Three days ago, Melbourne’s east was rattled by the largest earthquake in 50 years. Meanwhile, in Melbourne’s north an equally seismariffic event occurred. Dennis Wongbert calls it “Mumma-bumma-geddon” – the night my bum went crazy.
Prior to bedtime the man friend had said he was feeling a touch windy. “Don’t worry,” I said benevolently (smugly), “make as much noise as you like. We’re all human. Don’t be shy!!!”
The doona went up and I was ready for gentle sleep to welcome me. But suddenly there was a twinge in my belly. Ne’er mind – just a little bit of dinner working its way through I told myself.
Then the twingette turned into a rolling rumble then a series of spasms. The bird song stopped suddenly, unnaturally. Was the rice pudding coming back to haunt me?
Within 5 minutes it was on like donkey kong. I – and my bum – was completely out of control. It was like the London blitz, New Year’s Eve and a brass band all rolled under one doona of horror: there were long languid ones; short assertive ones; machine gun-fire ones and ones that seemed as though they were borne from the depths of hell.
Despite valiant attempts, self-censorship proved impossible.
In my fog of tiredness and shame I tried to apportion blame: “Was that you?” I asked hopefully to anyone that might listen. There would have been a deafening silence had my bum allowed.
Dennis Wongbert whisked Simon Sausage and little brother CCC to a safe house. Footage from the evening shows his eyes wide with shock, ears blown back, and a look of pure horror across his furry face.
The level of damage was significant and the crew are nervous, knowing that aftershocks are a distinct possibility. CCC won’t talk about the night and we are considering professional counselling.