Category: Comedy

Somewhere in Neverland…

It’s that time of year again, that season of seasons, the part of the year where some, not all Australians decide they are going to follow in the traditions and celebrations of our brothers and sisters across the sea. It’s about this time you are all thinking to yourself what in the hell are these guys on about? Have they lost the plot once again? We know it’s the name of the blog but do all of the guys and girls that write for them really have to follow the premise of the publications name? Well that’s a negative but it tends to work in our favour.

So what do pumpkins, sheets and lollies all have in common? Individually nothing but put them all together on one night of the year and you end up with kids running around on sugar highs, mutilated pumpkins and mums good sheets now having holes in them along with the edges taking on a dirty blown hue from being dragged through the streets. Welcome to Halloween. The second best day of the year for all our alternative friends after comicon or Supernova. Another excuse for Man, woman and child to dress up as their favourite character or something scary.

An event that can be a fun family activity or the stuff nightmares are made from if you believe all the horror flicks that have been made. After all it is Halloween and who knows what could be lurking in dark, around the corner or down the drain. Spooky is often the theme of the night and if you believe some of the things on the internet it all started as a pagan ritual and we all know those crazy kooks were into some weird stuff to say the least. But alas the show must go on and we better pump out a blog for you fine people to read or waste some time out of your day pondering whether we are mad or just slightly insane here.

Besides an excuse to dress up and knock on random strangers doors to ask for a treat, cause let’s be honest no one does magic anymore and anyone carry around a deck of cards in their pocket either has a serious gambling problem, is a shark or your local blackjack dealer. What is the premise behind Halloween? A quick search on the world’s largest search engine and 1 Million plus results later, a few clicks and we over at the most reputable website on the net to learn all about why Halloween is celebrated, how it started and why it’s loved by people all around the world now.

Ok what we’ve learnt so far is that the Irish are to blame for Halloween, the Americans also get blame for commercialising it and Christians can cop some flack for trying to turn it into a religious holiday. Halloween is an annual holiday celebrated each year on October 31. It originated with the ancient Celtic festival of Samhain, when people would light bonfires and wear costumes to ward off ghosts. The evening before was known as All Hallows Eve, and later Halloween. Jus so we are all on the same page here’s a definition of what Samhain means. Samhain is a Gaelic festival marking the end of the harvest season and the beginning of winter or the “darker half” of the year. Traditionally, it is celebrated from 31 October to 1 November, as the Celtic day began and ended at sunset.

Now that we know we can use Halloween to ward off ghost does that mean we don’t need to dress up? Of course not all the Cosplay kids would be extremely disappointed if they didn’t get one more opportunity to wear their cleverly created costumes one more time for the year. Halloween allows the young and old to be someone else for the night, to forget about all their worries and disappear under the mask of someone else. Unless you are the dirty old man from down the road and dress up as a giant penis with a pirate hat and start calling yourself the captain.

A further flurry on the keyboard and google was soon directing the team towards the most popular costumes for Halloween 2018, which sadly did not include Donald Trump but did include a few surprises from cows through to avocado on toast along with a list of pop culture costumes some slutty anything and more Britney Spears than anyone should ever see. Adding Australia to that search and we finally hit pay dirt! It looks like our political incorrectness and love for being larrikins leads to what some might say is politically incorrect costumes. Finally Donald Trump got a nod holding his wall high with pride, going as a schooner seems to be popular, any costume with an added appendage that can be flashed, lamps that need to be rubbed and hold the phone a middle eastern person riding a camel.

And people wonder why we get called a racist country. Not only did we invade a land, degrade and destroy a culture whilst keeping them oppressed for far to long but we also take the piss out of every other country. At least they can keep a leader in place for longer than six months before deciding to squabble in their own party because Jim was left out of a decision and now wants his turn at the big boy table.

Meanwhile we are busy preparing to ensure we create some shock and awe through the streets or at the local Halloween party on the 31st. As many Australians don their costume of choice on the night and saunter off to get liquored up at a part or walk the streets with their kids as they munch down their trick or treat spoils. Some may do it a little more traditionally with a bonfire, some candles and a few prays to ward off the evil spirits. All we know is that you can have fun and dress up like a dick for the night in some cases literally.

No doubt we’ll see the cosplayers at their best, the mums and dads with their last-minute efforts and lots of people getting annoyed that their doors are being knocked on by complete strangers for no other reason than to solely get something for free. A little like hawkers that come to your door trying to sell you something. Stock up on the lollies and chocolates folks because Santa Clause could be coming to a town near you. Not sure it’s the best costume but Halloween allows you to be who you want to be.

To the Captain we salute you! Whoever you might be just remember to keep it clean and enjoy Halloween folks, the team here at A Mind of Its Own have decided to go as Vegan T-Rex’s this year in an effort to stay as far away from any politically insensitive topics that may arise from poor costume choices. So from the team we wish you a spooky evening and don’t forget to brush your teeth after all those lollies and chocolate. Mmmmm Chocolate!!! So until next time it’s a solid see you soon and remember if it isn’t fun it isn’t worth doing…

I still haven’t found what I’m looking for…

An open letter to the politicians of Australia, well we’d like to send you one but politics just isn’t our scene as our readers will tell you. We’ve been there tried that and unfortunately we just didn’t get the tee-shirt besides the fact that it would be foul-smelling and stained with tears of our Aussie battlers far and wide. So without further ado we welcome you to this week episode of Australia’s premier blog about life, love and all things real. Ok, ok so this weeks blog is more about searching for love and the things that people will go through to find it.

As this writer sat down last week with his wife to relax after a hard days work in the office ensuring the executives all get there bonuses off the back of the worker drones. The TV was set to channel 10 perhaps the Project was on or something else. We probably had our head buried in a book or were taping out an installment of this blog. Any who reality tv made its way onto the television before us.

So it’s not a new addition to their line up however it is the first time this writer has actually sat through a whole episode and in this case more than one episode. And it is all thanks to one man, one man who has cemented his place in Australia’s sporting history. Perhaps not through his sporting prowess, but certainly through is Aussie Larrikin, down to earth, salt of the earth, surfer boy ways.

Hailing from Australia’s undisputed home of esky lid riding or bodyboarding for those in the biz, that’s business folks. Nick “Honey Badger” Cummins, who was clearly a private school kid seeing as it seems to be a sport for the toffees and only only private school kids seem to play it these days was a former Wallaby, Western Force and according to the Internets sole authoritarian website Wikipedia which is a source of truth for so many high school kids assignments, he also played for the Coca Cola Red Sparks in the Japanese league. For those of you overseas or who just aren’t into sports they are all Rugby Union teams.

Just quickly it’s the game where big men pile on top of each other or get into these things called scrums that look like they are sticking the heads up each others backsides looking for god knows what. They certainly aren’t going to find the god particle up there.

Enter the Bachelor all 99kgs and 189cm of the man affectionately known around the world as the Honey Badger. Not your typical choice for channel 10s premier reality show in which the contestants go looking for love in all the wrong places or in this case women. After last season of the Bachelorette where we saw Gold Coasts Sophie Monk the undisputed queen of the bogans looking for love it should have been no surprise that the boy from Port Macquarie is on our screens.

If you have no idea who the Badge is, you needn’t look too far. Turn on the idiot box and wait for one of those Tradie underwear advertisements to come on. The bloke with the moustache and curly hair with is ears taped back, chiseled like a Greek god who is spouting Aussie phrases. Funnily enough its it’s his use of these colloquialisms and his often brutally honest jokester approach that has made him a hit In a world where athletes with big personalities seem to be repressed.

The Honey Badgers use of colloquialisms to describe situations and or feelings whether they be his own or those of one of the female contestants vying for his love and affection makes the viewing of the Bachelor all the more worthwhile. If you don’t find yourself laughing at his Larkin self you’ll certainly find yourself laughing at the cringe worthy women who are somewhat slowly helping to undo all the great work women have done around the world for women’s rights.

Don’t get us wrong these women are being treated by the Badge with the utmost respect but respect for each other seems to be lacking. Often just moral decency for fellow human being seems to disappear but what can we the public expect when you pit affection starved women against one another for the love of a honey badger. At a mind of its it’s own we can only hope he can tell the difference between a honey pot and a honey trap as a lot of these women seem to be on the show for one reason and one reason only. FAME…

Watching on you see the girls who are there for themselves and have found an opportunity to put themselves in the limelight and then there are the crazy ok there is one who is almost bordering on stalkerish behaviour. The rest are there to see what happens and no doubt looking for love themselves. It wouldn’t make good viewing if there wasn’t drama but “Holy Tamora” as the Badge would say some of these women are busier backstabbing each other than a one-armed bricklayer in Baghdad.

The team at A Mind of Its Own are as nervous as a bag of cats at a greyhound meet for the Badge in his crusade for love. We can only hope this Aussie Legend find the right woman and crosses the line for a bit of meat. That’s short for Meat Pie aka a try another one of Badges colloquialisms used frequently in his interviews from his football days.

Gone are the days where you have to work hard to find your significant other. Courting no longer exists and chivalry is whilst not quite dead is often on the couch where you made it sleep. With technology we have become lazy in our quest for love. Online dating, online matchmaking, hook up apps and even complex algorithms that will supposedly spit out your perfect match within minutes of your application. So with all this available at your fingertips and the risk of being catfished by a big balding, sweaty guy in a foreign country why would you go on a reality show searching for the one?

It’s a question that will no doubt be put to the Badge as he continues his hunt for the honey of his life. In the meantime like us you should sit back, relax and enjoy the laughs with the man as he attempts to whittle down 30 girls to just the one. We could have saved him the hassle and got him together with Sophie they’d make a great pair and both of them are rather funny.

So from A Mind of Its Own if you are looking for love these are the places you are likely not to find it. Firstly tinder is not a place to go looking for love, secondly bars and clubs and thirdly reality tv shows. There are plenty of fish in the sea just dive in and start fishing. We are all scared of rejection but what’s more powerful fear of rejection or fear of ending up alone?

Don’t be the captain that goes down with the ship, take a risk or two, knock a few people out of the lifeboat…

Abandon Ship or Abandon All Hope…

Like discovering a new planet or species of animal, all discoveries require research, so for this week’s episode the team at A Mind of Its Own pulled on their gym shorts donned their singlets that barely cover the bulging beer bellies and laced up our best pairs of dunlop volleys in order to head out and get some much needed exercise. Like a bunch of clowns we jumped into the Tarago and headed off into the Sun, towards the surf and sand, the glitz and glamour of Australia’s home of the cashed up bogan. Welcome to Ipswich!!! Just kidding we are back again on the gold coast looking like a 70’s NBA team with way too much skin showing for middle aged white males.

First of all if you are searching for a McDonalds, KFC and Hungry Jacks what you may have noticed is there is pretty much one on every major street corner. What you might have also noticed is gym’s have become the health junkies fast food franchise. We’d do the maths and give you the average amount of gyms per suburb but it’s just passed whiskey o’clock and our brains only seem to work between the hours of 9 to 5 without the aid of alcohol to drive our cognitive patterns. If it’s after 5pm our filter packs up for the day, our sense of humour comes home to increase the hilarity and our caution to the wind disappears altogether like last nights vindaloo down the dunny in the wee hours of the morning.

Like Roxanne putting on her red light, the gyms are lit up for all to see. There bright advertising invites you to come inside and transform from flab to fab. The reception is generally manned by a beautiful person to show you exactly what can happen if you too come in and spend time sitting in other people’s sweat after they forget to wipe down the machines. As we watched the hard earned pineapples leave our wallet and fly across the counter into the male models chiselled hands, a row of pearly whites flashed a knowing look our way. We began to wonder what drives people to come to these testosterone filled, bloated ego dens. We half expected to walk into the changerooms and transport into an American football locker room with blokes flicking each other with towels and the coach handing out steroid injections.

We’d entered the belly of the beast, there was no turning back now. We needed to soldier on and stop making excuses as our team of unwilling beer guzzlers was lead up stairs to the gym floor. With our tails between our legs we’d have just as soon as run back down the stairs and all the way to the safety of the NSW border then be in this hell. We’d entered a land never seen before… Everywhere we looked, we saw people with no necks and ladies with bigger guns than some of the Australian Navy’s warships. Mirrors adorned the walls with people staring at themselves as they ensure there form was correct. Form you ask? So did we after we questioned how vain all these people were.

Have you ever wondered why a lot of people just refuse to go to the gym these days? Well at a mind of its own we think we’ve found the answer. Enter any gym around Australia… First of all if we got you there you’ve no doubt noticed all the mirrors, what else have you noticed? It’s the dudes with tattoo sleeves bulging muscles, skinning legs and no necks right? Or the older ladies with bolt ons, makeup that looks like its been applied with there tradie husbands trowel and the orange glow of their skin? Or is it the looks you keep getting everytime you go to use a machine that one of the roided up egos has been alternating between when he or she is not staring at themselves in the mirror wondering how they’ll go this saturday night trying to pick up. And some of these people could quite literally pick up other people and throw them around a room in a fit of aggressive passion.

Like crotchety old men we are pushed towards a bench and told to lift some weights. The term “Do you even lift” gets thrown around a little too much and the muscle men in front of the mirror laugh and shake their heads as we strain to get the bar and the meager 5kgs on either end moving in a repetitive nature that the trainer is happy with. By now he is starting to lose his patience with our un-coordinated lack of ability to do anything that resembles bench press. Finally though he wins through and like true professionals we find the exercise for us.

Who knew bicep curls and drinking were so closely related. As we lifted heavier and heavier pretending we were lifting stiens of Germany’s heaviest, sweetest ales to our mouths. The hour session continues to drag out as we move from station to station still perplexed by how serious people are taking their workouts. There are guys throwing around weights channelling their inner Arnie, young ladies who have almost done an hour of nothing but squats as they work their glutes into a Kim Kardashian frenzy for the perfect bum.

Triangles flex in front of the mirrors forgetting leg day for the 100th session in a row. There skinny little legs starting to bow at the strain of carrying around there large muscled upper bodies. The serious gym goers grunt out a session, sweating as they push themselves harder and harder through each exercise while the plastics do just enough to keep there figure and slight tone while trying to wear as little as possible to attract looks from all around. The trainers laugh at their own jokes and talk about their weekends while pushing clients to breaking point. Creepy guys watch on as girls try to work out in peace, no wonder a lot of women go to Fernwood. And then there are the other guys. The ones who just want to maintain their fitness and do it without losing their dignity.

Finally done it’s like a weight has been lifted off your shoulders, in this case it literally has, all those weighted lunges can’t be good for your knees, back and any other part of your body. That deep burn you keep hearing about isn’t so deep as you feel it begin to radiate through your entire body like an oil slick spreading from a crashed tanker. Walking out feeling like we’d been run over by Optimus Prime and the entire Autobots entourage. The pain pain was only going to get worse as we soon discovered. Two days later… enter DOM no not a bloke named Dom who we had a disagreement with whilst at the gym sitting in his sweat but delayed onset muscles soreness or DOMS. It’s the pits and we are starting to see why people hate the gym.

Ok so the gym might not be for everyone, or more importantly gyms on the Gold Coast might not be for everyone. If you like looking at yourself in the mirror, have ridiculous tattoos, drive a car like your part of the fast n furious crew, have no neck and think you are super good looking then the gold coast gym scene is definitely for you. If you want to go and work out without having to deal with all this we suggest you do during the day before lunch or after lunch before work finishes. Or you could always just install your own home gym and be done with the machine hogs.

As we sneak away from yet another session in the gym where our arms and legs are burning and our egos are feeling a little shattered. We hope you’ve enjoyed this week’s installment of a mind of its own, no roid rage was endured or encounter in the making of this blog. We hope we haven’t offended any gym frequenters in our take on Gold Coast gyms. If we have you’ll get over it before the next set is done. For another week it’s over and out and from the team at A Mind of Its Own, you do you champ.

The Dog Days are Over…

Sorry just let me stop chewing on my bone for a second and let my paws dance across the keyboard once again in what will be the second post of my illustrious career with A Mind of Its Own. And what a career it’s been so far! I’ve been undercover on the Gold Coast in order for us to write ‘Our lawyer made us change the name of this song’ and given you an expose on my life as a Border Collie in ‘Every dog has its day’ and I am now following it up with the aptly titled The Dog Days are Over…

That’s right it’s me again the pup with the power to melt your minds. Call me Socks the wonder dog. Boy or Buddy which has been thrown around way to much lately making me start to question whether my name is Socks or Buddy. Where do I begin? It’s been a troubling couple of weeks in which my family keep reminding me that sleep doesn’t come easy and my dreams are somewhat troubled. The man of the house or human as I prefer to call him as I still have plans on taking the mantle from him, is questioning whether he should take me to see the psychiatrist or not. His google search history is interesting enough when he’s not googling “Can dogs get PTSD?”. So to once again give you an insight into my life the Googling started last weekend after an event on the local beach. It wasn’t the first time an incident had occurred along this pristine part of coastline but this one really shook me up.

Let me paint the picture for you! There I was minding my own business cruising down the beach as i do whenever the humans let me free from the leash they are so fond of keeping me on while we are out of the house. I was chomping away at the waves and chasing the stick that somehow kept flying through the air behind me. I said hi to a few of my people and stopped off for a couple of games of chase. All in all I was having a really nice morning with my humans on one of my favourite beaches. Being in a playful mood I thought I’d leave them a nice present to clean up knowing they had once again forgotten to bring along poo bags and would be forced to shamefully bury it or scoop it up with their coffee cups.

As i watched my humans stoop over in shame and begin to dig a hole in which to bury my doings deep within the earth, a wicked grin stretching across my face I notice a good looking Maltese heading my way further down the beach. She was a little older but still an attractive girl. Readying myself I got down on all fours and waited for her to come closer and closer to see if there was any interest in this young pup. Her owners seemed like a nice couple, they looked well travelled and like people who had made the most of their lives to date. No doubt they had a few grandchildren and possibly even great grandchildren. But that’s got nothing to do with the story whatsoever.

So there I am waiting to see if she’ll let me sniff her butt when out of nowhere I hear and feel the thump, thump, thump of sand behind me. Glancing over my shoulder I see a blur heading straight for me like a bullet from a gun. Like the bus company that transports people around Australia and with the same amount of force, a young greyhound slammed into me. Sorry for the swearing but if humans could understand the varying pitches of my bark what they would have got is “Oh fuck!”. I immediately went to into flight or fight mode. Little good it did me as I rolled on my back trying to play dead. Wanting to take flight I freaked out at this rather rough attempt to play and cried out for my humans to help me!

I’m all for rough housing and god knows my brother Banjo cops it from me when we catch up but this was next level. My eyes darted around for his humans, nowhere to be seen. As he flipped me around and continued his frenzied attempts to play, I scurried off to use my humans as a shield. In his moment of delight pinning me to the ground, my new unwanted friend saw my potential girlfriend approaching. All of a sudden the weight pinning me against the cool sand was gone. I was on my feet again, forcing air back into my lungs as quick as I could.

A bark of warning escaped my mouth as I watched it all unfold before me in slow motion. My tormentor had now become hers as he chased her closer and closer towards the waters edge. Looking on in fright I watched as she backed further and further into the water. Waves crashed down around her at times looking like they were swallowing her whole. Humans ran in from all directions. I saw my human crash through the waves thinking he was David Hasselhoff coming to the rescue of some big boob blonde on Baywatch.

Getting a hold of the Greyhound in what became a wrestle, he held on tight like a bull rider in a rodeo as the Greyhound continued his attempts to play with the petrified Maltese. A group of onlookers had now gathered at the shoreline as the poor old lady waded into the knee high water and pulled my frightened, soaked, friend to safety and hugged her in great relief that she was ok. Scared but ok. Ambling down the beach like he had all the time in the world came a little angry man who despite my human’s attempts to be nice and de-escalate the situation was quite rude and asked and I quote “Does no one on this beach have a fucking brain?” again sorry for the swearing but it was a direct quote and couldn’t be avoided.

Much to the shock of everyone now standing around the arrogant, angry, little man didn’t apologise to the elderly couple or anyone else who’s dogs had been terrorised by his playful Greyhound that should have been on a leash as he couldn’t be controlled through simple voice or whistle commands. Storming off back down the beach I let another little bark fly at his back, that I won’t translate for you as I shouldn’t know that language at my age. I ran over and licked my human to make sure he was ok. Still horrified by my first encounter with an over zealous potential friend I sat there accepting pats and giving my humans the occasional lick to let them know they were loved.

I still see the fear in her eyes as she ran attempted to get away from the Greyhound, my fear paralysing me and my dreams haunted by big dogs chasing me. I yelp out little barks in my sleep that are no longer cute and more concerning to my human who is obsessed with finding a solution to all problems on Google. I think they’ve brainwashed him that they can do anything almost like Elon Musk has convinced himself that he’s not an arrogant dreamer who thinks he’s better than everyone else.

So humans be warned! If you fall into either category below I suggest you stay off my beach! If you are an angry human that doesn’t understand why people are getting upset when your dog is over playful and rough with other dogs and thereby terrorising them or a runner who gets angry when we (Dogs) chase after you pretty please stay away from the part of the beach where we are allowed to roam free without a leash to do our own thing! You humans have a whole coastline where you can do your thing. We dogs are given a tiny bit of space on the beach where we can be off the leash to run and play with each other.

We don’t set out to cause harm or annoy you, we are simply just living up to being man or woman’s best friend. Wanting to be around you and play is what we do. We are your constant, most loyal companions so please look after us. So from me I’ll say thanks to all the responsible humans who look after us. Enjoy your week and be kind to the beach and your four legged friends. From the team at a mind of its own, go with peace and thanks for reading yet another installment of the best blog on the Northern Beaches!

Our laywer made us change the name of this song…

Fake tits, big lips, blonde hair and they don’t care, skin shown everywhere! We are coming to live from the Gold Coast. Home of the cashed up, smashed up bogan, the worst sports teams in every code, some of the best beaches in the land and Australia’s home to theme parks. A Mind of Its Own sent a couple of our own reporters into the heart land of the surf coast to get the low down on the land and why it’s so popular with schoolies, New Zealanders and Holden V8 drivers.

Like an insurance company investigator we blended in as well as neck brace being put on in a Centrelink car park. Decked out in boardshorts, a singlet and a pair of thongs, the footwear for all you New Zealanders who fled your own country to come and live across the ditch not the underwear. First thing we noticed was that when you are a pasty white guy who doesn’t spend a lot of time in the gym… you should cover up on the beaches of the Gold Coast. Even the kids were tanned to a nice shade of brown. If i was ever to work for the cancer council the gold coast would be a great place to show kids what happens when you don’t slip, slop, slap.

Brown skin covered the beaches as the UV factor pushed into the red. Banana Boat executives were no doubt sitting in their expensive penthouse apartments looking down at the beaches watching all those dollar signs lather up before tanning away to a crisp. Occasionally you see other whities who need a seriously good dose of vitamin D and to lay off the $5 spirits booze at their backpacker hostel. Yes we made the assumption they were backpackers might of had something to do with their inability to walk straight and take their eyes off the topless airbags trying to rid themselves of last weekend’s tanlines.

As we watched people of all walks of life we began to notice several recurring themes popping up over all over the place. Firstly we noticed more billboards for plastic surgeons than we’ve ever seen in any city in Australia. The odd thing was we didn’t see any women doctors adorning these billboards. Now we are sure they are out there but it is a little creepy that all the plastic surgeons on the Gold Coast seem to be men and the number one surgery is breast augmentation… Not that the clubs are complaining as they pay gorgeous enhanced women to stand outside an lure young men into their venues.

The next thing we noticed was the amount of sheep. Sorry sheep shaggers, they are everywhere. It’s almost as though they look at a map of Australia and go what’s the closest flight for us. Awww true bro it is Gold Coast, they have good beaches hey and lots of women who love tribal tattoos hey bro. Choice hey bro. Nothing against our neighbours from across the pitch just stop claiming you invented everything and moving here. What’s wrong with NZ? It looks great if you are a hobbit loving, sheep shagging, rugby loving, jandal wearing, fash and chaps eating, chilling bin filling clown.

So Kiwis and plastic surgeons aside the next thing that struck us was the amount of hotted up cars being driven around. We tailed a couple at a safe distance expecting to see a well suited Roger Moore type of character to exit the vehicles only to be disappointed by blokes stepping out of them wearing board shorts or tradie yellow. Enter the cashed up bogans. We took along our ‘terp’ or interpreter for those not down with the slang in order to understand a conversation with one of these Ferrari driving tradesmen. We were keen to understand exactly what it was they did for a living that allowed them to drive such a fine machine while having a mullet or rats trail.

As far as conversations goes even our terp couldn’t get past the first couple of sentences of our new mates high pitched slow drawl. We quickly gave up on that idea and decided to watch our new tradie friend buy a six pack of rum crack one before jumping back into his expensive ride and speed off down the street. It wasn’t long before we sat there conducting a high school type math experiment and were counting cars. From our observations and findings it was clear that Holden was winning the car of choice for Gold Coast residents. We aren’t talking your average Commodore we are talking your top of the line V8 SS Commodore.

With it’s meter maids, yearly invasion of school kids making terrible decisions and constant flow of holiday makers hitting it’s golden sands it wasn’t long before the casinos and nightclubs found a place on the surf coast. Formally jupiters now crown and redeveloped it’s a monsterous place of sin that welcomes you and your money only to leave you feeling used and abused as you leave it’s doors 5 minutes later scratching your head wondering what in the hell had happened to all your hard earned cash.

From the bright lights of Surfers Paradise we make our way out to towards the gold coast hinterland? Looking around our rented Holden SS Commodore the faces said it all… The hinterland? Well we were in Helensvale and hanging out the front of Movie World all our favorite DC characters and Looney toons wait for us to enter and get that photo that adornes every family photo album who have visited Australia’s theme parks. You ride a few rides praying that Batman leaves you alone before heading to Dream World where your praying takes on a completely different approach approach. Every god that or higher power suddenly becomes your best mate as you pray the rides don’t break down and kill you.

With most of the themes parks done we look at Top Golf and wonder why they continue to tease us by not opening the doors and allowing us to smash balls at targets. With Wet n Wild and SeaWorld left to explore we decided if we were going to see large mammals in the water we’d head to SeaWorld. Upon entering we cringed at the aquatic beasts in captivity although we thought we might drop Socks off for some training seeing they can get all types of aquatic life to learn tricks they might be able to teach him to gather lunch once in awhile at the office.

Looking for some solace we took to the water only to discover that Maroubra isn’t the only place where the locals think they own the beach and the water. Not wanting to get our heads punched in by several blokes who look like the kids from Hanson and should be singing Mmmbop and not threatening to beat the living shit out of you. So like the latest kookslam video we crashed our way onto shores of Burleigh in a explosion of sand and surf. Greater by a lovely gent in bright red budgie smugglers making sure we were ok. Like a wounded dog we limped back to the car with our tail between our legs

To recap we’ve seen way too much plastic surgery, way too many Kiwis, bogans with nice cars and too much cash, meter maids, schoolies who should never again be allowed out of their own state. Surfers who should be singing pop songs instead of popping skulls and old ducks and dudes who looked more like crocodile skinned handbags. They say first impressions last well lucky enough we’ve spent a lot of time around the GC otherwise we’d have run for the hills and never looked back.

So for all those looking at the GC and thinking it would be a great place to live… Ah maybe just spend a week there and head to some of its less affluent suburbs before deciding to settle down by the beach. You need to be a lover of the Kiwi, a fan of silicone, a ford or holden fan and friends with Mick Fanning if you want to surf Snapper on a weekday. So not at all a bad place if you are laid back, chilled and like the beach and want to support two shit football teams.

For another week that’s A Mind of Its Own! We hope you’ve enjoyed our review of the Gold Coast. If you live there it’s all in jest, if you want to visit please do. After the disaster that was the Commonwealth Games they could do with the commerce.

I Feel Naked Without My Cell…

What a week, the world is buzzing, some things happened, A Mind of Its Own added to its staff. Although we are still trying to work out what role he will play in the organisation other than mascot. Perhaps he can start out in the mail room and work his way up. All I know is he’s getting paid more than me. I know how expensive those premium dog biscuits are I see the transaction on my credit card statement when the other half returns to the office.

So we promised you not one, but two posts this week and we joked about throwing in some steak knives and no seriously we are giving you steak knives. We are however sticking to our promise and delivering a second post. Which will come first you ask? We’ll we have no idea it just depends on how quickly they are edited and what the topics are. Hold on to your hats, grab your gin and tonic and settle in for another adventure with the team as we take you on another journey through this wonderful world.

Saturday night in Australia, something that happens every week, Saturday comes after Friday it’s a no brainer and we are pretty sure it’s on some Gregorian calendar not sure who invented it and nor do we have the time and energy to research it for you. If you are interested just type something into google search folks or ask Siri. Back to the blog, it was your typical Saturday night in Aus, the footy was on with all the various codes splashed across free to air and pay tv respectfully. Social media was once again buzzing and we were busy tapping away at a keyboard while sipping on a glass of Pappy Van Winkle. Oh wait that was just a dream we don’t have disposable incomes here to waste on a bottle of whiskey that is double some people’s salary each month.

While we watched the Swans finally get the chocolates on the hallowed turf of the Sydney Cricket Ground after only managing to string together one or two home game wins so far this season. We promised we’d provide statistics if they were available. Back to the point of this blog. While I did the somewhat manly thing for a change and watched the football, millions of women and men, I know there were plenty of blokes watching their dreams disappear across the pond in London, we received several Facebook Messenger messages regarding the fading dreams.

With millions of viewers tuned in, both men and women watched their dreams disappear with the utterance of just two words. For the ladies that watched on in awe it was the realisation that the dark prince, no wait that was Dracula, that the bad boy of British Royal Family had finally been wrangled and was now a married man. The men saw there dreams of marrying a strong, gorgeous lawyer who knows how to keep a secret and stands up for man disappear in an instant. It’s at this moment that we all remind ourselves that even rangas need love.

So with the latest royal wedding in full flight over on channel nine, our team were way too engrossed in the football to even know what was going on. A quick check of social media told us all we needed to know. Rachel Zane married the ginger royal party boy in a large ceremony that wasn’t at Buckingham palace but at some grand church where a bloke spoke for apparently way too long as he gave his gospel style sermon to the Royals. A lot of Aussies got caught up in wedding fever and hosted dinner parties. Let’s be honest folks it was an excuse to have a piss up but that’s ok in our book.

We’ve just been told that the lovely looking lady marrying Prince Party Fanta Pants is not Rachel Zane and she is certainly not a lawyer. Apparently like millions of men across the globe I’ve been living in dreamland and she’s an actress not a lawyer. This young ladies real name is Meghan Markle and oooweee is she remarkable. Que the roll of eyes and bad dad joke abuse from my wife but hey it had to be said and I’m sure I’m not the only writer to find solace in a dad joke about her last name.

So on to the ceremony… Based on the photos on instagram it was a star wars themed wedding? Prince Party Fanta Pants was wearing his best Imperial officers uniform flanked by his loyal storm troopers and Commanding Officer the other brother that no one remembers because he was too well behaved. Dumbo got an invite? Oh no that’s Prince Charles sorry old chap those ears are getting saggy and bigger with age. The imperial officers uniforms look sharp and before we know it Princess Leia is walking down the aisle escorted by Big Ears himself, it’s at this point I start scanning the crowd looking for Noddy and the rest of the gang. Maybe they’re shy but I’m sure they are there.

It looks like hollywood has come to the party, the cast of suits are there too taking up the back, back rows as are the rest of the star wars cast including Chewie, sorry again our mistake it was just Camilla. None of this actually happened at all, if it had, it would have been the wedding of the year and worth actually watching if it did. Instead there was a wardrobe change at some point and they exited the church looking very dapper. Gone was Meghan’s flour sack princess Leia dress now replaced by a lovely white grown. Prince Fanta Pants has also lost his Imperial officers uniform and has found himself a James Bond tuxedo and is looking sharp.

They jump into a vintage car and drive off to live happily every after, after they throw a big party and Lizzy has a few too many glasses of bubbly before begging the DJ to play the Macarena. That actually happened the car, I mean not Lizzy busting our to the Macarena or doing the worm across the dance floor. It was an amazing prototype Jaguar E-Type roadster, we knew it was an open top car but had to do a little research in order to share with you the exact make and model. What amazed us the most about this vintage Jag was that it had been retrofitted with an electric engine and was as quiet as a mouse, not that you would have been able to hear it over the roar of the crowd as Prince Fanta Pants and the newly appointed Duchess of Sussex left the church and headed off to the reception.

There were plenty of key moments throughout the ceremony from watching one of Macaulay Culkin’s kids hold Miss Markle’s’ dress train as she walked down the aisle. The resemblance to the young actor from the hit Home Alone movies was uncanny. To the BBC taking a swipe at Donald Trump. Most of the Royals were there and at the end of the day there was love in the air. The Duchess of Sussex and Prince Fanta Pants were loving throughout the entire ceremony as they held hands and whispered sweet nothings to each other and then there was the kiss the world had been waiting for. The one that would shatter the hopes and dreams of men and women around the world.

Megan (Rachel to most of us men) was now off the market and Harry (Prince Fanta Party Pants also to us blokes) was also spoken for. So as people shed a tear the world over for something that would only ever of happened in their dreams. The Royal Brat come good had finally met the woman of his dreams. Here at A Mind of Its Own we can only look on in awe that we were able to write this piece without watching one snippet of the Royal Love Fest. Instagram pretty much wrote this for us. So from all of us here at A Mind of Its Own we wish Prince Fanta Pants and the Duchess all the happiness in the world and truly do hope they live happily ever after because who doesn’t love a good story about a Prince finding his Princess on the set of a tv show. So until next week we’ve hope you’ve enjoyed the Royal Wedding addition of a Mind of Its own as much as we’ve enjoyed writing it for you. Oh and Lizzy if you are reading this we are sorry about calling Harry, Prince Fanta Pants.

Just sing like everybody else…

It’s that time of the week again ladies and gentleman, the time where we ask you to take some time, wind down, take some time out of your day, some time to sit back relax and most of all open up a A Mind of Its Own. Read along as we embark on yet another adventure into the wonderful world around us. This week we decided not to venture into the wilderness of unknown mass social gatherings in which we were overwhelmed by the smell of youth and their lack of care over personal hygiene.

I’d love to say we avoided gatherings of youth and poor choices in personal hygiene but alas we did not. In fact compared to where we ended up this weekend our adventures into the world of cosplay and pop culture masses were much more hygienic and less potent on the old nostrils. By now you’re thinking where on Earth did they end up and what did they end up doing? Well the west is about an hour West of the iconic Byron Bay in the little well-known town of Nimbin.

As we drove into town the mental image I had in my head of Bob Marley looking white folk was shattered. Driving through the main street was enough to have me start winding up the windows and locking the doors let alone get out of the vehicle. So we did just that like all good journalist chasing a story in war zone. Ok Nimbin isn’t quite downtown Fallujah. The team and I left the safety and comfort of our vehicle. I must say I was surprised that upon exiting the car that I didn’t receive a contact high from all the Ganja burning being smoked by locals but I honestly could not smell any pot. Yep Nimbin that’s two strikes, you disappointed me once again.

Walking along the main street of Nimbin, ironically Cullen street, surely no relation to any stoner relatives I may or may not have from yesteryear, a couple of things started to occur to me. Firstly everything I had heard about Nimbin was proving to be utterly false and secondly there was probably more ice addicts roaming the streets then the lovable, happy-go-lucky pot smokers. What was going on? It was like watching an episode of Sydney Weekender with Mike Whitney walking around a place that no one would ever want to go.

Midway down the main street it finally hit me that somewhat pungent yet sweet smell (Queue questions from parents and family members on how I know what it smells like. That’s a story for another day but I grew up in Canberra remember where there are 3 things biggest industries are… Weed, Fireworks and the biggest porn trade in Australia, thanks pollies you guys are hypocritically great!)

The highlight of our little walk down the main street proved to be the fire pit next to the pop up medical dispensary that had some scantily clad youths who like, the fire looked a little baked. Ok so there were some stoners still about and they did not disappoint at they swayed to the non-existent mellow tunes playing. One gentleman rapped his way through a crowd of people clearly still feeling the effects of whatever it was that he had decided was good for his system that morning.

Back to that hygiene issue, if we thought pop culture conventions were smelly Nimbin was taking it to a whole new level. I was starting to wonder if plumbing had made its way to into the town. The smell of BO was so overpowering in some parts it overpowered the smell of reefer in the air. Again I was on the hunt for some air freshener or hemp based deodorant, hell I would have been happy to sponsor the whole town as long as they took a shower in a can and regularly used it.

So besides Bob Marley what was it that I was expecting to see in Nimbin? Oh yeah that’s right pot I was expecting to see some Marijuana somewhere or at least a hash cookie or two, heck in a pot brownie would have made my day. The closest we came was the hemp store selling anything you could almost think of made from yep you guessed it hemp. I was tempted by the floppy hemp hats however the idea of this little excursion that just so happened to be by accident was to get an insight to the hinterlands iconic happy town of Nimbin.

The more I think about the more I think I expected Nimbin to be a fun, happy little town, well it was looking quite run down and there were more than one or two people who looked a little sketchy and like they’d be quite happy to mug me for my cash or lack thereof in my wallet.

So no hats were purchased, not cookies, brownies or any other foods containing the sticky icky but we did do a lot of people watching. Feeling unsafe and constantly checking our pockets for personal items Nimbin had made its way onto the list of places we wouldn’t be coming back to anytime soon. We would miss the signs stating how weed was the people’s drug of choice while the government preferred alcohol and tobacco. Yeah we giggled a little at the politically charged billboard.

Here i was thinking this was a haven for people to live an alternative lifestyle, a place where the police turned a blind eye to the use of illegal narcotics. Maybe in the main street but get 10-15 kilometers out-of-town either side and Nimbin was hemmed in by Random Breath Testing (RBT) and drug testing. Smart play by the popo but word was starting to get around town about their shady tactics on a Monday.

After grabbing a coffee and running to back to the car as fast as our feet could carry us, the car was barely in gear before the wheels were spinning and we were racing out of there. Note to any would be bank robbers looking for a getaway car, the Mitsubishi mirage is not the car for you! Whilst it handles the corners quite well it does not have the zip of many other small cars available on the market.

The conversation in the car as we wound our way towards freedom, fresh air and a much-needed warm shower (Pretty sure I kept smelling my own armpits to ensure it wasn’t me that had smelt) turned to the legalisation of narcotics and whether legalising certain substances would stop people turning to ice, meth and heroin or whether it would create further issues for our law enforcement professionals. Legalisation of Marijuana for medical purposes we can see a point to, there is science to back up the claims particularly when coupled with cancer treatments and the like.

Legalisation of other drugs we aren’t so sure on, it may stop a lot of organised crime but it would also cause headaches for law enforcement and medical staff having to pump stomachs of those who overindulged or become heavily addicted. The only upside would be the quality of substance once being controlled and administered through federal pharmacies.

Whichever side you fall on in that debate is ok, people are entitled to their opinions and here at A Mind of Its Own, we hold no judgement. All we can say is there are pros and cons for both sides of the argument and if you’re reading along at home all we can suggest is don’t do them, you never know what’s in them or where they have come from. Not that you asked for our opinion.

So until next week we wish you a safe week, be cool, stay in school and don’t do drugs. If you have to, don’t do them in Nimbin and always make sure you are around friends who will look after you. Be safe folks!

Of all the gin joints in the world…

Another day, another dollar, well for this writer another dollar in the coffers of the multimillion dollar company I work for while I take home my meager salary that barely covers my wife and I for a month. The money men at the top take home there five figure salaries and world continues to spin but I digress the aim of A Mind of its own is not to be a platform for this writer to voice his woe is me moments but to make the readers aware of what’s going on in the world.

So where do we start you ask yourself and on what great topic will the team be enlightening us with this week? Well that’s a great question as we struggled for days on end to come up with a topic that will touch the hearts and minds of our readers. Then it came to us like a smelly fart on the wind. Well it was more a suggestion from this writers old man. In order to write this weeks blog I was going to have to step out of my comfort zone, well maybe not step out so much as step up and own my often geeky ways.

With much trepidation I jumped in the rental KIA carnival of death with my old man and headed off to the Gold Coast to gather some much needed content for this weeks piece. Now ladies and gentleman, I used to think I was a bit of geek, the cool kind who plays video games, reads comics and watches all the movie adaptations yet still likes sports and manly things like beer, guns and boobs. But as I learnt last weekend I am far from a geek let alone remotely geeky in today’s modern society.

So let me paint the picture of the land that I had just walked into. Everywhere my eyes looked they took in a world unknown to them. Men, Women and Children dressed up as tv, movie, comic book, video game, manga, wrestling, you name a character someone was no doubt dressed up as it. As I ventured deeper and deeper into the den of what i had by now dubbed the festival of freaks and geeks, i felt my IQ growing and a sudden love for dungeon and dragons. Maybe it was all the colourful costumes or perhaps it was seeing grown men living out the lives of their idols and heroes but I actually felt smarter.

The growing world of cosplay was all around me and here I was the odd one out for several reasons. Firstly no one had told me it was a dress up party and here I was in baggy pants and a tee shirt. Secondly I was wearing deodorant and wasn’t smelling like a high school gym after year 8 physical education class unlike many of my fellow event goers and thirdly which was probably the most surprising, my old man knew more people than I did. That had never happened to me before and we were in my Knick of the woods not his. Was my Dad more popular than then me?

We weren’t even through the main doors and yet my education had already began. Like a hyper colour explosion pop culture and its faithful surrounded me. There were some amazing costumes and some not so amazing. People had gathered from galaxies far, far away well as far as I’m concerned Logan and Ipswich often produce people from other planets. Yes Pauline I’m referring to you and I know you don’t like it.

I had peeled back the curtain and dared to sneak a look into a world of unknown. Like the first time your mates take you to a club of sin, I was filled with excitement and trepidation. What if I someone recognises me? What if my Dad posts we are here on Facebook? Dammit too late for that one, we haven’t even been here for two minutes and he’s checked us in. The Dalek is out of the Tardis on that one.So with no further risks of embarrassment I dove deeper and deeper into the throngs of fanboys and girls.

There were rows upon rows of fanfare and paraphernalia mixed in with some C and B grade celebrities with 100s of people lining up to grab a photo and autograph that’ll be worth something amongst these people in years to come. Let’s be honest they were more like D grade celebrities, I’d never heard of half these people let alone watched the shows they were from. I strolled past some authors and artist trying to hawk their wares. Listed in on a talk or two about fight scenes in video games and movies. And more than likely starred for way too long at some of the people squeezing through the throng of people gathered.

Now deep in the dungeon I found myself standing in front of what looked like a third world armoury bazaar shop in some third world country. Gleaming fake swords, mock guns and hammers made of foam hung from the ceiling of the store. If I was preparing for a fake zombie apocalypse this where I would come to arm myself to the teeth. I passed several other medieval fake blacksmiths and even an armoured heaven. The guys sitting there didn’t look very heavenly nor did the look like they had much to sell to masses. They did however look like they were decked out for a serious round of laser tag.

Forty minutes later I was done, my eyes hurt from gawking, my jaw from letting it hit the floor and my feet from having to dance around people to keep moving down the aisles. I was left with more questions than when I started, an expensive signed comic print and desperate need for air that hadn’t been contaminated by body odour. I was also starting to think of a career in marketing as ranges of pop cultured themed deodorants swam through my mind.

So what did I learn this week? Supanova, Comic-Con and many other pop culture conventions bring out people from all walks of life. The people that used to be referred to as the freaks and geeks now seem to be the norm and teenagers haven’t discovered the wonders of deodorant. Cosplay has hit Australia in a big way and is here to stay and my dad will always know people at these events than I ever will.

My first adventure to the dark side has left me wondering and wanting to ask more. What I can safely say is that everyone needs to at least go and check out a pop culture convention once in there lives. There is something for everyone and it was more than a little surprising. So for another week it’s over and out. We dare you to go where no man or woman has gone before…

Set Phasers to Stun…

Born in the driver’s seat of a Toyota Prius stuck in the usual Monday to Friday chaos that is the M1 motorway on my way up to the plastic beach scene that is the Gold Coast, this week’s instalment of A Mind of its Own was born out of pure hilarity thanks to the young man driving in front of me who clearly thought he was hot stuff in his fluro workwear and cheap petrol station sunnies.

So much can be said about the youth of today, so much so that I won’t even get started but this morning I saw a bumper sticker that pretty much pulled all of my thoughts about the youth of today, to front of mind and made me want to fashion a knife out of the McDonald’s straw on the floor to stab myself in the eyes so I didn’t have to read the downright stupidity plastered all over the P platers car stopped in front of me at the lights.

Clearly trying to make up for his lack of ability to lure in a suitable mate, the primate sitting in his Ute, window down, it was raining mind you, mullet flowing gloriously down the back of his neck and a tattoo sleeve that no artist would be proud to say was there work. Had more stickers plastered over the tailgate of his 1998 Holden Commodore than a children’s sticker book. Safe to say if you had a kid you wouldn’t not want them to understand the vulgarity of half the things stuck to the chipping paint job of the young tradesman’s vehicle.

So despite his distinguished appearance and classy manners as he turned spitting all over the car next to him, this charmer was clearly a hit with the ladies. Some of the best and no doubt classiest pick up lines in this kids vocabulary had to of come from his choice of cheap bumper stickers. With classics like ‘No Fat chicks, my ride will drag” to “Fat chicks, shoot em don’t root em” I started to wonder what this classy member of our societies parents were like and whether he had an ounce of ability to say something to woman that wasn’t sexiest, chauvinistic or bigoted.

Here at A Mind of its Own we try not to judge people on their appearance or choice of bumper stickers however the kid wasn’t doing himself any favours. From vulgar statements through to stickers of women in compromising positions with no clothes on and the creme de la creme of stickers plastered on his back window ‘No Root, No ride’ I’d be questioning any parents judgement letting their daughter step into this pillar of societies vehicle. I mean if he had one of those stick families sure I might think twice but there wasn’t even stick figures trying to procreate. If the MeToo campaign wanted a poster child of what young men should not be like this kids car wasn’t doing him any favours.

Watching him release the clutch, put his foot to the floor and grind through his gears while he sped off, I started to think about bumper stickers and what possesses people to plaster them on their precious vehicles. Thankfully not everyone’s choice’s are vulgar or disturbing but I still question whether they are a waste of money. Stick families, baby on board, my other car, these stickers aren’t handed out or found as freebies in magazines so what possesses people to fork out their hard-earned cash to ensure the people behind them receive a benign message they may, or may not remember five minutes down the road.

That being said the man or woman who came up with the idea to place a sticker on the back of a motor vehicle and saw the opportunity to milk the masses for a couple of bucks here or there was an absolute genius! Writing that I do feel that perhaps we also aren’t the sharpest tools in the shed if we aren’t seeing its a waste of money. I’d love to say it’s just the P platers but I know many an adult who has bought a sticker to draw attention to their automobile over the years.

Yes we know you just got a BMW it has its own badges to tell me what it is you don’t need to go and get the performance works sticker on the back so it looks like you’ve gone for the upgrade. Oh you have a baby on board? Why are you doing 120 in an 80 zone than love? Stickers, stickers, stickers and more contradictions than the King James Version of the bible. My favourite is the advertisement that a child goes to a private school I NEVER would have guessed by the type of vehicle you are driving and you never see those on a Ute they are usually emblazoned on the back of BMW, Audi, Volvo, Land Rovers or other high-end motor vehicles.

The choices are outstanding and every petrol station from here to Timbuktu stocks them. The Yanks love them, the Europeans all have them and us Aussies well if we are from the country you can bet we’ll at least have an R.M Williams sticker somewhere on the car as well as one advertising their local pub and no doubt something degrading towards women or people who are attracted to the other sex. Either way it’s all very redneck once our country folk get involved. The options when it comes to picking what to adorn your vehicle with are endless.

So bumper stickers, big waste of time and money? We’ll leave it for the public to decide one thing we have worked out though if you are trying to make a good impression make sure your bumper stickers and stick family aren’t involved in lude, rude or crude behaviour, there is a time and place for that and plastered all over your car isn’t going to help you. Like a chapter of how to win friends and influence people we’ll give you this advice for free. Life is like a box of chocolates and no one like the Turkish delights no matter how much they tell you they do.

Over and out till next week’s insightful chapter of A Mind of its own…