IF YOU WANT to hear my theory of evolution, I can give it to yers in one word: naggin!
“I’m cold, get me a bearskin. I’m still cold, invent fire!”
Mate, the wheel was invented because ‘she’ went shopping and expected ‘him’ to carry it home.
Now, if youse don’t believe me, think about it. The stuff in the supermarket has to get there by transport; we drive to the shops, there’s wheels on the trolley and then we drive home. How many wheels have we just used? An evolution’s worth, mate!
All evolution happened because some bird wanted something. I got an example. Me and Crabs (aka Eric) were hanging around in his shed last week. He’s got it nice: an old fridge, a new telly, two seats from his old Commodore (that he dumped in a field when we were in Geelong), dirty windows so’s thieves can’t see in and nick his treasures, and a workbench that is chokkers with stuff except for about half a meter in the middle which is the work space.
We were having a quiet time, not bothering anybody, nursing a beer, farting into the Commodore seats, and watching the Magpies lose to the Bombers and not really caring which team lost so long as one of them did and wouldn’t be up against our Cats next week! I was having a ciggie and Crabs did not complain even once that me ash was being flicked on the floor. Footy was getting good! Someone was getting down and there’s danger of a goal — and then the door opens and there’s Felicity!
Now how Crabs ever scored a missus called Felicity is one of the mysteries of the universe. Youse can’t even make fun of it, right! Felly-city. Bazza laughed and said it was because Crabs thought she said Felatio. I didn’t get it; it’s a bloke’s name, sounds like something in Shakespeare: “Ho, Felatio, I challenge thee to a duel! Thou shallt taste my steel an see how thoust liketh that!”
“What are you doing?” Felicity said.
Now, you’d think this was a question, but let me tell youse — it’s an accusation when Felicity sez it.
We both looked around to see what we could be doing that wasn’t bleeding obvious. Sitting, check. Drinking, check. Smoking (me only), check. Watching the footy, check. Dancing girls? Not a one!
Crabs is so happy that he hasn’t been caught doing something that he said something stupid!
“Aw, doll! Couldn’t make us a cheese toastie, could you, darlin?” and he’s got that dumb look on his face that me dog gets when she shows you that great hole she’s dug in me mum’s flower-bed and expects you to go, ‘Now that’s a Great Hole! Well done!’
Felicity curled her lip. Seriously, it was so impressive that later on, I stood in front of the mirror and tried to do it but couldn’t. I sorta looked like I’d had a stroke and me face wanted to fall over, but Felicity nailed it.
“What are you doing, heeere?” she growled, and she nailed that, too!
“We’re watchin the footy, doll.”
Crabs looked at me to make sure that was what we were doing and I nodded like one of them nodding dog things in the back of me mum’s car going over speed bumps at speed.
“Oh, are they playing footy?” she perked up.
“Magpies and Bombers.”
“Ooh, I love the footy. All those tight little bums and those great strong arms. I love watching them jump on each other. I’ll sit here and watch it with you.”
So Felicity crawls over me to get to Crabs and then she sits down on him. Be nice, but Felicity’s not little. She’s two starves off Feli-town and a famine off Feli-village.
Crabs is flattened. You know a bloke is either in love or terrified when his missus’ arse cheeks are riding half way up his rib cage and he takes a breath to make his last comment on earth.
“You comfy, love?” Crabs asked.
Just to be sure, she wriggled! You know when you stand on a big hairy spider and then you grind it down, just to be sure? Well, it was like that. My eyes watered and my nuts were safe!
“Felicity, I’m off,” I said as I jumped up. And I mean, ‘jumped’. I could see Crabs was starting to lose consciousness and his left arm was jerking and a pulse had started throbbing in his cheek.
“No, don’t go. You and Eric are having such a nice time. I thought you’d called in to have a look at my washing machine, but let’s all watch the footy instead,” she said in a way that looked at you and didn’t like what it saw.
Crabs’ lips were swelling and a raspy noise was coming from him but Felicity didn’t notice.
“Yeh, the washing machine, yeh! Come and show me,” I said as I pulled her up from Crabs who sucked in air like he had the bends.
Now I am very good with washing machines. Got a knack for them, you might say. Before Crabs had got his breath back, I’d got the washing machine in pieces and found the problem. Solenoid!
“You need a new solenoid,” I said and held up the old one to show Crabs.
“You know, I got one of them!” he said, and you know what, he did.
“Told you it wasn’t crap. Said it’d come in useful.” he coughed to Felicity. “Pulled it outta one dumped on the nature-strip. Shoudda see Felicity’s face!”
I got it fitted in no time and we was putting the machine back together when I smelled something: cheese toasties!
See, evolution in action. Give a cave-woman what she wants and yer gets a happy woman what makes ya a nice cheese toastie!
I reckon that’s why the dinosaurs died out. Probably crapped in front of the cave. Felicity would have gone, “Oh, Eric, get rid of that for me will you, darling, and I’ll get you a nice toastie.”
Nuff said, no more dinosaurs.
Written by By Barry Dagman; illustrations by Dr Jay Harley