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Mega-stir,
I arrived in Sydney a few hours before the opening ceremonies with a head full of scotch and sleeping pills to
keep my (in)sanity on the long haul over multiple time zones and the imminent possibility of a fiery crash into
the south pacific on the red eye special. Bumbling through customs amidst a bunch of bermuda-clad tourists, security
personel, media types and other questionable characters, I finally caught sight of a 2Idiots sign held by my contact,
limo driver and partner in crime Guy, a monstrous Aussie with the head of Greg Norman (times two) and the body
of a real great white shark who had genetically mutated and sprouted limbs due to having been spawned by a mother
venturing too close to the Bikini Atholl during nuclear tests by those wily Yanks in the 1950s. Guy would also
have to be my translator since, in my inebriated state, I was unable to understand a word spoken by the natives
except for those few words which I had been exposed to through Foster and Subaru ads and Crocodile Dundee movies.
Grabbing my multiple bags, I finally made it to the sanctuary of my limo (courtesy of 2Idiots) where I could fire
up my laptop and uncork a bottle of fine Aussie wine and spark a massive chief to take the edge off the traumatic
hallucination of the (dis)embarkment.
After dropping off my bags at the Furama Hotel on Harbour Street right in the heart of downtown and having a steam
bath, a shave and a massage (courtesy of 2Idiots), we had just enough time to stumble down to the ceremonies by
the Opera House where Patrick Rafter and Olivia Newton-John (who seems to be propped up for a song and dance at
every Aussie major event), dressed in their numbered torch-bearer uniforms - undoubtedly to celebrate the criminal
heritage of Marsupialand and the disembarkment of their ancestors at Botany Bay - lit the Sydney Harbour Bridge
on fire. Due to my lack of sleep and the potent cocktail of booze and drugs pumping through my system, I was unaware
that this torching ceremony was planned and was immediately detained for trying, in an agitated state, to warn
people of the impending doom that awaited them as downtown Sydney was about to go up in flames. After showing my
credentials and a few words from Guy I was let go even though stink-eye was the order of the day by spectators
and participants alike. Time to go back to the hotel and lick my wounds before passing out in the hotel bar after
belting out a few expletive filled renditions of Waltzing Matilda much to the horror of the patrons and the bartender
who had cut me off of my steady diet of scotch and sodas. The last thing I remember before blacking out was the
monstrous head of the Great White Shark hovering over me as I lay between two barstools unable to lift my spinning
head in a pool of vomit that had some semblance of my last meal. Welcome to Aussieland...Can't wait until the opening
ceremonies...
G(onzo)-Boy Out....