#243 – Perspective-Based Photography at Famous Landmarks

25 08 2011

“Wait…move your left hand over a bit…that’s it…nah, wait, you missed it. Fuck. Try again.”

Travel to any part of the world with any landmark that has appeared in a James Bond movie or a Contiki catalogue, and you will undoubtedly hear words to this effect. With a strong Australian dollar, cheap flights, and internet accommodation bookings, the newly internationalised bogan has embraced overseas trips/tours/drinking with a previously unseen fervour. They then decide, in their uncommonly belated manner, that it would be totally bitchin’ if they posed alongside a famous landmark, employing their unparalleled grasp of telephoto perspective to create the impression they’re, you know, holding it up! While the bogan has precious little perspective on life, empathy, culture, and modesty, it has an unlimited desire for perspective in its photography.

How artistic and clever it makes the bogan feel to have come up with such a devastatingly effective photo. The several hundred other travelling bogans undertaking the same process within a 50 metre radius are clearly ripping off what is an original idea. It is inconceivable that anyone other than that one particular bogan could have realised how extreme it would be if a photo made the Eiffel Tower look really small, with the tip being squeezed by the oily pincers of the bogan.

After the magic of the digital camera allows the bogan to make the requisite 300 attempts to place the photo’s two subjects in harmonious alignment, it can be taken home, enlarged 100 times and placed on the wall of the formal living room. The roaring success of the photo is enough to induce the bogan to tell its friends that it’s thinking of becoming a pro photographer. Indeed, the possibility to take more perspective-based photos (along with V Australia now flying to North America) may lure the bogan to journey to NYC to create a sidesplittingly unprecedented scene where the Statue of Liberty gets sodomised from behind. An alternative, and equally appealing option is to kiss the Sphinx, and then make a joke about getting older pussy. Or, or, what about one where it looks like the ruins of the Acropolis are getting stomped on?!?!

The bogan will never, ever, ever tire of this.

#241 – Theatre Restaurants

10 08 2011

Despite the best efforts of their marketing departments to abandon their traditional audiences, theatres around Australia remain only occasionally of interest to the bogan. This occurs during the runs of things such as Shane Warne the Musical, Puppetry of the Penis, and the farewell tour of something they once fleetingly liked.

However, there is one type of theatre that the bogan has maintained a hunger for. A theatre whose exterior is so maxtreme that it couldn’t possibly contain things that bogans do not like. Theatre restaurants have been present in Australia’s capital cities for decades, and also can be found in bogan strongholds such as Newcastle and the Gold Coast.

While theatre restaurants may appear to be particularly bogan, there is a brutal subtext to these venues. The people who theatre restaurants pay to amuse the bogan on stage are very unlikely to be bogans. Generally, they are inner urban uni students or drama graduates who have failed to take Hollywood by storm. As punishment, they are forced to spend the rest of eternity dressed up in corsets and plastic fangs, clumsily overplaying physical comedy so that the bogan knows when to laugh.

Because the actors and hosts at the restaurant all look ridiculous, this gives the bogan the green light to express its own sartorial personality when attending a theatre restaurant. An unfortunate side-effect of this, is that theatre restaurants are popular venues for hens’ nights. The boganic bride-to-be, adorned in enough penis-themed products to impregnate a latex sex doll, is in its element at a theatre restaurant.

These actors will cavort around the restaurant, barking into lapel microphones, and involving selected bogans in the hilarity. Meanwhile, the bogan chews its way through a plate of rubbery beef and blackbean, and offers the room unsolicited insight into what’s on its mind.

As the bogan gnaws futilely on its rapidly congealing meal, it pauses to consider the entertainment value of the miserable actors on the stage before it in silence. While it finds the entertainment to be awesome in the consistent way that the stars of the show will draw attention to the flaws of various other guests, and the buxom wenches seem to be hovering around its table quite a bit. But then, the host, Count Dracula himself, swaggers towards the bogan, eyeing its Elwood t-shirt and lycra sleeve ‘tattoo’…

#237 – Conspiracy Theories

15 07 2011

The bogan knows things. It doesn’t know how it knows; it just knows. Often, things that the general population is not aware of. Even more often, the bogan knows things when the information is presented to it in a facebook group, a trusted news source, or in Andrew Bolt’s column. The bogan just knows.  The bogan’s desire to lap up conveniently edited pieces of information and then parrot them back as the comprehensive truth is a conceptual combover capable of cladding even the baldest of theories in half a dozen tenuous strands of delusion. The bogan’s ability to rapidly determine the true nature of things spares it from the need to learn the context, alternatives, or ramifications of any area of knowledge it turns its attention to. This renders the bogan more efficient than the rest of society, freeing up time for it to go out and be extreme at awesome stuff while everyone else plods along like suckers.

Not content to just hastily weigh in on standard topics, the bogan seeks out preposterous claims that nobody else has ever heard of. Who could have known for example, that the unassuming rodent-canine hybrid known as the Chihuahua can cure asthma, or that sneezing seven times in a row releases the same endorphins as when having an orgasm. The bogan knows these things.

Its insatiable need to know things also extends to more complex issues such as assassinations, the chemical composition of drinking water or the veracity of global warming. While the world’s thinking community remains vexed, the bogan’s verdict is in. Climate change for instance, is nothing but a ‘Trojan Horse’ for power-hungry scientists to force their big taxing, redistributive socialist green left agenda on ‘hard working Australians’. The bogan also seems convinced that much of the country’s drinking water is contaminated ‘with that filthy fluoride stuff’, an assertion it will loudly bellow while cooking in its non-stick pan, hosing its Buddhist-iconography garden ornaments or cleaning its swimming pool (all being made from inorganic fluoride). The knowledgeable bogan will then espouse the safety benefits of drinking vitamin water while punching out an SMS at 110 kilometres per hour.

The bogan also knows that ‘climate change’ (the bogan always places air quotes around this phrase) is a conspiracy by latte-sipping greenie ivory tower affogato-belt eggheads trying to get more research funding/establish a One World Government. To paraphrase Heathen Scripture: Climate change is a theory now, ‘like gravity. And Adelaide.’

Further still, if a bogan sees evidence of a celebrity with a conspiracy theory, its truth value becomes gospel multiplied by max. The primary exception to this is the bogan’s scepticism towards Tom Cruise and the Church of Scientology, which attract great boganic mirth. After all, Tom Cruise’s aliens look different to the drawing that uncle Mick did of the time that he saw martians after being offered a funny cigarette at the pub. In fact, Scientology is a sinister scheme devised by the government to channel taxpayer dollars into getting aliens to overthrow Palestine and steal all of the oil and feed Elvis to George Bush who is actually the guy from the Da Vinci Code. The bogan just knows.

#208 – Platinum

17 01 2011

Geologists are unable to explain this one. The bogan, one of the most abundant elements on the Australian continent, has managed to swathe its existence in one of the rarest elements in the Earth’s crust (at just 0.0005mg/kg). This calls for an investigation into the bogan’s rampant infatuation with platinum.

While the bogan is aware of its natural aptitude for going to work in the mines, is has only a vague awareness that platinum is a metal that comes from mines and riverbeds. This is because 90% of the world’s platinum is sourced from Russia and South Africa, and these countries are unwilling to pay bogans enough money to purchase jet skis. However, this is not to say that the bogan is not an expert.

In a rare example of the bogan subscribing to the theory that it is better to give than receive, bogankind has bestowed 14 different platinum sales accreditations upon P!nk, 7 upon Kings of Leon, 5 upon David Guetta, and dozens more upon other fleeting chart sensations who have managed to press the bogan’s buttons. Female bogans have also tried very hard to convince their spouses that they should give the female a $10,000 platinum diamond ring from the bogan’s ultimate jeweller, Tiffany & Co. While bogans are generally unwilling to establish what it might be about platinum metal that makes it desirable, they are very aware that it is a synonym for “awesome celeb”, and that they urgently require it in their lives.

Like many things that are awesome celeb, however, things with the word ‘platinum’ in their name tend to be expensive. In a gloriously perverse example of a boganic feedback loop, banks have informed the bogan that it can finance its immediate need for platinum via a platinum credit card. Originally the domain of high net worth individuals, the race towards the mass market commenced when banks and credit card issuers realised just how much extra the bogan is willing to pay in order to go platinum.

HSBC’s platinum Visa card is open to people with just $50,000 of annual income, despite being marketed as “exclusive, elusive, and not for everyone”. Even this modest level of exclusivity bothered some bogans, though, who demanded awesome celeb platinum status regardless of their personal circumstances.

Enter bogan Bali facilitator Jetstar, with its Jetstar Platinum Mastercard. The card features an income requirement of $30,000 per year, an exclusive threshold far above the $29,714 per year set by Fair Work Australia in June 2010 as the minimum legal full time salary. Just like the systematic pillaging of all meaning from the term “couture” undertaken by fashion marketers over the past fifteen years, the bogan has commissioned and achieved platinum status by stealth. It only has to pay $149 to Jetstar each year, compared to $49 for the non-platinum card. And pay 7% more interest on its purchases of P!nk albums.

#186 – Sporting Memorabilia

25 10 2010

The bogan does not learn its lessons. This is demonstrated by its ongoing capacity to be seduced by home fitness equipment, reality tv, and the idea of seducing hot Asian chicks. It either simply does not remember its past experiences, or it chooses to ignore them in the present. But in a rare instance of the bogan devising a solution to assist it with its shortcomings, it has developed a way to retain proof of things that have happened. This echoes the 1991 Australian movie “Proof”, where Hugo Weaving played a blind man who obsessively photographed the world around him, as proof that things were as they were described to him. In the film, Weaving befriended occasional bogan icon Russell Crowe, who was adept at describing Weaving’s photos to him.

The bogan decided that it too needed a Russell Crowe in its wilfully blind existence, and initially found it in the form of octogenarian former Australian cricket captain and occasional bogan icon Richie Benaud. During the drinks breaks on Channel 9 cricket broadcasts, Benaud assured the bogan that only 500 framed photographs of Adelaide Oval, taken from the Cathedral end, during a test match in 2008, were available. As Benaud whistled lyrical about how remarkable a piece of memorabilia the photo was, the bogan knew it had found its proof. Proof that the test match occurred, and proof that Punter, Haydos, and Clarky all whacked centuries in the first innings against the curries.

To the bogan, it also represented proof that it was able to invest in its future. With only 500 photos available, the bogan was certain that its savvy purchase of the sporting memorabilia adorning the wall of its rumpus room represented the ideal nest egg. “It’ll be worth double that in a couple of years!”, squawked the bogan to its friends during a discussion about the retrospective merits of investing, which is normally shorthand for “residential property investment and pyramid schemes. Indeed, impulsive sporting memorabilia investment is viewed by the bogan as the ultimate blend of shiny possession, and mystical money-generating tool.

Of course, it didn’t stop with the panoramic photo of Adelaide Oval. The bogan is also likely to possess products ranging from a sweatband once used by Mal Meninga, to the tank top Lleyton Hewitt was wearing when he proposed to both Kim Clijsters and Bec Cartwright. Rendered insolvent by its willingness to purchase sporting memorabilia (combined with its freewheeling expenditure on countless other things it does not need), the bogan turned to the internet to save money. The bogan outsmarted the greedy sporting memorabilia shop at Chadstone shopping centre which was selling an authentic signed Muhammad Ali photograph for $1500 by finding one on eBay that looked pretty much the same for only $150 – signed and all! The bogan drummed its fingers together, cackling deliriously at the 2000% profit it was sure to derive by selling the sacred depiction of Muhammad back to a different bogan in a few years time. In the meantime, the bogan has proof. Proof that it is a bogan.

#156 – All Things Fast and/or Furious

12 07 2010

The bogan, in its occasional disconcerting, disorienting moments of clarity, knows that Point Break was a sick movie. After all, it had Keanu ‘Don John from Much Ado About Nothing’ Reeves chasing Patrick Swayze in a funny mask before shooting frustratedly in the air. Bogan win. But that was in 1991. There are now bogans in their majority and legally pressuring their girlfriends to do anal who were born after Keanu went skydiving without a parachute. In 2001, one of the thousands of evil geniuses in Hollywood realised this, and went in pursuit of the same bogan bucks.

This genius – being a genius and all – knew how to appeal to the bogan. He broke into the top secret Point Break Institute in the dark of night and stole the last remaining copy of the Point Break script. He then took it to a meeting of his cabal of bogan wizards to deliberate over what it was in there that struck such a magical bogan chord. Months later, he emerged, exhausted and bedraggled, with a solution. He raced home and grabbed a pen, then, with his last remaining strength before passing out, he crossed off every occurrence of ‘Johnny Utah’ and ‘Bohdi’ and replaced them with the less confronting and less Eastern religion-y ‘Brian’ and ‘Dom’. Sighing the satisfied sigh of the rich, he lay back, knowing he’d struck gold.

Later, in a dungeon in Hollywood, studio executives discussed how best to mine the bogan bucks. “What do we call it? We can’t just call it Point Break again!” said one. “You’re right…bogans don’t like surfing anymore, they realised that the petrol to get to the beach is too expensive,” said another. “I’ve got it!” exclaimed the first, “they like driving…let’s change surfing to drag racing! In bright coloured cars covered in stickers! Bogans love stickers on cars!” “OK. But make the chick hotter.”

Now, instead of fantasising about surfing and regretting the inability to drive to the beach, the bogan can watch Point Break again. Complete with its new, maxtreme title, The Fast and the Furious which, to the bogan, means ‘Me’, it took over the bogan world. Alleged actor Paul Walker was cast in the lead role after having, at some earlier point in time, apparently stolen Keanu Reeves’ voice. Following up with the equally tremendous 2 Fast 2 Furious, the creators capitalized on the bogan’s love of SMS speak before the misstep of The Fast and the Furious: Tokyo Drift which, possessed of unusual punctuation and an unnecessary subtitle, not to mention being set in a country full of foreigners, alienated the bogan. Thus, the follow up, Fast and Furious, removed all unnecessary verbiage, brought back the now failed actors from the first, and basically re-filmed the whole movie. It was a roaring success.