The Book of Bloke (4 page)

Although their defining obsession is reading comic books, Panellists’ activities are not solely restricted to this pastime: they also spend a good deal of time going to movies based on comic books. It is a peculiar and somewhat tragic sociological fact that every Panellist in the world is a superb screenwriter and film director of rare genius, yet is prevented by malevolent social forces from fully expressing his talents. He is therefore forced to share his gifts with the world in the only way possible: by watching movies and informing everyone else how awful they were. Internet fora, social media sites, and message boards are filled with Panellist wisdom, ranging from Hollywood’s criminal failure to fully realise the inner darkness of Tony Stark, to the fact that Hugh Jackman is much too tall to play Wolverine. In fact, best estimates are that up to 45% of the Internet today is taken up by Geeks complaining about movies; add that to the 50% dedicated to porn, and there is barely any segment of cyberspace that does not exist mainly to serve the Geek population.

However, though active and assertive online, the Panellist is not a pure creature of IT in the manner of the Helpdesker – obviously, since the Panellist lifestyle necessitates going to actual physical shops and drooling over displays – and Panellist wisdom is likewise not confined to the virtual realm. There are plenty of opportunities to see the Panellist in the wild, declaiming loudly on the virtues or otherwise of Marvel’s latest blockbuster. In some urban areas, residents consider it quite a charming and integral part of the local atmosphere to have the air ringing with the musically indignant cries of ‘Well, for a start they got her outfit ALL WRONG’, and, ‘How come they can make a billion movies about Batman, but NONE about Spider Jerusalem?’ In these areas, Panellists are indulged with a certain affection, and often come to be regarded as neighbourhood mascots; they will be pointed out as local landmarks to tourists, and passersby will often toss them scraps of food and limited-edition Jack Kirby artwork.

Panellists are thought to have originated sometime in the mid-twentieth century, with some conspiracy theorists maintaining that the Panellist gene was a result of secret military experiments in search of a drug that could be used to fatally destroy the enemy’s attention span. Others say this is an unnecessarily cruel conspiracy theory, and that Panellists are just as capable of intense concentration as anyone else, although they are obviously incapable of reading without pictures.

You could never say that, however, of the Panellist’s cousin, the
Star-Crossed Asimov
, known in some regions as the Scarlet Grok. The Asimov is not only capable of reading books with no pictures in them, he is capable of reading books with no detectable appeal or entertainment value at all. This ability to discern value in works which, to all other eyes, appear to be of less literary worth than a used paper towel, is seen by some as a kind of ‘second sight’, and intensive study of the Asimov has been undertaken to see if the genetic abnormality can be bent to other uses like locating buried treasure and rescuing children from wells. As yet, these experiments have been unsuccessful, but it is nonetheless a marvel how the Asimov keeps on ploughing through his massive piles of books long past the point where any reasonably normal human being would have decided he had squeezed the stone dry.

The speed of the Asimov’s reading, too, is impressive, his ability to churn through weighty novels much akin to the beaver’s ability to gnaw through tree trunks or the piranha’s to skeletonise a cow.

The Asimov is what some have termed a ‘visionary Geek’, and what others have termed a ‘know-all tosser’. Asimovs are notable for their ability to see a little further than most when it comes to the limits of human potential; confident in the ability of science and technology to solve all humanity’s problems, the Asimov is an optimistic and in many ways inspirational Bloke who can nonetheless turn nasty when it is pointed out to him that science fiction is, well, fiction. The Asimov believes that the books he reads are a blueprint for the future, if only enough people will rally to the cause and join him in rummaging through the bargain bins out the front of newsagents.

The Asimov tends to be slightly more successful with the opposite sex than other Geeks for two reasons: firstly, because of his ability to disguise himself, chameleon-like, as an intellectual; secondly, because sometimes he ends up actually writing some books and getting rich.

The Asimov is often confused with an actual scientist, due to their similar markings and superficial resemblances in speech. This can be dangerous as it leads to people thinking the Asimov actually knows what he’s talking about.

A Geek who definitely knows what he’s talking about, yet for whom ironically this provides no practical benefit, is the
Fledgling Swot
. This young Geek exists as a result of the quirky Geek life cycle – unlike other Blokes, the Geek will frequently not fully develop until early adulthood, and, curiously, up to that point the nature of his Geekhood remains plastic. The Fledgling Swot is a Geek whose Geekhood is not in question, but who has yet to be directed into a specialty, much like a university student who drifts through the system for years before deciding on a major. Aptly, many of these students are also Fledgling Swots.

The defining feature of the Fledgling Swot is his vast reservoir of knowledge. Like all Geeks, he sucks up facts as an anteater sucks up ants, but, due to his late development, the Swot has not yet begun to specialise and so has continued to gather trivia about a wide variety of subjects without managing to become an expert in any particular one. Thus, a Swot will be able to hold a conversation about astrophysics, zoology, botany, biochemistry, medicine, automotive technology, film, music, architecture, Renaissance art, theatre, sport, geography, politics, military history, and, usually, Monty Python, without ever being capable of doing anything useful with his knowledge. However, the breadth of his knowledge and ability to produce fascinatingly obscure titbits about all facets of life makes the Swot a superb conversationalist for about three minutes, after which he becomes, essentially, insufferable.

The Fledgling Swot is a socially outgoing Geek, and is often to be found mingling with other Blokes. In fact, Bloke groupings will often deliberately include one Fledgling Swot, just to be sure that everyone in the group knows which member is the one nobody likes.

Another distinctive aspect of the Fledgling Swot is his tendency to extreme romantic disappointment, given that any female who a Swot manages to attract will sooner or later flee after he corrects her once too often. The resulting disappointment is usually the trigger for the Swot to metamorphose into another variety of Geek, most frequently …

The
Dice-Warrior
is what might be called ‘+9 Geek’, or at least that’s what he might call himself, which is a good indicator of the tragedy of his existence. The Dice-Warrior is not a naturally occurring Geek, but a Geek forged in the fierce fires of rejection and ostracism. Every Geek is in danger of becoming a Dice-Warrior should his sunny disposition and jolly outlook on life be perverted by the drawbacks of the Geeky life. A Dice-Warrior results when a Geek’s natural and healthy disappointment with real life becomes excessive and leads him to extreme measures – to wit, role-playing games.

The Dice-Warrior was long thought to be simply a kind of Helpdesker due to his reclusive nature; few Dice-Warriors have been seen by the general public, and for many years their habits and activities were a mystery. However, in the early 1980s, Professor Stefan Manduck debunked this time-honoured theory when he and his research assistants uncovered the first verified Dice-Warrior den, or ‘hide’, and proved beyond doubt that the Dice-Warrior was a distinct variety of Geek who concealed himself from society for the purpose of creating his own reality, where he was an elf or a troll or something equally weird.

The Dice-Warrior is committed to the games he plays with an almost religious fervour, and study of Dice-Warrior skeletons has revealed extreme deformities of the hand and wrist due to years of continually throwing dice to determine the results of imaginary battles. Dice-Warriors are commonly known to role-play for three or four days at a stretch, and archaeologists have found evidence of one game in the Upper Volta which is believed to have lasted eight months and ended in cannibalism.

The precise nature of the Dice-Warrior’s games is uncertain, even among long-time Warrior experts. What is known is that dice are used to determine crucial facts like how strong you are, whether you win fights, whether spells work, and who has to pay for the pizza. The subject matter of the games would appear to vary widely, from magic people walking through forests, to magic people flying through space. What is also known is that the power and charisma of the chosen characters are inversely proportional to the power and charisma of the players.

Dice-Warriors are rarely spotted in public, but when they do venture out can be identified by their ragged, sweat-sodden clothes, their hunted expression, nervous twitching and intense, objectionable odour – some scientists believe the last to be an evolutionary adaptation to ward off predators; others think it’s just that they forgot to shower.

Dice-Warriors rarely mate (one reason why many initiatives have been started to try to prevent young Geeks from travelling down the Dice path), although there is anecdotal evidence that females are occasionally allowed to participate in their games. Even when this happens, however, it appears that the idea of sexual contact simply never occurs to the players, although if the dice come up the right way, sometimes an elf princess will have sex with a wizard.

Dice-Warriors are not to be confused with the closely related but distinct
Warcrafter
. Whereas Dice-Warriors’ games are played in groups around a table with dice, the Warcrafter plays alone on a computer, connecting with other players virtually, and has the advantage of a visual representation of his fantasy world in front of him. The aims and desires of the two breeds are also different: where the Dice-Warrior’s purpose is to shut out and replace the real world which has proven such a disappointment, the Warcrafter’s purpose is to attain a high enough ‘level’ to attract the attention of a female gamer, thereby starting an online relationship which will end abruptly as soon as she meets him in person.

Despite the Dice-Warrior’s unhappy fate, he is still an object of envy for some, in particular the
Geekabe
, or Fool’s Geek. There is much debate over whether the Geekabe should be included in the Geek classification – essentially a philosophical argument over whether inclination alone is sufficient. For the Geekabe is a Bloke who desires nothing more than to be a Geek, but who never got around to reading the right books.

The Geekabe finds Geekhood unbearably seductive, and is constantly at battle with his own self-loathing and deep regret that he never gained access to the sparkling Geek world. As a Bloke with no particular skills or interests of his own, he lusts after other Geeks’ level of passion and dedication to their fields. Unfortunately, the Geekabe possesses unusually low levels of Motivamine, the ambition hormone, and therefore whiles away his days watching
Star Wars
and wishing he could be bothered learning about the extended universe.

Geekabes can often be found hanging around the fringes of Geek gatherings, laughing a second later than everyone else and occasionally interjecting when someone mentions
The Hobbit
. They stand out among Geeks due to their plain T-shirts and palpable sense of self-loathing, particularly evident when football is on the TV and they realise how much they know about it. Geekabes do tend to have some success with the opposite sex, but they’re not proud of it.

One can understand the Geekabe’s angst, for Geeks are among the most admirable and distinguished of Blokes. With a proud history and a solid record of public service, Geeks contribute a lot to this world, albeit in an unnecessarily superior and nasal way. There is no doubt that Blokedom would be a poorer place without the Geek, if only because other Blokes might find it harder to have someone to make fun of. Although they’re not that Blokey, Geeks are Blokes as much as anyone else, and deserve the same respect and civility due to the most testosterone-filled Bogan or Bloke’s Bloke. After all, without Geeks, who would write our computer programs, create our dazzling cinematic special effects, and provide our difficult-to-follow and ultimately useless over-the-phone troubleshooting? God bless ’em.

Did you know
… in 1876, the colonial government of New South Wales sent to England fifteen Blokes, preserved in jelly, as a birthday present for Queen Victoria. It was only in 1984 that the National Museum of Australia managed to convince the British government to return the remains to their rightful place.

Fauxke, or Faux Bloke, is a term with a broad meaning that even today can be defined differently according to which source you consult, and which contains within its definition a wide and disparate variety of Blokes. Some have called the Fauxke the ‘chameleon of Blokes’; this seems something of a misnomer as few Fauxkes have developed the ability to change their skin colour, although a good percentage of them wish they could. Others have referred to Fauxkes as the Bloke equivalent of the hermit crab, the cuckoo, the mynah bird, and occasionally the okapi – in fact, the expert field of coming up with zoological analogies to describe Fauxkes is so enthusiastically pursued, some have accused those experts of being Fauxkes themselves, engaged in this futile activity purely to distract attention from the fact they’re not real scientists. The experts deny this, and claim their critics are acting a lot like woodpeckers.

Fauxkes can live just about anywhere in Australia; though their preferred habitat is the inner city, they are often found outside this because they find living on the fringes of society to be more authentic, or, to put it another way, they don’t want to move out of their parents’ house. Fauxkes can be difficult to recognise at first sight, as they bear many superficial similarities with other Blokes, and their outer markings, plumage and mode of dress will not provide obvious clues to their actual taxonomy. To identify a genuine Fauxke, it is therefore necessary to observe him over an extended period of time and/or talk to him, which is why Fauxkology is one of the least popular areas of Bloke study. Those who willingly volunteer for such research are considered either suicidally brave or mad.

Fauxkes in groups are often easier to spot as their patterns of herd movement often give them away – frequently a herd, or ‘assumption’, of Fauxkes will conduct themselves in a manner which, to the observant eye, is just a little bit too choreographed. Were you to spot a gang of what seemed like Tunesters, for example, in the black jeans and T-shirts typical of the Crested Kerrang (see Tunesters) or the exotic funereal garb and piercings of the Ostropod, but this group’s clothing was a bit too co-ordinated, their gaits rather too synchronised for a group of Tunesters in the wild, it is entirely likely that you have come across a roving band of Fauxkes. Unless you are there for professional research purposes, it would be wise at this point to vacate the vicinity lest you be tempted to talk to them about Death Cab For Cutie.

Although each strain of Fauxke is very different, and the process of classification so problematic, it is generally agreed that all Fauxkes have one thing in common: a rock-solid commitment to acting, speaking, thinking, and dressing like whatever kind of person they feel will make them appear coolest and most acceptable to their desired social segment. Many observers believe that this stems from Fauxkes’ deep-seated insecurities regarding their own identity, crippling self-esteem issues, and their desperate and touching need to experience the real love and affection that has always been lacking from their lives. Many others, however, believe that they’re just wankers.

The hallmarks of the Fauxke are a passionate devotion to assuming the appearance and accoutrements of a subculture, a strong need to associate with large groups of like-minded people – with whom they can compare iPod playlists and discuss at length just how non-conformist they all are – and a constant internal struggle against the powerful urge to just go home and put on some tracksuit pants.

It is this last feature that leads some to hypothesise that the Fauxke is a mutation of another Bloke species, possibly a Bogan or a Rightoid or, according to some fringe theories, a Snag. According to such hypotheses, the Fauxke arose as a result of a genetic-copying error at some point in recent history, and there have been numerous efforts to trace the Fauxke lineage back to a Bloke community living underneath power lines or near a contaminated river. Nothing conclusive has yet been discovered, and there are those who argue instead that the Fauxke is a naturally occurring Bloke who branched off from a common Bloke ancestor many, many years ago, possibly at the time of some great migration from traditional Bloke feeding grounds to somewhere with a thriving experimental cinema industry.

Whatever the truth of Fauxke origins, it is beyond doubt that Fauxkes are extremely conspicuous throughout Australian history. Indeed, the vast majority of members of parliament have been Fauxkes, usually of the Simulated-Bloke’s-Bloke variety, and politics is often referred to as ‘the art of Fauxkism’, due to the typical politician’s vigorous and exhaustive efforts to convince everyone he loves football and wants to have a beer with you. Those politicians who have not been Fauxkes, due to an unfortunate tendency for sincerity and/or femaleness, have, as a rule, quickly run into serious trouble. Many of Australia’s greatest artists and entertainers have been Fauxkes as well, although usually they are able to hide it well enough to convince people that they genuinely care about what they’re doing. However, some of them proudly wear their Fauxkism on their sleeve – which is a difficult thing to do given that Fauxkism is by definition something you don’t wear on your sleeve, and only goes to show that being a Fauxke is no barrier to being a Bloke of rare talent and strength of will. Some notable Fauxkes include Guy Sebastian, John Howard, David Williamson, Richard Wilkins, Ian Thorpe, and all members of the band Short Stack.

It is easy to think, when considering the nature of the Fauxke, that they have little or nothing to contribute to society, but in fact Fauxkes have always been worthy and hard-working members of society. Indeed, it is impossible to be a Fauxke without a sturdy work ethic, since the mental and physical effort required to keep up the lifestyle are intensely draining. In general, Fauxkes provide a valuable community service in that they allow all other categories of Bloke to measure their authenticity against a base Fauxke level: those who veer too close to Fauxkehood can therefore make the necessary adjustments, or just give up and go for the tracksuit pants. More specifically, Fauxkes have played key roles in many momentous historical events. World War I, for example, may have gone very differently had it not been for the multitudes of decent young Aussie Fauxkes who signed up for active service out of sheer eagerness not to feel left out. Similarly, the Australian brewing industry would have long ago collapsed were it not for the large Fauxke population who keep drinking to avoid having to admit that they don’t really like beer. And of course there is the fashion industry, which is mainly controlled by Fauxkes such as Alex Perry, a Fauxke of such intense Fauxkitude that many Fauxke sects worship him as a god, and other less extreme groups at the very least wear the same sunglasses.

The Fauxke in the wild assumes many forms, but some of the more widespread include:

The
Wanksta
, or Whangsta. This is a pale, oddly feathered Bloke, one of the most easily identified of Fauxkes, though he never seems to let this worry him. In some regions the Wanksta is known as the Emperor Fauxke, in reference to the tale of ‘The Emperor’s New Clothes’: for just as no-one dared tell the Emperor that he was naked, the Wanksta has a tendency to fly into a frenzied and destructive rage should anyone point out that he is white. Controlled experiments have demonstrated that this is an extremely specific and targeted tendency – other statements of bald fact such as ‘the sky is blue’ or ‘you are wearing a hat’ do not bring on the same response; it is only reference to the Wanksta’s skin colour that arouses such passion, or ‘Whang-rage’ as field scientists refer to it.

As mentioned before, Fauxkes are unable at this stage of their evolution to literally change their skin colour, and so the Wanksta will instead attempt to use external trappings and ornamentations to distract the onlooker from the colour of his skin. These will include headdresses, bright shiny jewellery, enormous baggy shirts and pants, and branded undergarments which the Wanksta will take care to display to all, ensuring they recognise his status within Wanksta society, which is believed to be layered and complex, although nobody has ever been bothered to find out exactly how.

Perhaps most notable, though, is the manner in which the Wanksta will – indeed, like a mynah – assume the vocalisations of different species to convince others that he is not, in fact, a Wanksta. By mimicking these foreign mating calls and dialects, the Wanksta apparently hopes to persuade the world at large that his skin is not, in fact, white. There are no recorded instances of this working. For reasons unknown, Wankstas will also mimic the hand movements of other cultures – a recent study put forward the tentative theory that Wankstas derive some sort of sexual enjoyment out of people making fun of them.

Another defining characteristic of the Wanksta is his predilection for hip-hop music. Due to this, like other Fauxkes, he is often mistaken for a Tunester, but a canny Bloke-lover can tell them apart by noting that the Wanksta will never listen to this music unless he knows someone is watching him, and only pretends to know the words.

Occasionally a Wanksta will come into contact with a genuine black man, at which point he will go into ‘survival mode’, pretending that he has never been a Wanksta, and trying to make himself as physically small as possible before quietly leaving the room.

Wankstas live mainly in outer suburban and regional areas so as to limit the possibility of meeting a black man.

The
Reticulated Drainpipe
, or Lesser Fringed Blither, is an urban Fauxke mostly found in narrow laneways and small, intimate clubs that you haven’t heard of. Drainpipes are one of the newer Bloke breeds, having only split from the main body of the Fauxke family in the last twenty years or so, but in that time they have multiplied to an astonishing extent, so that in some cities there are now more than sixteen per square metre. The rapid population growth can be attributed to the Drainpipe’s method of reproduction, which involves airborne spores and irony. Indeed, in certain areas Drainpipes have been declared a pest, and the council has placed bounties on them of up to $100 for every fringe handed in.

Reticulated Drainpipes are easily recognised by their spindly limbs, tight black jeans, and floppy crests, as well as their distinctive call, which, while difficult to describe in print, has been characterised by Drainpipe researchers as ‘the sound of someone asking for a punch in the face’. Drainpipe research is a gruelling and thankless field with an astronomically high suicide rate.

Colloquially, Reticulate Drainpipes are sometimes known as ‘hipsters’: this is believed to be a combination of the Greek ‘Hipp’, meaning ‘man’, and the Latin ‘Steres’, meaning ‘who listens to Cat Power’. Recent studies, however, have shown the term to be a misnomer, as Drainpipes do not, in fact, listen to Cat Power; they just put her CDs on shelves so visitors can see them.

Drainpipes are curious Blokes and appear to have no fear of non-Drainpipes – they can often be seen approaching ordinary people, standing next to them and pointedly putting on their headphones so the other person knows they’re being ignored. It was thought that these interactions sprang from a genuine desire to socialise with others, but it has since been discovered that they are actually Drainpipe feeding frenzies. The Reticulated Drainpipe’s main food is superiority, and a five-minute conversation with a non-Drainpipe can supply enough energy to last up to five days. In the absence of anyone to feel superior to, a Drainpipe can subsist on scraps of vegan food and John Waters movies on VHS. The Drainpipe diet, in truth, is low in nutrients, which is why Drainpipes tend to be extremely thin and tire easily – Drainpipes are often forced to sit down or have a nap after no more than half an hour of downloading the Nick Drake songs their friend told them about yesterday, so that next time they won’t have to pretend to know who he is. In the case of Tom Waits, it can sometimes take only five minutes.

Although they have not been with us for long, the Reticulated Drainpipe has developed a complex religious system, revolving mainly around the ‘father god’, Irony. Irony dictates all Drainpipe behaviour, and the rules about what a Drainpipe may or may not do, say, think, watch, listen to, eat, or have sex with, are exceedingly strict and confusing. However, a key tenet of the faith is that a Drainpipe may circumvent any of these rules by invoking the name of the great god Irony. For example, a Drainpipe might declare, ‘For Irony’s sake, I will attend this Phil Collins concert’, or ‘In the name of Irony do I enter this Hog’s Breath Café.’ Ideally, these activities should be undertaken in the company of fellow Drainpipes, as legend has it that Irony frowns upon those who would make offerings to him without getting in a group and giggling to each other. Irony is a harsh god, but also at times a kind one – he bestows many blessings upon those whose haircuts, or in some cases beards, please him and who shop at stores that don’t take Eftpos. These blessings are often in the form of vintage hats or iTunes vouchers. Other elements of the Drainpipe religion include the commandment that ‘thou shalt only be into things before they are popular’. This can result in quite a balancing act, especially when Drainpipes gather in large groups to be ironic and are forced to keep close count on how many people are into something, lest they accidentally keep being into it when too many other people are too. It’s pretty exhausting being a Drainpipe.

Drainpipes are mainly sedentary creatures, but when they are forced to travel to find new feeding grounds or for a Centrelink appointment, they will either use public transport or a strange Drainpipe device known as a ‘fixie’. Currently, nobody knows exactly what a fixie is, but they are evidently powerful and revolutionary modes of transportation. Non-Drainpipes are warned not to allow themselves to be drawn into a conversation about fixies, lest they discover that it will never, ever end. As long as a Drainpipe doesn’t need to move, however, he won’t, preferring to spend his time drinking odd liquids and leaning against things, usually while checking his hair in a window.