlinen!

And that's why we're so happy! Because tonight we are sleeping on 500 cotton thread count sheets and they feel so good. And next month, after a couple of washings they'll feel a bit thin. And in 8 months, they'll rip and the stitching will come out and - Oh sorry, there's no guarantee on that item and no return after a month. But it was only $20 - so no harm no foul. Let's just buy another one! Hooray all around! I am happy, the shareholder is happy, even little 15 year old Indira is happy because she was just allowed a pee break - now back to work Indira - or risk your 15 cents an hour!

And somewhere, there are a few who own enough of these companies' shares to accurately lay claim to owning the entire chain of stores. They never stop to think of how their products are directly disadvantaging those who make them. They'll argue Indira and her kind are better off having a job than not. They don't care that the pair of pants you bought are so thin they'll rip if you brush by a sharp corner on a bench or that the microwave is supplied with raw materials raped from an African farmers land. They're only concern is to bring you the best quality at the lowest prices. They want you to be happy.

It's pleasing to hear them say they are trying to give you the best quality. What? Sorry? That's not a singular statement, more a compound phrase? Huh?! Oh.... I see, best quality at the lowest prices is only accurate when spoken together. In other words, ...
So it's not a lie. They really do bring you the very best quality at the very lowest prices. Any higher in price an they'd no longer be able to lay claim to bringing you the best quality at that price. Any lower quality and they couldn't argue they are doing you the best price - because by lowering the quality even slightly you could get the same exact thing for free by scouring a tip, your neighbours bin or the back of a charity shop.

"But they aren't ripping me off. I'm not playing into their hands by blindly accepting what they tell me. I'd never succumb to a shiny new thing at the expense of doing harm to an already impoverished worker." 

99% of us do and there's nothing we can do to stop it or change it. We can agitate and make people aware - but the wait to change, equalise and eradicate poverty is like the wait for Godot... so don't give up agitating, especially when directed at the fat cats who can truly do something to change things. But try to enjoy yourself while you're doing it - because we may be here a long time.

And while you're waiting, here's a test to work out whether you are of the new aristocracy or an everyday pleb/serf simply being toyed with to allow the wealthy upper class to continue their lavish lifestyles.
  1.  Look around your home, can you find small items, bought because they looked good, you thought you'd use them, they were something that appealed to you on impulse?
  2.  Are these things now cluttering up shelves and on display so others will see that shiny new thing you liked in the store so much, even though you haven't used, looked at, thought about it for days/weeks/months?
  3.  When you go through a cupboard/storage area, are you reminded of a different times of your life just by the small and varied trinkets/objects/gizmos you re-discover?
  4. Are you sitting on a yacht or on an Island, or would you need to ask the help to answer any of the first three questions?

If you answered yes to any of the first three - grab an oar and keep rowing before you get your ass whipped. If you answered yes to question four - can I have my money back please?