Last weekend I met a random guy at the pub and made a $100 bet with him that Hawthorn would beat Melbourne. I got his number, he didn’t get mine. I won’t be calling him.
I feel like by now I shouldn’t have to preface these blogs by saying these are true stories, but this is a true story.
Bondi, August 2018: I was at the urinal and bloke looked at me and said ‘why are you so sunburnt? I said, ‘I’m not sunburnt and how about you show some respect to the King of Bondi’. He said ‘since when have you been the King of Bondi? I said ‘for a few weeks now, a lot of people have been saying it’. He said ‘yeah well my friend is meant to be the King of Bondi, he’s at the bar, you two should meet to determine who the real King is’. We walked out of the toilet and the guy pointed to his mate at the bar, I walked up without any pleasantries and said ‘so why are you the King of Bondi?’ and he said ‘I’m the King because I don’t drink with the plebs’. I laughed and said ‘well, I’m a King who drinks with the plebs, and only a true King drinks with the people’. I then walked off and haven’t seen him since.
My neighbour introduced himself to me today and said ‘I notice you get lots of parking tickets, you should park in the other street’
I said ‘thanks bro, but don’t worry about it’.
He said ‘I don’t think you understand’
I said ‘I don’t think you understand who you’re talking to’
Last night I went to the chicken shop and couldn’t finish my dinner (which is rare). The owner laughed and said ‘ya couldn’t finish ya dinner mate!’ So tonight I went back there fired up and finished 2 chicken dinners! I taught the owner a valuable lesson, even though I spent $40 on chicken.
Last night I met a celebrity hairdresser who cuts Cher’s hair. We did a business deal whereby if I send him a topless photo of myself within 24hrs, I receive a free haircut. I have 4 hours left. It’s like an episode of 24.
I’m in my favourite food court again eating at my favourite restaurant. I asked the cashier ‘how’s the schnitzel tonight bro?’ he replied ‘very dry, but nothing a bit of sauce can’t fix’. We laughed and I ordered the schnitzel. Sadly, the sauce couldn’t fix the schnitzel tonight.
Los Angeles, 2014: I'd been selling vodka shots at the gay bar for over a year and it was time to go out on my own. The only problem was that I didn't know the secret vodka shot recipe. I knew roughly what it was, but I once made a batch and few guys had to get their stomachs pumped! Fortunately one of my vodka shot colleagues, Alejandro, knew the secret recipe (it was just like KFC's 9 secret herbs and spices). Alejandro was well known for making batches that tasted yummy but also potent! Most customers remarked that his test tubes (that's what we sold them in) were strong, so they were good value! I knew that if I was to start a new gay venture, then Alejandro needed to be onboard. One night when we were out the back counting our one dollar bills, I pitched Alejandro my idea. I explained that with his vodka recipe and my business knowledge we could make thousands or possibly a thousand! Alejandro agreed and I went to work on acquiring gay bars for us to sell vodka shots in. I literally started door knocking gay bars (because the front door was locked during the day). One afternoon I door knocked a place called Rasputin. Rasputin was a real dump but I knew we could move some test tubes there. I walked into Rasputin at 2pm and pitched the idea to a 50 year old man with braces, called Alejandro (yes another Alejandro!), he smiled a lot and kept asking about the vodka recipe, I kept telling him I didn't know, but I know a guy who does. By 9pm that evening, we were in the Rasputin kitchens making vodka batches! That evening we sold a fuckload of vodka shots and there was a live performance by Australian draq queen, Courtney Act!
To be continued...
Melbourne 2015: I was driving a hire car for a few months and realised I could make some money if I turned it into an uber. My first customer was a mate who called me up wanting a lift. He was really drunk and asked if he could get a lift from Richmond to Frankston. I said "yeah mate, that's gonna cost you $10 cash, but you're not allowed to spew in my car because it's a hire car!" (for the record if I owned the car, spewing is allowed) He agreed not to spew. As soon as he got in the car he took off his pants and was completely naked and then he took off his belt and started whipping the windscreen. The buckle hit the glass a few times and I said "look mate, nudity and belt whipping is allowed, just be careful because the windscreens in Nissan Micras aren't built to withstand contact". Five minutes later my mate spews everywhere. I pulled the car over and said "you know the rules, spew fee is $250 cash brother", I drove him straight to an ATM. And then we continued our drive to Frankston.
P.S It's a good business model, driving your mates around in a hire car trying to make them spew.
2014, Los Angeles: I was introduced to a manager who specialised in TV soaps (Bold & The Beautiful, Days of Our Lives, General Hospital etc). His name was Michael B and he agreed to see me for an audition. If the audition went well he would represent me and I'd be a good chance to get on Days of Our Lives.
I arrived at his house in the Hollywood Hills ready for the audition - it was a scene from 'Sleepless in Seattle'. He said "alright come into my kitchen and take a seat" (it was the first time I had auditioned in somebody's kitchen. Michael said "are you ready?" I said "yep". We started the scene and two small yappy dogs came running down the stairs (they looked like Cocker Spaniels) and beelined it for my legs and immediately began humping my legs - one each - I looked at Michael as if to say "do you want me to keep going?" He literally said "keep going". The dogs continued to root my legs and were making groaning noises, I finally finished the audition and Michael said "stop it you two!", then the dogs magically disappeared.
Michael then said "that was great!". I said "let's do it again because the dogs were humping my legs the whole time" to which he replied "no, I've seen enough and I'm impressed with your focus. I would like to represent you". I happily accepted. Michael was now my manager. I still don't know if he trained his dogs specifically to hump my legs... I reckon he did.
2002, Melbourne: I was studying business at Deakin University. One day I was in the lift going to a class with my friend, Phoebe, and the lift doors opened and a couple entered the lift. The lift went up and then it suddenly stopped. The four of us all looked at each other. We waited for a few seconds and still no movement. We pressed the lift alarm and still nothing. Finally a voice came over the speakers saying "we are sending a lift mechanic to you as soon as possible". I knew this could be a problem as I had just skulled two litres of water and wasn't wearing a nappy.
It had been thirty minutes and there was still no sign of the lift mechanic. By this stage I was about to piss my pants. By chance, in my hand was an empty 600ml Mount Franklin bottle; I knew what I had to do. I said "hey guys, I need to tell you something, I'm about to piss my pants, now I know the lift is not big, but would you guys be cool if I pissed into a bottle in the corner?" Phoebe said "will you face the wall?". I said "yeah sure, whatever makes you feel more comfortable". The other couple just nodded.
As I started to wee into the Mount Franklin bottle I quickly realised that the bottle wasn't going to be big enough. Mid-way through I yelled out, "the bottles not big enough, what shall I do? Should I keep pissing? Should I piss on the walls?" Phoebe yelled "no!". There wasn't much time, luckily used my business training and made an executive decision to stop weeing. It was the first time I've ever done what is colloqially known as a 'half-piss' - it's similar to being really hungry but only having a bite of a banana, it satiates you for a bit. Fifteen minutes later the mechanic arrived, opened the lift doors, I exited with a bottle of piss and sprinted for the toilets. P.S Sadly I don't have any photos.
October 2013, Los Angeles: The Royal Wedding is this weekend so it reminded me that I was once a Royal Guard. I was getting paid $35 p/h to stand still and essentially be a statue - the easiest way to do this is to fall asleep with your eyes open. After the first day I called the boss and said "listen, I'm gonna need $45 p/h because people keep punching me in the balls". The boss agreed to my demands. From then on, I wore a cricket box for protection. See some pics below:
Van Nuys, California, 2014: So after I got a life ban from Motel 6, I went looking for alternative accomodation that was $70 a night. The options were breathtaking, in the worst possible way.
I settled on a place that had a pool, with no water in it. I walked up to the pool and saw a sign that said "no diving". That sign saved my life. I walked back inside and was keen to fire up some WIFI, send some work emails and get some rest.
So I walked into reception and paid my $70 for a room, and I remember this vividly, then out of nowhere 10-15 police cars turned up with their sirens blaring and guns cocked. The cops yelled "where is he?", the receptionist pointed his index finger up and said "he's upstairs". All the cops sneaked upstairs with their massive rifles, it was like a SWAT team wanted to capture Bin Laden without waking him up.
I said to the receptionist "what's going on?" he said "there's a maniac on the loose in one of the rooms upstairs", I said 'have you debited my credit card yet?' he said 'sure have' I looked up to the ceiling like I had superman vision and could see directly into the maniacs room and said "could I get a refund bro?" the receptionist laughed and said "sure" and then said 'be careful getting to your car, the guy upstairs is a nut!'. I then literally sprinted to my hire car. I fanged it to the next motel which was 100m down the road. It was one of those motels that was so cheap, that everyone staying there, also lived there.
CONTINUED: I was desperate for a place to stay so I called Motel 6 and said "just a queen room please". The receptionist said "who's this?" I'd never asked "who's this?" before, but I could tell from the voice it was the man who banned me.
In a businesslike manner said "Well, it's Mr Williams". He said "Mr Williams you can't stay here", I said "why not?" he said "it says here on your file you're banned, you spewed and pooed in one of the rooms."
I said "no no no, take that off my file. it should just say on my file, 'businessman', can you change that please?". He said 'no'. I said "well, what if I pay you double? he said 'no', I said "triple?", he said "no, we don't want your business Mr Williams".
And as a businessman that really pissed me off so I very quickly turned into a Liam Neeson from 'Taken' and I said "You know what bro, I don't want YOUR business, and I'm gonna come there and kill you, because I remember your face, and you're fucked! I'm gonna come down there maybe not today, maybe not tomorrow, but soon, real soon, and you're fucked!
And now I'm definitely banned for life. I can't stay at Motel 6 Van Nuys ever again... I can't even pay to sleep with bed bugs.
CONTINUED: I woke up in the morning and as I usually do I went to the toilet (I don't know about you) and there was a huge amount of spew and poo - more than one man could do, in fact, more than 10 men could do. And I looked in the bath, and there was the same amount of poo and spew. It was like a spew and poo troff, if I didn't know better I would think it was soup.
And then I thought "hang on, did I do this?" Holy shit, I mean if I did, it was a personal best for me. Like it was disgusting, but it's still a record. Just a huge amount, I can take a positive out of this. I'm quite the man, a real man poo's in the bath.
But as I looked at it closer, I didn't think I did it, because it didn't look like my work. I was innocent! I then whipped into a rage because I don't deserve this, I'm a businessman. I have a business degree from Deakin University goddamit!
So I stormed into the hotel managers office, and said "come with me, I've got something to show you!". We walked into my hotel room and I showed him the toilet and bath and said "look at it, look at it!". We both stood there for about 10 seconds, and he thought I'd dragged him in there just to show him what I'd done.
I said "mate, I didn't do this. It's not my work". He said "but, you're the only one in the room Mr Williams"
I said "how dare you, I'm businessman, and I demand a full discount or even half discount or just some discount, or I will never come back!"
He said "please never come back". I said "well answered". I thought, fuck what a bastard, he's answered pretty well there.
So I left vowing never to return.
But a week later I'd fallen on hard times, and needed Motel 6 again.
To be continued...
Melbourne, 2000: My mate and I were entrepreneurs. We had read Robert Kyosaki's 'Rich Dad, Poor Dad' and we wanted to be Rich Dad's (even though we were both still virgins). Nonetheless, we knew we had to start our own business to escape the 'rat race' (Kyosaki term). We decided we could make our millions by becoming gardeners, after all everyone had a garden, and how hard could it be to mow some lawns and charge money. We decided to call our business 'Green Thumbs' but unfortunately when we went to register the business name, 'Green Thumbs', was already taken, so we called our business 'Green Thumbz' with a Z! We printed out some flyers and we were in business.
My Mum owned a lawn mower so we borrowed that and started door knocking houses to generate business. To our amazement, some people wanted their lawns mowed. They had no idea we were unqualified, in fact, I hadn’t mown a lawn in over two years because my younger brother, Cam, had banned me from using our family lawn mower. He claimed I was too careless and would run over rocks and blunt the blade. Sometimes he would turn up to our gardening jobs on a bicycle (he was 15) to make sure I wasn't using the lawn mower. But, this turned out to be a blessing in disguise, because Cam would straddle his Malvern Star ‘Abyss’ bicycle and yell from the street ‘Ash better not be using the lawn mower’ and I would just say to my business partner, ‘sorry mate, I’m not allowed to use the lawn mower, you’ll have to do it.'
Melbourne, 2005: At 5pm one evening my modelling agent texted me saying 'send me a photo of your hands ASAP!'. Now this wasn't normal, because I'd never done hand modelling. Nonetheless, I asked my Mum to take a photo of my hands and sent them through. Five minutes later my agent called saying they want to use my hands on a 'black & decker' TV commercial tomorrow, and I'd be paid $500. I said 'cool man' and told my Mum the great news. She was pumped!
The next day I turned up and the director said 'alright, we've only got one shot at this because once we put the black & decker power sander on the window sill, the window sill is going to be fucked'. Then he said 'so Ash, have you ever used a power sander before?' I replied 'yes' (I'd learnt that yes was the right answer in these situations, even if the answer was definitely no) even though I have literally never used a power tool before (I was actually banned by my younger brother from using our family lawn mower because he said I ran over rocks and blunt the blade. What the hell would he know!?). Anyway, the director said 'alright, let's go for a take, and remember we've only got one shot at this! Ash are you ready?. I replied 'yeah mate'. "AND ACTION!" he shouts, I had the power sander in my hand and approached the window sill deliberately, I then went to sand and the power sander flew out of my hand, leaving the window all scuffed up. The director yells 'fuck! what happened!?' I said 'sorry mate, this power sander is different to the one I use'. Then he thanked me for my time and said they could finish the commercial without me. I only saw the commercial on TV a few times, and I'm only 50% sure they used my hands.
Los Angeles, 2013: Maury Povich is today's version of Jerry Springer. Every morning I would get on Craigslist (job website) and apply for over 30 jobs, so when the phone rang it could have been anyone. One day the phone rang and it was some guy saying he could get me on Maury Povich. He explained he's been on the show three times before and reckons we would make a great double-act. He said, once we've perfected our story and act we could make as much as $500 each! I told him I was keen and to call me back. He called be back with a storyline - he was going to be my landlord and I was going to be his tenant who trashed the house and owed rent, and then we were going to get into a pre-planned fight with some fake fighting moves (that he knew and was going to teach me). We agreed to catch up, rehearse our act and practise fight moves.
We never caught up.
P.S I will find the actual correspondence I had with this guy and update this post.
Los Angeles, 2014: One week I'd be living in a Beverly Hills mansion, the next week I'd be homeless. And when I had no where to go, I used to stay at 'Motel 6' in Van Nuys. Motel 6 was my backup plan to a backup plan.
They called it 'Motel 6' because that's it's score out of 100.
And I used to only stay there when I was desperate, or when I was down to my last 70 bucks. Here are some REAL trip advisor reviews on Motel 6:
0 Excellents and 30 terribles. This place is classy.
It says here "no maid service" and that's why I liked it, you would wake up, and have to make your own bed, it felt like home.
I ended up getting a life ban from this motel.
To be continued...
July 2013, Los Angeles: I came across a modelling ad for a sports catalogue, paying $250.00. I thought this is going to be easy.
The photographers name was John, and he had 5 email addresses - I thought that was strange - he said let's meet at a hotel room at 5pm on Saturday - I also thought that was strange. But, I needed the $250.
I walked into the hotel room and there was a 70 year old man with a camera, I said "what's the story here bro?" how are you paying for this? he said nothing, smiled and flashed me $250 cash sitting in his top pocket. I said "beautiful, let's start shooting"
John had an array of necklaces on the bed, I’d shoot with one and then we'd changed it up and did a different necklace. Here is one of the photos:
Then John wanted to put some massage oil on me, but I didn't want to put the oil on because I thought he was trying to drug me, so I just splashed my body with water, I came out and John said “no, there’s not enough oil on” I splashed even more water on my body and John again was unsatisfied with the shine on my abs. So I went back into the bathroom and this time without thinking I used the massage oil. I was concerned but I thought surely John hasn’t drugged the oil.
I was now covered in John’s massage oil. Five minutes later I felt incredibly drowsy.
I was now lying on the bed and I thought "fuck, he’s got me, he’s drugged me. This guy’s good. I’m fucked now."
I texted my mate and said "I’ve had a good run but it’s over, this guy has drugged me with the massage oil, please tell my Mum and family I love them.
In this photo, I remember the specific moment, that’s me thinking I’ve been drugged and I’m gonna die.
After this photo was taken I fell asleep for 5 minutes. Then I woke up.
And it turns out I wasn't drugged at all, I was just sleepy.
Los Angeles, 2014: I was running some group personal training sessions for some extra cash. At the end of a group session we took a photo and the girl next to me was much shorter than I was, so short in fact, that her head was in my arm-pit.
After the photo was taken, I said "sorry Dana, my arm pit was in your face". She said "oh no, I love it, can I have another sniff?" I didn't want to be rude, so I obliged. She had a big sniff and said "yummy" and walked away.
I thought that would be the end of it, but next time she came in for a workout, she was loitering around after the session. I said "you all good Dana?" and she said "can I have another cheeky sniff?". And I'm a nice guy, so I'm like "yeah, but they are pretty smelly today Dana" and she goes "oh I like them even more when they're smelly, yummy!"
And this went on everyday for 2 weeks. It got to the point where people had caught onto the arm-pit sniffing activities and would hide behind the corner and watch. At one point there were 10-15 voyeurs watching Dana sniffing my arm pits, fortunately Dana was oblivious to this as she was too busy inhaling my body odour.
After the two weeks, I told Dana no more arm pit sniffing. I explained that I've got to maintain my dignity, and that if she wanted arm pit sniffs in the future she would have to pay for them.