My friend Susan from up the road describes anyone who lives in Island Bay as a "champagne socialist". An apt description.
The average champagne socialist is well meaning, for sure. But as transparent and wet as the empty bottles of isotonic Powerade they recycle in their council provided wheelie bin. Did I just describe myself? God forbid.
Fuck that was a pretty dour opening. Not to worry because it leads to the point that Susan also described my boys trip to Hamilton this weekend as a "mancation".
Women have a way of making anything blokes do in a group sound a little camp. I reckon they are just jealous. It is my hypothesis that a group of women cannot spend an entire weekend away together without some major falling out. Honestly, groups of women are like the UN. Symbolic, complicated, tetchy and ultimately doomed.
Blokes, however, can happily spend a weekend away due to the following basic rules:
(1) Extreme personal abuse of mates is allowed and encouraged - especially any physical defects. A good one for your short mate is "what are you going to do, head butt me in the kneecap?". Or for your rotund chum, a chorus of "who ate all the pies? he did, he did" should be joyfully sung at appropriate moments.
(2) Abuse of ones wife or girlfriend is disallowed. Of course ex's are fair game. For example, "ah yes, Claire, that was when you used to like the fatties". And you think women are cruel.
(3) It is acceptable to fart in the car so long as the car has working electric windows.
(4) True feelings and philosophical discussions should only be attempted after 13 and a half bottles of steinlager. This way, anything said can be denied later.
(5) Anything that is said or done that offends a mate can be explained away with a beer and the immortal excuse, "it seemed like a good idea at the time".
feck
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