Corinbank Postery Madness
There were many Rats who helped-out the Corinbank Festival to make it a success in 2008. Much planning, hard labour, sweat, poo and wee... and many beers of course!
Many postering Rat Runs were undertaken regularly around Canberra's Inner North, with several injuries occurring in the line of duty. Large groups of Rats regularly patrolled the streets to promote the cause and raise awareness of this most amazing festival, usually putting large posters high on lamp posts and the like from the back of Bloody Mary's utility tallbike Yo Moma.
On this particular night it was left to our heroes Father Knob and Nancy Porker to do a low-key Rat Run, allegedly distributing Corinbank flyers at watering holes around town.
Starting early, Knob and Porker began drinking a notorious Holy Water blend as they sped through the intoxicating spring air. After visiting several establishments, they ended up at a pub filled with busty, makeup-ridden chicks wearing high heels and way too much taffeta.
It was all too much for the Nancy as they approached...
Starting early, Knob and Porker began drinking a notorious Holy Water blend as they sped through the intoxicating summer air. The Rule was: One poster up = one swig of holy water. It became evident very early on in the piece that there was not going to be enough holy water, so a route was chosen to ensure 'The Rule' could be met by substituting holy water for any commercially available alcoholic product.
The city proved fruitful with a gazillion posters plastered and many beverages being served by the plentiful establishments. However, the plan came horrifically undone travelling through ANU when no dispensing outlet could be found and about 3,038,392 posters were plastered on any flat surface available. Upon arriving at the busty-makeup-clad-chicks-wearing-high-heels-and-way-too-much-taffeta stricken All Bar Nun, it was decided that the poster debt should be repaid. One pint of ale, one pint of cider, and several vodkas were consumed in under 4.56 minutes by each posterer before hastily resuming the mission.
Porker began handing out flyers to the All Bar crowd as he left from high above on Secret Mens Business. One of the aforementioned busty-taffeta clad drongos starred like a wombat in headlights for what seemed like an eternity before finally grabbing the flyer from his downstretched hand, only for Nancy to then look up without enough time to avoid ploughing nose first into the pub awning. Much to the amusement of the post-grand-final footy crowd, the resulting coat-hanger left Porker on the deck. Thanks to 'The Rule' the first Porker knew of the sizeable gash to the bridge of his nose, was not even a hint of pain, but rather the horrified look of the taffeta chicks and the warm sensation of blood across most of his face.
Receeding to the dark alley around the corner, Knob assessed the damage before quickly aquiring the pub's first aid kit with the simple rationale that we would not sue if the pub decided our needs were more important than those of a thousand blind footyheads hungry for their 37th schooie of the evening. The hospital and stitches was the recommendation, but Porker decided hosiptal was for pretty boys and the mission must go on! More posters! After all, "a rule's a rule", and the establishments would be shutting before too long.
A quick pit stop at the Rats Nest ensured that it was duly postered and the front door was celo-taped shut (seemed like a good idea after a gazillion posters).
By the time Knob and Porker had finished Dickson things were way past messy. Knob misinterpreted Porker cutting infront of him as an act of provocation, and the ensuing game of high-laughter, high-speed footdown through the back alleys ended ugly. Knob's swift cut infront of Porker took out Porker's front wheel at over 35km/h and left him slidding across the road and into the gutter.
Before Porker could regain consciousness and tell if anything had been broken, a smashed taffeta chick appeared from seemingly nowhere —all excited about the bikes and wanting a ride. Knob tried to explain that scraping his mate off the pavement was a little more important than letting her ride the bike at the present moment. Egged on by the carload of her girlfriends, she climbed INSIDE (?) the frames of his bike, smearing her nice taffeta with chain grease. It was only when Porker dropped his pants, first to the screams of delight from the carload, then horror when they saw the blood oozing from his buttcheek, that she eventually decided that she didn't want a ride.
Now waaay past the limit for a trip to the hospital, they decided to go and wake Limp Jimmy at the Bike Tardis After Hours Emergency Clinic.
Porker: "Let me in (don't worry, I am not a madman)!"
It was with much anger and spite that Limp left his warm bed to see who the fuck was smashing on his window in the early morning darkness. Much to his latent amusement, he saw 2 grown men rolling around on the ground laughing madly — one had his pants around his ankles. "Rat Patrol" he thought...
Once the pair gained access to the Bike Tardis, a sober diagnosis was given: "It could probably do with a good clean and a couple of stitches...". The response was no great surprise: "Fuggit, let's have a beer and a smoke instead."
A couple of hours later, they all managed to get a bit of shut-eye before work the next day...
Moral of the story? There is none.
The duo show handle bar damage done to Secret Mens Business. Difficult to see from this angle, but the bars were quite bent (alegedly).