Drive Thru, Say 'I Do'

Back when I was a photographer's assistant I'd go to a wedding roughly once every two weeks. This basically meant that once a fortnight the photographer and I would be fighting hangovers, traffic and each other in a bid to get from point A (The photographer's office/ apartment) to point B (The church) to point C (some scenic places that all wedding parties tend to go e.g.; a park, Pellegrini's cafe on Bourke, a syringe-filled beach) and eventually to point D (the Reception to endure a tirade of yawn-inducing speeches* and hopefully get some food and drinks). The day would be an adrenalin-filled rush as we tried to get to all the checkpoints in time he, at the wheels going several times faster than the legal limit in any country, and me, flipping frantically through the Melways muttering 'We should've turned left at Albuquerque.'

Cut to present day.

Tony Gelme is a marriage celebrant who will marry anyone anywhere. Except atop hot air balloons. 'I know it sounds romantic,' he's telling me ' but you have to wake up at three or four in the morning. The view is excellent mind you.' We are waiting for the bride and groom to meet us at that dank roach pit the Amethyst. Tee (the groom) and I have known each other for about six months. He is originally from Nigeria and currently makes ends meet by driving cabs. After the sixth coincidental encounter with the guy in a space of a month I got his number so I don't have to keep giving instructions to 'It's my first day on the job'-type taxi drivers on how to get back to my house.

Eventually they arrive. But we are one witness short. After giving a call to my mate Steve who works at a second-hand bookstore nearby ( 'I'm not working today') and a cafe around the corner ( phonelines engaged) I decide that I'll round up some complete stranger off the street. It took me all of thirty seconds.

Me: Pssst! Hey you! You wanna witness a wedding?
Passing woman: Look I'm not interested in buying any....wedding? (Fatman) is that you?

By sheer coincidence the first person I approach was one of the fill-in jazz singers at our bar. After convincing Jamie that I wasn't trying to sell her anything and that there wasn't a group of hidden cameramen about to burst forth for a hoax she took ten minutes away from work to witness this union of two people.

So there's my Monday folks. A marriage celebrant, Tee and Tommi, the cheapest bottle of sparkling white, a montecristo no.4, a random stranger and Yours Truly for the very first Amethyst Bar wedding. All it was missing was an Elvis impersonator.

Always the bridesmaid, never the bride,
Fatman


*That's a bit harsh actually. I did hear some truly moving sentiments as well as genuinely funny moments recounted by well meaning yet drunk friends and family.

Hunter S. Thompson (1937-2005)- R.I.P.

Dr.Thompson shot himself last night at his home at Woody Creek, Colorado. This violent, vicious, blood-thirsty, alcoholic, drug addict who could write so well will fear and loathe no more....and the world will be a poorer place for it. I do not for a moment think that that is all there is to him but a public persona eclipses the private self and I'm sure he couldn't give a damn if no one but his closest friends and family saw the other side. And speaking of other side....I imagine that when Hunter arrives at the airport in Hell (luggage missing) that Richard Milhouse Nixon will greet him with a 'Took you long enough' and they can take a limousine ride talking about politics, war, death.....and sports of course.

The Whole Enchilada,
Fatman

The Downwar'd Spiral

Last week was not a productive week. It was
anti-productive. The full extent of the Telstra debt
was starting to get on my nerves. Cursing my fate I'd
be grumblin' and a-muttering to my self and snapping
incessantly for the full seven days at anyone who'd be
unfortunate enough to be in my path. Like the beggar
on Russel Street who asked me for money.

'Spare some change cuz?'
and I'm, like 'Dude, seriously, don't let the attire
fool you. I'm not that rich.'

(Audience:Oooooooh.Burn! You GO Girl!)

I invested heavily on 'Feathered Mojo' (pictured right) because I liked his name. I now owe a shifty mobster a lot of money

Alright. So the extend of my 'anger' isn't what you'd
call a raging, volcanic fury. It's more on par with a
really spicy pizza loaded with chillies and jalapenos.
I have to think of ways of making money. Not being a
Hilton hotel heiress I have to earn my keep which at
the moment consists of;

a) My wages. Minimum wage (about the same hourly rate
paid in the third world to those happy kids who make
shoes with the 'swish' symbol and go down dangerous
mines to dig out poisonous/ radioactive/ cursed by
evil Spanish pirates type things) times hours spent in
a dank bar minus tab. Usually equals a negative
figure.

b) Tip jar. Currently reads: 'Ninjas killed our
parents. Need tip money to afford Karate lessons and
get Revenge'. Pure genius. Plagiarized from a black
homeless guy via the net. Good for about ten-fifteen
bucks a night. Clear!

c) Mugging people. Also known as 'Surprise Fight
Club'. I am a pacifist but will beat people up for
their money. Good for about twenty bucks....if I win.

d) Gambling. Run doggie run!

So as you can clearly see the only sane thing to do
is to fake my own death. Or pay in installments-
whichever is easier.


Got no rhythm, Got no style,
Fatman

Cupid is as Cupid does

'Love looks not with the eyes, but with the mind. And therefore is wing'd cupid painted blind. Nor hath love's mind of any judgement taste. Wings and no eyes figure unheedy haste. And therefore is love said to be a child. Because in choice, he is oft beguiled.'
William Shakespeare, ' A Midsummer Night's Dream'

There was this ad some time ago where a guy comes home to see his girlfriend (soon to be ex) going absolutely ballistic at him- yelling, calling him names and throwing his clothes, all his worldly possessions out of the second storey window. He then turns to the camera and with a stupid grin on his face says 'One day, I'm going to marry that girl.'. I loved that. This pure optimism that defies common sense. And it is with this at the back of the mind and with Valentine's day fast approaching that we have a look at...

FATMAN'S VALENTINE ODDS (Not to be taken seriously):

3-to-1: Charlotte. Did anyone remember in Super Troopers when Rabbit (Erik Stolhanske) pulls over a German couple for speeding and he goes to give them a ticket? The German chick turns to him and says 'Is zere anything I can do to avoid ze ticket? Anything at all?' and proceeds to try to seduce her way out of the fine while her husband watches. Well Miko and I aren't a 100% sure but we reckon this Swedish couple we met the other day may be swingers. A Wife swapping party may be in the works.

50-to-1: Sara. I work with Sara. She's cute, young, blonde and skinny. So definitely not my type (coughs). And she's going to be in Torquay for Valentine's. With her boyfriend. Plus there's not enough beer in the world for this union. Did I mention I work with her?

25-to-1: Vicki. Sara's wacky housemate. Back in school when girls liked you they let you know by hitting you on the arm. Or so I've been told. Vicki's aim is a little off however and she aims for the nose, ribs, crotch and eyes any time I get too near.

30-to-1: B.J. I'm an absolute sucker for freckles. Actually I'm kind of surprised she's not hitched. She's one of these cool, drinks-with-the-boys, sends dirty jokes, smart, beautiful girls that doesn't seem to date as often as she should.

200-to-1: Lesbian girl from Neighbours. Cool shirt idea; 'I'm not a lesbian, I just play one on t.v.' I am totally besotted with this creature. Of course Miss Neval only graced my bar that one time but I'm sure we "shared a moment" and she'll be back to retrieve the mobile phone I stole from her.

a Billion-to-1: Belinda. Always have to steal my kisses from her. I've tried seduction in the forms of charm, jokes, listening to problems, pleading, drinks, chloroform, rohypnol and stuff I cannot even remember. Her stance is solid. She starts every conversation with 'Get your hands off my legs' or 'My BOYFRIEND John and I are...'. It'll be a cold, cold day in Hell before I get anywhere with this saucy minx.

Still waiting for Hell to Freeze over,
Fatman

The Wolves are Circling

The Wolves are Circling

or

A Pound of Flesh, no more no less

or

I'm screwed big time

by S.Heazlewood, a.k.a. Fatman

Eeeeeep!
The Gestapo have finally found me! That's right- the Gestapo (not to be confused with Geppeto; the kindly old man who carved the puppet Pinocchio for dole scamming purposes and, like Job, was briefly a snack for some whale) the GEheime STAatsPOlizei or the German Secret State Police- the monocle'd ghouls in trench coats in the 40's.

For those who came in Late: Fatman left the meter running in his old house when he left. The meter being a Telstra account that grew to a sizable amount due to an internet-happy leech who moved in to the house after me. This parasite gave Telstra the distinct impression that I owe them a whopping $1,614.95 dollars in unpaid phone bills. That's not a misprint. They want the whole lot. The Full Monty.

I have the next ten days and counting to draft a letter to Alliance who have bought my debts from Dun&Bradstreet collection agencies like some cheap Vegas gangsters. Bankruptcy beckons.

My opium-addled stock broker (current whereabouts unknown) who advised me to invest heavily in a Taco stand in Wichita. It burned down three days later

They'll have to pry that money from my cold, dead hands
Fatman

A Fire Drill

Miko got fired today.

A sudden and unexpected turn of events at the bar- one of longtime employees was subject to a brutal sacking. He was never the most competent....or productive....and getting him to clean the place was always a bit of a nightmare....I'm getting off the point here. He was lovable however and despite his seemingly countless failings he and I enjoyed working together. I am now the Skipper without a Gilligan. A Stimpy-less Ren.

All the old crew (2002-'04) have slowly melted away into better employment leaving Yours Truly holding the grubby ball. Lenny the kind hearted fellow who happened to be born a Fijian killing machine was the first to go. 'I'm going to Sydney, bye.' he said, never to be heard of again. Then B.J. decided to get a job selling houses. Not those silly Monopoly houses but dem big house-sized houses. Then Daniela went off to be a nurse so she can open people up and leave scissors and whatnot inside patients, giving future generations of the medical profession something to do for an afternoon. And my beloved Belinda....gone, taking my heart with her. If only she had burned my tab as well.

Still, the Miko incident has reminded me of the constant Sword of Damocles that hovers above the heads of all hospitality staff. The piranhas of doubt are gnawing at my job confidence. Who'll be the next to go? How much do They know? Luckily I have enough information at my disposal to take a lot of people down with me so I may be safe for at least the next little while.

Still one step ahead of the law,
Fatman

O Brother, Where art Thou?

Police have a policy where they do not search for missing people until something like 48-hours have passed. Which is well and good if you have enough food, water and air to last you the two days of whatever environment you choose to find yourself in. The cops WILL eventually shrug their shoulders and, yawning from watching too much back-to-back "afternoon delights" of Jerry Springer's crack ho opera, put on their gloves and waders to fish out potential candidates out of the Yarra. A fact I informed Micah's mother Linda who had not heard from him in a month or so. This did not have the calming effect I had intended.

'So you can relax. It's been long enough that you can get the search party on to him today.'

Linda: 'I was calm when I called. Now I'm starting to panic. When was the last time you saw my son?'

'Which one?' I said, stalling for time. Micah has a brother, Nifty, who is living in Canada- the land of mounties, Shatner, maple syrup, DeGrassi Junior High and Avril Lavigne. And where Kentucky Fried Chicken is called Le Poulet Frit Kentucky. I hadn't seen him in about three years- a fact I chose not to share with her in case she started freaking out more.

'Micah! Have you seen Micah?!'

There had been signs of Micah still being alive. There was about $5 worth of change missing from my coin jar and someone had eaten all my food and left dirty dishes everywhere. But I couldn't be sure. Maybe a little white lie couldn't hurt the poor, increasingly hysterical woman?

'I'm sorry. I have to go.' I say, hanging up the phone then disconnecting the line.

Champagne for my true friends, True pain for my sham friends,

Fatman



p.s. Thank you Laura Z. from Canberra for getting me the Beastie Boys tickets for Ground Hog Day. What an awesome show! It was thrilling to see 40-year old Jewish guys rock the stage...and they weren't even rabbis!