ERROL PARKER | Editor-at-large | Contact
With just a minced California roll and two glasses of pinot noir sloshing around inside him, a Betoota Heights car salesman agreed to attend the theatre last night on short notice with his new flame.
He says he can get you a great price on a new Landcruiser and offer you a great deal on your trade-in – but if you want him to explain the difference between Colin ‘Funky’ Miller and Arthur Miller – Kevin Palmer says keep on walking.
“This bird asked me for my number after I spoke at the Simpson Desert Auto Sales Conference a few weeks ago, which takes a lot of the guesswork out of the whole thing for me, you know?” he said.
“Which naturally means I’ll do anything she says or wants me to do because I’m 37 and I fear the music in this charade of musical chairs we call life is about to stop. Which I guess is how I found myself mildly buzzed at the theatre house last night watching a low rent production of A Streetcar Named Desire,”
“They didn’t even have a car it was that shit.”
But that’s not the worst part, according to poor Kevin.
He revealed to The Advocate that he mistook the intermission for the end of the show, making a complete fool of himself in the process.
Explaining what happened next to our reporter with spirited hand gestures and much shouting, he said his new coital partner Denise looked over at him with a mild disgust that only a person who’s seen you naked can have.
“I basically said, ‘Oh hey wow! Great show, babe. How random was that ending, huh?’ and she just looked at me like I’d basically undone my belt, walked out into the aisle, squatted, then expelled a plump carpet python out of myself right then and there,” he explained, taking the time to gesture the faeces coming out of his body.
“Needless to say that didn’t go down well. Other people who heard me just cough laughed like Malcolm Turnbull does when people tell him how bad the traffic and knife crime is out in Western Sydney,”
“So anyway, we went down and got more drinks, she didn’t even look at me the whole time. The rest of the night, I was honestly clenching my entire body tightly, forcing blood into my brain in the hopes that I’d have an enormous, unbridged stroke – or an aneurysm would pop and the sweet release of death would wash over me like a good set of three-foot shories. A man can only dream.”
From there, Kevin said, he dropped his adult friend off at her place. She didn’t even say goodbye.
So he smiled, unlocked his phone, deleted her number and put it into first.
“Oh well.”
More to come.
