The Massacre

Let us pick up where we left off…


Yes this is one of my prouder accomplishments as the gay community is a picky one, and exceptionally aware or what makes a “smart cocktail.” I was asked to become, “the bartender for all future private events held by the Gay and Lesbian Alliance of Sydney’s Northern Beaches” while bartending one of their private functions held at my bar (Henry Africa’s).

A gay and lesbian dream team was assembled to make them more Mai Tai’s then they knew how to handle. Bartending was myself, and “sugar James” aka “Gay James.” When a gay and straight James team is assembled, there is no cocktail that can’t be made (with sas!), and no interior that can’t be redecorated. When their president asked for my number so that I would be their private bartender, I was nearly moved to tears… one of the happiest moments of my life. Not even “gay James” was offered this job, and the first word of his nickname sounds like it would be a prerequisite for the job.

BECOMING A MASTER THAI CHEF (with a certificate to prove it)

This happened.


Also took place


So it turns out Aboriginal people are no fun. No fun at all. While traveling through the Australian outback, Rachel and I happened upon the town of Alice Springs. This was to be a place that I now consider to be the worst place on earth. Employment as well as belt-wearing seems to be completely optional, and most residents have opted for the “no thank you” approach to both. So there are a lot of people and a lot of asses simply hanging out. Another fun fact about Alice Springs is that there is a banner proudly waving above the entrance to the hospital reading “Smoke free since July 2009!!!” This was a banner I assumed most hospitals had hung proudly a few decades ago. I guess I should have known not to expect a bustling cosmopolitan metropolis in a place whose main attraction is a big rock (granted this rock was very very cool).

Anywho… upon leaving this waist-beltless wonderland Rachel and I are cruising down the highway excited for another 3000 kilometers of mindless driving. It is just past sunset when we spot some commotion ahead on the highway. Rachel slowed down our whip as we approached and we were delighted to find that the highway was filled by an old fashioned Aboriginal street fight. Several cars were pulled over, and people were throwing fists all over the highway. Naturally I tucked my head down between my knees and emerged only after Rachel assured me we had successfully dodged them. About 200 meters later, we find several more cars pulled over, and a group of Aboriginal people outside of them hailing us down to get them to stop. Again I entered my “safe place” and began dreaming about all of the cocktails I could make the gay community of Sydney… what new and fantastic garnishes might they enjoy? But I didn’t dream for long, because again Rachel successfully slammed on the gas, and blew past whatever doom was waiting for us there.


Monkeys suck… just want to get that out in the open first. None of that hippie pro-monkey sentiment here.

Phil and I kayaked to “monkey beach” were we expected a warm friendly monkey welcome. I planned to leave the beach with a nice servant monkey, who would subsequently train more monkeys to take care of me on the rest of my travels. I ended up leaving hungry and scarred (I was only emotionally scarred, Phil was physically scarred).

Within 2 seconds of landing our kayak on the beach this little punk monkey ran right past me, past Phil, onto the kayak, and then ran off with our Oreo cookies. He dropped a few cookies behind him, and I swallowed my pride and gathered the scraps he left behind in his thievish wake. I was soon confronted by more angry monkeys, and I quickly surrendered my remaining treats. The monkeys picked my cookies up off the sand, looked them over, brushed off the sand (something I hadn’t even thought of. I was just going to eat the whole thing sand and all), and then concluded it was too sandy. So the monkey separated the cookie into two, and licked off the sand free cream filling.

Phil and I later sat down near the monkeys, but it turned out they wanted my bottle of water as well, so a little one jumped onto the bench we were on, and scratched Phil. We both ran off and I screamed “we are being attacked by small wild monkeys.” I never gave them the water (James 1 Monkeys 1), and I’m pleased to see that when I’m in a crises, I respond by very vocally, and accurately describing my predicament.


It has always been my dream for people to pay money to look at me (extra fees for direct eye contact), and I’m proud to say that I have taken a small and insignificant step closer to that goal. While Rachel and I were traveling through New Zealand we were growing a little tired, and agreed to stop off at a beach and just look good for a while. After an afternoon of looking good we strolled along the beach back towards our station wagon/house, and somebody took notice.

A strange man with a large tripod and film camera came up to us and asked to film us. Naturally I assumed he was in the pornography businesses, but when I realized he wasn’t… I grew suspicious. Don’t worry Mom, I remembered what you told me, and kept safely behind Rachel while talking to strange men.

It turns out he is actually making a 30 minute promotional video for southern New Zealand, and wanted to film Rachel and I walking along the beach. He took our information and said he would mail Rachel a copy of the DVD. If this ever happens I’ll rent out a movie theater, and have an exclusive showing for whoever is reading this right now. Yes, I will stick around for a few minutes after the screening to answer questions.


“I really enjoyed your Oz post. I miss it there. My blog is looking for travel photos. If you have the time, email us some at or check us out at Continued fun on your travels, Eric”

This is an actual comment posted onto my blog from an actual stranger. This is how it begins people, first Eric starts following my blog, then an unsuspected facebook friendship emerges between us… it turns out Eric and I have much in common… it turns out Eric IS INSIDE MY HOUSE!!!

Perhaps it may not go that far… perhaps, but between this comment and the fame I’ll soon garner in Southern New Zealand there is no telling how big I’m about to get. I’m picturing myself in 5 years having authored something featured on Oprah’s book club, and having invested wisely in a small frozen yogurt chain.

So Eric (I know you are reading this): let’s talk figures. This blog I’m doing is already pro-bono, and now you want me to send pictures too? I don’t think so. Please don’t even waste my time with your first offer. I have been bartering on the streets of Thailand while you sit in your parent’s basement scouring the net for more “dirty hippies.” It’s not about free love/blogs for me… I just watched a boot legged copy of “Get Rich of Die Trying,” and I’m jacked as hell to start “make’n dat paper.” So go ahead and double your first offer, and contact my management/legal team of Dickstein Jain & Lloyd.

-Ja ja ja Ja ja ja JAMES UNIT!

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