Where farts and life meet.

I might’ve mentioned my obsession with movies before (once or twice). It’s a requited love shared with my siblings and when we were kids, we made our own.

Our classics include Santa In The Hands of a Clock (the tale of a psychotic Santa who travelled through time to murder Robin Hood and Snow White) and Claws (about a Santa with razor claws who knocked off kids, naughty or nice). I don’t know what Jake and the Fat Man did to piss us off, but I was soon typecast in the role. I recall standing at the side of a three-lane highway filming a scene in full lights and wardrobe.

Cut to: a boy standing with a massive VHS camera perched on his shoulder like a rocket launcher; aimed at a girl in a cheap (and nas-ty) Santa suit, getting hassled-honked by passing motorists.

We reached our pinnacle with the horror, The Fatal Farter. Opening credits rolled to the song, Good Vibrations and faded in on … me. A hitchhiker (wearing a wig like the armpit of a trucker) who becomes trapped in the Farter’s mini … a squeaky paf the last sound I hear before my tragic demise.

I saw The Beach Boys at the Opera House last year (and boozed with the roadies and Boys til 4am); and whilst seeing geriatrics perform iconic songs had its own joo-joo pleasure, I confess that when they got to this song, my excitement was due to the farter of times past.

I was slap happy in my own private party, whilst the hip replacements bopped in their seats. (It’s also somewhat shameful to note that my knowledge of Brian Wilson comes from the Barenaked Ladies’ song of the same name) (learn to deal, Bri baby).

The same is true of most of my travels; if it relates back to a movie, my undies are alive with the sound of music. My first time in San Fran, I ate at the diner from So I Married An Axe Murderer and searched the streets to find where the car chase in The Rock took place. I’m standing in Alcatraz and all I could think was, this is where Cage and Connery stood!

I got the jones for the hotel from Mel Brooks’, High Anxiety. I stepped into those iconic elevators and tried to guess the floor where Mel’s room had been shot, imagining that I stood where Madeline Kahn had when she’d made me an instant fan.

I’ve been Mission Impossible in Prague, The Italian Job in Venice and Working Girl in New York. The world through wuc-coloured glasses.

About the wuc

I'm a chick living in Australia, working for the man. I hate office work with a passion usually reserved for James Cameron, but somehow I ended up with a career behind a desk, stapling my forehead at random intervals.

One Response to “Where farts and life meet.”

  1. hastlehonked!

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