Reunion THIS

Correspondence from The Sports Desk..

Oh look, I'm not going to apologise to HST anymore than I have to, so there, that will do.

School ReUnion
Fifteen fucking years into the mission, and there's another school reunion this friday. I have to go, there is NO CHOICE Bubba. I've tried to get others involved, but they all got The Fear. Here's the correspondence....:

MR E.

Yes I am Mr Funny, but are you coming along? please tell me you are.

I'm going to need someone who is handy in a verbal joust. I'm not sure these crazies will let in this time around if I go solo. Of course I will go no matter what. I have no choice. Curiosity compels me.... like a moth etc.

But Mr E, I can't go solo. The last time I got so insanely drunk I was a danger. No one knew who I really was. They thought I'd just stumbled across their little soiree and had set out to be weird. It wasn't a deliberate act on my part, but rather an attempt to cope. To avoid commenting I stuck a glass at my lips and inevitably the glass emptied. That made the night seem weirder, (if James Bennetts, or was it Bowditch yelling in your ear isn't weird, then fuck me what is?) and to cope with that I drank more. Nexty morning I caught the tram home from Fitzroy st a broken mess. It's not like meeting strangers, yet these people are strangers to us. Lets not kid ourselves- some have improved like red wine, others soured like white vinegar. It's drafting these sheep that can be interesting.

I feel we could also have a ball if we lie till we bust. I'm working on a number of personas for the evening, and accents to go with them. One involves wearing a turban, 2 involve smoking a pipe and one will require me to take a prayer mat. I think I best stay away from the more extravagant ideas, it can be beastly difficult to get pretty Russian identical twins at short notice.

I think you should be a doctor. A Phd natch darling, there will be a few MDs and, frankly they can get fucked. You should work on the nature of said PhD, but I do suggest something to do with the link between loving football and closeted homosexuality. Hell YOU might want to take a pipe- that way you can point people out with the stem. Maybe WE should take a hookah and pack cones all night and tell people to "trust us, he's a doctor" and see what comes of it.

These are important times my lad, and history will prove me right.

thomasr

So he says:

Dear Thomasr,

This will not be like loading up at a Vegas bar before the Mint 400. That would be easy.

No.

Remember that you do not write for Rolling Stone (when it was Wrong), although you probably should be, but that's not important right now. Where was I? Yes. No, and I am certainly not your attorney, Samoan or otherwise.

I'm not sure this crowd deserves the dignity of abuse, though they may be thieves and rapists in their hearts - and maybe not just their hearts - and I'm also not sure that I can face reciting my Life Story up to This Point 30 times in a row. You see, they will remember me, and they will be wanting Answers. I can't keep up a song and dance act for 3 hours.

You're right, it's not like meeting strangers. It's more like being confronted with aspects of yourself that you have long suppressed, only to find them reemerging from the psychic swamp in forms vaguely familiar, until you suddenly realize - the horror, the horror - that they are us, that you am I, that the beast is within... and there is no escape.

If you insist on putting yourself through this, good luck - you have a high sense of adventure. It may help you to remember that Jean-Paul Sartre once thought he was being pursued through Paris by giant lobsters. If you hold fast to this notion, there will always be the thought of something worse just outside the window to keep your mind focused.

You're a better man than I am, Gunga Din.

See you on the other side,

Mr E.

So I says

Mr E.

Right you are then, and damn you for a coward. "I'm across Jack, drawbridge UP!". This is our valley of death and you have reined in early my lad. I'm going to stick a cheroot in the corner of my mouth and spur the horse into these bastards, sabring to and fro like a ninja at the ballet.

Diginity of abuse? Nonsense- stand still laddie! I'm simply going there to spin a few yarns and see if I can create some influence- you know, something simple, something like:

"Oh so you run a sports marketing agency? Tell me are ALL sportsmen, like you know..." (makes patting motion)

Him: "Like what?"

Me: "y'know KIDDY FIDDLING CAT RAPISTS!?!?!?!"

Maybe I can take old Billy Hick's ideas about marketing and encourage a few suicides before the nights over. Perhaps teach some guy to swallow his tongue and choke to death. I'll tell people to "leave him alone, he's just dancing like he always wanted to" when they try to assist the poor convulsing fool on the floor. Maybe I'll dance with him and tell everyone we're gay lovers "I love my dead gay son!" Selah!

Reciting your life story 20 times over? Damn son, there's no call for HONESTY at this event. If you get relly stoned before hand you can say "I haven't the slightest idea what I have been doing these past 15 years"- and it will be the God honest truth. Like I suggested, we could just go with some random life events and see where it takes us. Tell different stories to the same person. Apologise for having them passed over for promotion, then refuse to discuss how and why. I don't know what else, but there is simply no reason to bring the Mr E. you know, simply bring one you feel can comfortably cope. It's not a complicated process old bean, just dust off an old coat and whack it on. Maybe some Elton John 70's glasses to show you've still FUCKING GOT IT WHEN IT COUNTS!

Hey Mr.E., it's an election year and we all have to do our bit to get rid of Evil John, and perhaps wiping out or exercising undue influence on a few vulnerable old boys could be just the ticket. Imagine getting an accountant to leave his wife and hand out how to vote cards for the greens- now we're thinking!

Also, I feel we need to face any Demons of the past. The sad thing is, we might like these crazy bastards now! Have you though of that?! I was scared as HELL of horses till just recently, but I discovered if you take CONTROL and beat them within an inch of their lives, you can get what you want and have a fine time into the bargain. That's where I see this all going.

Satre chased by giant Lobsters? Were these the same ones removed from Jayne Mansfields bum? I'd like to think they are. I'd surely crawl through a mile of her... oh never mind, but lobsters are JUST like horses, we'll get along FINE, with minimal disruption to our lives. Perhaps these old boys are like lobsters in a tank, and we just have to choose one to have thrown into the boiling water! How would that be?!?!? I'd ask for a stethoscope to hear the screams, though I'm told by Those Who Know that said screaming is the shrinking of their carpaces, but hell, I prefer the screaming scenario anyday.

What a response I've had to suggestions we attend. M_____y "definately not", P_____t "rather have my legs sawn off " (and I like the idea of P____t sawing his legs off as an entre, a sort of "hi ,I'm here, legless already" It's a cabaret act with blood- surely needed!) Thing is laddie, this isn't then, this is now, and if you have anything to get off your chest before apathy and wasting gets you, nows the FUCKING TIME! We must go free. I feel like a Berlin youth in '89/'90- the walls down and we can bust shit without the Stasi poppin' a cap in our ass.

Lastly, if all this cojoling hasn't got you fired up and frothing at the mouth; a simple threat- I will tell the most terrible lies about you:
- That you are a Jesuit priest in India and you LIKE IT
- That you are married to a Gen girl, have 2.5 kids and a Volvo (like YOUR parents eh lad!?)
- That you are somewhere in Pakistan, near the border, with a Qur'an and a beard.

Maybe you can come along and say that you have been, at various times ALL THESE THINGS!?

Now we're cooking.

But I fear, that fear will rule, and I will sit in the corner with F______y bitching about J.B.'s perfect hair.... like old times.

Oh well, there's the 20 yr reunion next huh?
Thomasr