Kurt grew up in Perth and was always known as the bloke that talked the most shit. He was the unpopular kid at school that decided to smoke to raise his profile. He was the guy at Uni who wore sunglasses inside and paid thousands of dollars to get an arm sleeve tattoo consisting of Koi fish. He was the guy who rocked up to his first day at work with a motorbike jacket and helmet on. Sadly for Kurt, he never got the kudos that he craved so badly. That was until he learnt of the joys of travelling the globe solo.
You sit around the Flying Pig Hostel in Amsterdam with some mates. Kurt comes and sits near you. “Already smoked an ounce today, back home I used to grow stuff just as good”. Wow, Kurt really laid it on thick, he led strong from the gates, you look at your mate with that, “here we go” expression. Kurt continues, “so, anyone got dibs on that Canadian chick?” Christ, Kurt’s desperate matinee rolls on. Kurt senses that his drug dealing ladies man persona isn’t winning you over. “Might get another that while I’m here”. Jesus, son, let it go.
Later in the week, you strike up a conversation with some English backpackers. They are crass Essex slappers, but they are entertaining nevertheless. The one with the least eyeshadow says, “have you met that Kurt lad? He was doing push-ups with his shirt off this morning in the dorm innit!” The news doesn’t surprise you. “He said that he is thinking about tackling the London Marathon and had to keep fit to battle the shit loads of piss he drinks”. Again, you aren’t exactly shocked. “He kept asking for our email addresses too, his was [email protected]”. God damn it, Kurt.
It’s your last night at the hostel, and you all decide to crack some Heinekens and have a little send-off. Kurt is conveniently absent during the purchase of the booze. He sits around awkwardly and waits for people to offer him a beer. When he exhausted his fellow backpacker’s generosity, he resorts to a cunning manoeuvre he developed in Prague. He goes around asking people for a taste of their drink and failing that, grabs abandoned vessels and sinks them shamelessly. His stunning display of tight-arsery gets him reasonably tipsy. He hijacks the iPod dock and puts on Pendulum Tarantula: “I used to DJ with these guys at Raft Up parties back home”.
GO HOME KURT.
