ERROL PARKER | Editor-at-large | Contact
A Betoota Heights man has today reached the point that all Australian men reach at some point in their lives where they consider buying themselves a used Postie bike.
Oscar Munro, a 32-year-old city worker, is in the process on consolidating his life.
He is now married, in debt to the Commonwealth Bank to the tune of $740 000 and is now down to one car. A car that his wife, Des (Desiderata), uses almost exclusively.
Like many young men before him, he is at one of life’s great intersections. Should I buy a motorbike, a normal bike or a 2008 BF Fairmont Ghia? Or should I just commit to getting public transport like some sort of stupid, effeminate leftie?
Sitting on the couch yesterday evening, he mulled that over in his mind as they waited for Hard Quiz to finish and the news to start.
“I don’t really want to get a real motorbike, you know?” he thought.
“But I would like being able to park anywhere and to weave through traffic. Maybe I should get a postie bike? They look like fun. But what if we have kids? You can’t ride a motorbike and have kids, it’s just not responsible. Well, how much trouble could I get myself into just potting about down with 110cc between my legs? Probably not much?”
“Or should I get a pushbike? I wouldn’t get an e-bike because, you know, they’re a bit, you know. Maybe I should get a normal bike? It’d be good to get some exercise in before work but then you’d have to have a shower and do all that shit when you got in there. I can’t be fucked doing that. But, it’d give my heart a good rogering, which is good,”
“Or should I just be a man and get a Fairlane? I’d try to find one with leather seats, the V8 option. No dual fuel because again, you know, autogas is, you know. Low KMs, nice colour like maroon or that Catholic burgundy. Put a nice dual system on it. Maybe a new cam. Cold air intake. Darkest legal tint. 10 stack CD player in the boot. Smoker’s kit. I don’t need Apple CarPlay or any of that rubbish. I’m a man, not a little boy. I’d get auto, though. It’s going to be my town car, not my hoon car. But where would I park it? It’d be a cunt to keep on the road, too. Unless I get on the spanners myself. Maybe,”
“Not sure.”
More to come.
