Having to drink your goon sack behind maccas at quarter to five in the arvo because your mate was being a cunt and wouldn’t pick you up from the bottle-o because his ute is fucked from doing skids.
@bubbysbub, please translate!!
@cancerchild Fairly straight forward one I thought, but alright:
Drinking cheap wine from a foil sack behind McDonalds at fifteen minutes to five in the afternoon because your friend was being an arsehole and wouldn’t retrieve you from the shop-that-only-sells-alcohol because his utility vehicle is not working from trying to tear up the roads with squealing tires.
Bit of a dero look at aussie upbringing, though.
Growing up down under for the average aussie battler was weetbix for brekkie and playschool and Spot reruns on ABC before the docos started. Running to Shaz’s after school because she has a pool. Dad driving over a Joe Blake on the frog’n’toad on the way to the rellies place in the sticks out Woop Woop way early Sunday morning and mum spittin’ the dummy about it flyin’ up into the bonnet. Paddlepops. Blue haze at sparrow’s fart with the kookas making a racket. Thongs in green and gold, or aussie flag, or bogan rhinestone. Dad hanging corks off his akubra- ‘Shame, dad!’ Getting dacked at mornos so all the snobs see your grundies.
Mum chuckin’ a wobbly ‘cause you got dobbed on for wagging to go to Caz’s place cause her mum works and always has Westcoast Coolers in the fridge under the house, or cause you got nicked with Tiff in the dunnies with her dad’s durrys. Everybody has a fair dinkum goanna story. Three pubs in Cooktown and one shop, and bring-a-plate B &S balls. Sunday lamb means you can’t date Tom Cruise. Icehouse’s ‘Electric Blue’ at the blue light disco. Mum whipping cream for the pav while watching Burkes Backyard on the tellie. Twelfth Man tapes for dad for chrissy (“Got him YESSS!! Piss off you’re out!” “To me a grudge is nothing more than a place to pork your cor” and “The cream, the bone, the white, the off-white, the ivory or the beige?”). Every house had Test Match. Nobody every worked out how to play properly.
Pissin’ off to the pub at smoko for a four’n’twenty, s’long as you can beat the tradies to the steak’n’mushroom. ‘470’ aircon and dad’s bright red right arm on the way to the beach. Breakin’ in a new boogie board, zink on your nose, cricket boonies, cozzie up your crack, and stubbies covered in sand. Hanging around the servo cause it’s got aircon. Lemon Calipos and Icy Poles.
Snags and muddy’s on the barbie and steak sangas and what the bloody nora is a shrimp? Happy little vegemites and the bananananana song. Slip slop slap and the addition of slide. Darren Hinch. Trailing off into mumbles after ‘with golden soil’ until ‘girt by sea’ and then back to mumbles until you belt out the chorus at the top of your lungs. State of Origin. Chuckin’ a sook cause Mum refused to let you go to Nimbin for the musos, even though Robo reckoned Silverchair’d be there.
A sheila’s standard response to a yobbo with a horn being ‘THAT WORKS, TRY YOUR LIGHTS’. The goggomobil add. Haven’t had a cunt all night, drinkstable. The Big Pineapple versus the Big Banana. Noosa versus Bondi. Gold Coast for schoolies.
The dingo culling on Stradbroke. Cyclone Tracy. Summers that are a five month haze of heat, hail, bushfires and droughts; dams as dry as a dead dingos donger. Hey Hey It’s Saturday: Darrell Somers, Russell Gilbert, Wilbur Wilde, and Red Symmons- Red Faces. Hey Dad. Ray Martin’s hair. Neighbours. Shane Warne.
That bloke’s blood is worth bottlin’, but his wife’s as mad as a cut snake. His brother’s a bloody wombat, and the whole family’s likely to shoot through on easter Sundy, the mongrel’s. Oh well, stiff shit, they’ve not got a brass razoo between ’em, and it’s not like it costs big bikkies to put on a ripper feed. At least they’ll hit the turps elsewhere.
Chuckin’ a sickie on sportsday. "Baby jesus, not baby cheeses, jesus, Kimmy!“ Dad going off with ‘You bloody beauty!’ or ‘fuck off, that’s a knock on’ on a saturday arvo. Blokes built like brick shit houses with mullets. The oldies havin’ a cuppa and bashin’ pollys- ‘specially the greenies.
True Blue and Fair Dinkum. Good onya. Grouse.
And alright, fine. The occasional Goon sack behind maccas or in the back of a mate’s ute.
#GrowingUpAustralian
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