When a Game of Bowls Goes Tits-Up

Ahem. AHEM! Hello? It’s been a while since I was in this blogging game. How does this work again? Where does my Amazon Wishlist link go? Are we still doing that? No…? Right.

Well, this-here old blog has sat dormant for some years now. Maybe you remember me from back in the day. Maybe not. That’s okay. (If you don’t know me, I’m a pretty uncomplicated guy; although see my About Me page for directly contradictive statements).

Let me explain what has caused me to pick up my keyboard again.

This weekend, a bunch of mates and I decided it was time to honour that Aussie tradition of pretending to play bowls while inhaling whole jugs of beer in the sun. Although I was suffering from what I’d suppose you would call distance-impotence with my throws initially, I got there in the end. Incidentally, you would not believe the squawks an old lady is capable of when a whizzing ball of fury connects with her ankle, like a wombat with a case of crabs angrily realising that he cannot scratch himself without the aid of additional implements.

We had a decent amount of mates there – some of my straight mates, some of my gay mates… actually, we only had one female friend along. It’s now just dawning on me how homoerotic the whole day was with guffawing of ball-jokes.

Regardless. There was inevitably some discussion of the lady-folk, which – especially after a few beers – draws out my documented lady-confusion. Although in the past I have been as disinterested in womanparts as Eminem appears to be in his glycemic index lately, in recent years, there is some confusion going on in recent years. There are definitely a few girls I have developed a ridiculously big crush on (although they all suffer the misfortune of having extremely strong jawlines, so, you know – nothing too strange). The alt-country singer Ms Neko Case, pictured, is definitely one of these ladies (I mean, for fuck’s sake, she makes a gay metalhead INVOLUNTARILY LISTEN TO COUNTRY MUSIC).

Now, after half an hour of discussion on this topic with my mates and uttering the phrase “if only I could see an actual vagina in person, I may be able to make up my mind”; the universe began folding in on itself, the Large Hardon Hadron Collider finally summoned up a black hole, and The Secret turned out not to be the results of one of Oprah’s stools after a particularly undercooked chicken meal.

Because in the function room of the bowls club, someone had yelled “the stripper’s here!” with all the enthusiasm of Don Bourke desperately clawing his way back into a TV contract.

By this stage of the evening, most other people had left (except us pissheads, obviously). It was just us and a buck’s party. A buck’s party! So I was not only going to see a stripper, but dumb hot drunk dudes as well. Fantastic.

The entire experience was both eye opening and leg opening. For the first time in my life, I saw a human vagina in the flesh. Shortly afterwards, I saw the inner workings of a human vagina in the flesh. This woman was mind-bogglingly flexible – we’re talking someone taking Photoshop to a still image of one of Aerobics Oz Style’s finest.

Yet I couldn’t concentrate on the hot-or-not factor for an embarassingly impossible-to-control peal of laughter rumbling up from inside me. It was all fun and games until the poor woman flung her legs open like a hydraulic door. The instant awe and silence which went over the room was completely hilarious – the mood suddenly turned to SERIOUS BUSINESS GOING ON RIGHT HERE, NO TIME FOR JOKING AROUND. I was half expecting someone to flash up “SILENCE – VAGINA IN PROGRESS” on the electronic Keno board while I attempted to stifle my laughter.

The first thing I thought was – there’s no way I can own up to my mates that I was thinking this… I need to tell the internet.

So here I am. Howdy.

Tagged as: Beer, Girl Confusion, Self-Referential Wank, Would Turn For