Burnie - The 2007 Wangle Experience

I found this old blog entry lurking on myspace. I had a chuckle so I thought I'd republish here. It tells the tale of my old musical comedy outfit, Wangle, and our ill-fated 2007 trip to Burnie. Enjoy...

Prologue
"Missy Faggots" quirped Dan from the back seat of Mike Kerr's tarago.

Chapter 1 - Hobart to Burnie
It was a day that was written into calendars all over the globe; except of course for Andorra, they refuse to acknowledge Wednesdays, but it was a Wednesday unlike any other. It was Wednesday the 18th of April 2007. A day never to be repeated. Only through time travel could a mortal repeat this day; and even then - like reheated hot chips; it just wouldn't be quite right. Wangle and a smattering of Hobart's most questionably loved comedians headed towards Burnie for what would be a gig. A gig where we aimed to provide some form of entertainment. Entertainment that stretched even the most liberal definition of the word 'entertainment.' May I quote from the Socialist Alliance Dictionary 1999 2nd edition:

Entertainment "Ehn-Tehr-Tahyn-Mentos" adj. - 'Anything resembling an act or performance, no matter how diabolical; no matter how much it looks like a high school band dicking about with songs they clearly don't know.'

Plog, Logan, Dan and myself crammed into Mike Kerr's Tarago and started the journey North. Mike behind the wheel, Dan behind Mike and Tim behind Dan. Plog and I giggled like schoolchildren as the homosexual acts took place around us. The giggling didn't end there; after much tickling, I managed to crank out a few golden private jokes into general conversation. They were private jokes I shared with Hitler, and the giggling came from Mike, whose feet were being harrassed by Tim and a feather.

Shenanigans aside, the drive to Burnie proved to be Wangle's only rehearsal before the gig. By rehearsal we mean writing a setlist and demanding Plog know all the songs he had never heard. This didn't concern Plog, who continued his fine form of road trips and falling asleep. We drew a cock and balls on his cock and balls; the irony being lost on Plogger as the only device to we could find to draw on him was a blunt scalpel; stolen from an AIDS clinic in Uganda, 15 years ago, in a vat of sulphuric acid.

After a brief stop and amputation at Latrobe hospital, The Platypus Hospital of the World, we continued the Drive. The song by REM. By now the sun was setting, the store owners locking their premises and Dan was starting his nightly transformaiton into Dantaizor, the evil bloodsucking manatee. The mood turned sombre, as he killed a small child, raped someone and told a story of a local business having to shut down because of globalisation.

But things weren't all Doom and Gloom, as well as Doom, Plog had brought Quake 2 and 3 and a handheld version of Duke Nukem 3d; to which the volume was turned down when Logan wisely played November Rain from one of his epic mixed cd's. I'd be lying if I said the solo came on just as we entered Burnie, I think we were about 5 miles past Elizabeth Town; or 5 miles up Van Morey Road, you bastard. Still, Burnie greeted us with its usual mix of seaside charm and inbred fervour and it wasn't long before we were in our motel rooms, trying to pick up filthy whores off the street.

Chapter 2 - The Gig
The Stage Door Cafe in Burnie is hard to explain. The song by The Strokes. Imagine a cafe, with a stage. Then imagine someone that you are really attracted to, naked. It makes for a far better thought process no matter what the problem; try it at your next conference, holiday, or even at home, it packs away easily under the bed for easy storage, and is only 7 mildly annoying payments of $137.65. Payable by cash. Exact change required.

At the venue (not the venue at Salamanca, just the plain noun use of the venue, I would have capitalised it otherwise) we met with fellow comedians, John 'Cambo' Campbell, Andrew 'Daws' Dawson and Ted 'Tranny' Wilson. They got the crowd going along with MC Logan, who performed his highly popular mix of 'Put Your Hands up For Detroit.' However, truely the highlight, as always, was captain of all that is droll, Mike Kerr; who lampooned the crowd like whales, that were being harpooned. Mike by majority had a new routine, the exception being his gag about the snake catcher. But shockingly to his fans; the catchphrase '5 miles up Van Morey Road, you bastard' had been changed to '8 miles up Van Morey Road, you bastard.' It must have tripped Wangle, because we were fucking dreadful.

Imagine Pete Doherty, Axl Rose, the lead singer from the Vines and a conservative priest getting on stage together, unrehearsed to perform a gig of songs they didn't know; and then imagine the stage was on train tracks, and two trains collided on these said tracks, thereby creating a train wreck of sorts. Well then you have a watered down version of how we went. My god. Thank god the crowd only consisted of Dan's friends and relatives, and Rowan Dix.

Chapter 3 - The Afterparty
The comedy troupe was joined by Rowan, Mylo, Dallo and Hughesy, plus two absolute slappers that Daws and Cambo disappointingly did not publically enter relations with. We settled down at the Top of the Town gaming venue and bar; only Mike could truely settle, being the only man alive when the last renovation was done on the place. Still, they did have a Who Wants to be a Millionaire arcade game, with the chance to win $80. After perhaps finishing 2 dollars up we bidded the boys and God farewell and retired to our bedrooms, without a hint of superannuation.
But it wasn't all lights out end of story. Plog continued our witty, sharing the same bedroom, pretending to wank fanfare. Although a little stressed, as Dan was sharing a double bed with Plog, Dan joined in, even putting a new spin on the orgasm sound. More of a 'mmmmmmm' that tasted good kind of noise. If only we were better blokes or more mature. But alas. We really aren't.

Chapter 4 - The Drive Home
An 8:15 wake up call from Tim Logan was nothing unusual. He has been employed as Wangle's alarm clock for many years; although a clause in his contract, enables us to demand him do it naked, covered in ants; whilst singing 'Listen to the Music' by the Doobie Brothers. This morning however, no such demands were made, except for large quantities of orange juice; which were met at the Burnie McDonalds, Mike also met a nice girl there, whom he confused with a slighlty witty joke; the girl clearly only used to the comedy of such greats as Rove McManus, David Koch and Daryl Somers.

After a quenching drink and a burnt mcmuffin, we headed south. Dan fell asleep, Mike fell unconscious; but somewhat luckily, Tim had invented and installed a third leg made completely from paperclips and the lids of our orange juices, with which he managed to completely control the tarago with. Plog eventually stopped smashing Mike over the head with a sauceapn, Mike awoke, and after a brief stop at the Latrobe Hospital, The Platypus Hospital of the World, he drove again. He was looking pretty good.

Dan farted a couple of times after the stop in Campbell Town. It was unpleasant. Especially for the superhero 'Antifartman' who was hitchhiking with us at the time to Oatlands. His powers were nullified, and his untimely suicide was a sombering moment for all. Again, we played November Rain in his memory; as it was possibly his favourite song, being the best song of all time and all. He was only the size of an infant. And Mike's eulogy of 'I've got your embalming fluid right here, baby' was moving to say the very least. Especially as we were driving at the time and moving quite fast.

As we drove into Hobart, it occured to me, I live here. And I did. And still do. Its remarkable how a trip away can put your life in such clear perspective. Its also remarkable how a trip away ends with Plog dressed in clear perspex. Alas, he has a tiny, tiny penis.

Prologue
Not clever, offensive and not all that funny, are three words some critics use to describe Wangle. However, on the Burnie '07 Road Trip it will forever apply to Dan's call of 'Missy Higgins, Missy Faggots.' Abhorrent

Billy's Fourth Gear

This is one of my all time favourite ideas yet to be staged -

My good friend Billy and his concept of a one man show talking about the 4th gear in his car. Here is a draft by the great Billy B:

I used to own a 1985 nissan bluebird series 3. it was a lovely car but had some issues with understeer at low speeds in the wet/ gravel surfaces. besides that i could not fault the car. it was a manual car (and probably still is, i sold it to some elderly woman for $1200 late 2006) and had only five gears including reverse. this is not as big a deal as it sounds, i can hear you all saying that 4 gears would barely be enough to cruise comfortably in an urban situation let alone opening it up on the highway - well let me divulge some of the information i learnt of this magical fourth gear of mine. the first gear usually got me to about 30 kmph at best, and was quite gutless. it is difficult to know when i should have hcanged gears as the car had no tacho, but i think after getting the engine to hit the rev limter a couple of times i mastered it. Anyway after the first gear came....the second, and this gear was a lot better getting me to anything from 20 kmph up to 60. then third gear was a real stunner topping out at a whopping 90km. then came the piece de resistance - the magical fourth gear. with some deft use of the clutch and favourable slopes to help the car out i was able to get fourth gear to be a force from a miniscule 15kmph. this may not seem like much of a feat but i'll tell you what, in a 1985 nissan bluebird it is, it wasn't just a fourth gear but it was also the final gear, an "overdrive" if you will, so for it to be able to move the car at all at these snail paced speeds was a wonder for all to behold. I recall a few years ago now, Hugh, myself and John X and a multitude of other tasmanian acting personalities were driving to the "detroit" of tasmania. X had (and may still have) a mazda mx5, a zippy little sportscar - quite fun to drive, if somewhat underpowered. There i was in my racing red bluebird minding my own business when along he came doing in excess of 120km. Well i could not sit idly by and watch him try to make a mockery of 80s engineering. so i shifted back into my luscious 3rd gear and planted it. Many of you who have been in fast sportcars 300kw+ will know what it feels like to be doing 80 then shifting back into 3rd and lighting it up, this is nothing like what it felt like in the bluebird, it was more like my car was being pushed by about 20 disgruntled bears and then post my foot hitting the floor a couple more bears started pushing - noticeable but not anything to write an enormous blog about. then when my finely tuned ears registered my engine hitting the redline i quickly double clutched it into 4th.......I almost came at that moment, but i didn't much to my delight and disappointment but my car did maze me. the speedo steadily crept from 90 to a mindblowing 160km/h. i overtook X lauging to myself and simultaneously freaking out at the skittish and rabid handling of my car at speeds it was never designed to contemplate. then we arrived at our destination.

I must also report that upon return to hobart I cracked the head gasket, leading me to believe that i had abused the car a little more than i should have. but all in all how can you complain about a car with a fourth gear that will go from 15 to 160??? you can't. and i never will. sometimes i miss that car, most times i dont. thankyou.

Thats My Point

I realise blogging is self indulgent, ...naff, maybe even so trendy its not cool anymore. Like liking Kings of Leon or Ipods.

Maybe I'm attracted tho this for the self help aspect or something, but I miss the days of myspace for one reason, and that was the ability to have a good new fashioned blog.

So bare with me as I present my point, most likely to feature some occasional musings, unimportant opinions about music and some links to things I feel are genius.

Much Love
Hugh. xx