#239 – Talking About Joining the Army

25 07 2011

The bogan likes talking about things it never intends on doing. Loudly. The bogan’s love of killing things is manifested in many ways; oversized pets, burning fossil fuels, paintball, and glassing cunts, but perhaps the most devoted bogan love is talking about joining the army. For there is nothing conceivably more maxtreme than talking about shooting an x-treme gun, in x-treme temperatures, in countries and terrain that it is x-tremely unaware of. All in the name of the most x-treme of all causes, National Security. The very thought of talking about defending its shores and bestowing freedom to some funny brown coloured people feeds its highly strung temperament like a tonic distilled from crack. The merciful warrior, the apotheosis of freedom and soldier of peace simply cannot wait to talk about joining the Armed Forces. Once its back recovers.

The bogan cannot actually join the army for a multitude of reasons. Whilst the appeal of driving an enormous armoured vehicle is certainly undeniable, the bogan’s normally unwavering enthusiasm for killing things seems strangely lacklustre when it comes to actually enlisting and becoming the thing. Upon deeper reflection, the reasons for such paucity of endeavour become even clearer. Neither Iraq nor Afghanistan boasts clubs where it can get loaded on Jagerbombs and glass cunts. But it fails to realise that both countries have abundant quantities of real bombs and its inhabitants can quite easily shoot cunts, should they so desire. There is also the issue of a distinct lack of flesh exposure amongst women in these war torn lands. The bogan knows this and doesn’t like it.

The bogan is never one to stray too far from its comfort zone, and the army requires it do too many pesky things that get in its way. In a curious discord from its usual pit of ignorance, the bogan it seems, realises that joining the army is nothing like being Jason Bourne. Or Matt Damon, for that matter. The bogan concludes this landmark glimmer of introspection by inwardly vowing to go and work in the mines, while continuing to verbalise a feigned plan to surpass Australia’s victory at Gallipoli.