#195 – Impersonating someone who impersonated someone who impersonated Mark Read

22 11 2010

While the bogan has embraced Underbelly to the extent that it is now being shot in an additional dimension, this shudderingly deep love of watching re-enactments of local organised crime has come up short in one crucial boganic area. Sure, the bogan can take itself on a highly satisfying rage/forgiveness/rage/forgiveness excursion using Matthew Newton’s private life, or it can admire how many different Ed Hardy t-shirts Mick Gatto has, but in the pursuit of genuine bogan-friendly lols, another Australian crime figure has the lot of them covered.

Mark “Chopper” Read, the 56 year old earless ex-convict turned celebrity, excites the bogan visually with his home-style tattoos, ultimate Movember moustache, and distinct lack of ear cartilage. He also excites the bogan with his backstory of torture, kidnapping, and prison violence. He has even offered to entertain the bogan with a hastily assembled rap album, a series of crime books, and comedy tours around the nation. But more than anything, the bogan’s love for Chopper can be more accurately attributed to watching other people pretending to be Chopper.

While using the term “Chinese whispers” to describe this multi-stage stupefying simulacra process would create uneasiness amongst the Southern Cross tattooed set, it is nonetheless true that the Eric Bana to Ronnie Johns alley ‘oop has distilled Chopper down to the barest of bogan baiting memes. The Chopper caricature of 2010 retains some theoretical capacity to commit crimes, but it is primarily a stammering pastiche of pitch-shifted dumbed down quips of indeterminate origin, designed to extract low-hanging bogan laughs in 90 second parcels. This, to the bogan, is the ideal model of a criminal; someone with a total of six jokes, loose morals, and a big moustache. In other words, a bogan male during the month of November. Waving a gun.

The bogan’s preference for “hyper-reality” is a result of its persistent dislike of detail, coupled with an attention span demolished by energy drinks, shit television, and spurious claims of ADHD. As a result, a bogan-favoured folkloric criminal needs to have an appearance suitable for costume parties, throwaway lines or mannerisms suitable for spirit-crushing repetition for the entire duration of said parties, and some sort of loveable streak that represents a credible each way bet between impressing other male bogans with its finger-gunning maxtremity, and endearing itself to other female bogans with its dangerous charm. The logical conclusion of this analysis is that thanks to someone impersonating someone who impersonated Mark Read, Ned Kelly will be given the chop as the bogan’s criminal of choice.


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#184 – Ducks

20 10 2010

The bogan has never really been known for its love of ornithology. And indeed, it’s unlikely you’ll find too many signing up at the Victorian Birding Association, or patiently waiting in remote South Australia for a glimpse of the rare Northern Shoveler. But here’s the thing; the bogan – almost exclusively the femme-bogue – just fucking loves ducks.

To test this theory, simply attend any location where you will confidently find both bogans and alcohol (alcohol optional). Pull out a camera and aim randomly at any femme-bogue you care to capture and witness the metamorphosis take place. With a rapidity that verges on the instantaneous, the female’s features will twist and distort into an extraordinarily lifelike impersonation of the common waterfowl we all know and love. This process will be repeated ad nauseum, so long as there are cameras still operating in the area. In fact, when cameras are spent, mobile phones will swiftly find their way to an elevated position above small clusters of female bogans, often held aloft by the alpha femme-bogue, as such a raised perspective apparently reflects a more cinema verite approach to capturing this quite common event.

If one were to venture farther afield, to more exotic locations, one would find, behind the inevitable velvet rope, somewhere near the DJ booth, a nocturnal variety of this tremendously non-endangered species; the duck a l’orange. This subspecies, which tends to emerge at night in southern climes in the depths of winter, manages to achieve an extraordinary, glowing hue of an evening with its unnervingly incandescent skin tone and white plumage, which under the black lights native to its regular habitat can glow several shades of iridescent colours.

While regularly observed, there is no conclusive evidence of the cause of this bogan behaviour, although there has been a marked increase in instances of bogan duck-faces since the advent of the book of faces. TBL believe, therefore that this form of exhibitionism started, as all bogan memes do, with early adopters ironically appropriating pop culture. Derek Zoolander became famous for pulling the ‘Magnum’ (often mistaken for the ‘Blue Steel’), which became the photo gag du jour for scenesters eager to milk ironic cool. Soon, this spread to bogan photography, in the mistaken belief that this was an epic max celeb thing to do while being photographed, despite there being little to no photographic evidence of any self-respecting celebrity anywhere twisting its features to resemble those of an semi-amphibious prey animal.


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Bogan Bribe Watch – September 3rd

3 09 2010

Where Were These Bribes When the Bogan Needed Them?

The bogan now knows where all its hard-earned bribes went. To Richard Wilkins. The bogan wants them back. Wilkins’ new $340 million Hobart hospital, presumably with an expanded plastic surgery and tooth whitening ward, does not appear to be for the bogan. . Not since the cancellation of the Easternats has the bogan been more likely to riot. After years of believing Tasmania was only a target for hilarious gay and incest jokes, the bogan has spent the week feeling angry and impotent. It is not used to decisions of national significance being made without being sweetened with bribes for the bogan. It would be unwise at this point in time to suggest to the bogan that it could consider hardening up, and suggestions that the bogan contributed to the situation through its confusing-to-everyone-but-the-bogan twin demands of more bribes and lower government debt are also thought to be exceptionally risky. Ordinary Australians are strongly urged to hoard canned goods and seek shelter as far away as possible from items made of glass.

The bogan is also furious that after months of being told that the government was intending to live in a manner of frugality that the bogan itself was in no way beholden to, suddenly Tony Abbott was offering Wilkins one billion dollars ($1,000,000,000) to build a hospital in Tasmania. Tasmanian bogans are furious that Wilkins turned it down for $340,000,000 to fix a hospital in Tasmania. All thoughts of fiscal austerity and the primacy of surpluses out the window, this $660,000,000 shortfall is perplexing to the point of insanity to the bogan. Surely a one billion dollar hospital is 194% better than a 340 million dollar hospital?!

Moreover, the bogan is thrice-furious at Wilkins’ efforts to restrict the bogan’s ability to win mad cash at the pokies. The bogan, technological auteur, odds-making savant, wizard of inanimate gambling machines that it is, just knows that it has a max win just around the corner. No longer, as Wilkins’ efforts to limit the max bet on pokies to one paltry dollar, hence limiting the bogans max winnings.

“Why, oh why?” cried the flummoxed bogan, staring mournfully into the cold, government-free night. “Why must I be subject to the whims of people I didn’t vote for? I didn’t elect Bob Katter like I didn’t elect Julia Gillard! This is fucked!” And now, the bribes that were not forthcoming during the campaign suddenly rush forth like a biblical flood into fixing the dollar for Bob Katter, the removal of party politics for Rob Oakeshott, getting gays married for Adam Bandt and subsidising Tasmania for Wilkins. The bogan voted for none of these things, and weeps. Then prepares to storm the beaches of Wineglass bay. The bogan wants its bribes back.


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#167 – DFO

23 08 2010

It is understood that during the cold war in Russia, a collective of underground capitalists attempted to defy General Secretary Brezhnev’s regime, commercially trading goods at unbelievable discounts. This black market was soon trampled, and the renegades lined up and shot in Red Square. These value-hungry traders had a secret code for their goods: дешевый фаворит обладание. The closest abbreviation in English was “DFO”, for a phrase that meant “cheap favourite possession”.

The bogan, quite the cryptographer itself, found this out from its dodgy Russian weed dealer in the late 1990s. But two savvy businessmen already knew. With a clear goal of fleecing the bogan of its bucks, former petroleum bosses David Goldberger and David Wieland formed a company with the patrio-bogan name of “Austexx”, and proceeded to open their first DFO shopping centre in suburban Melbourne in 1997.

Located on airport land, the outlet fell outside of the local council’s planning jurisdiction, meaning that Austexx could plonk a massive steel shed on a suburban backstreet and fill it with shops. The two Davids pitched to prospective tenants they they’d discovered a way to convince the bogan that stuff it didn’t need or want was too cheap to not buy. дешевый фаворит обладание. Even though most of it wasn’t even дешевый.

Seeing their secret Soviet signal on a shopping centre for the first time, the bogans flooded in like illegal alien boat people to a first world democracy. They purchased that oddly shaped green polo shirt from the Country Road outlet store, because if it’s at DFO, it must be a bargain. Thanks to the bogan repeatedly beating the system in this way, soon there were DFOs across the nation. Even the Subway sandwiches were dirt cheap, because there were exposed steel beams over the store, instead of a plaster ceiling.

After a decade of this, Austexx became drunk on its power over the bogan. It opened a sprawling Melbourne complex on an expensive site a few doors up from Crown Casino, Australia’s largest bogan-friendly cash vacuum. The Davids were convinced that their debt-funded $500 million project would wire them into the bogan’s DNA for generations to come. Unfortunately, for reasons such as the lack of a greasy food court, lack of 3D cinema screens, being confused by the tangle of roads near the complex and having lost all of its money at the poker table, the bogan has refused to attend “DFO South Wharf“. Austexx’s imperial overstretch has now brought its ever-expanding universe of bogan bucks into Austexxtreme financial danger, with stern-looking bankers knocking on the door.

Having lost its local Ed Hardy store recently, the bogan is now terrified that its local DFO will soon also be ripped from its needy paws. The Victorian bogan has tried many times to go to South Wharf DFO, only to be cruelly taunted by its immense signage as it feebly passed by on one of seven different freeway on-ramps. The only time the bogan actually successfully arrived there was accidentally, questing for a suitable vomiting location, after being ejected from Crown Casino for running out of money.


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#129 – Power Balance Bands

19 04 2010

In its unending quest to be as xtreme as possible, there is no gimmick too improbable, no shortcut too astounding, and no celebrity endorsement too smarmy for the bogan. This fact has sustained marketers for years, who appear to make substantial secret wagers with each other about who can devise the most ridiculous bogan fitness fad. Also complicit in this symbiotic orgy are scaremongering consumer affairs shows such as Today Tonight, which oscillate eagerly between giddy stories about miracle innovations, and enraged stories about the scams of “miracle innovations”. Throughout this process, the bogan believes, purchases, views, and condemns on cue.

Currently, the bogan is being lured by the promise of up to “500% more power, flexibility, and strength”. All from wearing a rubber wristband with holograms on it. Even the bogan is initially skeptical about such a claim, but its mind is instantly put at ease when it sees that there are celebrity sports stars endorsing it. Much to the marketer’s relief, the bogan’s ingrained anti-intellectualism means that it does not crave evidence for any science-related claim that a non-scientific celebrity may make about “bio-field energy”. This rubber wristband costs $60, and the bogan is enthused to hear that Power Balance also makes other branded accessories to help the bogan buttress its tenuous identity. Of foremost appeal to the bogan is a pendant “made of Sterling Silver from Bali and comes with a leather band.  It comes equipped with two PB holograms embedded on the back under a clear epoxy resin window for easy viewing.” The bogan will purchase this product without hesitation, creating an exotic Balinese look when paired with its Bintang singlet. If the two holograms in the pendant don’t provide adequate intense power to the bogan, it can purchase a sheet of 10 hologram stickers for a mere $150.

Central to the bogan’s desire to purchase Power Balance bands is the “secret” wearing of the bands by a number of Australian sportspeople. NRL star Benji Marshall is in on it, wearing it in recent games. And, predictably enough, TBL favourite Brendan Fevola is also currently wearing a poorly concealed Power Band on the field. It is rumoured that the Power Band enables Brendan to glass a cunt while standing on one leg and urinating on someone else’s girlfriend’s moving car.


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