Saturday, July 22, 2006

Bloke Romance


The average Aussie man is, to put it bluntly, a real man, and anyone with a hairstyle, shiny shoes or wearing anything other than the national uniform is without doubt a total poof. Its not that we all conform to a standard model, rather that every single one of us is so much a rugged self-styled individual that collectively, the differences are uniformly infinite and since all of us are 99.999% different from each other, that makes us all much the same. The French idea of love is to proposition any female that moves, and she takes about as long to surrender as France took in World War II when the Nazi's arrived. The Englishman is so straight-laced he can't show publicly his love for anyone other than the Queen, which, when you think about it, is pretty sick, loving a married 80-year-old woman. German love is like two bulldogs trying to tear each other's throats out, and every Italian loves himself with no room for anyone else in his life. Greeks are great lovers if you can get past the hair, and Americans have cheapened love so much that no-one much sees the difference between 'sex' and 'love' any more. Only Australians have retained that romance, that mystique, that beautiful and wonderful floating feeling that only true love can bring. Only Australian girls can feel truly loves and satisfied, content that their men are in all ways perfect. And to prove it, here's a couple of Aussie love anthems:

Click Here to Listen

I hate the new age guys, I'm a chauvinist, I live on beer and pies
Tried to tell ya but you look at me like maybe I'm an angel underneath
Ha, haven't brushed me teeth

Yesterday I lied, but all me mates gave me a real good alibi - thanks guys (no worries mate)
I really went out drinking, I told you I was at work, Don't ask me for commitment
Cause its something I will shirk

I'm a bloke, I'm an ocker and I really love your knockers
I'm a labourer by day, I piss up all me pay
Watching footy on TV, just feed me more VB
Just pour my beer and get my smokes and go away

Or take me as I am, this may mean you'll have to fetch another can
Rest assured if I start to make you breakfast I'm going to extremes
But tomorrow I'll get shit-faced and today won't mean a thing

I'm a bloke, I'm a yobbo and me best mate's name is Robbo
Winfield is me cigarette, I dress in flannelette
Shearer's singlet that is blue, throw in a few tattoos
You know you wouldn't want me any other way

When you think you've got me figured out, the season's already changing
(from footy to cricket). I think its cool when I act like a tool
And me mates try to shave me

I'm a bloke, I'm an ocker and I really love your knockers
I'm a labourer by day, I piss up all me pay
Watching footy on TV, just feed me more VB
Just pour my beer and get my smokes and go away

I'm a bloke, I'm a yobbo and me best mate's name is Robbo
Winfield is me cigarette, I dress in flannelette
Shearer's singlet that is blue, throw in a few tattoos
You know you wouldn't want me any other way

And who can forget Put Another Log on the Fire, written by Sheldon Silverstein for Tompall Glaser, but definitely summing up the standard Ocker's views:

Click Here to Listen

Put another log on the fire.
Cook me up some bacon and some beans.
And go out to the car and change the tyre.
Wash my socks and sew my old blue jeans.
Come on, baby, you can fill my pipe,
And then go fetch my slippers.
And boil me up another pot of tea.
Then put another log on the fire, babe,
And come and tell me why you're leaving me.

Now don't I let you wash the car on Sunday?
Don't I warn you when you're gettin fat?
Ain't I a-gonna take you fishin' with me someday?
Well, a man can't love a woman more than that.
Ain't I always nice to your kid sister?
Don't I take her driving every night?
So, sit here at my feet 'cos I like you when you're sweet,
And you know it ain't feminine to fight.

So, put another log on the fire.
Cook me up some bacon and some beans.
Go out to the car and lift it up and change the tyre.
Wash my socks and sew my old blue jeans.
Come on, baby, you can fill my pipe,
And then go fetch my slippers.
And boil me up another pot of tea.
Then put another log on the fire, babe,
And come and tell me why you're leaving me.

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