Butch aka Travis

There is a certain sense of sadness one feels after returning back to their abode after spending Christmas in their hometown, especially for someone like me, who returns from a sleepy baysiude town called Cleveland to the faux glitz of Melbourne.

It takes me a few days to slip straight back into my old hometown ways. I stop wearing shoes, get up late, adjust to the humidity which seems to follow you everywhere. Then there is the transition to my South African upbringing as well, having to speak with a semi accent, the quick lapsing in and out of Afrikaans periodically, to remember the cuisine, and to stomach the drinking sessions which take place every day from the hours of 5pm to 11pm, (and until 2am on Friday and Saturday’s). To be honest, going home, albeit to an Australian town, is like returning to a South African village, as my family andf friends are all South Africans, and I seem to forget that sometimes.

But, no more of this, I sound positivly negative. Ill entertain you with some snaps.

Here we have me, that is to say I, drinking a XXXX Gold, a mid strength beer, in my parents back yard.

Here is my Dad ready for and Xmas dress up party, as you can see, he is a snowman, I think he looks great,

Mom went as a Present, my Dad still looks great

I never went to the party, well I did breifly, I went with an old school friend of mine to an annual Xmas eve pub. They only sold drink tickets in either bundles of 5 or 10 or 30, I bought 10. I then found out that the pub (due to regulations) closes at 11:30 and so I drank 10 beers in a little under 2 hours, on top of the case Dad and I split, and some home made Vodka punch. I was legless, and upon walking home, I tripped on a gutter and landed face first on a concrete driveway. I knocked myself out and woke up around an hour later, and sutered home. To my joy I realised the driveway which knocked me out was in fact my parents driveway. I was happy, but woke on Xmas morning to discover I was bleeding in my mouth from a big cut in the side of my right cheek, where I had his my head and my teeth perforated my cheek. Here I am at Christmas morning at my G’Parents, my sisters bogan boyfriend is in the background.

And now lastly, a tribute to my Dad’s 1970 VF Valiant Coupe.

Well thats it from me, Happy New Year everyone.

Last night was my work party, all the film types got together and had a few drinks.

I on the other hand brought the house down, i got severly fucked out of my gord, in the end, i was purely running on adrenaline and a gram of speed, and pure 100% Travis,

Thats me, Travis, the last of a dying breed, I am the wildest mudderfucker you could ever meet, trust me, I am a bad boy, and for the record, so is Rupert.

And so it came to that I managed to yet again embaress myself. I did everything I shouldnt have. I harrased girls, I fell over, I couldnt stand without stumbling, I danced the robot, and I stole a bottle of Vodka from over the bar. At the time, I thought everybody was having fun with me, but with the benefit of hindsight I can see they were a little worried.

I am not a messy drunk, I am just a hard drinker, I can drink and drink and drink, fall down, drink more, throw up drink more, then pass out, wake up and go to the beach to sweat out another hangover. But last night, I was messy

I put it down to my background, South Africans, in generall and big drinkers, we get load and dominate.

The party really got started when I dressed up like Santa

There were 4 incidents of concern

Incident #1: The Ben Incident::

A Freind of me A we shall call her, told me to keep this guy who she acciently slept with far away from her. I forgot all about it, and in the midst of my absolute peak drunedness, I spotted them chatting. I walked over to distance them, but didnt take it well. He started shouting at me, and then told me he wasnt afraid of me. So I pushed him on the ground. I was immediatly confronted by 3 screaming females telling me to stop, but I was only looking after a friend!

Later on, Ben’s housemate (who is a friend of mine) had a serious chat with me about something, I forget what it is.

Incident #2 The Amy Concern::

There is this girl at work, who i dont like, but am friends with, people tease me that I like her, but I really dont. Anway, i was heading off the the toilet, and she had just left. People saw me follwing her, and just before we got there, we had a breif chat, all of a sudden 3 people I work with showed up (one of them my divisional manager) and grabbed me and pulled me away from her, They told me to leave her alone, and to calm down (?!?) So I left, but went into the arms of my English friend Nick, and shortly after we sang ‘Swing Low, Sweet Chariot’ as loud as we could.

Incident #3, The Bottle of Vodka Incident::

This one actually concerns me. I reached over and stole a bottle of vodka from the bar. THe tab had dried up, and I couldnt be fucked going to an ATM. I made no attempt to conceal the bottle, rather I just walked around with it casually as anything swigging from it. I even showed my boss!

Why am I worried? I was told directly to be a good boy, by him, and I wasnt, so that’s that.

Incident #4, The Don’t Care Incident::

I got cornerd with my supervisor. He was saying this and that, about I have talent, but I dont pay attention to detail, and how one day I could be in his shoes. He had been going for about 5 minutes straight, when in the middle of his speech, I turned to him and said, “I dont fucking care” and got up and left. He was gobsmacked, how I am going to face this on Monday I dont know

You may ask why I said that. Look, my work is great, but its other peoples work, not my own, and that is sould destroying.

But I woke up today with a strange feeling, a feeling of my last sentiment of the previous evening “I dont fucking care”, and I really really do not. If I walk in on Monday, and people look at me like I am a criminal, I dont care, If I get fired for stealing a bottle of vodka, I dont care, If I dont have full time work, I dont care, If I get a talking to…. yup, you guessed it, I dont care.

I have spent the last few months caring, caring about what everyone thinks and watching my actions, but to release myself last night was so satisfying. It further pushes the belief I firmly hold, that I will never fully be at home amongst the gum trees, as I am just not an Australian and never will be. I have these flashbacks of people faces last night. I assume I was the first 100kgs drunk boistrous South African they have ever scene, as they had the look of fear in their eyes, a look I am slowly becoming accustomed to in this dry dusty shithole of a country.

And I am sick of being bored, life is for living, not shuffling towards the grave, keeping everybody happy. Nah fuck that, from here on in, I aint gonna care, I am going to live.

My Namesake

Not many people know this, but I was in fact named after Travis Bickle of Taxi Driver fame. Well, not so much after him as much as my Ma and Da saw the film and liked the name, then passed it on to me. I love the name, its different, yet good. I may yet name my Son Travis Jnr “The Return of the T”

Why do I mention Mr Bickle you ask. Well, tonite, i went down to the local Hungry Jacks, straight after the gym. I was hungry and fucked from (as I heard some fellow patrons saying the other night) MAXAMISING TO THE EXTREME!!!.

I stopped in, 4 rabble kids (2 guys, and 2.. well what I assume to be females) dropped by from the housing estates around the corner. Some guy dropped his cup and one of the kids picked it up. When the Customer said thanks and held out his hand to receive his stray cup, the kid refused to give it back. He poured himself a drink from the soda fountain, and enjoyed his complementary cup of coke. Luckily the half english speaking girl behind the counter gave the guy a fresh cup, and all was happy…. except me, I can stand fucking trash and bogans, which is where Mr Bickle comes in.

“Someday a real rain will come and
wash all this scum off the streets.”

I went to put in my order. I was going to pay, i had a fistfull of change, so I laid out the first coin on the counter, a fresh $2 coin. Quick as a flash, one of the bogan little fucks grabbed it. My reflexes acted and i grabbed him by the back of his collar as he had turn to run. I pulled him back, he fell half to the floor, I hauled him up, and without any problem retrieved my money from his fist.

Ill take a respite here, people who know me, know that I am not exactly what you would call slight, I am a big lad, who is as strong as an ox, and after the gym, i generally bloat into double my usual size.

Right, where was I. The bogan’s mate (who was about 30 and had one of those horrible teenage moustaches) said something, I promptly told him its best to keep his mouth shut. THEN the security guard decided to show up, on Indian time as per usual with these Indians, the only thing they seem to do quickly is drive cabs through crowded suburban streets.

And thats my Travis Bickle story, I now sign out with.. Fuck you, fuck you all.

Oh, and personally think Travis Bickle looks more like my Ole Man

Since its that time of year