Posts tagged ‘Pub Stories’
Plane crash accidents – how to survive
OK, well I hope that title got your attention. Because honestly, do you really think I’m qualified to give you tips to survive a plane crash?
Geez – I’m in advertising. My job is to convince people to buy things they don’t need and can’t afford.
Apologies to all who have purchased the latest Audi R8. It really won’t make the girls believe you have style or substance, but a rather small willy. In fact, our research shows that you are probably an un-stylish middle-aged man that earns over $250K but still shops at Aldi, hasn’t had sex since the Beijing Olympics and secretly thinks the red-head kid from Harry Potter is cool.
Sorry, off on a tangent.
Where was I….ahh plane crashes.
What is the whole big deal with phobia about plane crashes? These days you honestly have more chance of dying from chili-poisoning by accidentally using Tabasco sauce as lube, than from dying in a plane crash.
I flew from Santiago to Sydney, and landed yesterday morning. In Santiago, not having slept a great deal and pretty much drinking the entire time, you naturally would assume I’d been looking forward to at least a bit of rest on the flight home.
Haven’t you noticed that whenever you’re hungover on a plane, you are sat next to either 1) a fat bloke, 2) a Mormon who believes God allocated him the 18 hour flight to save your soul, 3) a whiny little kid, 4) a man who is just outright smelly?
Well, I had to sit next to a twisted combination of all 4; an overweight, pimply son of a Chilean missionary who was coughing and smelt of Vics Vapour Drops and wanted to talk to me about the church of the latter day saints. His name was Adelmo.
So, in an effort to disengage from conversation with him, I pretended to read. Problem was, they confiscated my book at security. Thought it was a bomb making guide or something – not sure how they got that from “Memoirs of a Geisha”. The only thing on board that was in English was one of those flight-safety pamphlets which brings me back to the original topic of this post.
Firstly, the pamphlet advises you to sit down and ensure your seat belt is fastened.
Sorry, I don’t buy it.
If the 747 I’m traveling in is plunging nose-first into the Pacific ocean, the last thing I want is to slowly drown in icy waters trapped in my seat watching feces from fellow passengers floating in front of my face.
I’m going out with a bang and would rather experience the sensation of flying headfirst down the aisle into business class.
Seat-belts save lives
The first thing I’m doing is taking off my seat belt and walking to the on board kitchen to raid the alcohol fridge. If I’m going to hell, I’d rather go pissed and happy. I’d also recommend chatting up the nearest sexy flight attendant too.
What is it with the flight attendants at the start of every trip going through the same routine of pointing out where the exit doors are etc? People watch the pre-flight safety demo only because they’re imagining Maria the Chilean flight hostess in a bikini.
She should spend her time in a more productive way, by telling people to pray to Allah, Buddha, Bono, Obama or whatever god they believe in. Perhaps that part of the safety demo could sound something like this:
In the event of emergency, please pray to your god.
For Islamic believers, please observe the onboard flight service managers who will now point to the nearest illuminated arrows which point to the direction of Mecca. Note that this arrow is subject to change pending the plane going into a tailspin.
Buddhists, the flight attendants will be handing out free hash to help you reach enlightenment faster.
Mormons, if this plane crashes, praying will do nothing. God is telling you that you didn’t convert enough sinners and you didn’t try hard enough. For starters, stop eating so many Vics Vapour Drops, they really are a distraction from the cause.
Atheists, if you have not yet discovered God, he was actually hiding in a t-shirt stall in Camden Markets.
10 Things The Modern Man Doesn’t Understand
Unfortunately for my sanity today, I left my book at home. Subsequently, I had to face my morning commute with nothing to do except ponder the meaning of life (fishing), eavesdrop on conversations, and stare at the vandalism that brain-dead youths with short-man syndrome inflicted on the carriage walls.
Ever the list maker and inspired by the conversation between two females discussing the strengths and weaknesses of Loreal compared to Nivea, I formed the following list of 10 Things The Modern Man Doesn’t Understand:
- Desperate Housewives. Add to that Sex In The City and Gray’s Anatomy. Face it – we don’t care about Carrie’s latest boyfriend’s sleeping habits and we certainly don’t want to discuss it. We’re only watching this because we’re trying to gain nookie points. We’d much rather be watching the Monday Night Football.
- Women’s Adversity to Football. Rugby League, Soccer, AFL, Traditional Iberian 3-Legged Football – whatever your footy code, the chances are your missus would rather snort chili powder than spend 2 hours watching your team on the tele.
- Lily Allen. She’s not ‘cute’, can’t sing and pretends to be white trash. To my horror, Triple M (traditionally a rock station) is ‘diversifying’ (i.e. becoming gay), and playing Lily Allen once an hour.
- Reality TV. Seriously, on behalf of all society – please treat us with some kind of intellectual respect. “Coming up in Big Brother. The housemates’ game of Rock, Scissors, Paper has driven Ang to tears. She tells us all about this terrifying experience in the Diary Room.”
- Ugly Babies. You know the type. The screaming, wrinkly little bundles of venom that are pushed around the shopping centre which all women within a 5m radius will inevitably ‘ooh’ and ‘ahh’ at. They’re not cute. In fact they resemble over sized scrotum’s.
- Short Hair On Women. You’ll either look like a lesbian or a chai-latte drinking arts student who can’t afford the chai-latte she’s drinking. The same goes for fringes – you know the type that Lily Allen has made ‘fashionable’. Definitely not attractive. It looks stupid.
- Emoticons. Smily faces
Tongue pokey faces 
If you are a pimply 15 year old (or have the emotional intelligence of one), fine. For everyone else, not fine. - Why Women Don’t Understand Fishing. Men have traditionally been hunters and providers. Fishing with our mates is in our instinct (and bragging about who was the biggest ‘provider’ at the pub afterwards).
- Bright Red Lips and Blue Mascara. It’s not classy. You’ll look like a twenty-dollar hooker. Don’t believe me? If a man bought you twenty-dollar’s worth of drinks at the bar, having this ‘look’ will make him assume you’ll sleep with him. Either that or you’ll look like Lily Allen.
- Gen Y’ers That Talk Like They’re From the O.C. Like, you know…that’s like SO not cute.
Chai-latte drinking qualities in a spouse
Is chai latte drinking a desirable aspect in a future spouse?
When considering potential partner-attributes, how much is too much of a quality? Where do you draw the line?
I had a beer last night with my old primary school friends KennyD and NavMan (they say hi by the way).
KennyD is looking for a girlfriend.
….on a side note, I thought I’d give a shout out to all my female readers out there. If you like smart, sophisticated, American computer scientists who like walks along the beach, Harley Davidson’s and can recite the periodic table of elements backwards (I’ve seen him do it at age 8, it’s actually very impressive. He can also do it in Latin)….then KennyD is your man. Email me for more details.
Karate and quadratic equations are KennyD's strengths
Anyhoo, KennyD has two new flatmate additions to his house. The first is a guy who is one of Australia’s leading graphic-designers specialising in 18th Century Stylistic Oriental Typography. He currently works the afternoon shift at Video Ezy as Senior Product Replacement Officer (he stacks shelves).
The second flatmate is a female who in KennyD’s words is “a bit too arty”.
Hang on a minute. What exactly does “too arty” entail?
Don’t get me wrong, an ‘arty’ quality in a partner can definitely be a desirable attribute. I’m thinking modern apartments that feature nice hand-painted splashes of colour on framed canvas. You know, the kind that you see at the Tate Modern that look like a blind 3-year down-syndrome paraplegic painted with a paintbrush in his mouth….only to read the price tag ever so closely to see the painting valued at £500,000.
Sorry, getting sidetracked. The point is, how arty is too arty? Where do you draw the line and say “hang on a minute honey, no I don’t want to see the photography exhibition at the Australian Art Gallery this weekend featuring visual exhibits of the endangered Botswana tree frog.I’d rather go to the pub with Robbo instead.”
KennyD explained that she frequents establishments that specialise in chai latte’s.
We established last night that yes it is safe for KennyD to pursue this woman, but he should definitely draw the line if he ever sees her ordering an artificially sweetened soy chai latte with yeast-free Vegemite on wheat-free toast washed down with diet-sparkling water.
Thankfully, such specimens of female are strictly confined to Surry Hills.
Bungee Jumping over the Zambezi River and mates that always have a better story than you
Don’t you just hate it when you’re telling a yarn about something cool in your life and someone always has an even better story, faster car, cooler stereo, bigger MP3 collection, hairier dog, bigger caught fish, spikier hair, funnier traveling stories or nastier scars than you?
One of my good mates Kenno typically always “out-story’s” me in pub-yarning.
Like the other day I was rambling on about a recent death defying, boxer short-soiling fishing adventure near Bondi Beach. You know, the type of scary rock-climbing adventures to get to your fishing spot that makes your life insurance company take out further business insurance.
Anyhoo…Kenno goes ‘that’s nothing, listen to this story about when I was bungee jumping over the Zambizi River.
20 of them from their hostel had signed up to this bungee jumping adventure in Zambezi, between Zimbabwe and Zambia. They had to proceed down this wiry little bridge that spanned two big cliffs. The bridge was the type of bridge straight out of Indiana Jones, with missing wooden planks.
The bungee instructor didn't fill them with confidence
They slowly made their way to the middle of the bridge where one of the instructors proceeded to tell them the day’s proceedings.
After the brief, the first person got ‘wired up’ in the bungee jumping sense. The bungee cord was attached to his leg with….guess it….an old beach towel that was rolled up, tired around his leg and tied to the cord.
So he jumped…survived…and the two instructors pulled the poor bugger up.
Next in line….
The SAME beach towel was taken off the bugger number 1, rolled up and retired to bugger number 2.
At this stage, the remainder of the group proceeded to simultaneously repeat Hail Mary’s.
And so, one by one, the instructors threw the poor sods off the bridge, each time re-tying the same beach towel to the next in line.
Kenno was number 13 in line, at the time he weighed over 110kgs. He went over, but the poor girl behind him subsequently had shat herself so much by this stage that she opted out.
I’ll stick to extreme-fishing.
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