Thommo proudly wears the singlet of the Kuta Warrior. He fought and fucked his way through Bali while other less staunch Aussies found themselves bent over at the Bounty and penetrated by the ill-effects of alcohol and repercussions of obnoxious behaviour. Thommo surfed the wave of psilocybin and gently rode the whitewash of pharmacy treats to the comforting shore of a fruit platter breakfast while basking in the memory of some cute backpacker’s drunken regret.
Each time Thommo travels to Bali a piece of him stays on the island. His heart longs to break free from the shackles of plumbing, and he yearns to trade the red dust for the slightly manky sand of Kuta. As a reminder to himself, he wears his Bintang singlet: rain, hail or shine. The singlet serves as an “S” on his chest, a real-life Clarke Kent, if Superman excelled in subbing beers, smoking darts and turning Powerade bottles into bongs. Much like the man who wears his undies on the outside, Thommo is cursed with a Kryptonite: on-site random drug tests.
Thommo waks on some Billabong boardies and uses the attached bottle opener to crack a Corona. His sits in his Rivervale garden and puffs on his Powerade bong for the better part of the morning. He slams his hand in a bowl of Cheezels next to him. He whips off the Cheezel dust on his Bintang singlet while belching loudly and uprooting himself from his camping chair. He is out of beer and needs to drink-drive his Triton to the local BWS. Eyes glazed, he examines the specials on cartons. He notices Bintang going for $50. A tear rolls down his cheek, what’s the point of drinking Bintang if you can’t smash on with Balinese surfers and drive your scooter into a fence? He declines and buys more Corona: the plasma TV of the beer world.
Before returning to his backyard, Thommo pops into the Empire Bar for a feed with his mate Robbo. The pair whinges about “ethnics” while Thommo uses his steak knife to dig the grime out of his fingernails. An Asian chick walks past and Thommo drifts off into a daydream about the woman giving him a rub ‘n tug while wearing a pink Bintang singlet. “S’cuse me Robbo, I’ll be back”. Thommo heads to the disabled toilet to wank away the separation anxiety he is suffering, and much like his ejaculate, Thommo realises he badly needs to shoot off back to Bali.
Unashamed, Thommo stares proudly at his singlet in the toilet mirror, if it weren’t for Bali, he’d just be drink-driving, grubby sex pest that wanks in the disabled shitter at Perth pubs. Well to be fair, he is that, but he is also a Kuta Warrior, a proud people that struggle to deal with Australia’s onerous standards of public order.
Documenting the Human Zoo is thirsty work, so if you enjoyed what you read how about buying Belle a beer, ay?
