Wednesday, 26 June 1996 8:15am
I bring to you another interesting story from the barrel of monkeys that is my work place. Henry the Brit is starring in some sort of pseudo-snuff film. I asked him what he did with his weekend, and he said ‘Ohh, I kidnapped a nun who had no undies on and raped her at knife-point.’ I smiled indulgently and said ‘Really! That’s nice,” and continued prattling on about myself, thinking it was just another of Kooky Henry’s funster pranks. Turns out he’s in this low-budget film called The Masturbating Gunman I am not making this up, being made by Mark Savage and some local devotees of schlock horror films. The basic plot is, some guy gets trained in Japan to be a master assassin. This training entails being locked away for ten years, hidden from the charms of all women folk. As a result, he becomes a chronic masturbator. His special method of tracking his prey is to sniff their undies. He can deduce their hair colour, location and any psychological problems (schizophrenia, kleptomania…) from which they may suffer with the slightest whiff of a delicate undergarments. The nun sister of this assassin gets kidnapped and raped (of course), but before they nab her, she discards her knickers as a clue for her brother assassin. Henry plays the assistant of the guy who kidnaps the nun. Henry does this at weekends between dates with Rosie, the Girl Scout Leader who gets falling-down, throwing-up drunk at every social event. (I am really not making any of this up, she actually is a Girl Scout Leader.) I asked Henry if he had to get his pecker out for this film, he said no. I’m not sure if it was relief or disappointment in his voice. Sis, my work place is a fucking asylum.
Going to the Astor tonight to see The Wonderful Horrible Life of Leni Riefenstahl. It’s this film about this woman who made movies for the Nazis. A few of the people at work have already seen it, and they all loved it and have diverse opinions of her. Some see her as a victim, others as evil apologist (for her own actions, not the Nazis’). I’m going with Pippa. I like Pippa, she’s OK. On Saturday night we were both dropped off in the city to catch our own taxis home and we stopped off in The Pancake Parlour for a hot chocolate. It was nice. We had a booth in the corner. Neither of us had drank during the night and it was absolutely freezing, with barbarians roaming the streets (I nearly got in a fight) and that wood panelled Pancake Parlour was like an oasis. No, more of a refuge, a sanctuary. The hot chocolates were particularly good.
The movie starts at 7:30pm, so we’re going to the Myer VIP Sale first. The stock-take sales are about to begin, and Pippa used to work for Myer, and has a Myer card. Consequently, she is invited to this VIP thing and I’m allowed to tag along. It’s basically a night where snobs like us can peruse the bargains the night before the sale begins. No hairy-armed matrons from St Albans elbowing you out of the way to get at bargains they don’t even want, but can’t stand other people getting. I need some kitchen-ware. A stock pot, to cook all my lovely Winter soups. I love a soup, me.