Happy Turkey Day Muthahfuckah… I Mean “Mate”

When CrazyCatLady casually mentioned that she grooms the dog of one of my fellow Americans, I was more entertained by the notion of an enormous, bald, black dude with a little, white, YappingRat, than I was of hearing the accent of one of my countrymen.

I happened to be over at Mum-in-law's one afternoon when said BigBlackDude stopped in to pick up his dog, and I was warmly introduced to him with pleasantries of what city we were from respectively as well as a handshake that nearly powdered the bones of my fingers. I mentioned that I was fairly new to the country and he instantly produced a flyer for a Thanksgiving Day Feast at a local park, featuring a gathering of roughly several hundred of my fellow ex-pats. Wife and I eagerly agreed to go.

A few days later, after we'd completed the move to our new house (because the owner's of the old one decided they'd rather live there AND completely fucking ruin Christmas...), we received a call from a Telstra employee who was in the area to hook up our phone. Wife hung up and asked me if I caught the Phone guy's name (I had, as it's fairly uncommon) as well as the fact that he was American (I hadn't, because I'm fairly retarded).

Sure as ShitPickles, a half hour later and BigBlackDude cruised up in his PhoneHookyUppy Mobile and ended up hanging out for a bit, showing us pictures of his Aussie wife and gorgeous li'l Aussie girl. Being in need of a ride to the Feast, we invited The Düd and his girl too, as they are also two of my (and Wife's) absolutely mostest favoritest people on this planet.

Düd and his girl had both had hard nights, the former working the night shift at the hospital and the latter drinking 4 shots of absinthe, so Wife and I weren't expecting that they'd want to hang out much at the Celebration de Americana. Especially in light of the fact that they were not only grossly outnumbered in the Aussie-to-'Merican ratio, but that The Düd and I were 2 of the only 4 white males there (out of about a hundred or so).

His uncomfortable, and sometimes politically incorrect, joking aside, I did my best to reassure him that this type of gathering was exactly like any old picnic shindig that I'd been to while I lived in Texas, it's perfectly okay to be the only white guy, and that it was unlikely that there'd be any random shooting of automatic weapons.

Though I know he isn't really racist, far from it, and that he's far more enthralled with American stereotypes as opposed to ethnic stereotypes, he did seem inordinately pleased that there was a watermelon-eating contest. I forgave him though, as I likened it to the idea that I'd be just as tickled were I to see somebody in khakis scream, "Crikey, she's a big ol' gehl!" ride on a 'roo, wrestle a croc, and fuck a koala... um... I mean, throw a shrimp on the barbie, for surely the sheer novelty of it would make all those stupid stereotypes seem less retarded.

'Cept for that koala thing, I s'pose. Heh.

After introducing Wife and the crew to some of Turkey Day's finer offerings, like Pecan Pie (argklhlglglghhh... *drools* pecan pieeeeee...), activities began, and The Düd mentioned that he wanted to try and hit some "zingahs." After figuring out that he meant "zingers" and that this was something he picked up from The Simpson's (where most of his knowledge of all things 'Merican come from) he grabbed a bat and a Chris Rock look-alike warmed up on the mound to pitch him a few.

Watching my undersized(HA, I was undersized next to these behemoths)-extremely-white-not-exactly-athletic-looking brother-in-law gearing up for a pitch from a dudded-up, pimped-out, ChrisRock was sure to be some fun, even if it had the potential to be at The Düd's expense, so I was quite amazed when he cranked his first-ever-swing-with-a-bat shot WELL into the outfield.

After hanging out for a bit in the shade, and after several beers, he and I also kicked 5 kinds of ass at the Egg Toss Event, winning a bottle of wine and the respect and admiration of the congregated Aussie/American half-breed kidlings*. As I was formulating plans for how to trick him into playing the Egg Toss/Judd Throws Egg Straight at Düd's Head game, we stumbled our way through a good old fashioned gridiron ball getting thrown around.

*Few things are cuter than that little hybrid accent, where they say "noh-oy" and "cheehs" yet still say "Cann't" and "carr." I can't wait 'til our kids start school, heh heh.

The Düd once again amazed me by throwing perfect 30-yard spirals while seeming for all the world like he wouldn't be able to bounce the damn thing that far. Another Aussie was involved in the game as well, looking very athletic and capable, and I thought that certainly his side-arm, left-handed, elephant-piss-poor attempts at a throw were in jest. I was wrong and was in dire need of additional beer so that I could more comfortably ridicule a perfect stranger while BigBlackDude was chucking 20-yarders comfortably with either arm and The Dud threw a "pointy footy" like he'd done been doing it all his life.

Being that the vast majority of the throng were black, ex-military, big, and buff, the choosing of the softball teams promised to make The Düd, and even myself, feel even more Weakling Whitey. He made the cut as a fourth pick, and I sat down when I saw that there were enough people, using my back and lack of suitable footwear as excuses while I really just wanted to lay on my beautiful wife's lap and lazily heckle my brother-in-law and BigBlackDude.

I'm pretty sure that I was readying myself to yell something concerning The Düd's fielding prowess as compared to the 8-year old girl next to him when a line drive bolted straight past her, The Düd came flying from 20 feet away, slid to his knees to scoop it up, and laserbeamed a beauty 40 feet FROM HIS KNEES to ChrisRock, who then bobbled it while the runner made it safely to home plate.

My jaw dropped clean open before Wife, DüdGirl and me all started cheering. It. Was. Awesome.

He'd been skipped in the batting order during the first inning, but the bruthahs knew the boy could play, so they gave him a chance the next time around.

I'd meant to heckle him with something along the lines of a KKK joke, something about it not being a "roo-be-good bat," or a comparison between a softball bat and his penis, but I didn't get much of a chance as he swung away at the first pitch offered...

...and knocked another beauty.

It was about then that BigBlackDude (the hulking mass of humanity in the grey T-Shirt) and the other ballplayahs mentioned that, "Fo' his firs' time playin', that boy is purdy good," and I made the most of the opportunity to mention that, "not only is he MY brother-in-law, but I taught him everything he knows."

Despite the fact that BigBlackDude knew that only half of that statement was true, he laughed when I told him that I was relieved that The Düd was doing so well at softball, as when we first arrived at the picnic, "he was feeling pretty Aussie," and he then full-on doubled over with belly-splitting chuckles when I added, "...and pretty white too."

It wasn't quite The Mom's Pecan Pie, and it wasn't quite a re-enactment of Broncos/Cowboys Overtimey goodness, but it was a righteously awesome Thanksgiving Down Under.

I'm thankful for my beautiful wife, my new family, my new house, and for lots of really huge black dudes and all the fun we had with them.

That sounded so wrong that I'm giggling right now.

---

We're all in the new house, the kids love all the windows with which to make faces on and the clickety-clickety-slamity-slam of the lightswitches and doorknobs they can now reach, and this beautiful place is Ours.

Since the only thing I can imagine that would be more awesomer than riding a giant Black Stallion, with flames shooting out it's ass, blasting Metallica out it's ears, on a saddle made of chocolate... is going to bed with my beautifully wonderfully amazing Wife, I'm out.

Be good, and watch out for 'roos.

This Train Station… is CLEAN.

Last Saturday night, OtherSister invited Wife and I downtown to meet up with her visiting BritCousin, LocalCousin, and brother. Still lacking suitable transportation of our own, we happily utilized the brand-spankety-new Thornlie Train Station and headed into the city.

After speed-walking the length of the enormous platforms and climbing up the stairs to view from which platform we were to catch our connection, we stopped a couple of TrainWorkerFolks to alleviate our confusion as to which platform our train was on.

"Leederville? Yeah, it's that one," they replied and dutifully pointed to a train pulling away from the station.

"Oh... you mean the one that we would've caught had we simply continued walking another hundred feet? Awesome."

The extra wait meant that we could empty our bladders and catch a smoke in anticipation of the evening's drinkery and dancery. The former was taken care of, and the latter was in the midst of, when we heard sharply spoken words behind us.

A group of early-teen adolescents were clustered near a ticket machine, and the smallest, a tough-looking Asian kid, was bulldogging 4 of the other kids around with a couple of cronies at his side. He seemed so confident and in-control that I was left thinking that whatever was going on was being appropriately handled by him until I heard him repeat the command of, "Wallets and mobile phones... now."

One of the kids on the edge of the group backed away a few feet and then bolted, dropping his Slurpee, and running as fast as his scrawny legs could carry him. The Asian Tough chased after and I was immediately and urgently aware of the increase of adrenaline in my blood.

The idea that a mugging is no reason to get killed was the only thing keeping me rooted to my spot, though my glare and posture surely revealed the difficulty in my doing so. The logical and analytical part of my brain also reminded me that I had no idea which members of the cluster were good-guys and which were bad-guys.

It also slapped me around with the fact that I had no clue what the bad-guys were carrying with the presumed intention of exposing my internal organs to the night air.

This was a quite a quandary.

Head Asian Tough came back slightly breathless, empty-handed, and even more determined than before. I noticed that, of the other members of the group, the ones that were more menacing than the rest were all Asian, and there were only 3 of them. I began to formulate a plan.

I answered the look of mild alarm on Wife's face with, "Those kids are being robbed."

The largest Tough, the one with his back to me, had something small and metallic in his right hand. HeadTough had a large bag hanging over his shoulder, and the third had nothing in his hands.

Knowing that I wouldn't likely be able to rely on any help from the intimidated youths and that I would have to take down the Toughs in order of Immediate Threat Level, I moved slowly and casually towards the ticket machines.

When I was a few feet from BiggestTough, I angled just behind him, blocking HeadTough from my view. The cluster had the robbers mostly on the right, and the robbees mostly on the left, so I knew I could make a fairly clean sweep in that direction. I gritted my teeth, took a few short steps, lowered my shoulder, and blasted BiggestTough squarely between the shoulder blades.

I looked up in time to see his flailing body ram into HeadTough and focused my next move on LeftoverTough. He'd turned in surprise to see his two fellow ruffians in a pile and hadn't yet turned his head back in time to see my fist rocketing towards the side of his head. He went down like your sister after a few Passion Pops.

HeadTough had recovered enough to scramble for his shoulder bag, and while I screamed, "RUN!" at the worthlessly startled innocents, I steel-toed the Slurpee cup right into his face, wedging the straw up his nose.

Unfortunately, BiggestTough had used this time to deploy his weapon, and was after me with it in a heartbeat. As I caught the blade of the knife between my hands, I angled my elbow into the side of his head, and pushed both our bodies into the ticket-dispensing machine, significantly stunning him.

As I gripped his hair and ran his face up and down the multi-colored buttons of the machine, I cocked a wry smile and informed his fading-into-the-oblivion head that he now owed $15.10 for two adult's and two children's train fares.

I was right in knowing I couldn't rely on help from the mugging victims, as all they'd left as evidence of their appearance were vapor clouds. The previous cluster of humanity was now an open area, and HeadTough and I were the only ones standing in it. He'd recovered himself enough to square off with me, and was pulling from his satchel something metallic and extremely killyou-looking.

As my brain struggled with the decision to either duck behind the ticket machine for cover or charge him while screaming like a madman, I realized that I was frozen to the spot, waiting for some external force to prompt me into saving my own ass.

That external force suddenly took the form of Wife, who appeared to be hanging in mid-air like a rope-climbing acrobat at the circus, yet was moving in slow-motion, with one leg cocked and the other extended, towards the side of HeadTough's body. She delivered a kick that knocked the weapon from his hand and sent him sprawling.

Somehow he managed to maintain enough of his faculties to once again reach into his bag, but Wife was too quick for him. As I stared mutely, she grabbed his soon-to-be-armed-again wrist and pulled it from within his bag.

A mobile phone clattered across the concrete, surely not the item he was seeking, but it didn't stop Wife from grabbing it and shrieking, "Dial this, BITCH!" and ramming it violently into his mouth. As he struggled, she braced one hand on the phone and pounded on it with the other, and the gurgling noise emanating from his throat slowed with the same frequency as her blows.

As she climbed off him and began sauntering away the phone began ringing, and Wife turned to casually say, in a very answering-service voice, "This mugger is not available, he's been pummeled into the floor by petite little WifeHole."

I handed her back her fallen handbag, lit myself a smoke, and we high-fived lovingly as we wandered off to catch our train.

This vigilante-whup-ass-couple deserved a beer.

---

Aw, be honest, it wouldn't have been anywhere NEAR the quality of story if I'd written that after pointing out the robbery, Wife grasped my arm and we hurried off to find the nearest copper.

I'd never let the fact that she reminded me that I am not allowed to do crazy-beat-em-up-protect-the-innocent-shit now that I have a wife and two kids stop me from fantasiz... um... telling a good tale.

Wife did do me terribly proud during the course of the evening though, as she danced and drank herself into DrunkenHole prominence. The train ride home consisted of Consciousness and Unconsciousness warring alongside The Battle of the Belly for my poor li'l Aussie Wife. She lovingly and tenderly left herself at the mercy of HusbandHole in the belief that she'd end up happily and safely home in bed.

She did, relatively unmolested (heh... she's really, really hot... what can I do?) sans OrangeJuliusTechnicolorYawn, of course.

She's not a puker like her goofy hubby.

But she is a JackieChanNinjaMobilePhoneAssWhupper, trust me.