Bails wades in with his thoughts on recent events
“Bails, great to see you mate. You are wrong about the French, let me tell you. Yesterday I met a French pole dancer.”
“Did ya mate? What was his name?”
Shaun Lorenzini is the Captain of the Club and a fine bloke. He had invited me around to the home of Craig Burnham to meet the Captains and The Prez to ‘discuss a very serious matter’.
“Bails is here.”
“Thank the Lord,” said the boys.
“That’s usually the reaction I get from the fairer sex,” I said.
“Yeah… right,” said Shaun as the adorable young Pix appeared around the corner. “Bails, you’re here!” she said, “Thank the Lord.”
“G’day Bails!”
“That sounds like Burbs,” I said, “but I don’t see him.”
“He’s out on the patio,” said Pix. She seemed very worried and for good reason. “Since he got 145 not out we can’t get his head through the French doors, er sorry Bails, double doors.”
“Now look you blokes this had better be important. I’ve canceled an evening with P!nk at The Tunnel to be here.”
“Well mate,” said The Prez, “we have a couple of problems. First is Burbs, Pix tells me since his big score he has got a bit ahead of himself.” Young Pix then informs me that Burbs is on the health food, nearly got run over taking the dog for a run and most worryingly of all, is off the Bourbon!!
“I’m very worried about him, all those brussel sprouts are giving him wind at night and the lack of bourbon seems to be affecting his mind.” Then Pix started telling me about their contraption in the backyard and how they hang him upside down after a match to ‘loosen him up’. Now I was really interested and offered a separate consultation later in private.
“Second problem Bails is Tommy,” said The Prez, anxious to change the subject.
“Tommy?? There’s nuthin wrong with Tommy, I saw him at practice the other night and he is frightening. Tanned, rippling muscle, shirt open to the navel and when I faced him in the nets he damned near killed me! Geez you blokes, you said this was important and you drag me all the way down here. I’m right in the middle of sorting out some problem in Tiger’s marriage because his Mrs has run off the bloody rails and now I get here….”
“He’s become a model,” interrupted the Pres.
“A what mate?”
“You heard mate, a bloody model.”
“How the hell did that happen??”
“Dunno mate, we made an example of ‘S Bomb’ when he turned up that day to open the bowling sporting a fake tan and I thought we’d stamped it out of the Club. You dealt with blokes attending after match functions wearing nothin but a towel and now this. Rumour says he has his own 1300 number, you know like a Guys and Girls late night chat line? Blokes who sit up all night watching ‘foreign’ movies on SBS will know. Something like 1300 69 69 68?”
“No no… 69 6…9…,” said Glenny Franklin emphatically. “69.”
“Look mate,” I said to The Prez, “I’ll have a look into it, but it’s only to be expected though, when you think about it. After the Men of Hays calendar was published Tommy naturally got a bit rattled. You blokes put him far too close to me, and Tommy didn’t handle it at all well. Never had a negative reaction from women in his life before. Thank heavens my pose was from the rear or we could have had REAL problems.”
“I think that the Club should give $10,000 to Greenpeace to stop the water level of the duck pond rising 10 metres in the next 6 months and flooding the club rooms,” yelled Burbs. It was time to leave.
“G’day Bails,” said Tommy, “what brings you here?”
“You mate, you’ve become a bloody model!!”
“Now settle down Bails, you shouldn’t judge something until you understand it mate. Tell you what, I’ll take you down to the Agency to meet the people.”
We were soon in a Prahran back alley named Rodeo Lane at the Tanya Mercedes Academy for Gorgeous Men. Here we were greeted by some bloke named Francois.
“Tommy Darling, you are looking vunderful.”
“Yeah…listen Francois, this is Bails and he wants to get the drum on being a model.”
“Vaste of time Tommy darling. He looks a bit tense, maybe a massage to relax him.”
“Listen Tommy if Francois comes anywhere near me I’ll hook him.”
“Nah Bails, we’ll get Sharon to attend to your every need. When she’s finished you’ll be a model like me. Well sort of like me.”
Sharon looked me up and down in the manner that so many young women do when they unexpectedly come across me in my undies. “We could give him some non-invasive fractional laser skin resurfacing, and electrolysis will give him two eyebrows. Dunno about the mole though, I’m not supposed to remove them but we have got some anaesthetic gel. Dye the hair, botox and buttock pads in the undies should help. We could tattoo a washboard on the front. Take a shower Mr Bails, there is a towel hanging behind the door.”
Back from the shower and I’m shown in to a private room.
“Firstly Mr Bails, we need to do something about the hair. Tommy suggested a number 2.”
I didn’t realise you could order hair care like chinese takeaway. Five minutes later I’m bald, Tommy is falling about the place and Sharon is placating me with opinions of me now looking ‘manly’. “Botox will help with those wrinkles.” The last thing I remember was this enormous needle coming towards me and then waking up having lost control of my forehead.
“What the hell is Botox?”
“Botox is a toxic nerve agent,” I’m casually told.
Tommy meanwhile is off for a photo shoot dressed only in a banana hammock. His back has been waxed and toe nails pedicured. Spray on tan looks spectacular and now an attractive young lady is offering a Brazilian.
“No thanks sweet heart I’ve already had two,” explains Tommy.
I hadn’t seen any Latin American women and although obviously disappointed, she certainly seemed to take the fact that Tommy had already had two Brazilian ladies very casually indeed. A bloke who is obviously Francois’ best mate is the photographer and he is nearly as enamoured with Tommy as every sheila in the establishment. While he flutters about, Tommy’s face is powdered, teeth are whitened, chest hair is blow dried, eyes are shaded and ‘glisten drops’ put in and rouge applied ‘where necessary’.
“See Bails, just a matter of a bloke wanting to look his best for when he goes on the telly. Nuthin wrong with that.”
“Oh Mr Bails,” said Sharon, “I’d forgotten about you.” I seemed to be having that effect on most women just at that moment.
Back in my private room and Sharon goes to work. Hair is dyed, chest hair trimmed and Francois carried out after trying to shave the moustache. Speaking of shaving and Sharon suggests bikini line electrolysis and waxing may be beneficial. The towel is removed and the electrolysis machine does its work. Things can’t get much more humiliating when Sharon announces that it is time for a Brazilian and a visit from Prince Albert. I don’t know who the hell Prince Albert is, but at last, I’m to meet one of these fabled amazons of which Tommy has spoken so fondly. They are hot women, or so I’ve been told and this one proves to be hotter than even my expectations. I storm out and then storm back to collect my pants.
“That’ll be $500 please Mr Bails,” says the young lady behind the counter.
“FIVE HUNDRED BUCKS, YOU HAVE GOT TO BE JOKING! How the hell does Tommy afford this every day?”
“Oh we never charge Tommy,” she informs me.
That night I’m in front of the telly with a very cold, strategically placed can of Fosters providing some relief. A sultry blonde informs me that if I ring 1300 69 69 69 my luck with the fairer sex will change almost immediately. Photos of several lovely young ladies then adorn the screen and then I’m informed that if my inclination is more towards ‘chaps’ (presumably French) I can ring 1300 69 69 68. Several more attractive young things then adorn my TV screen and it becomes apparent why Tommy spends so much time on personal presentation.
Bails, in association with KLF.