Cast of Characters

If you have been perusing my blog without reading the introductory post, you may have noticed that I refer to people by code names, for reasons of both privacy and hilarity (Meattrain is particularly adament about never revealing his true identity, like the meat-based superhero he is). It has been brought to my attention that the code names I am using are becoming increasingly ridiculous. Personally, I think they have remained at a pretty consistent level of ridiculous, but that's just my opinion.

However last night, while trying to sit out a particularly awful migraine, I started coming up with some potential code names. What I ended up with instead was a list of characters that I would love to see combined in some kind of mildly plausible fictitious setting. They started almost reasonable (for me, at least), but very quickly got more and more ridiculous.

Cast Of Characters:

Little Johnny Applesauce

Baxter Isafence

Jason Faceonacup, the mug collector

Abe L. Trolleycopter

Sasketchiwa Johnstone, the beef haunter

Clones 'The Cloner' Clonington and his seven piece one man band

Holy Jeremiah Heel, the street walker

Lonesome Jim Hula-hoop, the solitary hero

Gentle Dolly, the village proctologist

'Colonel' Ipswich Von Beardington, the clean shaven bus-driver

Old Man Crimestalker, the vigilant vigilante

Beans McGee, the ventriloquist with his charming off-sider;

"Raphael", an allegedly sentient tin of beans with a keen interest in politics

This entry is my written promise to create a piece of fiction that includes every one of these characters. I will probably do it later today, even. I'm not going to lie to you, the idea excites me, just a little bit too much.

-Smackie Onassis

Neck Roberts

I could probably explain how the whole Neck Roberts thing began, but it still most likely wouldn't make a lick of sense*. However, I can have a go at telling an abridged history of the Neck Roberts phenomenon. Because it is a phenomenon, let me assure you.

I was in a local pub when I came up with the idea, as I was examining the display of free postcards. You know the ones, little rectangles of advertising, usually with no room to actually write a message. I honestly think that I might be the only one who has ever actually bothered attaching a stamp to these and sending them on.  But I hadn't, before Neck Roberts.

There I was, examining the postcard collection for any winners. As I often do, I ended up going away with a handful of them. They were doomed for the recycling bin, like so many of their free postcard counterparts, until I absent-mindedly started writing on them. 

See, Neck Roberts was a name Vegatrain and I had come up with a few days before. I think I briefly made it my display name on facebook, for no real reason. If anybody called me on it, I planned to just pretend it had always been my name and I didn't know what they were talking about. Luckily, my friends know me well enough at this point to not even bother attempting to call me out on being an absurd human being. At first I would just label whatever I was doing as 'modern art', and see what I could get any with. Now, I don't even need to. Most people in my life have made their peace with the fact that I don't make much sense a good majority of the time.

Anyway, somehow in the course of that night, I started writing on those postcards. I took a common expression/advertising slogan, replaced one word with the word 'neck', signed it as Neck Roberts and sent them to a guy I went to high school with. Whom I haven't seen in a year.

Later, I asked him if he'd received them. He admitted that he had, but hastily tried to change the subject and pretend it had never happened. Not so fast, pal.

The next incident occurred few months later when I was in Melbourne visiting a friend. We were out and about when I came across a veritable treasure trove of free postcards. Again, I wrote on them, signed them as Neck Roberts and sent them. If you're wondering just what exactly I have been writing on these cards, here are a few examples:

Top of the neck to you!

A neck is for life, not just for Christmas

Have a nice neck!

Necks - it's what's for dinner.

And so on. There have been a few separate batches now, and every now and then that friend from Melbourne texts me new neck-related phrases, which I store away for future reference. The recipient (always the same guy) is still trying as hard as he can to pretend this is not happening which, if I'm being quite honest, just encourages me to do it even more.

Neckfully yours,

Smackie Onassis

*Come to think of it, the saying "lick of sense" doesn't make a lot of sense itself. Licks are for delicious ice-creams, not abstract concepts.

Mysterious Free Drinks Night At The Pub

Back in my hometown, there wasn't a great deal of unique and interesting entertainment options. There were, however, an absurd amount of pubs. Australians always talk about how there is a pub on every corner, most places you go. In my hometown, there was a pub on every corner, then another one next door and a few more along the street.

One of my favourite places to go of an evening was the local "bohemian" joint, the Lass O'Gowrie, universally referred to as The Lass. It looked like your regular dive bar, falling on the literal "wrong side of the tracks". It was situated right next to the train line that neatly separated the cosmopolitan, upper-middle class suburb on one side from the favourite hang outs of the local junkie and prostitute population on the other. One of my favourite pieces of graffiti was near there, a road sign where someone had painted over the word 'cameras' so it read "Speed used in this area". I giggled every time I drove past it.

But the Lass, the Lass was wonderful. There was live music most nights, usually played by friends of mine (the local muso scene tended to be fairly close-knit), and also usually free. The food was unexpectedly brilliant, with more vegetarian cuisine than a dirty hippie such as myself could poke a carbon-neutral stick at. It was the only pub I've ever been to that had a cat living on it's premises. I can't imagine how much that cat has had to deal with over the years.

One of the best nights out I ever had in that town was when my friend Guitarstrings Wilson and I headed to the Lass for a few quiet beers. When we arrived, the place was fuller than I'd ever seen it, and most of the people there were friends of mine. Curiously, there was free food circulating, and no-one seemed to be charging me for drinks. I chose not to question this for fear that saying it out loud might somehow make it go away.

Apparently, the venue was technically closed that night for a private function. It was the birthday party of the owner's daughter, a girl I had never actually met. However, because I apparently knew every single one of her close friends, everyone sort of assumed that I had been invited, and that Guitarstrings Wilson was my +1 for the night. 

I don't think I even met the host at her own birthday party, but my presence was just sort of accepted, even embraced. I wasn't exactly going to say no to free food and drinks, either.

It is safe to say that I came out that night well under budget.

-Smackie Onassis

Smackie Onassis Fails At Pets

I've had a bunch of pets in my time, all spread over the first twenty or so years of my life. My first was a little budgie named Pepino (according to google, this is the name of a plant native to South America. I am not sure why my parents would have chosen that name). After that, a parade of other budgies followed. I'm not sure how many there were in total, but we never had more than two at a time. Apart from the budgies there was my cat, Tigger, who was the most significant man in my life until he died of kidney failure and broke my heart. There was also a goldfish named Chips and a "black ghost knife fish", whose name escapes me, probably because he died after about fifteen minutes. The most beloved of all my pets was Tigger, by far, but he wasn't necessarily the most memorable.

When my sixteenth birthday was approaching, my friends asked me what I wanted for a present.

"An axelotl," I remember replying definitively. I'm not sure where I got the idea to ask for a Mexican walking fish for my birthday, or why I was so insistent. I think I just thought it was a funny thing to ask for. I don't think that I honestly expected anyone to get me one. But, whenever one of my friends came back and asked me what I wanted, serious answers only this time, I insisted that I wanted an axelotl.

A bunch of my friends turned up at my party that year together, carrying what they had pooled together to get me. An axelotl, complete with a tank and a whole bunch of other accessories. As in, like, things to feed it, not like, tiny boots and hats and stuff. Although that would have been pretty cool too. The important thing is that they actually humoured me to the extent of buying me a freaking axelotl. I was over the moon. The look on my parents' faces when they saw the tank reminded me that I hadn't thought to inform them about the possibility of receiving a living creature as a gift, but too bad for them, I guess. I do remember getting a request from them before my seventeenth birthday, and then for a few more birthdays after that, to the tune of "Please don't ask for anything alive this year".

In the meantime though, I had Pablo, my axelotl. He was the best. He spent the entire day swimming around with a stupid fishy grin on his face, unintentionally teasing the cat and eating meal worms (the fact that I had to keep those in our fridge was another thing my mother loved, let me tell you that much).

But, when the summertime came, Pablo really started feeling the heat. He got pretty sick and spent most of his days sort of floating around miserably. He wouldn't eat his meal worms. I was concerned for his wellbeing.

The bad news eventually came when I was being picked up from a regional drama camp. I remember the conversation vividly.

Dr Dad: Smackie, I've got some good news and some bad news.

Smackie: Give it to me straight, doc.*

Dr Dad: The bad news is that Pablo died.

Smackie: Ok. I thought that might be it.

Dr Dad: The good news is we kept his body in the fridge for you.

Smackie: Th... thanks.

At first I thought it might be some kind of joke. You know how doctors always seem to develop morbid senses of humour. But no, when we arrived home there was a little foil package next to the marmalade that contained the deceased body of my pet. To this day, I have no idea what they expected me to do with it, or why they thought I would actually want them to do this. Maybe it was all just revenge for the meal worms. However, because I was so flabbergasted about the whole thing, I did what any rational person would.

I left it there. I pretended that the whole unfortunate incident had never happened, and that the little foil parcel contained nothing but some kind of mystery leftover.

After a good month or so, Dr Dad approached me and asked me if I minded if they disposed of Pablo's body. I told him a bit too quickly that I was ok with that.

-Smackie Onassis

*This isn't actually what I said. But then again, my name's not actually Smackie Onassis, either.

Ride The Meattrain

Today when Meattrain got home from work, he told me that there were three things he did at work today.

1. Read a facebook message I had sent him re: fisting.

2. Read my blog

3. Start his own blog

He was a bit distraught that the name 'Ride The Meat Train' was taken (WHO IS USING THIS NAME? WHO?), but then settled on Let The Meat Cake.

I am glad he has adopted this nickname.

-Smackie Onassis

What's In My Bookmarks Bar?

 - Wikipedia page for Richard von Krafft-Ebing's "Psychopathia Sexualis"

 - Ebay store selling reasonably-priced mandolins

 - A pug licking the screen (so adorable)

 - Leviticus Jewelry, an online store that sells just the best pirate-ship ring

 - Costume Dogs

 - World Of Solitaire

 - RhymeZone, a really great rhyming dictionary

The Joys Of Hard Rubbish

It's Hard Rubbish time in our neighbourhood right now. This seems to be a phenomenon that is known by different names all over, but remains the same wherever you go. For those who know it as something different, I'm talking about the glorious few days where everyone puts the stuff they want to get rid off out onto the curb and then everyone else goes around scavenging. Kinda like a garage sale, only everything is free, and taking it is technically illegal. It's great.

I've been going for a lot of walks these last few days. I haven't really been intending to come home with a bunch of junk, but I do anyway. I have found too many things that have been just too hard to resist.

The best, by far, has been the old-school hospital wheelchair that I found. It was only a block away, surrounded by a bunch of normal chairs. At first Vegatrain didn't believe that it was a "wheelchair", but rather just a chair on wheels. I assure you, it's a wheelchair. The proof came when we lifted up the cushion and saw that it had a toilet-bowl shaped hole in the seat, for doing one's business. We are thinking about putting it in the courtyard, with a bucket under the hole and a sign that says "Guest Bathroom".

I also came home the other day with a pair of perfectly good rollerblades. I don't understand, are wheels out of fashion now? Either way, I don't care, because free rollerblades. I will be the girl who rolls from place to place, blading my troubles away.

Naturally, I have now been keeping my eyes peeled (wow, I only just realised how awful of an expression that is. I don't know in what sense eyes are supposed to be peeled, but I want no part of it) for excellent finds. The problem is, I occasionally get a bit too excited and find myself thinking 'Wow, someone's throwing out a VESPA!' before realising that they have, in fact, just parked their Vespa next to the curb, near the hard rubbish.

This led me to wonder if anyone has ever actually stolen someone's vehicle in this manner. Which led me to wondering if this would be an acceptable defense in court. Most people would say that stupidity is probably not a valid legal defense. They would be wrong. Well actually, no, they would be right, but that doesn't mean people haven't attempted to use it.

You may remember, a few years ago, there were two Australians working in a ski resort in Canada. These two geniuses attempted to hold up a bank, forgetting that they were still wearing their work uniforms, complete with name tags. One of these guys had actually been a patient of my father's for some time in the past. When the legal trouble began, his mother went and saw Dr Dad and asked if he could write her a medical certificate. She apparently thought that it was worth a shot to see if she could get an expert medical opinion proclaiming that her son was so certifiably stupid that it was actually a medical condition. She thought this might help his case. Dr Dad did not agree to help her out.

Good on her for trying, though. I like to see creativity in the legal system.

-Smackie Onassis

While I'm On The Subject

Here are some of my ideas for niche porns (I must warn you, some of these are pretty tasteless):

Hot Bisexual Teens Read English Poetry:

Does the thought of rhyming couplets get you going? Does the thought of long, winding phrases about trees make you start to sweat? Does the idea of a hot bisexual teen with perfect diction really sound like your cup of tea? Look no further than 'Hot Bisexual Teens Read English Poetry', coming soon to an internet near you.

Highly Questionable Terminal Illness Porn:

A barely legal blonde gets breast cancer ("the sexiest cancer"). Feeling sorry for the busty teen, an all-lesbian crew of nurses decide to find out her dying wish and then grant it to her. It turns out that she wants nothing more than to have sex with local amateur film sensation Derek Studly. He grants her dying wish and a whole lot more...

Hot Man On Train Action:

Did you collect trains when you were younger? Did the feel of the smooth, cold metal give you a twitch that you couldn't quite explain? Watch as four men revisit their childhood collections with an added gusto, before guiding each other's "trains" into their "stations". The hot, train-related action will be sure to get your engine steaming!

Ok, I am done. Before anyone starts with the whole 'You should be ashamed of yourself' deal, don't worry, I already am.

-Smackie Onassis

On The Entertainment Value of Fetish Porn

Most people who know me are probably aware that I totally dig fetishes. I don't get aroused by them, or use them for any kind of sexual purpose at all really, but holy hell, I can't get enough of them. I find them both hysterically funny and intensely fascinating.

I'm about to start a psychology degree by correspondence. While the whole subject of psychology is interesting to me, I'm hoping to eventually do post-graduate research. Specifically in the area of sexual fetishes. Because, man, what even the hell. When someone has a fetish for swallowing another person whole and then inflating to twice their size before pooing them out (This is a real fetish. There are whole forums on the internet dedicated to it.), I just... I mean, just why... how, even? I want to know.

Last night, Meattrain brought up a fetish that he finds particularly funny, the one that involves getting your jollies by cooking and eating someone. Or, alternatively being cooked and eaten yourself. In a simpler time, there might have been one or two cases of these kinds of people ever finding each other and actually carrying out these acts. Then in the first week of the internet, there was ten of them*. I had, of course, heard a lot about this fetish, and followed the legal battles that always ensued when the courts were all "Hey! You murdered that dude and ate him!" and got the strange and unexpected response of "Yeah, but he was totally gagging for it."

Meattrain asked me if I had actually seen any of their porn. I hadn't, because unlike my housemate, I have a soul. However, when he described just how funny it was, I started getting pretty curious. See, it's very hard to make acceptable porn for a fetish that involves cooking and eating another human being. You can't have sex with someone you've just skinned and boiled, I guess. The way these guys have dealt with this is to make soft-core porn that consists of attractive women, trussed up and covered with food. Meattrain described one image he particularly liked where a women was done up to look like a turkey, complete with a banana sticking into her "lady bits". Naturally, his main problem with this image was the fact that you can't put banana with turkey because it would plain old ruin the flavour. He suggested a parsnip instead, although Vegatrain thought a carrot would do the job nicely.

After this discussion, Vegatrain and I went into the courtyard for a tea-break, and I couldn't help mentioning how I excited I was to look up this website. Vegatrain responded by burping loudly, explaining that with my talking about porn he wanted to give the worst possible impression of us to any neighbours who might be listening. I agreed and played it up to the best of my ability.

Smackie: I am sure looking forward to a large serving of porns tonight.

Vegatrain: The women in porn are often looking forward to large servings themselves!

I didn't actually end up looking up those images, as my computer promptly decided it didn't want anything to do with it and refused to let me do anything but listen to twee pop and play pokemon like a good little girl.

But, if you're that curious, I looked it up just now and it is pretty disturbing.

Warning: That link is not safe for work, unless you work in a place called Kannibal Kitchen, which I'm pretty sure doesn't exist at all, so why would you lie like that?

-Smackie Onassis

*not verifiable (i.e. I made that up)

Lake George

Lake George is located in rural NSW. I drove past it once a year, almost every year of my childhood as my family headed to Perisher Blue for the annual family skiing trip. It is, hands down, my favourite lake. Most people, I am aware, will name a favourite colour, favourite song, favourite weather pattern etc, but will look at you funny if you start talking about your favourite inland body of water. I (most likely) wouldn't even have a preference myself, if it weren't for Lake George.

It's not that it's a pretty lake, or a productive one. I'm sure it is both those things, but that's not why I like it. I like it for the mystery attached to it. See, Lake George is somewhat renowned for it's mysterious and entirely un-lake-like tendency to move around. At some point, the locals who were using the lake to fish noticed that every now and then they would wake up and the whole lake would be several kilometres further away than it was the previous day. After another couple of days, they would wake up and it would be back where it was, pretending nothing had happened.

It was my favourite driving game when we would pass Lake George, to see how close to the road it would be. Some years, it would be right there, lapping against the shore. Others we could barely see it, glistening in the distance. While the most accepted theory is something to do with the drainage of the water, people are still not quite sure what causes the lake to move quite so much, or so often. I have taken the time to do my own research, and have come up with the most logical possible explanation.

There is this old fisherman who lives near Lake George. He is a poor man, and the only boat he could ever afford was a rickety old wooden thing, beloved by the local termites. Still, he loves fishing and takes his old boat out whenever he has the chance. However, many years ago he was out in the middle of the lake, doing his thing, and his boat sprung a leak. Naturally, he panicked. He was too weak to swim, and unless he could block up the leak, he would drown for sure. The only thing he had in his boat that he could possibly use was a box of Shamwows (he got an advance prototype from a friend ok). So, he plugged up the leak and started hurriedly directing his boat towards the shore. What happened was, the Shamwow was so incredibly absorbent (I mean, have you SEEN that infomercial? Those things are amazing) that by the time he got to shore, he had absorbed almost the entire lake. Hoping no-one would notice, he just wrung the thing out a few kilometres down the road and went on his merry way. Not realising the impact of his actions, he continues to go out on that old, rickety boat, plugging up his leaks with a Shamwow, and unintentionally shifting entire bodies of water. 

Mystery solved. Eat my deductions, Jonathan Creek!

-Smackie Onassis