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6 May, 2009

by The Wandering Wastrel


So there I was, a young man …
Up in the bush of the Coromandel, an hour’s drive from the nearest fish and chip shop….
We were starving!!!
We were grunge.
We were 17 year old small time Swandri * wearing weed growers with dreadlocks and incessant coughs.
We were Wookie, Mimple, Shnarler, Tossie, Stumpy, Mung and I The Wez.
We were starving!

The story takes place in the palatial bush retreat mansion of Wookies’ parents who are in France visiting family.
What they had done was left Wookie enough money and food to live on for the month they were to be away, and had left him with the strict command of ” No party’s!”

They had been gone 3 hours when we moved in …
What followed in the next two weeks was unspeakable and is of no consequence to this story.
Yet men and woman came and went of age in the various rooms of the bordello that had become our party house.
Some nights up to 50 people raged to the growling burn of our death metal band thrumping and blasting its way through the valley.
Much drugs and drinking, vomiting, hallucinating and ejaculating was done…
But as I previously said, is another story and shall be told (or not) another time.

The point of the story was that we were starving, the partying had left every cupboard bare, our last meal (besides one psudeo meal of go-cat Tossie was bravely and intermittently munching on) was onions, flour, and tomato sauce all fried up together on a bare pan.

Now this house had everything, brand new TV, video and stereo, spa pool, new flash kitchen and we had about a half a kilo of good quality pot between us… yet, no food.

What to do?
Well the logical thing would be to send a few guys hitching into town to sell some weed, get money, get food.
So off went Tossie and Mung with an ounce all packed up for sale.
Problem was it was autumn and there was a huge glut of pot in our little town.
The result was Tossie and Mung arriving back the next day completely bombed out of their minuscule wits with half a 40 ounce of homebrewed rum, a can of spaghetti, half a loaf of squashed bread and a story of a party where Tossie was staunched out for his buds. The rest of the tale being but a half garbled and conflicting account of cops, gang members and people asking if they could come up and use the spa (which was thick with a layer of unmentionable scum).

After a tired argument and careful dividing of our meager rations (we were all shaking now from lack of food combined with incredible munchies of monumental proportions and too weak to do anything but lie about and whine) we sat dejected and forlorn destined to starvation, minds numb with the sort of malaise only heroic doses of cannabis can do to a young body.

Gazing out the window over the bush covered hills to the farm beyond where roamed many white grazing creatures….
We burst up off the couch like there were snakes on it!
The light of realization was blinding, filtering in through the black basalt walls that were our minds.

A plan of attack was quickly formulated!

Black clothes, weapons, fast shoes, preparatory “mission cones” and half a cup of rum each “for strength”.

After an hour long mission through the pitch black bush so bombed that we wouldn’t have even been able to see even if it was daytime, we emerged scratched, exhausted and crouching at the edge of the forest, gazing forth into the green pastures of the promised land.

Our motley band of warriors were armed in an equally motley fashion, among the weapons were an axe, a big hunting knife, a kitchen knife tied to a broom handle, a cricket bat and the piece de resistance, my weapon, a muddy brick at the foot end of a pair of Wookys mums stockings.

We crept along the side of the scrub until a sheep was within throwing range and all simultaneously hurled our projectiles of dinner killing death.
The axe handle hit its back and bounced off while the head flew away, spiraling into the darkness. Everything else fell short except my brick in a stocking weapon, which went sailing far overhead also, trailing its tail behind it like some gothic comet.

We burst from our hiding place, snatched up our weapons and charged after our bolting wooly dinner.

After what seemed like years of running and throwing our weapons, and using various surrounding the dinner tactics, my brick in a stocking weapon connected with the side of its head, dazing it!
We charged in, Mimple stabbing it deep in the back with the hunting knife, the cricket bat cracking down on its head, the improvised spear … not really penetrating the thick wool before coming off the broom handle…

It was dead and dragged into the bush before you could say snow white and the 7 staving Bogans.
Back to the palace we shakily dragged it …
Quickly taking turns to slice off huge, ragged bloody chunks before rushing inside to the oven, all elements on!!!

Needless to say we were well fed that night … I still have fond memories of grinning Wookie holding a huge slab of mutton to the dirty, unoiled frying pan by a fistful of wool to which it was still attached “SIZZZZZSSSSSS!!!!” went the mutton.

Red blood dripped down our chins as we laughed joyously at our seared feast.

We threw the whole sheep into the chest freezer and lived on it to the last scrap (besides the guts, wool and bones which went into the gully “It’ll rot down we said”) over the next 3 days, sometimes boiling it and adding random spices.

Now does anyone know the effect that a huge amount of partially cooked, tough and heavily spiced mutton has on the digestive system on one who has not eaten for days?

Unfortunately I do.

But that is another story and shall be told another time.


Bogan: The term bogan is Australian and New Zealand slang,  for a person who is, or is perceived to be, of a lower-class background. According to the stereotype, the speech and mannerisms of “bogans” indicate poor education, cheap clothing and uncultured upbringing. ‘Bogans’ usually reside in economically disadvantaged suburbs (often outer metropolitan) or rural areas
Swandri: A thick woolen partially waterproof jacket worn by rugged Bushmen and young men who are aspiring to be rugged Bushmen.

Shnoobie: Marijuana.

Clown: A derogatory term used to describe a stupid or socially inept person.

Shnoobie Clown: a person who’s use of marijuana has affected his ability to see the obvious and has rendered him devoid of most of the mental faculties that are needed to survive.

2 replies to Snow White and the Seven Starving Bogans*.

  1. SO what does the effect that a huge amount of partially cooked, tough and heavily spiced mutton have on the digestive system of one who has not eaten for days do?

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