Ten years ago? Surely it couldn't have been ten years ago...
But indeed it was. Mid-1992. I'm afraid I don't remember the exact date (drop
me a line if you do!) The fatal day when I eroded 15 seconds of my fame
allocation, scantily clad on Australian national television. The persisting
popularity of this tale leads me to want to tell it online. After all, it's
probably my favourite story about me. And this will prevent me having to tell
it in person - as you can see, it's a bit of a monologue.
For those who came in late (or rather didn't), "The Late Show" was
an Australian institution in the years 1992-93. Every Saturday night at 10pm,
the ABC transmitter would dim as an unusually high proportion of viewers tuned
in to watch the "Late Show" team, which had mutated from the group
of former university comics known as "The D-Generation". These days
a further mutation of that team hosts the commercial TV current affairs discussion
show "The Panel". But in those days "The Late Show" was
Monday water cooler topic du jour.
At least a dozen episodes had gone by by the time that team member and resident
larrikan Mick Molloy decided to spread their influence to other networks. Over
three weeks his co-opening host Tony Martin bet him $5 to invade other television
shows and jump up and down on their set wearing nothing but a pair of Bart Simpson
underwear. First it was "Good Morning Australia" with Bert Newton;
then "Ernie and Denise" and finally Mick did a mock-up of invading
"Lateline" with Kerry O'Brien. It was a funny running gag, but by
that stage it was clear it had just about run its course.
Tickets to "The Late Show", while free, were always snaffled seconds
after they went on sale, and made the proverbial hen's teeth look as common
as muck. So I was thrilled when, during the week after the "Lateline"
stunt, my housemate Jeff managed to score a single ticket from a workmate of
his, whose boyfriend worked at the ABC. Because he's such a generous guy, and
because he reckoned that I was a much bigger "Late Show" fan than
him, he offered it to me. I accepted gratefully.
That Friday night there was a party at my place, and while there was no water
cooler in sight, conversation still fell to "The Late Show". That
Bart Simpson undies gag is wearing a bit thin, I said. You know what would be
funny, is if someone did it to them. It's have to be tomorrow really though,
wouldn't it. It didn't even really occur to me what I was saying, until I realised
that the room had gone all quiet and everyone was looking at me. "Well
you're the one with the ticket", said Jeff. "Oh no. No no no."
I said. Although comical exhibitionism was not unknown to me, I just didn't
have time to psyche myself up for it. It would be too difficult. Any excuse
really. A few people tried to convince me, but suddenly I was not so keen on
the idea. And I forgot about it.
When I came home from a day's rehearsal at about 6pm on Saturday Jeff told me,
"I've got $100." "What?" I replied. "10 of your friends
will chip in $10 each if you do the Bart Simpson undies thing." It certainly
beat the $5 Mick Molloy was being offered. And I was a student at the time,
a hundred bucks is a hundred bucks. And the expectations of ten of my friends...
I couldn't let them down could I? He'd painted me into a corner. Particularly
as I didn't even own a pair of Bart Simpson undies, and all the shops were now
closed.
But my brother owned a pair. He still lived at home, so when I called, Mum answered.
Ro wasn't there, but she checked through his drawers. No sign of the Bart Simpson
undies. Check the washing basket. Zip. He must be wearing them. Shit. Mum told
me that he'd gone to Chadstone (eastern suburbs) to see a film with his girlfriend.
In two hours I had to be at the ABC studios in Elsternwick (southern suburbs).
I was currently in Flemington (north-western suburbs). This was going to be
tricky.
I got changed into a tracksuit and long woollen coat. This was not a fashion
statement, this was all about ease of removal and keeping out the chilly winter
night. Headed off for Chadstone with still no idea whether I was going to be
going through with this, or just sitting in the crowd looking like a jogger
who'd come in from the cold. Chadstone is a large shopping centre, and I tore
around the cinema area looking for my brother. No sign. I thought I'd gotten
there before the session was supposed to start but looks like I must have missed
him. Crestfallen, I gave up, and moped back to the car. But just as I was about
to enter the car park...
"Wok!"
There they were!
"Have you got your Bart Simpson undies on?"
He checked.
"Yeah, why?"
"Hurry - we need to get to the dunnies and swap - I'll explain on the way!"
So I got the undies. The job was on. I tore off to Elsternwick, aware that it
was important to grab a prime location in the crowd.
Fst forward thirty minutes. I'm sitting, all alone in a tracksuit and coat,
huddled in the corner of the waiting room. by the entrance to the studio door.
What a way to spend a Saturday night.
I'm first through the door, so I get prime position. Front row, right in front
of the spot where Mick and Tony deliver their opening dialogue. Adreneline is
surging. The crowd files in. After what seems like an eternity Judith Lucy begins
her warm-up monologue, which basically consists of abusing various members of
the crowd for what they are wearing. Well who do you think was dressed in the
"pick me! pick me!" outfit?
Judith: And here's a gentleman who's worn his tracksuit in. Planning on going
for a jog are we?
Wok: Er, maybe.
Fortunately, by hardly reacting, my complete lack of charisma drove her onto
someone else sooner rather than later. Phew - that was more than enough attention
for now. The show began. Opening sketch (I'm too shitscared to laugh...), the
credits (I don't care, let's just get it over with...), and at long last the
camera swoops in to Mick and Tony...
Tony: Tonight a monster show for you because... we've got this man here!
And I'm away. The shoes, pants and coat were off in a single move pretty much,
but as I was running up I was having difficulty with the zipper of my tracksuit
top. What the hell, I decided to bounce on their couch anyway. Whoops! I kicked
the couch out from under myself and it dropped off the back of the stage platform
with a thud. Finally managed to get my tracksuit top off though, and bounced
on the stage like a loony chicken with an adreneline shot.
OK, I've had my fun. Alright, just one more bit of fun. I hold out my hand.
Wok: Where's my five bucks?
Tony: You're not getting five bucks out of us, sir.
Wok: Actually, I got a better deal.
I sit back down. Everything is buzzing. It's over.
Tony: Well now you know what our producer looks like.
Tony and Mick announce that the Bart Simpson undies bit is getting out of hand,
and that they are retiring them, to be put behind glass at the museum. So it
really was the only time that anyone could have done it. I was satisfied with
my timing. They cut to a sketch and I go to get my clothes back on, when suddenly...
CRUNCH. A firm hand grabs me by the shoulder and pulls me to my feet, still
dressed just in my undies and tracksuit top. Before I know what's happening,
I'm being marched out of the studio at arm's length. Past Judith Lucy and Jane
Kennedy, looks on their faces like they're sucking lemons. Past the security
guard at the building entrance. Out into the carpark. SLAM. The guy didn't say
a single word to me through the whole march. The door is locked behind me. Looks
like I'm stuck here in the 6 degree night for the next hour. So left with my
own thoughts I start to wonder whether pneumonia was worth $100.
Half an hour later the guard on duty finally takes pity on me. I'm allowed into
the reception area, where I watch the rest of the show on a monitor. The crowd
files out past me. I still don't know what to do about the rest of my clothes,
which have been left inside the studio at my seat. Suddenly...
CRUNCH. The vice-like grip is back on my shoulder, and I'm being marched back
into the studio. Exactly the reverse of my previous journey, right back to my
seat in the empty studio. "Pick it up." I gather my clothes and the
grip is back on my shoulder. "You don't need to hold me," I protest,
"I'm not going to do anything." This guy's job description is clearly
shoulder clamp though, and he isn't letting go. Back out into the waiting room
again.
Finally I'm what passes for clothed. As I'm about to leave, I'm suddenly assaulted
by... autograph hunters? This was just getting weirder. They wanted my signature,
just under those of Mick and Tony, so they could remember the guy in the Bart
Simpson undies. Then I head to a party and enter to a standing ovation! Looks
like for all my suffering, I'd gotten my fifteen seconds of fame.
You might think that's where the story ends. And for me, it pretty much is.
What follows are second and third hand accounts of the ramifications of my guerilla
actions. Apologies therefore for any innaccuracies, though what follows does
seem to make its own internal sense.
During the week following Jeff came home from work with almost daily updates
about goings-on at the ABC. His workmate's boyfriend (who I had never met) was
under threat of being fired. It seems whoever was checking the tickets on the
way in had noticed that this strangely dressed man was on an ABC complimentary
ticket. The chain was being traced back, and now this poor guy's job was under
threat. Of course he pleaded that he had nothing to do with the incident, that
in fact he'd never met me before. Fortunately he eventually managed to convince
everyone that he was in fact telling the truth and kept his job.
That always seemed very bizarre to me until a couple of years later I heard
the "inside story". Apparently in the week prior to my stunt, the
ABC had asked the Late Show crew if they could do the very thing I did - have
some random stranger come on and do the stunt back to Mick and Tony. No way,
said the Late Show, it wouldn't be funny. End of story. Until of course some
stranger bolted out of the crowd and did it - and it turned out he was on an
ABC complimentary ticket. To rub salt in the wound, he was seen afterwards giving
autographs - clearly this was someone "known".
Apparently the Late Show team threatened to leave the ABC altogether over this
incident. (Well, apparently I had broken their couch.) Incredible how a little
anarchy can cause so much ruckus. (Also incredible how those who are willing
to dish it out aren't so happy to receive...)
Incidentally, only 5 of the pledgers ever coughed up the $10. Tight bastards.
Let me know if you want to see footage
of the stunt and I'll upload it at some stage if there's enough demand.
Back
to the e-Wok Village...