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7 April, 2009

by The Wandering Wastrel


So there I was … a young man, a wandering rebellious psudeo grunge beatnik philosopher, hell bent on getting my end away. *

It was some Friday night at some time in the past in the little New Zealand country town I lived. The place was the gun club; the occasion was the prom after party.

These parties were notoriously insane, as if all the pent up frothing, screaming boozed frustrations of the year were culminating on this night. The parties usually descended in to a debauched mess of dope smoking and keg drinking violence before midnight… it was not the place for a young man who was probably better off shut away in some ivory tower somewhere pondering over esoteric tomes or at least around a smoking fire with a few friends a bottle of red wine and book of fairy tales.

But nevertheless there I was, bespectacled and resplendent in my uniform, army pants carefully sissored off below the knee, army boots, a plaid shirt and a red beret carefully folded to the side… I stood out in the crowd of Swandri* and gumboot wearing bush kids mixed with the casual surf clothes wearing townies.

I crept through the swaying crowd, careful… as I wasn’t particularly among friends here, being from the younger crowd and any infraction to some bully could result in my frail form being booted about the place.

I had a target … her name was Candy. She was a severely mixed up American girl schooling in New Zealand. She had a loud demeanor and a penchant for sniffing things up her nose … sherrbert … powdered drink mixture… baking soda … and she had many stories of the big cocaine binges that she used to go on back home to amuse and titillate us country kids with (as I grew older I realized that these stories were a fabrication to make us think she was some sort of freewheeling Courtney Love type and as we were in the eye of the grunge Tornado we were happy to swallow these bullshit tales )
She had made an offhand comment that I was cute and funny and over the previous two days I had extrapolated many things from this statement. My mission now was to find her and push the whole newly formed romantic fantasy construct to some sort of conclusion.

After searching out the party for her wild blond tresses and meeting with groin numbing failure I headed to the dunny*. With my head down, resigned and stumbling I blundered into the dunny door breaking its flimsy lock… the sight before me hit me like a ton of moldy tangerines.
There was my grunge princess… on all fours, hugging the toilet bowl as if it were a buff porcelain lover, heartily barfing voluminous quantities of the beer/tequila/baileys/rum/whiskey/wine cocktail she had been hooking back frenzied rockstar style (or 5000 miles form mum and dad style) all night. Her blond tresses hung, slime splattered into the pissy bowl, an array of peas and carrots adorning her cardigan like organic rhinestones.
Hunched over her arse like a rabid bull and pounding fiercely was one of my many nemisi. One of the many scoundrels who had bailed school at 16 and for the past two years had done nothing but sink piss* ride motorbikes, grow dope, surf and hit every single party making sure that with a wave of his magic “wand” every unspoiled happy pure virginal girl between the age of 15 and 18 was transformed into a sad bitter scathing witch with a hatred of all men. Thus salting the soil of the green pastures of her heart so the shoots of love could never sprout on the field’s once so lush and green… fields that my friends and I wanted so dearly to munch upon ourselves.

He spun, redfaced at my intrusion, yelled “FUCK OFF CUNT!!” and punched me viciously in the side of the head as I turned to flee, all with out missing a stroke I may add.

I flew sideways out the door, tears bursting to my eyes as I crumpled, the combination shame/loss/anger already growing into a nasty ball of hate within me… yet I steadied myself and pushed that ball of hate down deep inside to be released at an appropriate time in the future.

I stoopily bolted down the hall and back into the main party “area” or “pit” clutching my searing fizzing head and ringing ear.

It was thronged with people screaming bouncing and swaying around a large table laden with bottles and cans of liquor, complete with ciggie buts and ash in any drink you think you could sneak.

I reeled up against the wall sure that my ear was the size of a Frisbee. I saw my friend Bevinski come charging into the room and violently spew at the table.

Bottles and cans went flying at the force of this event and girls leaped about screaming as a river of vomit forced the table nearly clear. A giant yellow waterfall cascaded onto the carpet.

I fled but not before a guy burst in the room and yelled “Peeks fucking Kat in Joods car!”

The room emptied as people fled to observe and interact (as I was to discover) with this event.

Joods little white car was surrounded 3 deep by screaming, cheering kids. Who were doing their best to provide extra stimulation to the occupants by rocking it so forcefully that at no time all four wheels touched the ground.
What was going on inside could not be seen as the windows were actually steamed up yet one of our number was to soon remedy our bad view.

No longer content to just rock the car they now wished to interact and become part of the fun. So a big guy opened the door (incidentally the same guy who called everyone out to the car)
And what a crazy sight was revealed.
Peek was a tiny midget like very brown Maori fellow and Kat was a very round very white girl. So the sight of Peeks little tan butt blurring away between two gigantic bare white thighs, (those legs with the high heels looked like two enormous hams on stilts) .
Cheers of “GO! GO! GO! GO! GO!” rang out. Bringing anyone who was back at the party and could move, out to the car. I half expected a bowlegged, limping Candy to be they’re yelling with the rest of the animals, in her organic sequined jumper.

The instigator decided now would be a good time to pull off one of Peeks little shoes and spank his bum in time with the chanting.

Peek slowed down long enough to turn and say in the drawl of the long gone “fuuuuucck ooooofff maaaaan”.

Kat had pulled a jacket over her head, which was fortunate, as she did not see what was about to happen.
Taking offense to this slur, the instigator picked up little Peek by the back of his jacket and his feet pulling him (still horizontal) out of the car, followed by swiftly propelling him back into the car head first between the young lady’s legs.

Fanny * Smudge*

Witnessing three atrocities in about three minutes was too much for me and I decided to call it a night. So I left directly. Heading straight to the school where I broke into the seniors lounge to sleep a tormented sleep now knowing the beasts that lurked just below the surface of my peers thin social facades. Instant animals just add alcohol.

I woke with a start realizing I was on the festa* couch. A sagging green stained piece of furniture very recently used for the deflowering of a particularly nasty young lady. Suddenly I could smell something rank. I rolled off as if snakes were after me and slept curled up in a ball in the corner ready to flee at first light before “G.I Joe” the groundskeeper caught me.

I woke. I fled.

The end.

*Fanny: That part of a woman that guys spend the first part of their lives trying to get out of and the most of the rest of his life trying to get back in.

Sink Piss: Drink alcohol.

*Smudge: To forcefully push one thing into another.

*Get ones end away: Partake in sexual intercourse.

*Swandri: A thick woolen partially waterproof jacket worn by rugged Bushmen and young men who are aspiring to be rugged Bushmen.

*Festa: Anything manky or unwholesome. Decayed or festering.