absolutely bloody warranted homophobia
A fellow is about 64 or thereabouts and being a surfer for more years than the Pope has been a Catholic means he’s got to keep the calves functional and the lungs supple (you know the saying; first the legs, then the heart) which also means that four days out of seven he’s jogging long hours in soft sand to some bloody far distant place and all the way back just to have half an edge on the three hundred rotten kids (not to mention a tight bunch of no-hoper mates) who find it entertaining to occasionally hang over the lip of the odd wave he manages to hook into whenever Home Beach works which lately is only about once in every eighteen months.
Anyway, about halfway through this punishing dune routine to the B’Joey and back the other day our suffering solitary stalwart surfer almost trips over a fellow lying in the bloody NUDE on the track.
He’s tucked away all alone in a sandy hollow on his back, oiled up like a Steggles chook ready for the rack and with a very purpled and recently deflated member just about tickling his chin.
That I remember. The bloke was hung like an rogue elephant. I wish the image would go away. That rotten bastard.
– and like me you’re probably wondering what got the gentleman so excited up there on his own in the first place.
Well I wish I knew because I’m not that pretty anymore and the last time I surprised a lone gentleman in similar disposition and position on the same track I threw a chunk of sand over him, well, bits of him, the oily bits – after we had had a few loud words. My words mostly. He just kind of shrank away. I felt strangely like a dominant woman at the time but I can’t find the literature to support the phenomenon. Maybe Freud has it covered somewhere, or one of our female readers can recognise the supposition.
Come to think of it Poms on the beach with their unleashed fat waddling bucketbum dogs excite similar aggressive emotions in me, and bellowing Americans in airline queues, and a line of levantine boofheads in their muscled-up Toranas heading north past Narrabeen, and the irredeemably pious chappies who insist on praying in public every five minutes. And to be fair, there is a handful of Avalon Catholics who awaken the ire as well – Why so prim!
This homicidal urge to purge the earth of all impurities emerges, coils out of me like thick black smoke, this almost irresistible and righteous rage to put things right.
There is a democratic irony evident here of which I am completely aware but not yet ready to confront – I’ll vote for anyone handing out money.
The stated position in summary:
Unwarranted Homophobia: A range of negative attitudes and feelings towards lesbians gays or the generally sexually queer amongst us – Zoophilia(ists) excluded.
Warranted Homophobia: A singularly irresistible urge to rip the head off a man lying naked and aroused on a public beach pathway frequented by small children –
The Barrenjoey corner – noted gay haunt, popular with the kiddies, famous for it’s dunes. Policed by homophobic xenophobes with childhood baggage.