Rescued from The Wayback Machine by TISM Self Storage. This was originally published in the form it appears below on the now-defunct www.tism.wanker.com site.
He was right. For the first and last time in our careers, Williams was able to correct us. So it is that our new album, www.tism.wanker.com, is in fact a neutered version of the earlier work; we dropped the modern rock opera, and wrote some poop songs instead. [I think he means pop songs - David Williams, head of Shock Records].
But it hurt none the less. All that research wasted! The whole process of developing a deeper awareness of ourselves as men, as husbands and brothers and fathers - the whole undertaking of an action plan to change our lives as males - the struggle to own our femininity whilst responding to the father-role in all of us - all that, gone!
But we're not gonna cry like girls about it. Instead, we can share with you our interviews with prominent Australians about the issue of being a 90's male:
PRESIDENT OF THE SPORTING SHOOTERS ASSOCIATION: We have a right to use our peni� guns. We have a right to hold our guns ready, and we like to shoot them. We like really big penises � guns. Sorry. Guns. Not penises. Our penises have nothing do with it! We like really big guns that can shoot and shoot and shoot without jamming or going limp and soft, and the bigger the penis and the more it can shoot the better because it's only with our penises in our hands and being able to pull and shoot and pull and shoot that we can really feel like men with big guns. Penises. Guns. Look, can I start again?
BRUCE RUXTON: I know the men who went forward at Lone Pine; I've seen mates and comrades who never came back; I've talked to the men who marched through Hellfire Pass, and I know the one true test of a man: bashing me in the mouth.
COMMANDING OFFICER, SAS REGIMENT: As a man used to war and conflict, I've seen some horrible things, but I've not witnessed anything half as horrible as Jason Dunstall's hair cut.
LLOYD WILLIAMS: Being a 90's male means being able to say you're sorry. So, as a person instrumental in Crown casino, its falling share prices, and the long term ill effects of gambling on the wider society, I'd like to say to the people of Victoria that I'm ready and waiting for their apology any time.
CHOPPER REED: If someone hands me a slab of beer, of course I'll drink it. If someone hands me a gun, of course I'll shoot it. If someone hands me a knife, of course I'll use it. If someone opens a bank, of course I'll rob it. And someone should start taking responsibility for my actions, 'cos I sure as fuck aren't.
JASON DUNSTALL: I would like to say that this modern trend of having footy players on radio shows and TV all acting like they're fucking Krusty the Clown is giving me the fucking shits. Let's stick to playing footy, and leave the schtick and the pie in the face and the slapstick bumbling to the SAS.
PATRICK STEVEDORE: I was in bed with Peter the other day, and I said to him, "Peter, remember when we had to hide in Dubai and pretend we didn't know each other? Isn't it great we can be open about our relationship in the 90's?" He denied he'd ever met me, of course: but let me tell you, Peter's load gets shifted as many times per hour as anyone in Hamburg.
POWDERFINGER: Being a male's great, 'cos we get to roger our fans.
THE MAVIS'S: Being a male's great, 'cos we get to roger each other.
DAVE GRANEY: Being a male's great, 'cos my fan is called Roger.
COMMANDING OFFICER, SAS REGIMENT: So. Well, Jason, at least that explains why you're growing your hair like Sideshow Mal.
TONY LOCKETT: For me, as a male in the 90's, I'm very aware of the need to be in touch with other males. And not in a half hearted manner. You can ask many of my male colleagues just how whole heartedly I have touched them; not the gentle feminine touch of woman, but the wholehearted open strong bond of the male touch. The touch of elbow, the touch of temple, the touch of insane joy as another orthopedic surgeon gets his tools ready for a total lower jaw reconstruction.
I remember lining up on Peter Reith one cold wet day at the SCG. He was playing full back - though he denied it, claiming he was actually full forward for the Sydney Swans and that I had better check my facts. It was then that I knew he needed a bit of strong, unembarrassed modern male touching. I got my chance late in the second quarter. Reith had refused to change ends at quarter time, telling the runner that he was and had always been full back for the Chicago Bulls. Still, as he backed into my path I just thought of Steve Biddulph's introduction to Manhood - "May it give you hope and joy on your part of the journey" - and next thing old Reithie felt was the holistic healing sensation of his windpipe journeying, just for a while, outside his body.
The weird thing, though, came as he was being put on the stretcher. The teeth fragments and bubbles of blood forming around his mouth were obstructing what little oxygen was left in his thorax. But none the less, I distinctly remembering affirming to him my positive sense of joy at being able to so fully embrace him as a fellow male being. "I fucking knocked your teeth out, you little bag of shit," were my exact words.
"No you didn't," he said, just before spitting out what was left of them and losing consciousness.
JASON DUNSTALL: Bitch.
COMMANDING OFFICER, SAS REGIMENT: Whore.
ELLE MACPHERSON: Changing my gender was a big step, but it means people now appreciate me for who I really am, not just for my body. Now I'm a male, it's my thoughts and ideas that are important; it's my creativity and talent that people focus on, not my physical appearance. Though I do sometimes find myself missing the spotlight a little when things get a bit slow down the mail sorting room.
THE ANGELS: Being a 90's band means flogging a dead horse. [We feel possibly The Angels didn't hear our question about being a 90's man quite correctly - TISM]
JASON DUNSTALL: Let's go, army boy.
COMMANDING OFFICER, SAS REGIMENT: I'll ave ya.
STEVE BIDDULPH: Jason! Commander! Control these horrible aggressive instincts! As my book, Raising Boys, says, "If we males can only express disagreement via aggression and a battle for power, what hope have we got of allo� ooohhhmmpppph!
CHOPPER REED: Obvious joke coming up.
PARAMEDIC: Steve! Steve?! Christ, someone call the chopper.
CHOPPER REED: Here I am.
AUTHOR: Of course if someone hands me that line, I'll use it.
JASON DUNSTALL and COMMANDING OFFICER, SAS [pointing at Biddulph]: He tripped.
TONY LOCKETT: Christ. You two did him as bad as I did Peter Reith that day on the SCG.
PETER REITH: No they didn't.
PATRICK STEVEDORE: Peter! At last! We meet again.
PETER REITH: I have never seen you before.
[DUNSTALL and the COMMANDING OFFICER run out of room]
STEVE BIDDULPH: Oooheeerrrggghhhhhhh. What a pair.
ELLE MACPHERSON: Men like me for my talent.
[All males present share general laughter. Much guffawing. Males share beer. ELLE MACPHERSON looks surprised, then shocked, then outraged. Takes her top off.]
STEVE BIDDULPH: Oooheeerrrggghhhhhhh. What a pair.
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Steve Biddulph������� (bass)
Helen Garner���������
(drums)
Ritchie Benaud������ (triangle)
Peter Reith�������������
(guitar)
Peter Reith�������������
(Not on guitar.)
Peter Reith�������������
(I'm on guitar.)
Peter Reith�������������
(I'm not on guitar.)
Peter Reith�������������
(I'm on guitar, and always have been.)
Peter Reith�������������
(I'm not on guitar, and have never been.)
Peter Reith�������������
(I swear by all I hold sacred I am on guitar.)
Peter Reith�������������
(I stake my whole reputation on this central fact: I have never been on
guitar.)
Peter Reith�������������
(Look, I hold a simple position on this, and I fail to see why I am continually
badgered about it: I play guitar. That's it. Simple. It's time we got on
to the real issues, and worked to make Australia a more productive place.)
Peter Reith�������������
(I know the members of the opposition and their shadowy union masters are
continually trying to create a diversion from their own selfish work practices,
but this has got out of hand. I do not, have never, and will never play
guitar. If you can not understand that simple proposition, I pity you -
but I can't make it any clearer, and if you're prepared to keep pushing
this guitar controversy, well, you'll have to weigh up the damage you're
doing not only in terms of this debate, but in terms of the country as
a whole.)
Peter Reith�������������
(Oh, look, this is getting out of hand. Guitar? Me? Of course! What the
hell do you people need? I've played guitar for years, and I will continue
to play guitar for as long as the public and the Prime Minister want me
to.)
Peter Reith�������������
(Oh, look, this is getting out of hand. Guitar? Me? Of course not! What
the hell do you people need? I've not played guitar for years, and I will
continue to not play guitar for as long as the public and the Prime Minister
want me not to.)
Peter Reith�������������
(Keyboard)
[The scene is a modern gym. It is a cold winter's morning. There is no reason for it to be so, except it's the sort of sentence that goes about here in a play script. If it was a cold winter's morning in a lesbian collective, I'd get a fucking grant, I know that much. Jesus, if it was a cold winter's morning and I was just beginning my struggle as a woman to express myself in a harsh patriarchal social nexus, I'd win the fucking Nobel fucking prize for literature: but, oh no, it's only a gym, and there's only blokes in this scene (except Steve Biddulph), so I guess that's not good enough for the fucking women's collective.
I've no problems with my sexuality: it's just that I don't get to use it enough.
The sound of weights clinking is interspersed with the panting and straining of the people working them. Just audible, from the next room, comes the sound of Peter Reith practicing guitar. Sitting on the pec dec is Ritchie Benaud. He is dressed in a tight fitting muscle shirt, and as he works the machine sweat dribbles provocatively down, making his bursting chest seem strangely moist and welcoming. There is an aureole of sweat around the ...what's it called? those bits of red skin surrounding your nipples? Whatever. The nipples themselves are possibly erect.
Waiting for the machine is Steve Biddulph.]
Steve: Ritchie, you know you don't have to be here. There is another man within, a sensitive man, a caring man, a man who cares and isn't afraid of touch.
[In the middle of a set, Ritchie's cut body strains to lift the weights. His groaning features are only just able to shoot a look of disbelief and disgust at Biddulph.]
Steve: I know you want to be in touch with the beast within. But when you apologize to your father, then you will understand the meaning of the words "I forgive."
[Ritchie stops lifting. He looks blankly at Biddulph. Getting out of the chair without a word, he slowly and silently increases the weight, and returns to the chair. His movements communicate his disgust. He begins another set.]
Steve: I want to tackle the issue of sexuality, of a new partnership with women, and the spirit of change that is driving the Men's Movement. There is a journey all men must make.<
[The sound Peter Reith's guitar is still heard. Ritchie groans with an extra effort, then stops. He turns to Biddulph.]
Benaud: Got any 'roids?
Steve: Yeah.
Peter Reith [rushing into the room]: I don't play guitar.
[The scene is a lesbian collective. It is a cold winter's morning. The only sounds to be heard are the lesbians as they strain against the weight of the modern patriarchal society, expressed at this moment in the form of modern gym equipment.]
Helen Garner: I've lost interest in this idea.
TISM: Same here... . Is that your shoes I can smell? No? Then it must be ---
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