Beer No. 1, Beer No. 2.

No. 1

BARONS PALE ALE…Brewed right here in New South Wales in the little town of Woollahra…by the brave boys of Barons Brewing indeed. A surprisingly refreshing taste, as it runs cool and smooth, nibbling at the back of your tongue as it makes its way down to your anxiously awaiting beer belly, leaving behind a subtle hint of fresh squeezed berries, as it seeps into your alcohol deprived bloodstream.

‘Tobacco smoke is toxic’, screams the friendly reminder on the flip top of the Marlboro Light box on the desk. It glimmers in the flickering neon reading lights hanging beneath the t.v. set that looms ominously overhead by the window of your Formula 1 Hotel home, as you sit staring out the window over looking the corner of This Street and That, in the middle of Whoknowswhereville, suburbia Australia. ‘Light one up for me, and don’t forget to collect all three!’

People lie to themselves for different reasons. People lie to themselves at different times. People lie to themselves for different reasons at different times, but the important thing…they all do it.

For example; right now I’m sitting on a folded up pillow. I tell myself how much better it feels beneath my bony little ass than this hard wood seat its cushioning. I tell myself its purely for the comfort value, that I interrupted the eruption of my thought volcano to rip this fluffy fun bag down from the top bunk, and stuff it snuggly beneath my rump. The fact that without the added height of this feather filled elevation boost, I’d never be able to see over the steering wheel of this tractor-trailer thought bus, never even enters my mind. Without it, I’d quite possibly be speeding the wrong way down this four-lane papyrus parkway, and I wouldn’t even know it until I got there. Come to think of it, I doubt I’d even know where there was.

The bottom of the bottle comes quite suddenly to those who can’t see over the top. But, if that’s the only problem I have, I’ll be sure to be the last to admit it. Always listen to your mums kids. They sure as hell don’t know what they’re talking about, but let’s face it…neither do you.

No. 2

The best part of cracking open a good beer is watching the erotic dance of the aroma vapors as they make their way to freedom. Like a five dollar stripper in a seedy North Seattle cock club on a payday Monday night, they work those invisible poles like their rents depended on it. Show me a bollte of wine that puts on a show like that, and I’ll show you the working end of an AK-47. Don’t fuck with my reality boy. My Dad’s got guns.

The best part of lighting a cigarette, is that for the next seven minutes or so, you know what you’re doing. Let’s face the facts here; seven minutes is a long time, and when it comes to making plans for the future, who can really be bothered? We’re all far too busy making excuses for why we don’t know what we want, who has time or enegery left over for wanting at all?

One way to avoid getting to where you’re going is to avoid heading in the opposite direction. Remember, it’s a universally accepted fact that the earth is round. Putting to good use some basic, high school level geometrical commons sense, one comes to the obvious conclusion that the faster you run away from something, the sooner you’ll end up running right into it.

So smoke your cigarettes and take your pictures. Collect your visitor center brochures and nurture your intentions to write some of those whitty little articles. Go on pretending to be some free spirited traveler, journeying around the globe searching for that ultimate experience, that you can comfortably call…life.

Keep your plans to those safe, seven minute intervals of the future, one toxic tango at a time. Just remember son, you’re not fooling anyone…you’re here because you’re in love.