Y’know, people sometimes sidle up to me, breath rich with methylated spirits and generic cola beverages and ask “Why don’t you take your pants off in public any more?”. Actually, it’s more a slurred atonal moaning sound barely modulated by numb lips, but the message’s intention is plain.
And I look down upon these swaying imbeciles and their pink piggy eyes and I tell them what my ol’ mother used to tell me: “Fuck off”.
Little do these cirrhosis supporters know there are actually reasons my pants stay on nowadays. It’s not because my pants quality has improved (though they have) nor that my scarred arse is even more lumpen and misshaped than back in the days of nocturnal nudie hours (which it is, damn those pies and country roads) nor even a fear of being video-taped by someone’s cellphone and made into a Vodafone wallpaper for the masses.
No, I’m done waving my arse in the breeze as there are better ways of getting noticed than by jumping up and down naked screaming “Look at me, I’m nekkid! Isn’t that weird?” for hours.
I am not a bright man. I slunk through a few University papers in my time and all I can remember of this further education is Purple Death. Yet I have learned that getting noticed by screaming “Look at my arse! Pay attention to my arse!” is not the way to impress chicks or the world at large. So why the hell haven’t Winston Peters and Rodney Hide? Our glorious perk-busting scandal-uncovering Deadly Duo of shit-raking stalkerazzi seem to be forever staining my screens and broadsheets with their latest camera-hogging pious allegation of wrongdoing by who-knows-what. They seem to have all the tact and subtlety of televangelists claiming their limelight hijinks are for the glory of god while demanding attention and money and cheap sex and cheaper booze and lions and tigers oh, my… Seriously, every time another “scandal rocks the house” headline flashes up, tiny naked politicians dance in my mind going “Wheeee! I’m nekkid”. And no sir, I don’t like it.
I actually had a long extended-metaphor idea about these nudie politicos needing to cover themselves up with some policies of their own rather than waving their tackle at the peccadilloes of others, but the whole pants-policies thing just got bogged down in ideas of Rodney Hide in a crusty muumuu covered in biro-scrawled mission statements dancing about with umbrella-dressed drinks and I needed to have a little lie-down. So fuck extended metaphors. Good night..