That didn't exactly go to plan, did it?
Not if your plan was for the Blues to win and rain all over the Maroon's parade, I mean.
And not if your plan was to end the game on your feet rather than slumped tearfully in a wheelchair, either. I know I predicted JT's tears in my last post but I didn't mean like that, GOD! Wheeling him out afterwards to be amongst the mobile? That was arrestingly awful. Poor JT. Still, his downfall allows me the oppurtunity to avoid posting victory photos of the Maroons. Harrowing photos convey so much more in terms of raw emotion anyway, right? It's the same as how no-one in their right mind wants to hear happy songs - and not just because happy songs tend to be universally shit. We want tragedy and suffering, dammit, and we want lots of it. Anyway, I digress.
My plan was to clam-up and lie low until the Maroon coloured shit-mist had settled some. For the inherently rational and circumspect New South Wales folk, a grace period of a few days here is suffice. We have other fish to fry, and many irons in the fire. We're good like that.
For Queenslanders, though, it's different. I get the feeling that most things are. Mental retardation caused by generations of inbreeding has made them not only hytserically parochial but also spectacularly single-minded. This means that I won't be discussing or even mentioning Origin in the presence of any Queenslander until May next year.
And any Queenslander who tries to draw me into Origin discussion - by which I mean when they bail me up and pin me against pub walls with their ham-hock arms forming a cage while braying incoherently about Locky and Lewis and JT and Slater (because that counts as civilised and sophisticated discussion in Queensland, you know) - will be shut down like a bad ferris wheel. Failing that they'll be subjected to a 45-minute rendition of The Lion Sleeps Tonight.
This was the plan. But plans awry; for better, for worse, or, in this case, for fucking awesome. Sometimes good things just happen. You find unaccounted-for money in your pants pocket, or you find money blowing free in the street, or you find a youtube video of a filthy Queenslander confirming -AGAIN, and with a particular potency this time - all your basest suspicions.
It is in this spirit that I upload this video.
BEHOLD: Irrefutable evidence of the feral Queenslander doing what the feral Queenslander does best: i.e. Being.Fucking.Feral. Pissing in a seat in the hallowed and apparently sacred Suncorp stadium, to be exact.
You could call it passion, I suppose; and I daresay Queenslanders will because they seem to have taken a stupidly singular shine to the word, but to my mind the footage demands free employ of words like depraved and uncivilised and backwards, all to the tune, in my head, of frenziedly duelling banjos.
Shi-yaarrtt. The time it took me to bang out that post? The time it took Youtube to remove the video due to it violating their policy on "Shocking or Disgusting Content".
Damn. Well, thanks for the memories, random and feral woman bereft of self AND bladder control pissing all over yourself, your seat the people around you AND YOUR STATE at Suncorp last night just so you didn't have to miss a moment of the action. May they never fade.