#96 – Late Night Logistics

2 03 2010

Usually the bogan just doesn’t care. Its conduct is that of a self-interested cretin; utterly unwilling to think sequentially, and merrily taking delight in the misfortune of others. But like an octogenarian who has exhausted his supply of Viagra, there is a definite soft spot in the bogan’s leathery shell. This hidden side of the bogan is a compassionate one, it is a supportive one, it is a thoughtful one. The bogan wants nothing but the best for you.

Unfortunately, the bogan suffers from confidence issues, and usually finds itself too shy to express its beautiful true self to strangers. This is society’s loss, and it pains the bogan to the point that it will turn to hard liquor to dull the persistent pangs of guilt and shame. You can find the bogan standing in a dark corner of a bar late in the evening, intoxicated on its own existential torment, and hoping that one more drink will liberate it from its inhibitions.

Over in the middle of the bar is an obnoxious drunkard who is rigorously exercising its freedom of speech. The drunkard is gesticulating wildly to make its fallacious points, with its tentacles flinging dangerously close to bystanders. Mid-sentence, its motor skills finally abandon it, causing its bottle of locally brewed, foreign label beer to fly from its hand. Time stops. Or it goes into that bullet time thing from The Matrix.

The camera pans to the unfulfilled bogan in the corner, watching the bottle majestically soaring towards the wall. Caught in the moment, the bogan forgets his fears. He is suddenly alive, catlike, and purposeful. As the bottle crushes into the plaster, the bogan is moving toward the drunkard, ready to offer advice and assistance. A temporary flash of self-doubt returns, so it rehearses its proposed dialogue.

“Excuse me sir, I couldn’t help but notice that your tipple has slipped from your fingers and come to grief. I am saddened for your loss, and do not judge you. I’m attuned to your emotions, and sense that you may be embarrassed. I’m here to help, perhaps I could arrange for your safe egress from this establishment? It’s no trouble at all, I’d be only too happy to be of assistance.”

In the same instant that the sound of splintering glass rings through the air, the Pavlovian bogan lets its spirit flow.

“AAAAAAHAHAHAHAHAHA ya dumb shit. TAXI! TAXI! HAHAHAHAHA TAXI! TAXI! SOMEONE GET THIS DICKHEAD A TAXI! TAXI! TAXI! TAXI! AAAHAHAHAHA GET A TAXI YA PISSHEAD! TAXI! TAXI! TAXI! TAXI! TAXI! AAAHAHAHAHAHA! TAXI! TAXI!