persevering breed, and he will continue asking the question of anyone who will listen, and anyone who won’t, often asking the same question of the same person up to fifteen times in one hour. ‘Why did we fight the war?’ he will demand of the man sitting next to him. ‘Why did we fight the war?’ he will beg of the patrons huddled over their cigarettes outside. ‘Why?’ he will bark hoarsely at the fellow standing beside him at the urinal. Which war he is referring to is rarely specified, but it is assumed it is the war Australia fought against the foreigners to prevent them coming here and stealing our jobs, gaining unemployment benefits and forming gangs. These foreigners mostly came from Asia, Africa and Arabia, but also sometimes from southern Europe, and, occasionally, from New Zealand. A particular irritant for the Anzac and Bitters is the fact that, despite losing this unidentified war, Muslims still think they have a right to come here and tell our women they need to cover up, which is traditionally the job of Veterans.
Less overtly toxic, but just as dangerous in his own way, is that Veteran known as the Bus-Stop Chatter . This cheerful old Bloke is the friendliest and least whiny of the Veteran family, and has been described by many researchers as ‘reminding me of my granddad’. The Chatter’s gregarious nature and eagerness to make friends has given him a reputation as ‘a nice old man, really’, and ‘harmless’. This is unfortunate because, far from being harmless, the Bus-Stop Chatter is among the deadliest and most predatory of Blokes. In fact, this Veteran species resembles nothing so much as the Branch Python of northern Peru, which for most of the time is identical to an ordinary tree branch, until somebody picks it up, at which point it wraps itself around the unfortunate individual and eats their head. Another good example is Scandinavia’s venomous Four-Leaf Clover Spider.
The Chatter, though presenting as a gentle and kindly old man, in fact has only one aim in mind: to draw you in to a seemingly innocuous and pleasant conversation, and then
squeeze
, so that you, the unhappy victim, realise all too late that you have walked into a trap, and that your only option is to stay there until you are suffocated by meaningless stories or driven insane by baffling non sequiturs.
The Chatter’s life cycle is defined by the fact that he has no friends, but really wants some. It is an unfortunate genetic quirk that the Chatter’s desperate desire for human companionship goes hand in hand with his absolute insufferableness. It’s much like the Greater Indian Earthworm, which possesses a powerful urge to dance, but has no legs. Some have speculated that Bus-Stop Chatters were once ordinary Blokes who led lives full of deep disappointment and strong emotional trauma that rendered them socially damaged and unable to form normal relationships. The prevailing theory, however, is that Chatters are born fully-formed at the age of eighty-three, hatching from cocoons formed in milk bars when the chip fryer isn’t cleaned often enough. Whatever the truth, the indisputable fact is that the Chatter seeks to compensate for his failure to make friends the conventional way by lurking at bus stops – or, in the case of more exotic subspecies, train platforms – and preying on strangers who seem suitably weak-willed.
This is a fairly uniform process that usually begins with the Chatter sitting down near his victim and gauging their vulnerability by asking if they know when the next bus is. With any luck, the victim
will
know when the next bus is, and will tell the Chatter, thereby stymieing the attack. However, if the unfortunate soul does not know, and is foolish enough to say so, or is less than definite in their answer, the Chatter will smell the weakness and spring into action with a jocular comment about how you can never rely on buses really, can you? At this point, the wise person will commence
Less overtly toxic, but just as dangerous in his own way, is that Veteran known as the Bus-Stop Chatter . This cheerful old Bloke is the friendliest and least whiny of the Veteran family, and has been described by many researchers as ‘reminding me of my granddad’. The Chatter’s gregarious nature and eagerness to make friends has given him a reputation as ‘a nice old man, really’, and ‘harmless’. This is unfortunate because, far from being harmless, the Bus-Stop Chatter is among the deadliest and most predatory of Blokes. In fact, this Veteran species resembles nothing so much as the Branch Python of northern Peru, which for most of the time is identical to an ordinary tree branch, until somebody picks it up, at which point it wraps itself around the unfortunate individual and eats their head. Another good example is Scandinavia’s venomous Four-Leaf Clover Spider.
The Chatter, though presenting as a gentle and kindly old man, in fact has only one aim in mind: to draw you in to a seemingly innocuous and pleasant conversation, and then
squeeze
, so that you, the unhappy victim, realise all too late that you have walked into a trap, and that your only option is to stay there until you are suffocated by meaningless stories or driven insane by baffling non sequiturs.
The Chatter’s life cycle is defined by the fact that he has no friends, but really wants some. It is an unfortunate genetic quirk that the Chatter’s desperate desire for human companionship goes hand in hand with his absolute insufferableness. It’s much like the Greater Indian Earthworm, which possesses a powerful urge to dance, but has no legs. Some have speculated that Bus-Stop Chatters were once ordinary Blokes who led lives full of deep disappointment and strong emotional trauma that rendered them socially damaged and unable to form normal relationships. The prevailing theory, however, is that Chatters are born fully-formed at the age of eighty-three, hatching from cocoons formed in milk bars when the chip fryer isn’t cleaned often enough. Whatever the truth, the indisputable fact is that the Chatter seeks to compensate for his failure to make friends the conventional way by lurking at bus stops – or, in the case of more exotic subspecies, train platforms – and preying on strangers who seem suitably weak-willed.
This is a fairly uniform process that usually begins with the Chatter sitting down near his victim and gauging their vulnerability by asking if they know when the next bus is. With any luck, the victim
will
know when the next bus is, and will tell the Chatter, thereby stymieing the attack. However, if the unfortunate soul does not know, and is foolish enough to say so, or is less than definite in their answer, the Chatter will smell the weakness and spring into action with a jocular comment about how you can never rely on buses really, can you? At this point, the wise person will commence
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