The Shadow

The last time the world was going to end was December 31st 1999 and I was splayed out in Brighton, Adelaide reading Drew Carey’s autobiography, which had a chapter of ‘My dick is so big jokes.’ My favourite; ‘My Dick is so big that if you look down the eye of my dick you will see billions upon billions of stars.’ I laughed so hard I scared myself and phoned my mum. I was moderately high, lounging in a room only 500 metres from my mums actual house, yet still, I bothered her landline and had a serious chat about the genius of Drew Carey, that this is what I wanted to do and for her not to worry because it was going to be alright.  We all phoned our mums that night, all four of us. Four out of work actors and comedians, home for Christmas; off tap; full of certainty yet phoning our mums, asking for approval for the gypsy lives we so desperately wanted.  I have no regrets. Although my world did nearly end that night when assuming my role as a follower, I negotiated my way onto a poorly tiled roof. Whilst wiping the fear from my eyes, I thought I’d lighten the moment by telling my close friends that when you look down the eye of my penis all you see is stretch marks from where, as an eight year old, I filled it with water in a bid to make it bigger. This was met with deafening silence followed by raucous laughter that generated trouser wee.  My legs campaigned for dignity over balance and my confused acid infused brain agreed seeking refuge in a rose bush below. This was the best dick joke I ever did tell. It had truth, context and levels.  

I haven’t seen the news in well over a week now. They throw it over the fence of a morning, they whore it out hourly on TV and radio and the concerned folks feel the need to remind of me of what I’m missing, but I’ve been strong. Friends not aware of my latest venture get a shock when I shout, ‘News’ and then pounce out of the room, like a possessed, lanky and determined Doofas. Nicky has to assure them that I don’t have a mental illness but rather, I’m out to avoid one. It’s a tough sell and whilst she’s doing her best, in their eyes I’ve entered crazy town and bitten the mayor on the ankle.  Be that as it may, (a phrase I think you can only really say whilst wearing a three piece, holding a pipe and carrying a monocle) the fog is lifting and the results have been confronting and amusing.  

I have The Shadow of doubt that has probably always been there but now without the distraction of the news, it reigns supreme. Each morning it vents into the mirror deconstructing the lines on my face.  ‘That crevice in your forehead suggests you haven’t paid your bills Adam...or reached your potential!’ 'That hurt'. ‘Did you...did you pour water down your cock?’ 'Maybe. Jesus Shadow lighten up.' I tried to kill it by buying a meditation CD. After three days of telling my friends that I was 'getting into meditation', that they should try it, The Shadow pointed out that, as usual, I was full of shit. I put the CD in. I closed the curtains. I sat down. I briefly fantasised about becoming a guru. As the Shadow blurted out 'Cockhead' I pressed play. Proving the universe has a sense of humour the CD began to skip and got stuck repeating 'You are' over and over. 'I am what?' I angrily yelled as if my 1998 Sanyo had a divine quality. I soon realised that what I was, was in hysterics.   

How many people, set to rid themselves of insecurity and anger, have ended up being heckled by their own meditation CD? Six people? Maybe seven? Either way I'm in an exclusive group. The best bit is that this all happened on the 21st of May 2011; a day some believe to be the end of the world. So if I was to assess my life by how I handle dooms day prophecies, as is the vague theme of this blog, I'm still the same old me. I even spoke to my mum. It was her birthday the day before and she had to phone me to remind that I'd missed it. 'Doofas'. 'Shut up Shadow.'

To be continued...