You're a yob
Or you're a wanker
Take your fuckin' choice
So who is your favourite genius
James Hird or James Joyce?
You ever seen a 'live performance' -
Join the wanker club
You thought I meant tabletop dancing -
Well, you're a yobbo bub....
- TISM, 1998
A fair question, well-posed. And as the man says, 'Yob or wanker, wanker or yob, pass me the brush to tar ya; make your choice then live your life, c'mon pal whatareya??'
I made my choice and I live my life. I like beer. I like V8s and footy and bacon and chicks with big boobies. I swear like it's an Olympic sport and I'm in repechage qualifiers for national selection. Farts are funny. I have mates called Moff and Dawso. My ears are still fucked from AC/DC at the Sydney Ent Cent in January 2001, and no, I don't want them back. I have an advanced certificate in RSL carpark circlework. I'm so fucken rural I feel ripped off when TV ad breaks don't contain at least one commercial for cattle dip. Fairly content in D-Town then, as it happens. Basically, there's a sign on the wall and it says Yobbo. You might want to be sure, 'cos you know sometimes words have two meanings, but I can confirm, I am a Yobbo.
But.
See, there's a problem. Cos I drive an Audi. It's an old, crappy one, but it's an Audi - and worse still I BOUGHT it because it was an Audi, and not a Toyota. And I have one of them PhD things, and spend all my time with highly verbose and edjumacated people. And I refuse to drink instant coffee, and think I can cook, and go on about being half-Italian like it's a point of difference between me and the proletariat. And I use big words like proletariat. I'm currently drinking an expensive beer which I suspect to be actually a very cheap beer in an expensive bottle, and I don't really give a shit that I've been gouged hideously by a blatant megabrewery exercise in style over substance. I don't buy cheap supermarket sausages, I buy the expensive ones that appear to have recognisable animal content. I own several Macs, but have never bought a Big Mac. And the last time I was out west (well, more westerly than the 'Switch) I almost got run out of town - or at least lynched on Rosewood station platform - for mildly inferring that most of our fellow Ipswich 500 V8 punters were snaggle-toothed bogans called Cletus who could play 'Duelling Banjos' with their toes as a result of generations of inveterate inbreeding. For which I blame Moff. (The insults, not the inbreeding. He even married someone who wasn't from Queensland. Jesus.)
So maybe TISM were wrong. I know this is blasphemy of the highest order, but it's possible. Maybe the Yob and the Wanker are the true Yin and Yang of the Australian male, and we are all part of the Yobwanker spectrum. As Ween might have put it, There's many colours in the Yobwanker Rainbow. Don't be afraid to let your colour shine.
The Doctor is OUT.
20 comments:
And that rainbow is visible in each and every technicolour yawn.
Quokka
* One day I'll make the effort to find out how to leave my name in that box.
Ahhh, the good ole yobwanker. One who spends 10 hours sinking piss at a dusty car circuit out west of East Bumcrack, only to then spend the next 5 hours snobbishly taking the piss out of his fellow punters. And then, in a gorgeous self-fulfilling prophecy, squawks sheepishly as the claret flows freely from his nostrils...
Eh. Yobs are yobs, it's the new yobs is the problems. Check this: http://thingsboganslike.wordpress.com/
I think it's the contrasts in people that make them interesting and Doc there's no danger of us going to sleep.
I know exactly what you mean. I don't spend $5 for 1 coffee in Starbucks, but I don't drink instant ever. My beer fridge has about $100 worth of beer in it, and there's maybe a case and a half (if converted to Budweiser, it'd be less than $20 worth of beer).
Yet, I have "Called the Hawgs" at Arkansas football games, I've cheered for the New Jersey Devils while they were on the road, and I was surrounded by 12,000 of the home team's fans, and if asked if I want to blow off fireworks or watch a demolition derby, I'd say "Yes."
Your declaration calls to mind the quote by Ralph Waldo Emerson
A foolish consistency is the hobgoblin of little minds, adored by little statesman and philosophers and divines. With consistency a great soul has simply nothing to do.
Yeah, what Barnes said.
Quokka - hi again - nah it's mostly beer and sausages brown. And carrots, for some reason.
ALD - still have all my teeth so I must be doing something right (possibly running away at the right moment). No surprises which side of the spectrum the Union of Consolidated Music Critics would come down on?
Bangar - true, pigeonholing and stereotyping are lazy, and disappointing pigeonholers and stereotypers was part of the reason I thought of writing this
Steve - agreed - confusing people is fun
Barnes - what you said
Naut - what Barnes said.
I get as much joy from playing spacies as I do from looking at Saturn and its AWESOME rings through my telescope.
I enjoy Guns and Ammo magazine JUST as much as I do Popular Science.
Farts top the funny charts.
I love TISM.
No surprises at all. I take pride in snobbishly taking the piss out of everyone.
Well, I'm just a middle-aged river rat from Middle America myself. Don't know where that falls in the yobwanker spectrum.
I lost a bit of hearing as well. AC/DC, Five Seasons Center, Cedar Rapids, Iowa-1990. The Razor's Edge tour. Great show, though.
Moko - thought you were more interested in looking at Uranus?
That's never unfunny.
Beeso - yeah, they were AWSM. Biting social commentary and could write a good tune too.
ALD - it's in the job description
YD - I'd say you're one of us.
One or two of the TISM boys are now in a band called ROOT! (with exclamation mark and pretty sure in all caps). Not as school-boyish in its humour, but very similar musical bent.
Right.. I laughed my guts out, best giggle i have had all day.
whilst I adore the almost REDNECK society I was brought up in, the shooting trips, killing and gutting animals, doeys in the ute, burning off the first set of rubber on the Vt SS 5 Fkn ltr V8 when i bought it, squealing like a stuck pig when I found out the bill to replace the fkn rubber, Duck opening or just walking around the crub loaded for bear...I will not venture out without the gen set, hooking up the Cino machine to it, butcher generated, gourmet mystery bags, discourse with ..yes...BANKERS...or footy discourse with a plumber who smells like shit and hasn't washed for a week.
Explaining the long term net gains from preventative maintenance cycles and the impending budget blow out by the dumb fkn engineer who failed to adhere to the critical path we laid down in his fkn spread sheets, listening to rabbits sprout on about fkn accrual accounting, Return of funds invested, as opposed to Return on CAPITAL invested..interjected by CAP THE DUMB FKR and it needs a 780cfm rochester quadrajet installed and elect dizzy, fuck the points off and that dumb arse blow off valve too
And yeah..what fkn barnesm said as well.
GOLD DOC....FKN GOLD!
That's a bit bloody thinky innit? Funny, but. Had a big chuckle at the Cletus riff.
My belief is that there's wankerdom in all of us. True wankers however will pretend not to know anything about Holden v Ford nor will they admit to having heard of Peter Brock. Something a bit plebeian about all of that car racing stuff. Well they can go and stick their heads up a dead bear's bum. As for expensive beers I do enjoy them, particularly the James Squire range at the moment. That's not being a wanker, its called enjoying a good beer.
Once again you've posted well Dr Y!
ALD - yeah I heard that. More country twang than rock electropop though I understand.
H - times are tough for the purebred bogan, gots to go undercover amidst the tossers and preening nonces to get paid these days
Therbs - always with the wisdom sir - still haven't tracked a decent supply of Squires over here, the indie bottle shop that used to bring it in got bought out by one of the bigger operations, bastards.
Yeah too true, Doc.
I reckon we're all somewhere on a sliding scale between 100% yob and 100% wanker. For those who regard themselves as truly well-balanced individuals: that just means you're only are 50% yob/bogan and 50% wanker.
I know I often refuse to acknowledge my inner bogan, as makes it much easier to feel special and write off others as bogans.
But come footy season I'll be drinking beer and screaming at the ref along with all the other yobs.
And who doesn't love AC/DC?
Sorry I'm late to the party but I believe I suffer from a similar dichotomy. I don’t do lunch nor read women’s magazines. I don’t do tuck shop or school fetes. Other people’s baby photos and holiday snaps are yawn-inducing. I loathe housework and will only cook if someone promises to wash up. I love cricket and cars, sippin’ whiskey and swearing on occasions, however I do draw the line at cigars. Strangely, I’m partial to frocks and reading Jane Austen. I've a Bachelor's degree in music and have been known to play with stiffs in many an orchestra. I have the body of a woman but the mind of a sick and twisted creature that is verging on androgynous. I refer to myself as SHE-MAN.
Snorted my sherbert reading your post. Soz I haven't been round as much. LOVE your work.
Timmo - welcome good sir, we accept all here.
Nat - your absences have been noted on your permanent record.
Been quiet on the update front here mainly because of all the action at the Magnum All Stars blog - and cos I've had fuck all to write about. Apologs and will scrape together some new content shortly.
Please forgive me Oh Bollocky One. I beseech you!
Post a Comment