Monday, 29 June 2009

Comix collection Part 1

I've been meaning to this for ages.
This is a sample of some of my "underground comix" collection that dates from the late 60s to early 70s and reprints from the late 70s and early 80s.
I haven't bothered listing who's in what or dates, at this stage I just show the wonderful cover artwork.
I hope to put up several more as time passes.

Dopin Dan Dopin Dan 2 Dopin' Dan Today's Army
Flamed Out Funnies
Furry Freak Brothers #1 Furry Freak Brothers # 3
Furry Freak Brothers # 4 Furry Freak Brothers # 6 Furry Freak Brothers # 7
Furry Freak Brothers # 12 Wonder WartHog Fat Freddy's Cat
FFB Idiots Aboard #1 FFB Idiots Aboard #2 ROP Comix #4
ROP Comix #6 ROP Comix #8 ROP Comix #10
ROP Comix #11 ROP Comix #12 ROP Underground Classics
Give Me Liberty

Harold Hedd

Hitlers Cocaine #1

Harold Hedd

Hitlers Cocaine #2

Cocaine Comix #1 Cocaine Comix #2 Cocaine Comix #4

Fog City Comics #2 Fog City Comics #3

Monday, 22 June 2009

My first encounter with Hunter S Thompson and how he changed my holidays Part 11

This is the last part of the true story of how My friend Martin and I spent a holiday in Queensland under the influence of beer, weed, anonymity and Hunter S Thompson.


My first encounter with Hunter S Thompson and how he changed my holidays Part 11

*Home and Epilogue*

We had to go home on the Sunday so we just hung out with the Family, as it would be some time before I would see them again.

We went shopping so Martin could find a new pair of jeans. He still couldn’t understand what happened to his underpants , we also bought some presents for the girls.

Rob gave us a treat on Saturday night by pulling out a high powered Slug Gun and we spent all night with a torch blowing away Cane Toads in the back yard.

It was the ultimate revenge for Martin even though we had to collect all the carcasses on Sunday morning before we left.

The bus station was a sad affair because it would be 12 months before I saw Lin and the kids again. It would be under less celebratory circumstances than this trip.

Rob would get some wild hair up his arse and want to become a teenager again and desert them in another six months - no one saw it coming - especially Linda and the kids sadly.

We climbed on the bus and came face to face with Ron again. He pretended we’d never met and we accepted that as forgiveness.

It didn’t matter, the trip back seemed so much shorter because we managed to sleep so much easier.

Our bodies were just giving in.

After I returned to Melbourne I managed to devour most of
Hunter S Thompson’s books and continued to enjoy his works as time progressed. I still do today.

I was surprised that he committed suicide in 2005 until I read a few more articles. The man had lived like Hemmingway and died like him. There was no way he was going to pushed around in a wheelchair and not be part of the lifestyle. In the end it was an addiction.
Not just the drugs, guns and cars.
The whole attitude.

I realized after the holiday I didn’t want to live like Hunter and only started writing again this year after a very long layoff,

As for Martin he became a printer for various companies, still is.

He never managed to get jailed (which at one stage in his life was a strong possibility) but did loose his licence for a long time (another funny story how he lost it and why he couldn’t get it back)

He was best man at my wedding in 1991 and he looked marvelous, Trimmed beard, suit , short hair.

Then about 2 years after that he had a lifestyle change (if possible)

These days he rides a 18 gear tricyle around has hair and a beard around his waist (it’s still vivid red) and a nose piercing.

Still loves his weed and the blues. Two things I have no tolerance for anymore.
He is still single.

He sees my Mum still and my younger brother a bit but I haven’t had physical contact with him for nearly 3 years.

Which will change soon - if I can arrange it.

Thanks for those who shared this journey.

It was a great stroll down memory lane after a being jolted out of my memory banks after a few unrelated incidents got me thinking.

So in no particular order thanks to Mr Khan, Bill Bryson, my old photo collection under the bed, My friends Jimmy and Martin and the memory of Hunter Stockton Thompson (deceased).

Monday, 15 June 2009

My first encounter with Hunter S Thompson and how he changed my holidays Part 10

This is the true story of how My friend Martin and I spent a holiday in Queensland under the influence of beer, weed, anonymity and Hunter S Thompson.
This should keep my blog full for a couple of months.

My first encounter with Hunter S Thompson and how he changed my holidays Part 10

*The Gold Coast Experience (Stage 2)*

While we were getting comfortable in our Motel room we invented a game to play, it involved the lead of the electric kettle to the handles of the bed side drawers ,which made a pretty good sling shot to shoot the Pink Panther that we had tied by the tail to the light fixture. We used empty beer cans as ammunition. It was a game of skill where one of us tipped the doll and set it swinging and the shooter had to hit it in the white part of its chest.

It kept us amused for some time.

Martin who got so excited at one particular shot tried to recreate his old back flip trick he used to do at home.

He actually accomplished it but lost his footing and crashed onto the floor and put his elbow through the plaster wall.

The wall was the only thing that sustained any permanent damage.

We only left the Motel room once more that afternoon to get some take away food and continue watching bad TV, shooting beer cans, smoking and talking amongst ourselves.

We decided earlier we were going to go to the venue about nine o’clock and as the time came closer I had to admit to Martin that I was pretty much cactus and didn’t think I could handle a night out now.

Martin smiled and said
“I got that covered” and produced something - and for the sake of my Mother if she ever reads this- it was of dubious gain and dubious mixture, but it did the trick.
We left the room in a frightful mess but thankful we had somewhere within walking distance to crash.

As soon as we hit the carpark Martin came up with the idea that since Bombay Rock was behind our Motel and that there was only a vacant block separating them , it would be a short cut.

So without any investigation he climbed the fence (it was quite dark at the back of the property) and jumped over.

I heard a loud smash and lots of swearing. I rushed to the fence climbed a rail and looked over.
From what I could see it was a good ten foot drop and there seemed to be piles of scaffold stacked near the boundary.

This is what Martin dropped right on top of.

I tried to see if I could help but he managed to unhook himself and after assuring ourselves that he wasn’t seriously injured arranged to meet at the venue.
Martin could take his short cut and I’d take the safe way.

As it turned out I beat him there because he had to limp all the way.

He also discovered he had a big rip up the arse of his trousers, which he hid by tying his jumper around his waist.

To our relief the entrance didn’t have a bouncer out the front and the tickets were sold via a lady in a booth, so no one questioned our – or more importantly Martin’s – appearance.

It was only half full so there was plenty of room to move. The bands for the night were called The FIXX. A touring British band who had a song in the charts and was capitalizing on it and an unknown local band that will remain unknown because I still don’t remember their name or performance.

The bar was our first port of call and what a wonderful readymade idiot proof piece of work it was. The set up was troughs of beer in ice protected by a sneeze guard type plastic cover.
Each trough had either XXXX, Fosters or Victorian Bitter beer cans piled in it, so to order you gave the bartender $1.50 and asked for either a Blue a Green or a Yellow.

Martin decided he would shout the first round and pulled out his wallet in the most crowded part of the venue and did his stupid flick the wallet trick.
I looked in horror as I could only assume was our Motel key disappear under 200 sets of legs.

We looked at each other, confirmed the fact that Martin was a moron and decided it was a problem we would deal with later.

By now the speed had kicked in and we were feeling a second lease on life, and for some reason I just didn’t feel like hanging with Martin.

Before too long I was chatting with a group of people and it soon became clear that no one who was at the venue actually lived in Queensland, we were all tourists, all out on a bender. It made it easy to have a good time when everyone else thought like you did.

Now I could fill you with all kinds of stories how I was surrounded by women and everyone listened to my witty banter but it would be bullshit, I can’t remember a thing except all the toilet doors had been removed from the cubicles in the toilets. I only remember the lights coming on the bands had left the stage and a loud ringing in my ear.

Almost as if by magic Martin appeared beside me and said
“Good night wasn’t it” I think I agreed.

Now the next part I do remember because it sobered me up.

It involved standing in the cold trying to figure out how to break into our Motel room.
We weren’t allowed to take our beers out of the venue and all our beer was in the room.
I was dehydrating and using cigarettes to warm myself’.

After nearly three quarters of an hour of watching Martin try and pick a lock with two twigs I realized - why don’t we just tell the Inn keeper or whatever the fuck he was called and get a new one.

That simple thought seemed to brighten us up measurably and went to smack the bell at reception.

We only had to do it once and the same guy came out looking no different in grooming or dress.

“We lost our key” I said hoping he’d understand.

“What room?” he asked.

I told him

“Extra $5 plus $5 bond” he said

“Deal” Martin and I said going through I pockets and left a whole heap of notes and change on the counter. I took the key. This time it had a very large yellow tag attached.
I don’t remember much after that other than cracking a beer, pushing cans and rubbish of my bed and feeling warm again.

We were woken by the high pitched squeal of the alarm.

Martin must have been a bit more alert than me because he had set the clock radio and crawled under the sheets, something I hadn’t managed to do.
The clock said 9.30 AM.

I crawled off the bed and struggled with the stupid thing until I unplugged it from the wall. Then realizing Martin had hardly moved I kicked his mattress.

“Get up , we’ve got half an hour to piss off” I croaked.

I saw Martins underpants thrown over a chair and remembering he slept naked, picked them up , walked over to the door and threw them outside in some bushes.

I don’t know why, he must of done something to warrant it but I didn’t feel like consulting my list.

Looking back upon the room was a Jackson Pollock nightmare.

There were beer cans, food rubbish, beer spray and a large Pink Panther swaying in the breeze of the open door. Martin’s radio lay smashed in the middle of floor. Martin must of forgotten how to operate the easy latch last night and used his boots.
I went into the bathroom and splashed my face and washed myself as quick as I could.

When I came out Martin was frantically searching for something with a sheet wrapped around him.

“I just saw the Motel guy and his going into the rooms to clean, if he sees this we’re fucked” I had to agree with Martin, this would take some explaining if we were still here when he walked past.

Martin couldn’t find his undies and decided his beloved drug smuggling radio had out lived its purpose. The Pink Panther was to be sacrificed for a quick getaway
We left the room as the Motel keeper was entering the room two doors down from ours. Martin and I strolled confidently up to reception placed the key on the desk and ran into the pedestrian traffic for cover.

We had an hour before our bus left so we thought we’d get breakfast at a coffee shop.

We asked to leave when the lady behind the counter pointed to Martins lily white arse hanging out of his jeans.

He tied the jumper back around his waist and we went to another a couple of doors down. Where I thought it would be a great idea to have a bacon and fried egg sandwich, which I promptly threw up in a bin on the foot path.

We caught the bus back to Brisbane without incident and slept most of the way back,
I remember waking up and trying to read bits and pieces from my Hunter S Thompson book and saying to Martin

“How does the bastard do it?”

I must have said it a little too loud because a lot of heads turned to my voice, except Martin who was drooling on himself.

Lin was at the bus station to greet us and laughed till she cried, she was so pleased the children were being looked after, because they would never sleep in the house again if they saw Martin like this.

She asked what had we got up too?

Martin and I replied,

“What happens on holiday stays on holiday”

That evening after a shower , rest and feed we told them everything.

Next week: Part 11 Home

Monday, 8 June 2009

My first encounter with Hunter S Thompson and how he changed my holidays Part 9

This is the true story of how My friend Martin and I spent a holiday in Queensland under the influence of beer, weed, anonymity and Hunter S Thompson.
This should keep my blog full for a couple of months.
My first encounter with Hunter S Thompson and how he changed my holidays Part 9

*The Gold Coast Experience (Stage 1)*

The bus trip was a standard hour and a bit ride down to the Gold Coast and as we alighted at Cavill Avenue it had an air of party about it.
It was colourful and bright.

There was also construction everywhere and in some spots it was in shadow all the time due to the high rise buildings.

Marty and I thought we may as well find somewhere to spend the night but didn’t know where to start, there were a hell of a lot of high rise accommodation and it looked pretty daunting.

We eventually walked into an information shop, one of those ones with a massive blue “i” out the front. Martin walked in and proclaimed

“We need somewhere to spend the night. We’re young and rich”

The poor girl behind the counter took him for his word and then proceeded to show us luxury suites available along the beach front.
After stroking his chin and oohing! and ahhing! a lot I pushed him aside and I took over.
“We’d like to spend some of the money on entertainment, do you have anything in a budget range?”

The girl pulled out another brochure showing more fancy places.

“A bit more budget?” I asked

This went on until she eventually she pulled out a piece of paper with four names on it.

“Try these” she said

We took the list and as luck would have it, across the road and down a short side street was an old style dual level motel complete with car parking out the front of the rooms and white metal balustrade on the second story landing.
All you could see were rows of doors and parked in front of the door where old Holdens and Fords with baggage piled up in the back seats.
It was dwarfed either side by larger apartment buildings while behind was a vacant block revealing more apartments on the other side of the road in the block behind.


It had the “drifter welcome here” feel about it.

Judging by all the buildings and construction going on, this place wasn’t going to survive much longer and it had the appearance that hinted the owners were only holding out for a better price.

It only just reached minimum health requirements.

It was on the list.

We found the front desk and after slamming on the bell for about a minute a tired looking guy in his mid thirties popped his head around the corner, looked us up and down and disappeared again.

We were just about to start smacking the bell again when he returned.

“How can I helps ya?” English was a second language by the sounds of it

“We’d like a room please”

“Which one?” he asked whilst playing with something in his pocket.

“Anything on the first floor would be nice” I replied

He pulled a key out of his pocket and tossed to Martin who snatched it out of the air.

“$30 Check out at 10 o’clock, can’t have the room till 2”

He managed all this without looking at either of us once.

“Deal” I said and gave him the money.

I signed my name Hunter S Thompson.

This is probably where I made my biggest mistake.

I didn’t ask Martin to give me the key.

Martin was the world’s worst key-wallet-small package holder in the entire country.
In his short life span he had had so many keys cut and locks changed because of keys lost- it was ridiculous.
This year alone he had already lost two wallets with all his identification and licenses.

He also had this stupid habit of putting keys in his wallet, which was bad enough in its self, but he would snap open his wallet like a note pad to retrieve the key and nine times out of ten it would fly out of its hiding place and fly across the room.

I would regret that later.

We left the motel content that things were going well so far and decided to look around Surfer’s Paradise and see what it had to offer.

We didn’t have to wait long.

We were trying to get past a pack of pensioners who had just alighted a bus when one of keeled over in front us holding his heart.

Before we could even react two minders had pushed everyone out of the way and giving CPR and slapping his chest.

The funny part about it was all the old folk forming groups and saying things like:

“Knew he shouldn’t raced down the stairs so fast”

“It’s because his always arguing” and shit like that.

I got the impression they were hoping he wasn’t taking the bus ride home.

We side stepped the heart attack guy and were confronted by these gorgeous girls in bikinis and sashes. Meter Maids they were and they put money in nearly expired parking meters.
I was really starting to like this place.

We went in and out of shops that were one of three types: Takeaway food, Souvenir or expensive clothing stores.
Not a lot to capture the imagination.
At least Brisbane had some good Comic and Record stores.

We headed down the beach and found it to clean with lovely white sand.
Scattered with people who looked like they’d been in the sun too long or people who shouldn’t be undressed in public.

It was obvious who the Southerners up for a break were.

The glare was blinding.

After grabbing some food and running amuck on the beach asking people if they knew where the murder had taken place last week (the answer was usually the unsettling “Which one do you mean?”) we popped into Cavill Avenue Amusements which was just one huge pinball parlour/ video arcade.
It also doubled as a pseudo crèche for teenagers on holidays whose parent didn’t want them around for a day.
The parents just gave the kid or kids $20 each and told them to hang around here all day.
It was full of seedy looking characters who kept forgetting that they had asked “If we wanted to buy Smack?” 10 minutes earlier.

We carried on like kids and Martin won a 4 foot Pink Panther. We took it to the bottle shop where we then grabbed a slab of beer and headed back to set up base in our Motel room.

We were in a party mood and started drinking and hitting the weed.

After about two hours we realized we should find out if there was anywhere to go for the night.

Preferably somewhere where the dress code wasn’t an issue.

We didn’t walk far, just around the block and virtually behind our Motel was a venue called Bombay Rock. A late night Rock venue that catered for the tourist trade like us.
We were set.

That would take care of tonight’s entertainment and we went back to the Motel room to binge.

Next week: Part 10 *The Gold Coast Experience (Stage 2)

Monday, 1 June 2009

My first encounter with Hunter S Thompson and how he changed my holidays Part 8

This is the true story of how My friend Martin and I spent a holiday in Queensland under the influence of beer, weed, anonymity and Hunter S Thompson.
This should keep my blog full for a couple of months.
My first encounter with Hunter S Thompson and how he changed my holidays Part 8


The next few days were just for relaxing.

We decided to go and have a look in Brisbane.

It was really weird - beside being nice and clean and having bugger all traffic, they had lines painted down the middle of the foot path so that pedestrians kept to the left no matter which direction they were heading. We waited to cross at an intersection and were highly amused when the traffic went one way, the pedestrian lights said DON’T WALK, then the lights changed for the traffic going the other way but they still said DON’T WALK.
Then it flashed WALK and it was movement in every direction.
People streamed everywhere. Crisscrossing , straight.
I saw some guy waiting to do a U turn and he was too slow his car looked like in was being attacked by ants.
Something you never see at home but it seemed to keep things flowing.

We bought some colourful Tee Shirts to try and fit in but our pasty white skin gave us away.
The public transport in Brisbane was exceptional and you get anywhere you wanted as long as you knew where you wanted to go.
Luckily for us my sister had fistfuls of timetables and brochures for us.

We even headed down to Dreamworld for the day.
Back in 1984 it was still pretty new and a big novelty.

Martin and I loved it.

The place was virtually empty, they had beer in the kiosks and the rides were fantastic.

It was the first time I went on a roller coaster that did a loop the loop , not one but two in a row.
The closet thing I have got to Disneyland so far in my life.

We even bought super size sombrero hats and bull horn bottle openers to hang around our necks.

Which was ultra daggy and downright dangerous on anything that went fast and downhill due to the bottle opener bouncing off your chest and smacking you in the face or the sombrero flicking back and its strap strangling you.

But it was our fashion statement to the great state of Queensland.

Linda didn’t live far from the beach, so a couple of times we even strolled down there and just laze next to the shore and read or just hang out with a couple of beers.
Once Martin fell asleep and I left a note on him saying


And then I walked home.
He woke up to all these school kids throwing peanuts at him, thinking he was a homelss drunk , he woke up foaming and drooling and chased them away.

Obviously no one wanted a rabid stray.

I was continually reading sections of my Hunter S thompson book and decided since we only had 4 days left we should make a concerted effort to get down to the Gold Coast and spend the night.
The HST way.

The HST way meant just Martin and myself no change of clothes or toiletries just us and money.
There was to be no pre organisation except the tickets to and from our destination on the bus. It took me thirty seconds to convince Martin it would be a good idea so we booked our bus tickets and arranged to go the following morning, a Thursday.

We told Rob and Lin that we would call them when we got back to Brisbane and if we liked it may stay another day. Martin insisted that we take his little QANTAS travel bag so he could carry a book and his transistor now only half full of dope. I threw in comb for good measure.

So we had our total requirements for our night out on the Gold Coast.

The Bus left home about 8.30AM so we had a good early start so we were confident we would find somewhere to stay and something to do.

We were young, dumb and one us dangerously stupid off to spend sometime in a strange place the Hunter S Thompson way.

Next week: Part 9 The Gold Coast Experience (Stage 1)