Hoons

Ever seen that film Mad Max? When I was a kid, we were going to go and see that in the cinema, but then my friends mum decided it was too violent, so we had to go and see Sister Act instead.

THE STARS:
Watch out for hoons, and don’t thrust yourself off the balcony. Advice to live by from Bridget’s mum. I’ve never thrust myself off a balcony, and I also keep a weather eye out for hoons, mostly because of these two anecdotes…
LACK OF STARS:
1. During the jingoistic milkshake that was the Cronulla riots, I was lucky enough to be living in Caringbah with some wildly awesome people. We were sitting in the lounge room watching the news with that expression you get when you feel like disowning your own country.  Look at a picture of Barnaby Joyce, now look at your face. Yup, that expression. 
I wish I was French.

The news then reported that gangs of hoons (seriously, they used that word) were careening down the Kingsway, looting and burning the entire way. The Kingsway happened to be the big street our house was on. So, as we are watching and discussing this, we hear this almighty caterwauling out the front. Peering on a few centimetres over the TV and through the window, we were treated to the sight of a cluster of hoons smashing a car with baseball bats, right in front of our house. After they had sped away, us and many of our neighbours went to have a look at the damage. You just don’t expect this sort of thing in the suburbs.
But then another wave of hoons came along! Waves of hoons! And I forget the witty banter that was exchanged, but it ended up with us fleeing the glass bottles thrown at us. They cut up my housemates leg a treat! The next day channel ten filmed our blood spattered front steps, and if you peered carefully, you could just make out a groggy me peering out the window in my underpants.
2. I get yelled at from cars a lot. I don’t know if it’s my provocative walk, excellent fashion sense or maybe they are fans of my blog (LOL). Usually they are pointing out their views of what my sexual orientation is, which I assume is hoonkinds way of being helpful. I’d love to pioneer a hoon-group which just speed along and notice things.
“Woo! Raptor. SHIT YEAH, FLOWER!”
One day I was walking through Wollongong, and I heard a carload of hoons coming up the street. They were bipping their horns and playing Blink 182, Enema of the State to be precise. And I’m nothing if not erotically precise.
As they get to me, they slow down a fraction and start wolf whistling and telling me how I’m a very sexually desirable female.  But before the car sped away, they screeched to a halt, and then reversed slowly back down the street, and stopped the car to look at me. The hoons looked at me. I looked at the hoons. They looked at each other. We all realised that I was not in fact ‘A sexy slut-bitch’. An awkward moment passed as they considered their own sexuality.
Then one said ‘fag!’ derisively, and they sped off.
THE SCORE:
meh???? 0.
Advertisements

4 thoughts on “Hoons

  1. Wow, even though I KNOW the story and even TELL the story I LAUGHED AGAIN!!! That is how good you are! I commend you sir on a fearsome blogpost!

  2. VANSK: Wha? Are you saying that you would rate hoons as a 5/5? What did they do, throw bullion at you from their cars? THAT'S AWESOME.SAMIRA: Thanks! I like the word fearsome.

  3. I sometimes get the age old "show us your boobs" or "show us your tits". Hoons are nothing if not vocabularily dynamic. As a car of four hoons drives by, each hoon flailing menacingly out of each window, I yell back "I would but you're now too far to see them properl.." at which point the car has disappeared around the next bend in the road. Too bad. They're particularly nice breasts.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s