Mars Bar Chronicals - Chapter 2945

Firstly, here is the photo of a pair of bison that some fellow Bluetooth-enabled phone carrying person sent to me at the Ed on Friday night.Right-o then.But my weekend wasn’t dominated by bison-loving freaks. Really it wasn’t, because I went into the office on Saturday. This despite my refusal to be a pawn to the corporate world (which is my morally respectable sounding way of saying that I’m too lazy to work for more than the minimum required hours each week). But I qualify this by saying that it wasn’t really out of dedicated service to my employer. No, I just felt sorry for someone who has become a pawn to the corporate world and decided to help them get a project finished, mainly so they would have time on the weekend to partake in extravagant self-serving activities like eating and sleeping. Also, I have learnt to make my hours at work more tolerable by doing some legitimate delegation of tasks and also by contriving the possible sexual insinuations of the engineering terms I encounter during the day. Well you try saying ‘fluid injector’ without laughing. And ‘venturi nozzle’, well that could mean anything.My good deed done it was time for some hedonism at Mars. Armed with my phone’s camera attachment, I was able to capture some of the local wildlife. I will leave it to you to decide whether they, or the bison pictured above, are the more human-like.Here you see myself and DJ Beejay, the man responsible for the music. (NB ‘Responsible’ is probably not the best word to describe him, as he himself freely admits.) He looks a tad demented in this photo, which at least makes up for the horrendous one of me that he put in Blaze, Adelaide’s equivalent of the Sydney Star Observer. (If having my face in Blaze means I’m now part of gay Adelaide’s bourgeoisie then that’s cool but they could have at least Photoshopped it a bit. It’s really bad. Ugh.)Now we have Sweet Bar Staff Boy Shannon from my last post. (Not that silly song I wrote about Ronald’s wisdom teeth. The proper one. The one before that.) Here is Shannon while locked in the cloak room for six hours.He says this job is boring until people start checking in substantial portions of their clothing. Next is myself with the delightful Rochelle, of “How the fuck are you all?” fame.She is great and, unlike myself, always photographs well. Indeed, the radiance you can see here is indicative of her charisma generally, proving that all you really need in life are boys and poise. Later on, one of the other drag queens could have done with some of Rochelle’s charisma as she unwillingly had her vinyl-clad crotch vigorously rubbed by some nut whose apparent aim was to give the boy beneath the frock a hard-on. Oh, don’t be shocked: this is about the standard of normal Mars bar behaviour.I’ve included some photos of the dancefloor, mainly to reignite memories harboured by those of you who have been there. Cruel aren’t I?