Aren’t static straps just mad? A licorice strap made of rubber, with a wire running down the middle. One end is bolted to the back end of your (car’s) undercarriage, and the other end drags on the ground as you motor along. Supposedly the straps earth a vehicle and prevent car sickness, but they’re about as effective as crystals, anti-wrinkle cream, prayer, and sure-fire gambling systems. Nevertheless, Peter Brock, Paris Hilton, Tupac Shakur and Roy Orbison are said to have believed in them and even had straps fitted to their actual persons, somehow.
They were a big hit back in the sixties, appealing especially to hoons, who’d try anything to stop their girlfriends throwing up on the dashboard. Folks still buy them today ‘to prevent wind turbine cancer’, and grey gonads use them to ‘defeat caravan twitch’, proving conclusively that hope springs eternal and dope springs imbecilic.
So why would I be shopping for a static strap? Well, I’ve been doing up this 1964 Nissan Cedric to display in Bonalbo’s putative Nissan Cedric Museum, and I thought it might be a rare hoot if I ironically whacked on a genuine vintage sixties static strap.
Good old Gumtree. A ‘Miss Debi’ in Evans Head had the genuine article for a reasonable price, so I committed in a trice. Sadly, ‘Miss Debi’ turned out to be a scammer, and ‘Evans Head’ turned out to be the town of Nvichyk in Bulgexico. ‘Debi’ (real name Mr Puto) wanted to charge me ‘reasable rate of eternational postage’ ($5640) or ‘reluctanley sue me in the ass for britch of contrats’.
Well, that got my dander up. ‘Fie, Mr Puto Pup, you dirty dingo scam buzzard! Fie!’ But then I saw a top opportunity to turn a negative into a mission. I would try to de-scam the scammer.
Using our mutual interest in Nissan Cedrics as a touchpoint, I let Puto know that, although he could take a flying ferret ride as far as doing any business was concerned, I would nevertheless be mustard keen to get stuck into some manly dialogue and cross-cultural fat chewing.
Puto’s response? ‘You the mad guy for true, but I will roll you this baby, hoy hoy!’
And so I’ve learned quite a bit about Bulgexico. It’s an actual country within Russia. Who knew? It is currently owned by an oligarch, Yvgeny Trashko, and his wife, the American MAGA politician, Tiffy Taylor-Tash. They won Bulgexico from Putin in a card game. They also won Florida from Trump in the same card game, but he denies that he lost.
Bulgexico is a land of swamps and ravens. Chief exports are donkeys, pickles, scams and meth. The fledgling kookaburra-smuggling industry struggles because kookas are pretty scarce over there. Their unit of currency, the zlot, is made of rubber, and worthless.
The state religion, Zranto, blends the Old Testament with modern conspiracy theories. Priests collect and bless conspiracy theories, then the worshippers memorise and chant them. There’s a lot of dressing up. Bright colours. Puto loves it.
‘Be more fun than you savvy, Bullboy. I fixin’ to be a Zranto influeza in the online pretty hurriedly for dams sewer. Pretty soon I being viral Pope etc.’
Puto says he is called Puto because there is a baby bonus if parents name their child after Putin. He has three sisters called Putina. He says that Bulgexican men are, without exception, ‘wise’ and the women ‘active’ (whatever that means).
Bulgexican culture is very rich and under-appreciated, especially by the Bulgexicans.
They do love to dance, however, and dance fast, jigging about like tasered grasshoppers.
Puto sent me a recording of the traditional melody, ‘Brfunty Yip’ (Then Send For Mother).
The words go something like this:
I can tell from your wild dancing
That your back and legs are strong
I really want my mother to see you
because she has the final say
Ay ay ay
Yip hey
Yip hey hey hey
Yip
I know you have what it takes
To see to the farm, the mule and the meth lab
while I have to be away
having customary drinks with my man friends
Ay ay ay
Yip hey
Yip hey hey hey
Yip
Life must be hard for you
nothing to do but dance, and study at the college
I can offer to you a real life
As long as Mother is on board
Ay ay ay
Yip (and so on)
I sent Puto some photos of Australia and the Northern Rivers and spruiked the (legal) job opportunities out here. He seems very interested in Mallanganee, Wiangaree and Brisbane in particular. ‘These places not so swampy, and villagers being ripe for the pluckings.’
Obviously, Puto is a work in progress.
A lesson to us all.
Bullgoose
and then