Survival Situations and Me.

Hey you! Yes you, I see you there... Here's a question you've always asked yourself but never known the answer to... What do you get when you cross Rambo with Batman then if Chuck Norris, Steven Seagal and Jacki Chan were to have a love child, meet Batbo (or Ram-man... or Rambat....) and then procreate? Well what would you get?... You would get me my friends. Let me explain...

I am a survival expert. Ever heard of Bear Grylls? Possibly could be that I taught him everything he knows... Impressed? There's more... Ever heard of Bruce Lee? I taught him how to do that kick thing where he kicks people really hard... Ever heard of Jean Claude Van Damme? I've seen some of his movies (he didn't turn in any Oscar worthy performances, but overall he contributed effectively to the action genre in the early to mid 90s). Ever heard of Val Riazanov? NO!?!? Neither had I until I google searched his name looking for awesome people to pretend to know and have taught something to.... Anyway, whether I taught them something or not, I stand up against the great men of the modern era as an expert at being awesome.

This all started a few months ago when I injured my knee, requiring surgery... Being of sound mind but muted body (or whatever the opposite of "sound" is) I had to do something to keep myself occupied... That took on the form of addiction. Now I'm not talking about drugs as I'm sure heroin would give me nose bleeds and cocaine would give me a jibbly stomach, hence I've never tried them. Couple that with the fact that a). they're illegal, b). they don't suit my lifestyle choices and c). I've never had to go around murdering prostitutes... I'm not even talking about alcohol or gambling... I'm talking the second most addictive thing of them all (just behind Facebook)... Ebay.

It caught my attention as I lay bored on my couch in my underwear that I had never found myself in a survival situation, where every decision, every action, every second counts. What would happen if I were to need to evade enemy troops in hostile lands? What would happen if I would need to trap a rabbit using two sticks, a piece of rope and my cunning? What would I do if I was lost out at sea for months at a time, having to live off my own urine and eating parts of my own arse? Does arse need to be cooked? What's its expiry time out in the open ocean? Is sun-dried arse even a viable option!? These questions before Ebay, I could not answer, and it occurred to me that the likelihood of these situations/moments occurring get drastically closer with every day that I go on living (at least the odds certainly don't get any lower with each day of living.)

This is where Ebay gives me a leg up, lends me a hand and ships me other body parts of my choosing for a dollar and four cents to every American dollar (at the moment).

I found myself on Ebay drastically searching for items that would come in handy facing these arse* eating (or worse!) situations***. I quickly located a Bear Grylls hunting knife, some flint, a survival bracelet with inbuilt compass (capable of taking up to 500 pounds of pressure) and the ultimate of ultimates:

AN ENTIRE CD ROM SURVIVAL GUIDE!!!!!!

This brilliant CD has taught me so much, packed full of such pdf. files as: Checklist for cold climates, checklist for hot climates, Ho to survive, survival kit of how to survive cold weather/hot weather/overwater/underwater/in water/above water/drinking water/seeing water/gargling water/leaking water... and one pdf. just entitled "SURVIVAL"...

Now I would assume if this was to be read out in a movie dramatic music would sound dramatically at this point, dramatising the drama of the one word title all about survival. Just a little bit of "DUN, DUN, DUN" can surely be imagined by you, the bloggee, as well as zooming in on the word "SURVIVAL" at this point. I'm not too sure what the pdf. entitled "Ho to survive" is all about, and I haven't opened it to look yet, but this is clearly telling me to sell myself in the most extreme circumstances if required.

You'd think that this would be enough wouldn't you? That I could survive any situation now with my knife, flint, survival bracelet (with inbuilt compass)... but you forget one thing my bloggee friend... ZOMBIES. That's right, I also have a ZOMBIE survival guide coming my way to help protect myself from those pernicious bastards who are out to eviscerate me.... The trouble with Zombies is that now instead of worrying about eating my own arse in this survival situation, I have to worry about many of the living-dead attempting to eat my arse too... And we all know with every day that goes by the chances of these walking brain-dead doofuses taking over the world increases.

So if ever you're in need of survival advice turn to me, for I have all the answers now. I can survive any situation now after all my ebay purchases, and even if they're situations far beyond my level of boldness, heroism and bravery I at least had the foresight to buy 5 pairs of Calvin Klein underwear (for just $30!). Bring on the fear of a survival situation I say.

Blogger out.

* Apologies for using the word "arse"** so often...

** Apologies for using the word "arse" again...

*** I probably shouldn't define the quality/level of danger of the situations by which part of my anatomy I need to devour to live... How can you really gauge these situations using anatomy anyway? Is a high level survival situation gauged by eating your whole arse, a few of your toes and a kidney in comparison to just chewing on your lightly-salted arse for a few hours when you can't find your car in one of the 10 levels of your local shopping centre (low level survival situation)? Seems absurd to make such a rating scale.

A tale to be told.

Hi, today you're in for a treat. Usually this is just a "machine gun" blog... By that I mean that usually I'm just holding my machine gun (blog) in one hand firing insanely into the air whilst yammering " AY YA YA YA YA YA YA YA" attempting to hit something of interest, or something humourous at the very least. I guess your laughter is similar to the killing of infidels (or at least low flying birds, bats, people on hang-gliders and other air-based, flight-able creatures) if I were to continue with the analogy. But not today! No, not today my friends. For today is a day for telling stories. I want to bring you a story that happened to a friend of a friend of mine.... Sit back, relax, dim the lights a little, have a little red wine, scratch yourself and enjoy... Before I go any further I'll tell you that I'm taking poetic licence with the names of the characters involved and I'm not 100% sure on the details of times and place names to the nth degree but otherwise this is a 110% true story.... Ok, go through your relaxation bit again and enjoy....

It all started when Chris and Jane decided to let Chris choose lunch. It was their last day in Spain and they were heading out in just a few short hours, flying off to London, England for the last week of their European holiday. They had enjoyed Spain and it was Chris' turn to choose the restaurant, so he in true Aussie male style chose something not Spanish at all and opted for Indian.

We fast forward a few hours later and Chris and Jane are waiting for the plane. Now this is one of those "go to it, 'cos we can't be stuffed getting it to come to you" type airports where you get to walk out onto the tarmac and climb the stairs to the plane. As the couple headed for their plane across the tarmac, Chris felt a bit of a rumbling in his stomach. This intensified with each step, so much so that they reached the stairs and at this moment, with one hand holding the stairs he doubled over in pain and signaled the air hostess.

"Sir, are you feeling alright?", she inquired, coming back down the stairs toward him, glancing at him, then at the 70 odd queue of passengers behind him, then back at him.

"Hun?", Jane chimed in, always the caring wife.

"I think I ate a little something funny... I'll be alright, I just need... Oh... Oh NO. Ohhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh".

It was at this stage that Chris began to defecate himself. And when I say defecate himself, I mean he emptied his bowels in his pants. He pooed, he crapped, he soiled.

The line of passengers boarding the plane stood still, staring. Jane stood beside Chris looking wide-eyed at her doubled over husband, pooing his pants and repeatedly saying "Sorrrrryyyyy.... Aggggghhhhhhhhhhhh".

People could begin to see fecal matter seeping out the ends of his long pants, filling and eventually spilling out of his shoes.

At this point no one knew what to do. Chris had finished, Jane stood looking at her husband like a deer in headlights, some passengers looking away, others were practically rolling around on the tarmac laughing whilst the entire planes crew including the pilot had gathered at the top of the stairs to watch a grown man become the mayor of brown town on the airports tarmac. Time stood still. All of Chris and Jane's clothing was in their luggage, placed onto the plane already.

Time unfroze and a few of the crew brought Chris his luggage, and a few towels to hold up around him so he could remove his ruined attire. Other crew members motioned the other passengers onto the plane, shuffling past a red faced, brown clothed, toilet smelling man and a wife that couldn't quite look anyone in the eye.

They had to bin Chris' clothing, throwing out even his crap filled shoes and eventually getting Chris and Jane onto the plane an hour and a half later than when it should have taken off.

It was a long and smelly trip to London for Chris and Jane, particularly as everyone in the plane continued to give them both looks. From time to time an air-hostess would come along the aisle and spray something into the air, and every 20 minutes Chris would feel a rumble in his stomach, let out an exclamation of "Oh no!" and run up the aisle to the toilets getting there just in time to relieve himself in the appropriate facilities.