I think before we start on part 2, some education may be needed.
This is Bob- he is (according to google), the executive chef at a place called the laughing cat. This is blatantly a lie, because cats lack the required physiology to laugh, and even if they could laugh, they wouldn’t. This is not the Bobcat I refer to.
Bob The Chef- Noted Salad Dodger
This is Bob the Cat- who makes this shitty London busker different from others in that his music stimulates cat hormones and makes them comes into heat. Bob hangs out with this dude for all the pussy he gets. Also not MY BOBCAT
What the fuck is that on his guitar? Not the cat, the friggin sage sprig. What a hippie.
This is Bobcat Goldthwait – who you may recognise from the Police Academy movies. If you don’t… Get out. Get right the fuck out. Now. I mean it.
Unfortunately, this is also not my Bobcat
Who would not have sex with this man? I thought so.
This, IS a Bobcat- but only to his friends, if you look closely you can see he is in fact a Robert Cat- a subspecies who sided with the British in the American War of Independence and are now rare, if not extinct. Count yourselves lucky to have seen one. Not my Bobcat.
Robert Wilfred Roger Cat- The Third. Last of his Line.
THIS, is my Bobcat- magnificent, isn’t he.
Known Affiliates: Ninja Pete
Hobbies: Being Imaginary, Guiding Spirits
Part Two
The kindly strangers laughed off my fuckedness, well no, they were disapproving but gave me a lift back anyway, one of them taking care to salvage at least some of the shrimp, the rest having made their escape under my nose (read: I knocked over the bucket) – and they took me back to shore, where instead of the relief and welcome I thought I would get, I was greeted by a pile of people too fucked to notice I has even left. Apart from DaveBear. What a legend.
He relieved me of my responsibility, thanked the strangers, and began baiting hooks. My mind, now free from the heavy burden of Prawn Transportation, left for a loo break- and I can’t remember the next few hours. I’m pretty sure I just sat around, smoking bongs, drinking beer and listening to Jimi Hendrix. There is a quote that comes to mind: “Jimi. Good for trippin”
And it was definitely ‘trippin’ not ‘tripping’, and Jimi is good.
The next thing I recall I was being ushered into the house to witness the Kat lab in action. The fan had allowed whatever needed to evaporate to do si, and a new batch was going to be made, and Si thought I should see this. I don’t know why, I had no interest whatsoever but hey, go with the flow, youre tripping right? Si also took this opportunity to get changed- I was loving the 70’s style mattresses with their flowers and felt like I was in a cut scene from… sigh… I tried to find a better reference… That 70’s show. Si threw his belt onto the mattress I was staring at, whereupon the stylised black and red ladies on the belt started to dance. For me. Provocatively. Running their hands through their outline hair, bumping their imaginary hips and feeling their boobs up. I could have watched those ladies all night, and who knows, if I played my cards right we could have had something beautiful- am I right Michael Hutchence, or am I right?
Kat lab expidition over, I went to frolic once again, and sat down at the edge of the lagoon. Looking to my left, I see an entire family of normal people within 2 metres of me. Getting a little freaked out that I’m tripping all the balls and there is a 5 year old who may want to converse with me, I subtly move over- by diving in the lagoon again, splashing around and climbing out. Subtle like a ninja yo. As I summitted the retainer wall, there he was.
Some people call him the Space Cowboy, some call him the Gangster of Love. I call him Smitty.
Shining in the sunlight, and staring me right in the face from about 2 metres away, I knew he was a Bobcat because other cats are not that big and we hadn’t seen a single cat all day. He looked at me, I looked at him and I just knew in my heart of hearts that this cat knew me. Maybe even better than myself. I could sense he was there to guide me and that his wisdom was beyond that of even Yoda.
Then I remembered I was tripping and all that Smitty really was, was a figment of my imagination. But a bobcat? The fuck? I had never seen one or harboured a liking for these creatures ever before. Explain that, Freud!
I felt pretty chuffed about finding my spirit animal, and decided it was now time to commune with nature- and in this case, communing with nature meant climbing our tree at sunset. On Old Years Night.
NOw let me explain something- out of the more than ten people there, only one was not on hallucinatory drugs- Riccardo. He was loving the Kat. I was loving the bobcat. Those sentences are not related, it’s just an FYI for later. There may be a quiz.
I climbed the tree- which is much harder than you would think when you can feel the tree breathing and the trunk refuses to stay in its place- and settled myself down for some communion. I started to notice other people in the tree with me, and one girl climbed so high she disappeared into the canopy. I was tempted but at this point I couldn’t tell where the tree ended and air began, or how high up I was, so I decided to stay put. Fast forward to what appeared to be only a few minutes later, and I hear a voice in the distance telling everyone that its 5 to 12, almost 2009- time to get my party shoes on, but mainly to get out the tree. I had problems:
1. Am I even in the same tree? (80% certainty)
2. If so, how high am I? (Look down, see swirly magical sea of unknown)
3. Does the tree want me to get out of it? (Discount thought as rambling hippie shit)
4. Do I want to get out of the tree? (Yes)
5. Why again?
…
…
Oh yes, New Years.
6. Can I get out the tree? (Not now motherfucker, this tree is changing colours and shapes and shit and you’re still tripping all the balls)
So the countdown began, I joined in from my perch, and just after the shout of ‘Happy New Year’ a bottle of bubbly got handed up to me, followed by a joint. I passed these up to the rest of the tree dwellers (not one had descended, but I have no idea if they weren’t able or just normally spend new years in trees) and decided it was time- lack of reality perception be damned, and fuck this tree.
I made sure of my grip, hung down from my branch and dropped.
All of 50 centimetres.
About an hour later, I could finally start to discern reality from fucking awesome and we all started chatting around the fire. Spending the whole day tripping will take it out of you and we were all pretty fried, but one person was noticeably absent. Riccardo.
Understandably, being the only person not off playing with the fairies- or bobcats- probably made him go and look for a more suitable party for his kat-fueled inner party animal. We discussed this at length before I said: “I bet you he’s found a dance party where they have fed him Tequila or Jagerbombs and any second now he’s going to want us to party with him”
We laughed, but this is where the magic of Smitty comes in. I closed my eyes and had a vision of Smitty the Bobcat, my spirit animal, smiling and somehow I knew he was saying goodbye…
Just then, Riccardo burst around the corner, sweaty, fucked and exclaimed: “Guys, I’ve found a rad party where they’re all dancing and they just gave me Jagerbombs!”
Thanks Smitty, wherever you are…
Revolutionary Throwback 