Authors: Ben Pobjie
The Anzac and Bitters draws his sour outlook on life from the observations he sees around him: a country increasingly defined by violent street crime, foul language, promiscuity, disrespectful youngsters, and, most of all, foreigners. It is the last which perhaps sticks in his wrinkly craw the most intolerably. ‘Why did we fight the war if we were just going to let all these bloody foreigners in anyway?’ the Anzac and Bitters will enquire of his bartender, who will, if he is a wise and experienced professional, not answer – engaging an Anzac and Bitters in conversation is the surest way to subject yourself to a full-frontal attack, dooming you to a very tedious evening. The lack of a response will not necessarily deter the Veteran, though – the Anzac and Bitters is a hardy and persevering breed, and he will continue asking the question of anyone who will listen, and anyone who won’t, often asking the same question of the same person up to fifteen times in one hour. ‘Why did we fight the war?’ he will demand of the man sitting next to him. ‘Why did we fight the war?’ he will beg of the patrons huddled over their cigarettes outside. ‘Why?’ he will bark hoarsely at the fellow standing beside him at the urinal. Which war he is referring to is rarely specified, but it is assumed it is the war Australia fought against the foreigners to prevent them coming here and stealing our jobs, gaining unemployment benefits and forming gangs. These foreigners mostly came from Asia, Africa and Arabia, but also sometimes from southern Europe, and, occasionally, from New Zealand. A particular irritant for the Anzac and Bitters is the fact that, despite losing this unidentified war, Muslims still think they have a right to come here and tell our women they need to cover up, which is traditionally the job of Veterans.
Less overtly toxic, but just as dangerous in his own way, is that Veteran known as the
Bus-Stop Chatter
. This cheerful old Bloke is the friendliest and least whiny of the Veteran family, and has been described by many researchers as ‘reminding me of my granddad’. The Chatter’s gregarious nature and eagerness to make friends has given him a reputation as ‘a nice old man, really’, and ‘harmless’. This is unfortunate because, far from being harmless, the Bus-Stop Chatter is among the deadliest and most predatory of Blokes. In fact, this Veteran species resembles nothing so much as the Branch Python of northern Peru, which for most of the time is identical to an ordinary tree branch, until somebody picks it up, at which point it wraps itself around the unfortunate individual and eats their head. Another good example is Scandinavia’s venomous Four-Leaf Clover Spider.
The Chatter, though presenting as a gentle and kindly old man, in fact has only one aim in mind: to draw you in to a seemingly innocuous and pleasant conversation, and then
squeeze
, so that you, the unhappy victim, realise all too late that you have walked into a trap, and that your only option is to stay there until you are suffocated by meaningless stories or driven insane by baffling non sequiturs.
The Chatter’s life cycle is defined by the fact that he has no friends, but really wants some. It is an unfortunate genetic quirk that the Chatter’s desperate desire for human companionship goes hand in hand with his absolute insufferableness. It’s much like the Greater Indian Earthworm, which possesses a powerful urge to dance, but has no legs. Some have speculated that Bus-Stop Chatters were once ordinary Blokes who led lives full of deep disappointment and strong emotional trauma that rendered them socially damaged and unable to form normal relationships. The prevailing theory, however, is that Chatters are born fully-formed at the age of eighty-three, hatching from cocoons formed in milk bars when the chip fryer isn’t cleaned often enough. Whatever the truth, the indisputable fact is that the Chatter seeks to compensate for his failure to make friends the conventional way by lurking at bus stops – or, in the case of more exotic subspecies, train platforms – and preying on strangers who seem suitably weak-willed.
This is a fairly uniform process that usually begins with the Chatter sitting down near his victim and gauging their vulnerability by asking if they know when the next bus is. With any luck, the victim
will
know when the next bus is, and will tell the Chatter, thereby stymieing the attack. However, if the unfortunate soul does not know, and is foolish enough to say so, or is less than definite in their answer, the Chatter will smell the weakness and spring into action with a jocular comment about how you can never rely on buses really, can you? At this point, the wise person will commence pretending that the old man does not exist, whereas the unwise person will force a small laugh and agree. The really idiotic person will attempt to relate one of their own experiences with unreliable buses: this is the Bloke-kingdom equivalent of a zebra kneecapping itself and lying down in the middle of a lions’ den.
In the next stage of the attack, the Chatter will relate a story about something that happened to him in his life. This may be related to the issue of buses – it could, for example, be a story about how, when he was a boy, he missed a bus and his mother was furious, but it turned out that he was lucky because that bus drove off a cliff – or if the Chatter is feeling cocky, it may have no relation to the topic at all. It can be very disconcerting to the listener to hear a complete stranger lurch directly from ‘Buses – you just can’t trust ’em, can you?’ to ‘A spider laid eggs in my scrotum once, you know.’
This is often the point at which the victim realises what’s going on, and tries to escape by saying something like ‘I wonder when the bus will be here’ or ‘Mmmm, yes.’ It’s far too late, though: the only effective escape is to simply stand up and wordlessly run away – anything else will just cause the Chatter to pick up more steam. The victim will now be subjected to a barrage of anecdotes, reflections, and observations on life, ranging from how people on TV don’t talk properly anymore, to how all a man really needs in life is a cold beer and a faithful dog, to the time he came home from work and found his mother lying dead in her bed and she’d been there for hours but his brother was just in the kitchen making eggs as if nothing was wrong because his brother was always a bit funny in the head he probably got that way at boarding school when we always used to get the strap if we stepped out of line and it was a harsh life but I think it taught me discipline not that I’d treat me own kids like that these days because I think a child needs love and we never really had love not even from our mum but I was sorry that she died and it was a hell of job carrying her out to the backyard to bury her it reminds me a lot of my first gay experience it was with a soldier in the administration office of the Christmas tree farm where I used to work after I decided that being a kosher butcher wasn’t for me because I kept spewing on the chickens.
After about half an hour of this, the victim will come to two realisations:
It is a curious fact that over 90% of those who report encounters with Bus-Stop Chatters also report that the bus never came, and that they only extricated themselves by hitting the Chatter with a piece of wood or faking their own death. This has led to the popular idea that Chatters carry bus-stop signs and benches around with them and plant them in suitable places to lure their prey, like a spider spinning its web. Fanciful as it sounds, this also seems like the only possible explanation.
Bus-Stop Chatters are normally recognisable by their ragged beards, toothless smiles, and the distinctive rattle which they make as they approach, caused by the numerous bottles of psychiatric medications secreted about their person.
As we have seen, Veterans can be among the most dangerous and frightening of Blokes, but it is important that we overcome our fears and study them carefully to gain a greater understanding of how best to cope with and/or eradicate them. Although perhaps less productive in broader society than other Blokes, and slightly worse-smelling, the Veteran deserves our respect, for it is he that fought the wars, suffered the hardships, and made the sacrifices in the past that allows us today to hear all about it.
Did you know
… the tallest recorded Bloke was Eric Sturt, who was 350 centimetres tall, according to what he told a fellow in a pub once. The shortest Bloke was Stan ‘Long John’ Eszterhas, who was invisible to the naked eye.
Often derided as a Fauxke, the Leftite comes in for a lot of undeserved criticism. In fact, true Leftites are serious-minded individuals with a deep commitment to their political ideals, and should instead be derided for that. Dwelling in the inner cities, but often undertaking short migrations to the country to join anti-logging protests, Leftites are characterised mainly by their deep concern for the state of the world, and their strong desire that it become a kinder, gentler place to live in, where man can love his brother and women find political activism sexually attractive. What the Leftite craves most of all is respect; his hunger for respect will drive him to endure extreme tests of his physical and mental strength – sit-ins, hunger strikes, John Butler concerts. So intense is this craving, the Leftite is liable to binge and sometimes overdose when he actually gets some respect, which can lead to social dislocations such as wildcat strikes, anti-war marches, and protracted Senate negotiations on tax bills. It is also responsible for the permanent air of wistful sadness the average Leftite carries with him – sadness for a world that just doesn’t understand.
When encountering Leftites in the wild, it is best to be cautious: do not approach a Leftite unless you’re quite certain there has been no recent adverse ruling in the industrial court. To be safe, you can begin by placating the Leftite with a donation to Greenpeace, or by accepting one of his pamphlets. In such ways the Leftite can certainly be rendered docile – in fact, many people successfully keep Leftites as pets. It is very much a case of buyer beware, however, since each year between five and ten people are still mauled by Leftites who revert to a wild state while in captivity.
The Leftite Bloke has his origins in the early union movement. Around the turn of the twentieth century, as workers in Australia organised themselves and the Labor Party was established, the Leftite was born, finding an evolutionary niche in the need for unions to distribute pamphlets. The Leftite population grew in size and influence at a remarkable speed, and prior to World War I, the country was in danger of being completely covered in pamphlets. The war itself, and the notorious Leftite Culls of the 1920s, averted this potential disaster; the Leftite population stabilised, and to this day has remained steady just below plague proportions, while still being large enough to keep the latte industry thriving.
Debate continues to rage over whether Leftism is the result of nature or nurture. Theoretical Blokeologists argue that political consciousness can only be developed when actual consciousness is achieved, and so a Leftite can only be created by environmental influences. By contrast, recent experiments in the field have shown that some foetuses respond favourably in utero to Midnight Oil music, indicating that Leftist tendencies may be innate. This is backed up by research showing that 20% of newborns display a predilection for the films of John Pilger, and up to 15% will attempt to redistribute wealth if given a chance. The debate is far from settled, however, with the ‘nurturists’ pointing to the fact that in a study under neutral conditions, only 2–3% of Blokes joined the Labor Party under their own steam, whereas 90% joined up after being forced to listen to an hour of Peter Reith talking about unions. There is also a school of thought that Leftites are caused by a combination of both environmental
and
genetic factors, but this view is dismissed by serious scholars as ‘wussing out’.
Leftites are sociable by nature, and tend to congregate in large herds at rallies, union meetings, protests, and charity concerts. At these events, they like to engage in the most popular Leftite pastime, shouting, and will often perform complex but meaningful dances, frequently involving mounted police. Social gatherings are important to the Leftite, who, if left alone for extended periods of time, can be prone to Havanger’s Syndrome, an affliction peculiar to Leftites wherein the unfortunate sufferer literally seethes himself to death. The company of other Leftites allows him to vent and release the build-up of seethe pressure, and share the injustice around a bit.
When not in major public gatherings, Leftites nest in smaller family groups called ‘share houses’, and make their living through various mysterious, non-specific means. The Leftite takes pride in this simple, humble lifestyle, and is likely to scorn any suggestion that he would be more comfortable if he had more money and a new mattress. He will not, however, scorn actual
offers
of more money – the Leftite may be many things, but he is not an idiot. Although share houses are normally made up only of Leftites, for comic relief some will include a token Rightoid, who will eventually move out when he gets a promotion.
Leftites are usually easy to recognise, particularly if they are wearing their trademark duffle coats. In warmer months, they should still be identifiable by their wild, unkempt hair and/or beard, and their radically subversive T-shirts. They may also be recognised by the fact they are asking you for money or carrying a large sign demanding that something be smashed. Some Leftites may be spotted wearing suits and ties, but if you see a Bloke in a suit, unless he is addressing a rally, or Parliament, he’s probably not a Leftite.
As noted previously, Leftites should be approached with caution. If you do find yourself in conversation with a Leftite, the most important thing is to nod as often as possible and say ‘mm’ in an agreeable way at regular junctures. It is not necessary to actually understand what the Leftite is saying – it is probably something about the military-industrial complex, or endangered parrots – but it is very important to agree. If you disagree, it can trigger a severe episode, wherein the Leftite will shout, ‘Oh, well, I suppose the poor can just DIE IN THE GUTTER, THEN’, and storm off, possibly crying at the deep and intractable cruelty and sad failure of irrational people to respect alternative points of view, due to their brainwashing by the corporatocracy.
Leftites are considered pests in many areas, and official action is sometimes taken to clear them from public spaces, but there are those who consider them a vital, and in many ways beautiful, part of our natural fauna, and would prefer they be left alone to conduct their business in peace and attract curious tourists. This has caused tension in some cities, where the conflict between Leftite supporters and opponents has sparked mass outbreaks of pompous opinion articles, and, in extreme cases, talkback radio callers. On the whole, however, it is usually agreed that Leftites are just a part of life and should be embraced by the community as long as they don’t get too loud or stop people making money in any way.
Notable Leftites of the past include Gough Whitlam, who won a famous victory over the anti-Leftites by turning the Right’s most potent weapon, arrogance, against it. Whitlam is revered as a god in some Leftite communities, and many Leftites still speak of the ‘second coming’ of Whitlam: when the Leftites will be freed from their bonds, true equality shall be achieved, and the student union will be fully funded once more. Another great Leftite warrior was Paul Keating. Nobody is quite sure what Keating did for the Leftite cause, but he’s a very good public speaker and everyone is pretty certain that he did
something
fantastic. There is also Bob Brown, a fearsome modern Leftite who subdues his prey with a monotonous droning sound before attacking, and has struck many mighty blows for the Leftite community, including destroying democracy and selling Australians out to the secret one-world government.
Outside of formal politics, prominent Leftites include Professor Tim Flannery, an environmental Leftite whose powers of persuasion and beard are beacons to young Leftites looking for inspiration; Rod Quantock, considered the ‘court jester of Leftites’ by the sort of person who says that sort of thing; and Adam Gilchrist, who is a Leftite as a result of confusion over terminology.
Leftites have much in common with Snags and Artists, and there is frequent cross-pollination between the groups. What distinguishes a Leftite from other Left-esque species is his furious determination and reluctance to have a sense of humour.
There is much overlap in Leftite taxonomy, and often one breed can blend into another – there are even those who say there are no separate categories of Leftite, only different outfits. However, there are certain designated breeds that are generally recognised by the relevant authorities, and these include:
The
Anarcho-Trotskyite
. This is an imposing Bloke, full of beard and angry of tone, characterised by an extreme suspicion of strangers and an almost erotic love of flyers. The Anarcho-Trotskyite – referred to in some regions as the Communo-Menshevik – roams urban streets with fistfuls of flyers, which he distributes much like a bee carrying pollen from flower to flower. When out of flyers, the Anarcho-Trotskyite tends to turn to watering holes and friends’ houses, where he will engage in loud, passionate arguments about what brand of collectivism will best achieve his goals. His goals, normally, involve more flyers, but also, if there’s time: the redistribution of wealth, the seizure of the means of production, the dismantling of the capitalist mechanism, and a significant increase in the total volume of publicly-funded Marxist theatre. The means by which he hopes to achieve his goals, besides flyers, include violent revolution, street marches, online petitions, and Marxist theatre. Not in that order, though – in fact, many Anarcho-Trotskyites never get around to violent revolution at all, because they’re working extra shifts at Dick Smith Powerhouse. Street marches, however, are common, and while such marches do include Leftites of all stripes, and frequently a good number of Fauxkes as well, it is the Anarcho-Trotskyite who usually finds himself at the forefront, the bellwether of Leftism, bellowing the loudest and pulling the angriest faces.
Anarcho-Trotskyites can be extremely dangerous, and no member of the public should try to make contact without proper training – experts recommend retreating to a safe distance as soon as the Bloke in question starts to mention Bakunin. They are particularly vicious when wounded, and special care should be taken not to enrage them by mentioning Stalin or trickle-down theory. However, they can also be loyal friends, and if you can gain an Anarcho-Trotskyite’s trust – by giving him small gifts such as a Friedrich Engels tea towel or a bottle of beard gel, for example – he can be extremely useful in a tight corner, like when you need someone to throw a bag of urine at a police officer, or get you a good deal on flyer printing.
A common subspecies of the Anarcho-Trotskyite is the
Campus Cuckoo
, a smaller, lighter-framed version which dwells exclusively within the grounds of universities and pubs near universities. Some Campus Cuckoos will grow up to be Anarcho-Trotskyites, but occasionally a Campus Cuckoo will actually mutate into a Rightoid, by means of a poorly understood anatomic process which seems to involve superannuation in some way. The Campus Cuckoo shares his burlier cousin’s love of flyers, but due to his rarefied habitat often finds himself the focus of more attention than the Anarcho-Trotskyite, and thus in a position to indulge in his favoured pastimes of inspirational speech-making and not attending classes. The Campus Cuckoo will also frequently organise poorly attended rallies, which some attribute to his inferior flyer-design skills. The Cuckoo is also distinguished from the Anarcho-Trotskyite by his more powerful sex drive, and will often attempt to turn his political ideals into a tool of seduction, with limited success. Anarcho-Trotskyites tend to be a little bit above such things, and though they do engage in sexual relations when possible, tend to so with a distracted expression. The Campus Cuckoo, though, being both younger and more likely to come into contact with nubile young women, can spend long periods of time pursuing a mate, though never at the expense of his beliefs (this may vary depending on the flexibility, both physical and philosophical, of the lady in question).
One Bloke that is quite definitely focused on things other than the ways of the flesh is the
Leaf-Blower
. Leaf-Blowers were only formally discovered and named in the last forty years, all previous claimed sightings of the breed having been written off as escaped circus apes or decaying tree trunks. The Leaf-Blower is the most likely of the Leftite family to venture into rural areas, where he will fight tooth and nail in the defence of flora and fauna. Speculation on the motivation for this behaviour varies: some claim it is simple altruism, whereas others say that the Leaf-Blower has mistaken the trees for members of his family. Whatever the reason, the Leaf-Blower has a passionate love of Mother Nature and all that she has to offer, and is happiest when communing with nature in whatever way he sees fit, whether that be hugging a tree, lying in front of a bulldozer, or smoking marijuana. Leaf-Blowers are, however, most common in the cities, where they enjoy standing nobly on the spot with a tear rolling down their cheek, overwhelmed by the sadness of man’s destruction of his environment. They also like open-mic poetry nights.
It is often said you can always smell a Leaf-Blower before you see him, but this is an urban myth: on a clear day in an open area, only around 60% will be detectable by smell before coming into view. It is true, however, that Leaf-Blower religion warns sternly against sullying the body with soap, although Leaf theologians have interpreted this as only applying to mass-produced chemical products, meaning most Leaf-Blowers feel free to wash regularly with soaps made out of natural ingredients such as pig dung and cactus sap. This means that Leaf-Blower society is home to a wide variety of exciting odours, and it is thought that Leaf-Blowers identify newcomers to the community by sniffing them to determine which organic soap shop they patronise.
Besides the smell, Leaf-Blowers can be recognised by their plumage, which tends to be long and matted. This can vary – although the dreadlock is much favoured among Leaf-Blowers, some prefer shorter, stiffer styles. The plumage also indicates social status: the higher up the Leaf-Blower is in the hierarchy, the more matted and impenetrable his hair will be. Those Leaf-Blowers who are especially revered will indicate their status by wearing hemp headbands or actual leaves in their hair. As such, it is important to learn to distinguish between a Leaf-Blower chieftain, and an ordinary Bloke who has just fallen out of a tree.