Loyal readers of this blog will remember Conehead the Barbituate as a dedicated, if irregular, commentator on the posts of Carlo Sands. Conehead was also very kind to share with all of my fans his own personal cake recipe.
What my huge fan base may not realise is Conehead has come into some money through means I am really not at liberty to discuss in such a public forum (and one that is monitored so closely by 60 Minutes.)
No one quite knows where Conehead is or has been. In fact, no one really knows how the fuck he managed to catch his flight out of Sydney.
But the rumours are flying think and fast. The more reliable of them put Conehead first in Paris being chased onto a train out of there by Roma beggars who cleaned him out then tried to hit him up again after he went to an ATM — but not before Conehead was able to be infuriated by the arrogance of the French.
One story goes that even the lumpen elements in Paris have their standards and when one tried to scab a cigarette off Conehead at the Gare du Nord and Conehead offered him one of those weird black Gitane cigaettes that he couldn't wait to smoke in Paris, the guy said, “Gitanes? non!” and stomped off.
Further unconfirmed rumours put Conehead in Bonn, to his dismay and fury at being stuck in a place he is said by some to have described as the “Canberra of Europe, only more sterile”.
Well, Conehead has provided an actual message to the world in the form of two comments on my post The best fucking poem ever fucking written by fucking anyone that places him at an airport somewhere in Europe, I think.
One of the stranger, less believable rumours suggested Conehead was flying into Western Sahara with a team of marathon runners, which would without a doubt provide for the quickest game of “spot the odd one out” in human history.
This is hard to believe, though it could be one of those prank TV shows where the presenter says “What Conehead doesn’t realise is there is no flight out of Western Sahara and he is going to have to run the marathon... Our hidden cameras will capture his effort and you can join our online poll about whether he will make the 500 metre mark before collapsing.”
I post here Conehead’s observant little sketch of airports, a masterpiece of social commentary and story-telling that begins by paraphrasing the best fucking poem ever fucking written by fucking anyone (also known as John Cooper Clarke’s “Chicken town”):
“The fucking plane is fucking late
You fucking wait & fucking wait”
I post the rest below. It is important for the story to understand that there is more than one type of substance Conehead likes to chain smoke...
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The worst thing is having already gone through passport control I CAN’T HAVE A FUCKING CIGARETTE
To tell the truth, I’m not really down with this passport control shit.
That's my impression of travelling. Like its fun & all that, except for the fucking passport control. And all that security shit where you have to put all your stuff like keys & money in trays and it goes through an x-ray & then because something goes beep they make you go somewhere else to get felt up or your bag rifled or whatever & you think I might need that money & keys & shit that are sitting over there in a fucking tray where any fucker could grab it.
Then you go through, the plane’s delayed, so you have to wait WITHOUT A FUCKING CIGARETTE!
Which leads to another question: as you, Carlo, observed in your gritty realist Western Sydney drama the thing you do if a bus or train is late & you want to make it come, what do you do? YOU LIGHT A FUCKING CIGARETTE!
So how can I make the plane not be any later when I can’t light cigarette because I’ve been through fucking passport control.
Whoever made up this airport procedure thing obviously hadn’t thought things through. The stupid fucker.
PS. wonder what all those comments in Chinese mean. Like why did 莊雅和莊雅和莊雅和 say practice what you preach?
* * *
Conehead then sent a second message through not long after that read:
“AHHHHHHHH! Now they've started making announcements ‘Passengers are reminded that smoking is not allowed!’
“Like they just want to rub it in! I DON’T WANT TO BE REMINDED!”
I believe Conehead eventually got his flight, presumably without too much innocent blood being shed.