The Kaksak has been contemplating life, life in Bankstown and life without VB and Pokies. Life actually comes in 4 distinct bottles…
This picture kind of captures it, except we don’t do Riesling in our house. If you can relate to this one, please Like us, Google Plus us or retweet, but don’t just sit there on your ass.
Well it had to happen sooner or later, a Shebeen had to open in Darlinghurst, (245 Oxford Street) of all places? WTF? My recollection of the Shebeens in South Africa are somewhat hazy, both smoke and alcohol wise and I remember very big beers there. In fact if you drank anything that came in a container less than 1 litre you got automatically ejected via the rear entrance by your ear. I also remember the prices were fairly low, given they were mostly illegal. So Im assuming the Lucky Tsotsi is both illegal and cheap if it is to follow in the footsteps of its African predecessors’.
I also expecting to see a couple of Hiace’s parked outside in disrepair and plumes of zol smoke bellowing from the windows, loud music playing on a really bad sound system, corrugated iron and string holding the place together and finally I should also be somewhat fearlful for my safety if this to be a true Shebeen experience. OK, maybe I just visited the upmarket ones…
I spoke with Gazza, we reckon they will have gone soft. There will be no smoking, fancy beer in small bottles, outrageous prices and a bunch of well behaved yuppies eating peri peri chicken and maybe a small, neat starter of bunny chow. The peri peri is probably not even that hot? OK, we are excited and pre judging this place. But it is in Darlinghurst not Bankstown?
Anyway, about time we had a Shebeen in Sydney, but why not Kings Cross or Bankstown I dunno? Always looking for an excuse to visit the Cross. The girls are friendly and its a bit of a skande, but in some of the clubs they don’t wear much either, so its definitely more interesting than the Bankstown RSL. I digress. So looking forward to popping into the Shebeen sometime when I have managed to save up enough dollars for the train trip, and if this happens we will report back on our experience. Does a Castle Lager really cost 8 bucks there?
Back to the Lucky Tsotsi, whoever he is. I asked Gazza if he knew what a Tsotsi was and he thought I was saying Tot siens badly, even though he is an Aussie he has picked up some of “die taal” along the way. Anyway I reckon the Tsotsi can consider himself lucky to be in Sydney and even luckier that the Kaksak has discovered his existence, maybe.
Does this mean I have to put my bed on bricks now?
This pretty much sums up what you feel like after a night in the cross. In fact a lot of Australia wake up like this every morning.
Think some of the chicks in the pub actually looked similar as well, from the last time I saw Gazza. Should I be worried, havent seen him since, but then he did say he was going straight to see Jessica Watson arrive. I must say, good on her for sailing all that way. Congratulations.
This happens to us in Bankstown just about every other night, I swear…
A man and his wife were awoken at 3:00 am by a loud pounding on the door. The man gets up and goes to the door where a drunken stranger standing in the pouring rain is asking for a push.
“Piss off” says the husband, “it is 3:00 in the morning!”
He slams the door and returns to bed
“Who was that?” asked his wife
“Just some drunk guy asking for a push,” he says
“Did you help him?” she asks?
“No, I did not. It is 3:00 in the morning and it is pouring with rain out there!”
“Well, you have a short memory,” says his wife. “Can’t you remember about three months ago when we broke down, and those two guys helped us? I think you should help him, and you should be ashamed of yourself!”
The man does as he is told, gets dressed and goes out into the pounding rain
He calls out into the dark, “Hello, are you still there?”
“Yesh,” comes back the answer
“Do you still need a push?” calls out the husband.
“Yesh, please!” comes the reply from the dark
“Where are you?” asks the husband
“Over here on the swing” replies the drunk
Only when I got to Australia did I realise how important it was to party. You only arrive at a fancy dress twice with no, or a poor attempt to dress up to realise next time you hire the Darth Vader outfit even if it is a hundred bucks. In South Africa it was the opposite, if you pitched at a fancy dress in a fancy dress you were generally the only dude there dressed as such, and the chicks would think you were weird. Even if you showed them your light saber, in fact especially if you showed them your light saber. In South Africa before you can get “busy” with a chick the first thing they ask is “Will you still respect me in the morning?” In Aussie its the other way around, I ask the chicks before they take me home if they will still respect me in the morning?”
The Aussies also love to party for whatever occasion it is, birthdays, the kids birthday, the dogs birthday, the Queens birthday, Australia Day, Friday, in fact any celebration whatsoever is a reason to break out the VB and the fokken fancy dress.
We decided to have a party out here in the West on Sunday, because it was Sunday and we lived in Aus. Not at our place, scared the cousins wreck the place like last time, so at the local park with all the families and kids picnicking. Low profile, or like stealth if you know what I mean. We are also very responsible so ensured everyone only had 1 drink so they could still drive home.
People were generally well behaved other than the following:
- The Irish got really pissed and starting fighting with each other
- The Lebs picked on lonely geek, who told them to piss off, so the 10 that were went to fetch their buddies and came back by the hundreds in their Leb wheels, with slutty chick hangers on.
- The Zimbabweans started drinking VB out of their veldskoene and grossed out the chicks. One of them had walked there from Bondi in the those same veldskoene, then ended up beating the Lebs with the Veldskoene, all 100 of them. A bit like Samson except he did it with a jawbone.
- Some Dutchman, no idea where they came from, I think maybe Kellyville starting drinking Klippies and Diet Coke, and then wanted to moer everyone in the vicinity. But stood in a circle and prayed each time before they moered them. I think they moered some Lebs too and some trees, and bushes and a Holden Commodore.
- The Kiwis are just plain f$%# strange. They make a lot of noise for people from such a small country, and just don’t mention the f%#$ world cup or sheep jokes. Short country syndrome. They just sat there, helped noone and got very pissed.
The first fight attracted the local police force who informed me as the party organiser to break it up and tear it down, and that they didn’t want to come back. 20 minutes later when the Zimbos then picked on the Kiwis and the Lebs turned up their music all hell broke loose. The cops came back, I asked why they had come back when they said they didn’t want to come back. I think I should not have mentioned the fact that they looked a little like some of the Village People. Anyway, first ride in a cop car, those Commodores are quite comfortable, just a little awkward with your hands up your own ass.
The pic below is of the party. 1 drink per person.
BTW, that is me, the real kaksak with the long hair and beard, sexy man that I am, talking to the short dude with iron guts drinking Voda and Orange. (1,5 l Smirnoff and 2 L cheap orange juice). Dunno who the dude with the camera was, think he was from a current affair (ACA) trying to sniff a story or get a free drink. Last I saw of him, he was passed out under a tree and his camera was gone.
As I said, we know how to party in the West. Another good outcome was meeting Toula, just a little scared of her 6 brothers, but I think I’m winning them over slowly. They didn’t scratch my car the last time I visited or break off a side mirror.
We love to party in Australia. We party even harder in Bankstown. Ever been out on a big night. You have a party, your stomach has a party. Think about how this must pan out when there is a party in your stomach. Very funny video.