HAVE YOU noticed, that when you finally notice something, you notice it’s everywhere! I mean, youse can go years and not see something, and then when you do, it’s like, ‘How’d I not see it before?’ And then it sorta jumps out on you every time.
Okay, okay, I know you’re not following, so how about this: Do you remember them cars that were popular a few years back? When they was coming towards you they was pink; when they was going past, they was purple; and as they left, they were bluey green.
“It was akk-qua,” Sheree tells me in her I-know-these-things voice.
So we sorta stared at the first few of these and then we saw more of them, and then when we saw them everywhere. It was just “Tossers!” and we didn’t notice them anymore… Yeah, now you’re with me.
So I get to wonder, what’s the point?
I can see the advantage of having a multi-coloured car if you’re in a bank raid and it’s the getaway car.
Police: “What colour was the car?”
Eyewitnesses: “It was pink.” “No, it was purple.” “Are you blind? It was green!” “Excuse me, I think you mean akk-qua.”
Police: “Okay. Okay. What make was it?”
Eyewitness: “Are you kidding? I was too busy trying to work out what colour it was!”
You know, I’m trying to make a point here. What was it? Bugger. See that’s the trouble with talking with youse, I get off me point.
Oh, I know! It started with Sheree’s brother and the postmen. Don’t get me wrong, I like Sheree’s brother, but I wouldn’t want to be locked up with him for more than two hours or I’d change me plea to psychiatric!
Sheree’s brother is called Snow. I swear it’s his real name and not something he picked up by some cruel kids in school. His mum actually did it. Cow.
Snow is permanently unemployed. He lives in front of the computer and he reckons we’ve come from the planet Nobiru where we were bred to be slaves and he won’t use the microwave because it sends out signals; and he’s vegan; he eats mostly nuts (yeah, don’t do the cannibal joke; we’ve already done it); and his farts would clear a room quicker than a bomb threat.
Snow is big on Government Controls and Conspirissies and some bloke called Cabbal who runs everything and he is working for the Dark Side and if you have a job that pays decent money then you are working for Cabbal even if you don’t know it and only Snow and his mates can save the world by sending out emails all day.
See, two hours tops! Then you start to edge out backwards with your head spinning.
One day Snow sez to me: “Cloning! They say they’re not but it’s happening everywhere.”
Okay, I don’t move me head, but me eyes do a quick flick round to see if I can get out quick if needed…
“Yesss! Cloning. It’s here. Right now. You don’t believe me, come into the garden, I’ll show you.”
Well, I needed a fag so walking around the garden is fine.
You knew already that Snow lives at home with his parents. Loser! I mean, I know I live with me mum, but that’s different. I could move out if I wanted, but Snow’s stuck at home for-ev-ver!
We’re in the garden and he sweeps his hand over the flowerbeds. Pretty, but so what.
“See these? None of these were here 100 years ago.”
He’s lost me. It’s a new estate. 10 years back this was sheep paddock. 100 years ago, it was bush.
“All these flowers, they’re invented flowers. Invented by scientists to make you feel that genetic manipulation is good. None of these flowers are invented by nature. Only the weeds are natural and we kill them! See, this is the beginning of mutation. They are beginning to clone to meet our expectation levels. It’s happening, man. Dolly the sheep was only the one they told you about. Don’t think they aren’t doing it on people. Cloning for Speciality. Look out, you’ll see! Now quick! Get back inside—the satellite’s due over any minute.”
I chucked me fag over the fence and told him I had to go now. I nearly backed me car over the Postie, I left so fast. Bloody Posties, they shouldn’t be on the path.
I didn’t give it another thought until Sheree and me went to Broome for a week. I was backing out the hire car and nearly knocked a Postie off his bike. Same guy, I swear it. Even the beard. And he’s wearing a yellow raincoat, in Broome, for crying’ out loud, in 90 degree heat! Now youse think this is coincidence, so explain this: even his bike had the same squeal when he braked! Like a warning: Postie coming, don’t back over him!
Then Sheree sez, “I swear the Government grows those blokes. That one’s identical to our Postie.”
I didn’t say anything. But it wouldn’t go away. Suddenly there’s Posties everywhere and they’re like hobbits on mopeds. They all look the same but just a bit different. What if they’re spies for the Government? You’d never know because you don’t notice them.
I’m seriously thinking of ringing Snow and that’s what snaps me back to reality. Snow would be all over this like a rash and he’d use up all the credit on me phone telling me about it.
I’d love to say that was the end to it all, but I got home and mum’s watching the telly and I asked her, as you do, “Watcha watchin’?”
And she goes, “Neighbours and Away.”
“Neighbours and Away. I can’t tell the difference between Neighbours and Home and Away so I’ve given up trying. They’ve got identical people, same sets, same plots (often at the same time), and if it wasn’t for the fact that one of them has the sea in it, you’d never know it wasn’t one big program.”
So I leave her to it because I can’t stand that stuff.
Have you listened to the song: Naaaybers. Everybody needs good Naaaaaaaybers and good Naaaybers becomes gooooood friennnnnnds. Then they all go around killing and blackmailing each other. Mate, if you move into Ramsey Street or Summer Bay, you will have a disastrous affair with somebody else’s missus or girlfriend and she will definitely get pregnant, then you will be blackmailed and you will be murdered.
I’m 23, right, and the worst I’ve ever seen is a couple of blokes having a fistie. If I had neighbours like the ones on telly, I’d move house so fukkin’ fast!
Bugger! Now I’ve got real estate agents in me brain! Seriously, I’m walking up the stairs to me room and I start thinking about real estate agents. Okay. You tell me what I’m describing: 5 foot 10 inches. A bit overweight. Dark short hair, jelled or curly. Clean shaven. White shirt (probably a bit crumply). Black or dark grey suit. Slip-on shoes, well worn. Has or wants a Merc. Yeah? Tell me I’m wrong.
And the female real estate agents came out of the same pea-pod as the flight attendants but they turned left and was allowed ridiculously high shoes and loose hair while the flight attendants turned right, got sensible shoes and tied their hair back. All other things stayed the same.
I need to stop thinking about this. I need to watch some telly to calm me down and stop me thinking this stupid cloning stuff. News! I’ll watch the news. And the weather! None of them lot look the same.
Those news ladies are all different. They have different coloured, shoulder length hair; some are blonde and some are brunette. Some have partings on the left and some on the right. Okay, none are redheads, curly or have buns, but they’re all different. And they’re all different ages between 29 and 39. That’s a range! And some wear dresses and some wear shirts and skirts. I don’t want to see one in a trouser suit and the stations know it.
Don’t get me started on letting foreign chicks on the news! They’ve all gotta be white unless it’s SBS and nobody watches that so it don’t count.
Look, they gotta have perfect teeth these days to be on the telly and you don’t want one wearing glasses or the lenses will reflect in the studio light, so that makes sense.
Who wants to see a fat weather chick? If she’s fat, her big tits will get in the way of the temperature in Sydney… actually, I’m okay with that.
article by Barry Dagman