Kiana, Polynesian Princess Of Surf

   The other day a mate sent me a funny video, on a secure and confidential channel reserved for things that cannot by rights see the light of day, and could, at a stretch, send ASIO sniffing at my door within a heartbeat. In faithful keeping with the unspeakable nature of the material habitually shared on this private line, it was interesting in a horrifyingly fascinating sort of a way.
   The video showed a scene set in a foreign town. From the medieval-ish background architecture it appeared to be a place of generically Central European extraction, and, judging from the clothes worn by the people walking around in it, it seemed to be a cold season. The general vibe was that of an outdoors festival or party of some description, with music and people milling around looking for entertainment, distraction, and, more than likely, ways to spend their hard-earned cash that they would later have opportunity to thoroughly regret. The overall Central European feeling of the scene was reinforced by loud hoompah-accordion music that came out of speakers fixed to lamp posts and other fixtures. The only thing missing to make it picture-perfect was lederhosen, green felt hats and someone yodeling from the top of a snow-covered mountain, probably while holding a tray of schnaps glasses.
   Set smack bang in the middle of the crowd of people coming and going, was an elevated stage of some description, a table or otherwise handy structure. And on that structure some bloke was dancing his head off. He was grooving out, rocking left, bopping right, and swinging in the middle. Quite literally, because this fella was stark naked, dressed in nothing else than a pair of sunnies and a black bondage-style harness made of four thin, uncomfortable looking straps that ran around his chest and around his waist. Nothing else. The lederhosen, in point of fact, were emphatically and regrettably missing. His flabby white gut hung out like a sign advertising a diet rich in fat and sugar, and low on sense and reason, and his tackle was swinging hither and tither in the breeze to the rhythm of his manic dancing. On top of a table, in a street, in winter time, surrounded by hundreds of people, who, to their credit, walked straight past without blinking an eyelid. From his jerky uncoordinated movements it was an easy guess that this bloke was completely and utterly off his face and on another planet, and, presumably, blissfully on Cloud 9 in Lah-Lah-Cuckoo Land.
   My mate had titled this video “Look I Found What You Were Doing Last Night” and addressed it to me.
   My mouth fell open, my eyes popped out of their sockets, and I rolled over the ground in hysterics, very nearly pissing myself.
   Then I picked myself up from the floor, and called out to My Partner, to share the hilarity.
   ‘Kiana! Come have a look at this! You’re gonna love it!’
   Kiana, Polynesian Princess Of Surfing, came storming into the room with a racket like a mob of feral buffalo stampeding through bone-dry undergrowth.
   ‘What? What is it?’ she said.
   ‘All right, have a look at this, it’s unbelievable ...’ I wiped the tears from my eyes. ‘Watch this ...’
   I reset the video to the start and hit play.
   ‘What the fu ...’ she started saying, then stopped. ‘What? What??’
   ‘Yeah, hahaa, look at it,’ I said, slapping myself on the thighs with mirth, in a painfully accurate imitation of the dancing often associated with lederhosen.
   ‘Oh nooo ...,’ She drew her breath in sharply, and put her hand over her mouth. ‘Oh my go...’
   ‘Yes! Isn’t it amazing!’ I exclaimed.
   ‘I can’t believe it ...,’she said.
   ‘Hahaaa!’ Yeah, look at him!’ I gasped, in between two fits of hysterics.
   ‘I just can’t believe ...’ she started saying.
   ‘I know! I know!’ I roared, holding my sides.
   ‘... that he can find a beat in that music to dance to,’ she finished.
   ‘Yes, I kno ... what?’
   ‘How can anyone possibly dance to music like that, that’s just beyond me,’ she said. Then she rolled her eyes, tutted in disdain, shook her long dark hair out behind her, and stalked off, her hips swaying to the pulse of the Pacific Ocean, the rhythm of the long range swells and the sound of coconuts falling on people’s heads.
   Right.
   So much for that.



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