Bread, Milk, Nipple
February 9, 2005
I’ve always enjoyed living near the city, although our current house has presented a rather unique problem.
There’s a small corner store near here, which we frequent for simple grocery requirements. However, should we be after something markedly supermarket-esque, need to hire a DVD, or visit a newsagent… that involves a visit to Australia’s largest red-light district, Kings Cross.
If you’re after a night out which involves the possibility of seedy characters, boobs, drugs, or being raped to death by a hulking NRL player; you simply cannot surpass the Cross.
The issue is that I’ll set out to the supermarket with a simple shopping list on my mind, and be distracted beyond comprehension by all the dripping sex I’ve got to work my way through. My mental shopping list will be something like “bread, milk, steak, detergent”… but I’ll end up wandering through the Cross, reminding myself to purchase “boobs, boners, lapdance” instead.
How does this happen? Even a simple mission like returning a DVD to Blockbuster involves running a guantlet which could end up with me gripping a porno in one hand and a curious backpacker’s scrotum in the other.
My recommendation is that all businesses in the Cross stop loudly announcing their location as Potts Point on the signs outside their stores, and embrace their true Kings Crossdom. Just request all supermarket, chemist and newsagency staff to work topless. Strip clubs, you’re fine where you are - but regular pubs? Experiment with a combination of pokies and jackpot strippers.
Y’know what I reckon would do really well in the Cross? A rock venue, with strippers. Why hasn’t anyone thought of this before? Er… except for every 80s metal band, ever. Hmm. Still, I like to believe there’s room for Jeb’s House of Rock Piggery in this city.
