Dang! Clubbing can be pretty heckers! Especially when you’ve got three vodka-cruisers and a quart of slick Red Bulls coursing through your system. Not to mention the poppers, uppers, downers, frowners, browners, pingers, mingers, and dingers you need to intake to have a good time WHEN OUT on the town.
Man, ya might not know it but the Perth comedy boom is finally happening. It’s like 1991 in New York right now – as if Paul F. Tompkins puked out a stream of perfectly formed highly sensitive clones and those clones travelled back in time to catch Pryor at the Hollywood Bowl and with those clones with lessons learned shot forward to 2015 and landed in Perth to bring forth the ultimate comedy extravaganza – I’m talking Frasier if the whole cast was just David Hyde Pierce.
Dang son, one of the most important things you can do in life is not look like you are some skeezy roadside Kwinana freeway crack-hound selling vials to minors. Do you have a pubey moustache/wear Dada tracky-dacks that smell suspiciously ‘piss-like’? Or are you a rich kid from Trigg whose mum lends you $50 for lunch but instead you use it to buy product to sell to that 16 yo tuppy from All Saints that you’ve guiltily had your eyes on?
Other than 17 year old sticker artists and people who slurp ‘Go-gurt’ out of used enema bags, is there anyone as perennially cool as a DJ? These guys have somehow managed to monetise a job that used to be done for free by drunken uncles at weddings, turning an artform that started as a unique mode of expression for African-Americans in the urban jungle into a tool for meeting barely legals at schoolies and embarking on wild ‘finerbangathons’ that us non-DJs can only dream about.
Pt 2 of Bars And Nightclubs’ election special
In 1966 Harold Holt, having finally finished planning his disappearance in a year’s time, held public swimming lessons at Bondi beach. Said he to himself, “I’m the only one here that appreciates the brilliance of this piece of publicity.” And indeed, a year later, only Holt and his fellow Chinese submariners were able to laugh over his brilliant punch-line, the ultimate PR stunt.
Campaign stunts can take all kindsa mellifluous shapes and forms; be it Billy Hughes’ wet ankle contests of the late teens, Chiffley’s “construct-a-bucketbong-athon” of ’48, Menzies “deny-the-vote-to-blacks” bike race of ’61, or even the great little John Howard’s “Men with Penis Envy Rally” of ’97.
Every fuckwit with $25 is lining up to see The Great Gatsby in 3D, because for some ungodly reason everyone is gagging to see Baz Luhrman fingerbang the jazz-age like an autistic step daughter. But the Fitzgeralds – with their bipolar and substance dependence – weren’t the only party loving authors to get spewed out of the US.
“Johnson’s Friend”, “Pink Colgate”, “Jar Jar Jam” – these are just some of the street names given to ‘Bungle’, a popular gel like designer drug that has been making the round in Perth’s nightlife scene for the past six or so weeks. Coloured pink and with a consistency similar to children’s toothpaste, Bungle is a very expensive disassociate/upper that has become the fashionable drug of choice for Perth’s young and rich.
Urgh…is there anything worse than waking up in the morning after a night spent rectally inserting bennies and dancing to AKB48? The only thing that stings more than a pounding hangover is the never-ending parade of memories birthed from the regretful decisions made the night before.
Ah yes… You’ve been out all night talking guff and trying not to wince every time you have to fork over $11 for a midi… Through some rare misaligning of stars and crypt-hidden wizard skulls, you’ve managed to convince someone (someone who is semi-conscious)