That’s what our brain keeps telling us *punches head*. Still there *punches head*. Still there *punches head*. Still there *punches head*. Still there *punches head*. Still there *punches head*. Still there *punches head* etceterand.
So that nice Paul Freeman has made a nice homo-erotic coffee table book, called Outback. Which is basically porn that obeys the Mull of Kintyre penis rule, uses no more than three colours, and makes the perfect solid base upon which to write your Santymas cards. Which we won’t be sending this year because, well, why break the habit of a lifetime? It’s the gift that keeps on giving, until you get bored of it. You could even put it next to your torso statue, downwind of your Diptyque, slip into nothing at all, and imagine you’re at a clothing optional resort in Palm Springs. Also known as any gymgaysium with the letter y in its title.
Sidebar: Her Maj’s Radio off-of Two is currently playing Stevie Wonder’s ‘I Ain’t Gonna Stand For It’. And honey, neither would we.
Now let’s look at Australianish peoples without their clothes on.
ps. The beach, Minogues, aborigines on meths, flat white, dinkum, the beach, rising intonation, moaning about the British weather yet you all still fucking live here, the beach, closer each day, Home & Away, Sydney Opera House, Natalie Imbruglia’s ‘Torn’, barbie, thongs, boardies, anything ending in ‘o’, Mrs Mangle, the beach, Mad Max and the Thunderdome, Huge Jackman? Yes please, the beach, the beach, the beach, the beach.
pps. Oh and this lot! We’d lose our head if it wasn’t… what’s the rest of that?
pps. We’d bum this lot to Ulu-fucking-ru and back again. Wethankyou.
And you can buy it and everything, from here. Hoorays.
Outback? Out the back? Up the bum? ,