Letter to Kevin Rudd, Prime Minister of Australia:
Dear Mr Rudd,
Thank you for adding a tax onto alcopops. It really has made a great difference to the 'binge drinking' epidemic that has claimed trillions of young Australians.
At a recent nightclub visit, I purchased a bottle of 'Lemon-Lime Breezer', and did not receive any money back from a twenty-dollar note. Whilst slightly shocked at the price, I felt good to know that this drink was helping to fund... I do apologise, I seem to have lost the information on where this tax money is going. Anyway, I noticed that no-one in the nightclub appeared to be overdosing on guava-flavoured alcohol. Thank god, and it's about time. Your higher-priced alcopops has successfully beaten alcoholism and binge-drinking.
Later in the evening, I was due to 'do a shout', as my friends began calling me a 'stingy fuckwit', which someone later told me is Spanish for 'snappy dresser'. This is true, as my white slacks and mission brown skivvy did match my boat shoes quite well. At the bar, I saw a young chap also purchasing drinks. He must have had quite a few friends, as he was struggling to carry at least eight glasses. 'What drinks have you purchased there, young man?'
'Rum and Coke,' the spirited youth replied over the din of the music.
'You would have been better off to purchase pre-mixed bottles,' I advised. 'That way, you would be able to carry them, or pop them into your pocket and not risk spilling any of them. As it is, you would not be able to put those glasses into your trousers, they might stain your excellent Levis. Plus, you would be helping to provide funds for a better tomorrow for all Australians!'
'Yeah but that would've cost me fucking... I dunno... fucking... like... fucking eighty-thousand bucks!'
'You poor man, you have Tourette's Syndrome, and by the look of it, a lazy eye and one leg shorter than the other. You can barely stand up!'
'Fuck off, you fucking homo,' he said as he bade me good night. I was quite impressed by his knowledge of Latin as he called me a 'modern human'.
'Right back at you... homo!' I replied cheerfully, adding a wink to my remark.
Upon closer inspection of the nightclub, I also noticed that not one person in the establishment was under the age of eighteen (to verify my thoughts, I conducted a poll via the disc-jockey's microphone). Well done, Mr Rudd, you've officially beaten those young'uns. If they weren't in the nightclub, they must obviously have been either in church or sitting at home watching Gilmore Girls with their families.
Or, as I found out, they were happily doing a public service - how delighted I was to find a group of youths near this discotheque sitting on the kerb making sure that no-one was vandalising the cars parked there. They must have been in for the long haul, too, as they were quite intent on drinking a two-litre bottle of Coca-Cola (you might have heard of it, it contains caffeine and sugar) as quickly as they could. 'I am a little sleepy,' I thought. 'Perhaps a quick drink of Coke will refresh me enough to drive home safely.' I asked one of the youths if I may have a tiny taste of his beverage. 'Yes sir,' he said (although his exact words were 'Sure tiger' oh the language of youth!) What a good samaritan he was, looking after my well-being like that. So I took the bottle and had a mouthful.
'I do believe your cola has gone off,' I said to the group. 'This tastes like bourbon.'
The group snickered and walked away; I am assuming they went back to the vendor who sold them the drink to exchange it for a fresher bottle.
Back in the 'old days' (i.e. two weeks ago), I am sure these young people would have been up to their eyeballs in cranberry Archer. Mr Rudd, you are doing a fine job of helping young people better themselves.
Hip hooray to you, good sir.
Mister Evil Breakfast
PS. Please do check my blog - I would like to know if you prefer Lion Voltron or Car Voltron.