Much like the rest of us, the bogan enjoys heading out for a night of fun and frolicking, unencumbered by the inhibitions that alcohol has the glorious ability to strip from our nocturnal selves. However, that is frequently the point where the similarity between the modern bogan and, well, everyone else, ends. The bogan, in its quest to do everything ‘to the extreme’, will invariably wind up putting away fifteen Jagerbombs before closing out the night with a Tequila Suicide and a couple of ambiguously identified pills.
And there is no greater opportunity for the bogan to indulge in this kind of behaviour than on the 365th night of the year. New Year’s Eve is, quite naturally, associated with various forms of overindulgence for almost everyone, and hence to do it in a dangerously epic fashion is something of an annual rite-of-passage for most bogans. Originally, the bogan was unfussed by the where and how of its yearly binge of self-destruction, but, as the nouveau-bogan trends became clear, and police began to worry about the number of foreigners being brutally beaten, the move to push bogans indoors gained momentum.
Naturally, canny publicans have latched on to this phenomenon, and begun offering ‘tickets’ to attend their ‘NYE parties’, which tend to involve, well, a pretty normal night out, but with a price tag of $250, and the ability to co-mingle with a couple of hundred other bogans. The bogan will then proceed to drink $80 of alcohol and eat three spring rolls. Sometimes, an actual event is organised, offering a litany of bogan clichés, generally revolving around DJs that one may have heard mention of at last year’s NYE function, a failed rock band, loads of extremely drunk femme-bogans, and a venue that for 364 other days, furiously avoids the clientele it, for once, deigns to attract.
The bogan, presented with the option of paying an excessive amount of money for something it could ordinarily have for nothing, is drawn, like a moth to the glowing blue death-light, to these inner-city locales, looking to get laid. Of course, by 1am, it is clear that, in its horrifically inebriated state, getting laid is unlikely, and hence it will take to the streets with its posse, looking for Indians to bash.
Or, there is Sensation™. Or Falls Festival, giving the bogan the chance to combine massive overindulgence with ruining gigs for everyone else.
The bogan then awakes, feeling furry, in an unidentified bed, and begins groggily preparing for the new annual bogan tradition: New Year’s day. No longer does the massiveness of one night satisfy the bogans’ urge to ‘go hard’ and be seen to ‘go hard’. No, today, there are festivals, held on the day after the night before, that tend to involve many huge bogans wearing white singlets and sucking on Chupa-Chups, bearing the occasional femme-bogan on their shoulders in a manner reminiscent of various South American primates.
The bogan cannot ruin this festival. It already sucked.