Archive for June, 2009


Numerous nicknames abound throughout the extended circle of people I know.

From variations of actual names: Davo, Kenno, Robbo, Rossco, Moose, Gazza…

To nicknames that appear to have no justification behind them:
Penny-Trayshun, Hands, Damage, Britney, Feltcher, Psycho Jimmi, Water-Dreams, Scrubber …

From nicknames with multiple syllables:
Wolfgang-Puck-The-19th-Best-Chef-in-the-World (seriously, that’s how he introduces himself to women)…

To monosyllabic names that could be potentially offensive: Coon…

From nicknames derived from personality traits of that person: Poof, Pommy Tom, Kiwi-Pete, Easy, Cuddles…

To nicknames derived from physical characteristics: Skin-Footies, Midget, Fatboy, Shilpa, Billy Idol, Penis, Greg Da Pedo…

Of all the above people, only Greg Da Pedo (Greg) has consistently resisted adaptation of the nickname, despite my persistence over the last 3 years.

He has never been happy about the name, which of course encouraged the name to stick. When we worked together, I was even tempted at one point to introduce him to new clients as ‘Greg Da Pedo’.

The story about how this nickname came about is as follows. A few years ago, our company had a client that held a competition to find the “grizzliest man” in Britain. Users had to submit their most macho picture of themselves and a short description as to why they are Britain’s grizzliest man. The winner received a fridge full of meat.

Greg’s entry description was this: “I should win this competition because I have both extreme intelligence and a muscular physique. ”

He submitted this photo. I AM NOT KIDDING.



When I saw his submission, the immediate dialogue that followed between us went something like this. (When imagining this conversation, remember that Greg has a well educated, upper-class English accent)

Jeffro “Are you fucking serious, THAT’S the picture you’re submitting?”

Greg “Yes”


Greg “Jeffrey, I really do not understand why you find this picture so amusing”

Jeffro “Mate…in this picture you look like… a sex offender! You resemble a cross between a Boys2Men member and a young Gary-Glitter!”

Greg “I most certainly do not”

Jeffro “You do! It’s bloody hilarious! Ooh stay away from me, I don’t want to be associated with a criminal! You look like either a rapist or a pedophile. So do you like tweens or teens?”

Greg “I find this all a bunch of nonsense. You can be rather immature sometimes”

Jeffro “HAHAHA!!!! I bet you like them immature!!”

Greg “That’s not funny”

Jeffro “Do you know how you always wanted an Australian nickname? Well your nickname can be called Greg The Pedophile!”

Greg “Do not call me that name”

Jeffro “What’s wrong with Greg The Pedophile? It’s an awesome name! You could shorten it to Greg Da Pedo, or even GDP! Yeah!! GDP is IN DA HOUSE!!”

Greg “I really do not appreciate being called a pedophile. It’s insulting and degrading”

Jeffro “Is it seriously bothering you?”

Greg “Yes, how would you like to be called Jeffro Da Pedo?”

Jeffro “I’d actually think it’d be really cool. OK if it really bothers you, I’ll give you two options. You can be called Greg Da Pedo or…..Greg Da Rapist. They both have a nice ring to them”

Greg “I honestly prefer neither of those names”

Jeffro “Too bad, it’s GDP. It even has lyrical potential: ‘They call me GDP – I’m a badass dude. I need small kiddies more than I need food.‘”

Greg “I hate that”


And from that day on, the name stuck.


June 5, 2009 at 2:31 pm 7 comments

Things That All Men Find Funny

There are some things in life that all men find funny regardless of their race or social status.

1. A blow to the testicles. It’s a fact that all men will laugh at the misfortune of another man when a cricket ball hits him in his bloke-berries (call it whatever… the nut butter tank, the hanging meatballs, the salty protein grapes, the chin pounders etc). It’s even better when caught on camera and submitted to Australia’s Funniest Home Videos.

I’ve experienced this on a personal level many times. Throughout my life my man-marbles have been subjected to numerous poundings including hits from rugby balls, tuna cans, pub fights, tree branches, the head of Robbo’s guitar and a hard whack from the mid-pole of my bike when the seat fell off last year whilst doing 40km/h on Bondi Road.

Dick Punch

Dick Punch

2. Diarrhea. Face it, it’s funny. In fact the subject of  “spray-can poo” dominates approximately 60% of any conversation my mate Ceps initiates. He has stories to beat the best of my stories, and believe me I have a lot of experience. Today I had a day-procedure at hospital to test for colon cancer. I’ll write about this traumatising experience in another post, but I’ll stay on topic for now. The point is, I’ve been shitting through a straw for the past 48 hours as I had to consume a vile drink that tasted of dish-washing water mixed with children’s snot, brussel sprouts and sugar. Why is it that all medicines contain obscene amounts of sugar in an attempt to mask the horrid taste? It’s similar to putting a dinner dress on a fat, ugly whore – it’ll be a bad experience either way.

Anyway, the demon-drink caused sudden explosive diarrhea approximately every hour in an effort to clean out my guts prior to the procedure. Consequently, my arse is now as sore as a Thai Lady-boy’s during an economic boom period. But the point is it was funny even for me; I was giggling like a Chinese schoolgirl in a Hello Kitty store whenever I had to run to the toilet. This was despite my desperate attempts to squeeze my butt cheeks together using nothing but mind-control. My girlfriend also thought it was funny, until the stench carried from the bathroom to the lounge-room where she was was trying to sew. I loved watching her head suddenly turn sharply to the right as she got whacked by the poo bat.

3. Watching English backpackers being rescued at Bondi Beach. OK so I’m not a sick weirdo that enjoys observing our tea-drinking cousins actually drowning. In fact, the death rate of Brits dying from over consumption of Bondi sea-water is actually non-existent thanks to our totally awesome life-savers who are volunteering their time I must add. I simply mean it is rather funny watching them struggling in the water – shiny, pale and over-weight. In fact, they often resemble albino baby-seals learning how to paddle. 200 years ago, the Australian Aborigines also probably thought this was humorous, and potentially paved the way for our obsession with others misfortune:

Aboriginal 1: Oi bro, check out the white-fella drowning. Should we save him bro?

Aboriginal2: Nah bro, leave him. Lets re-enact his drowning at “Australia’s Funniest Home Corroborree”.

4. Playing practical jokes on your passed out friend. Every man has done/had it done: from painting ‘Chelsea Smiles’ on his face, to sticking stiff orange vegetables in warm orifices, to shaving off every piece of body-hair he has.

TIP: Plan your bucks/stag night at least one week before the wedding

TIP: Plan your bucks/stag night at least one week before the wedding

I believe that practical jokes on drunk friends truly do transcend all cultures:

Japan: “Let us see if Hiroshi wakes up if we rub wasabi on his pee-hole”

America: “Hey man, why the fuck do I have a safety pin through my nipple?”

India: “We will dip a condom in tandoori sauce and put it down Kumar’s underpants”

Australia: “AH CRAP AH CRAP I PISSED MYSELF!!! Oh wait, dammit Kenno did you pour warm water on my crotch again?!”

June 3, 2009 at 10:10 pm 1 comment

The 6 Pint Trigger Mark

I’ve always thought that I can hold my alcohol as well as my mates. This is quite a feat considering the majority of my friends are athletic alpha-male types that started growing chest hair when they were 10 and had a deeper voice than Stallone when they were 11. Me on the other hand, am still waiting for that chest-hair growth spurt (I currently have less than 7) and have always been considerably leaner than my mates. Kenno can pick me up with one hand and sling me over his shoulder whilst tickling my chin with his other hand – that’s his favourite pub trick.

My mates and I have a common trait whenever we’re out drinking. At the start of an evening, conversation will be rather normal, even intellectual at times. We’d typically discuss our travel exploits, who’d win in an arm wrestle between Gordon and Barack, the impact climate change will have on beer-prices and if black leather jackets on men would ever be considered heterosexual.

However, we all seem to have a trigger point around the 6 pint mark, at which our behaviour almost certainly changes with predictable results.

Kenno – after the 6 pint trigger point will generally substitute the word ‘cunt’ for any pronoun or name. Additionally, the word ‘fucking’ would be inserted in his sentence structure, usually immediately before any noun.

  • One pint Kenno: “Jeffrey, can I enquire as to whether you would like me to purchase another beer for you”.
  • Six pint Kenno: “Oi Jeffro cunt, do you want another fucking beer you cunt?”

Within our circle of friends, this is completely fine and expected. However, Kenno and I often visit different countries, where ‘cunt’ may be somewhat more offensive than in Australia. For instance, in Poland ‘cunt’ is a well known brand of shoe polish. Kenno often makes matters worse by calling complete strangers ‘cunts’, including barmen, nearby punters, cab drivers, over-weight prostitutes and midnight kebab-store vendors.

Moose – after the 6th pint will be completely nude by the 7th, guaranteed. It’s almost worth preparing your phone for ‘video-mode’ around the 6th pint for blackmail potential if Moose ever becomes a prominent figure in society. We filmed this when we were drinking in a hotel bar in the mountains of Slovakia. A group of Polish tourists had just arrived at the hotel and were assembling in the foyer to listen to their tour-guide explain how to cope with potential situations in the woods, in particular amorous male bears that mistake backpack-toting Polish tourists for prime female bears. At this particular moment, a loud “WHOOOAA WHOOOAA” could be heard from the direction of the hotel bar. A moment later, a completely naked Moose was running straight for the crowd, who quickly separated for him faster than the Red-Sea did for Moses. Moose ran completely outside and back in again back through the path of people to the hotel bar. We were politely asked to leave.

The tendency to nude-up after 6 pints could possibly be genetically linked. I went out drinking once with his brother, and ended up in a strip club in Kings Cross. It was the type of club that served $27 beers and expected to keep the change from a $100 note. In the cab back to Bondi, I passed out in the backseat in a drunken slumber. I remember waking up only a few minutes later when Moose’s brother said to the cabbie “pull over just here, I really need to do something”. When the cabbie pulled over, he jumped out of the car, pulled his pants completely off and ran about 20m down the middle of the street yelling at the top of his voice “I’M FREE!! I’M FREE!!”. He then jumped back into the car and explained “It was something I had to do, drive on cabbie.”

There’s still Midget, Ceps, Ranga and Damage to go – I’ll expand on their trigger point traits later.

June 2, 2009 at 10:09 pm 7 comments