Avant garde, no?

Yo, yo, yo, WHAT UP?

I'm on the radio again Monday 14 March:

Latrobe Valley and greater LV Area Types: 104.7 Gippsland FM - 9pm-1030pm - The Best Swedish Acid House of the 80s, 90s and Today!

Wait, no... rockin' punk and hardcore tunes presented by DJ Lukestlyez Beserker (a name I just made up!) and Dr. Cam Sexenheimer.

See you there!
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I hate Vegemite.

I really hate it.

I really, really fucking hate it.

Like, really.

The very smell of it makes me nauseous.

The very disgusting smell. The godawful smell of rotting flesh.

A conversation with my sister, over a rare Saturday lunch.

Sis: Mmmmm... Vegemite... don't you just love that smell.
Me: Get that out of my face, you harlot!
Sis: Yummy! Concentrated Yeast Extract!
Me: See, that's what I don't understand... you hate yeast extract, but you love Vegemite.
Sis: No, but it's concentrated.

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I felt that a quiet weekend was in order after the drama of the previous... what with the kung fu fighting, and the cats... as fast as lightning, they were.

Yes, it was time for a quiet night in.

A night devoid of the roar of generators and the sweet smell of two-stroke.

Can you tell by my specificness that it was not to be?

Vegie and SteveSteve called my telephone at around 5:45ish... I could tell it was them cos my phone sang out, and there was Vegie's name on it, indicating that it was he who was calling.

This was confirmed when I answered the phone.

To cut a long story short, and skip some irrelevant narrative, the opportunity to buy a generator for $98 had presented itself - did I want to go thirds?

Make that... A GOOD GENERATOR!

Did I want to go thirds? Yes.

Yes, I did.

And I did!

But it needed to be tested...

Oh boy, did it need to be tested.

And this is how we found ourselves going through our pooled electrical appliances at around 11:30pm.

And then it struck us.

A milkshake maker.

It was, in fact...

FREE MILKSHAKE NIGHT

But where would it be Free Milkshake Night.

We needed somewhere that would have a bit of pedestrian traffic.

This meant the pubs.

The Generator wasn't hugely noisy, but it was too noisy to set up right on Queen Street... we decided the corner of Queen and the Main Drag (Smith?).

And the thing is, except for THE FEW BRIEF YEARS I spent as an international jetsetting type, I've lived in Warragul my ENTIRE LIFE!

Anyway, we set up on the corner of La Porchettas.

After around 10 minutes, I was ready to make a call.

We would not give away a single milkshake.

I am man enough to admit that I was wrong on this point.

In fact, between 12:10 and 1:15, we gave away milkshakes to 15 people, and recieved RAVE REVIEWS FROM ALL!

Our milkshakes, it seemed, were grand. Possibly the grandest in the land. And if not that, certainly the cheapest. Some people had more than one!

Now, Warragul's not a huge town, but yes... it's true... more than 15 people did come by.

That is to say, REJECTIONS outnumber ACCEPTANCES by an impressive margin.

But, this is the thing!

All rejections were friendly rejections... VERY FRIENDLY!

SMILING REJECTIONS!

Some people were suspicious of our intentions... were we promoting something... what had we put in them?

And mostly: WHY ARE YOU GIVING AWAY FREE MILKSHAKES?

But all these questions were asked in a friendly manner that might have been surprising and very welcome to someone who had seen the dark side of Warragul's nightlife all but a week earlier.

The rest of the rejections were of a: BEER + MILK = NO THANKS BOYS.

Not only that... you know how idiots yell abuse at people from cars when they drive past?

As you can imagine, we were leaving ourselves open to quite a bit of that, sitting on the corner of a busy roundabout, as we were.

This is the thing: WE HAD PRAISE YELLED AT US! BY DRUNKEN YOBBOS.

In fact, we only had one piece of abuse hurled at us from a car: "HEY FAGGOTS! IF I GIVE YOU TWO BUCKS, WILL YOU MAKE A VANILLA MILKSHAKE? FAGGOTS!"

This was from a chick in the backseat of a car... but dig this shit:

They drove past again later, and the guy in the driver's seat yelled to us, "Sorry about the bitch in the back!"

What the fuck?

An apology?

Can you see why this might be spinning me out?

Exactly seven days earlier I'd been in the middle of being attacked by a gang of rowdy youths... As you can see from my letter to the newspaper in the previous entry, I was not so keen on the idea of drunk people in general.

But really, it's a case of a few bad apples spoiling the barrel of apples, and why are apples kept in barrels anyway? The point is, the majority of drunks are VERY friendly.

The other point is, dig that. No drugs. (Not even No-Doz. Not even an energy beverage) No alcohol. Rural town. Heaps of fun.

It is possible.

Which is not to say that it's impossible to have fun with drugs... Jelly called us up while all this was going on:

"Hey Cam! Howya going... I've just taken an E... it was laced with acid..."

Crazy kid.

Ciao!

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