Yesterday a complete twat called me a bogan. That really cracked me up. These days I couldn’t be further from being a bogan. In fact I’m a boring old fart who has to be a straight cunt because I might fall to bits if I do anything too retarded.

But what might an actual teenage bogan do?

Picking up a mate in his 62 Ford coupe, he might pull out a fat joint and stick on LA Woman by The Doors. It might be such a cool album that when it finished he might pull out a second joint and do it again. And then repeat the whole process with a third joint. Later while driving on the motorway he might be going so fast that the lights might blur into a stream and it might be just like a plane taking off down a runway. Checking the speed he might find his speedo had broken and was only showing 20 miles per hour (this might be a very old car). The next day he might find that the speedo was fine and he actually had driven down the motorway for 45 minutes at 20mph thinking he was in hyperspace.

Speaking of joints, he might go to a concert (Neil Young) with seven joints in a bag stashed down the front of his undies to get though the pat down. And he might get so wasted that when Neil Young played his guitar solo in “Like A Hurricane” he might pass right through to a parallel universe and think he was floating away on the music.

At some pub up north he might drink three jugs of piss and get so wasted that he might knock over the table of some hard arse locals. Who might get so fucked off they might be about to beat the living crap out of him. But just then his own mates might decide to grab him, smack him over, and throw him over the garden bar back fence. Later, after spending most of the night chundering, with a stray dog lapping up all the chunder, he might grasp that it was all a cunning plan to save his sorry arse.

Waking up with the worst hangover in the history of the universe, he might realise it was Sunday and he had no food, no money, and no ride, but was supposed to start a new job early on Monday morning. But that was in Wellington and he was in Tauranga… So he might just stagger to his feet and start walking with his thumb out. And actually make it back to Wellington before night fall. Pretty cool or what?

Another time, driving down the motorway, this time at 50mph in his fully modified 67 Chrysler Valiant, he might pull up alongside some straight looking fuckers, drop down to second with the three on a tree, and plant boot. When the 4L Hemi with full race cam, six into one straight pipe and a twin barrel carb the size of a small spacecraft kicked in, he might actually start doing a full blown burnout down the motorway and nearly piss himself looking at the expressions on their faces.

And while practicing jumps with his mate on some dirt bikes, his mate might totally overshoot the landing and end up going over a large bank. Then he might find his mate semi conscious with his leg folded in half at 90 degrees the wrong way in a patch of gorse bushes. Thinking “shit, better get an ambulance” he might ride flat out to a nearby hospital (this would be long before cell phones). After getting an ambulance under way he might realise that unless he was there to flag the ambulance they would never find his mate. But unfortunately a cop parked in the car park might choose this moment to bust some bogan dirt biker. So he might have to put some of his riding skills to good use, and outrun the cop on the dirt beside the road, then hide his helmet and bike in some bushes and be ready to flag down the ambulance. (But it might all work out OK apart from one very fucked up leg).

And that might be what a real bogan might do! (He wouldn’t be fucking around online like some geek dork)