OTHER STUFF

I organised a launch party for issue #6 of Nakedfella Comics, because it was the first "professionally produced" (colour covers and shit) issue of the comic and because I wanted to put on an event as part of the Melbourne Fringe Festival. Pictures by Annette Au-Yeung.

Not everything went to plan. I named the band for the evening "BEN SULLIVAN AND HIS TOWERS OF TERROR" and got flyers and shit printed up... and then the Trade Centre towers were hit by psychos in airplanes. Plus the drummer cancelled out, and he was BEN SULLIVAN. So I changed the band name to BEN SULLIVAN AND HIS FLYING HEROIN BEARS instead.

The launch party took place at the Prince Patrick Hotel in Collingwood, which is now closed down. I'm pretty sure we had nothing to do with that.

Everybody was invited, by which I mean everybody on Earth. Entry was free, but celebrities were charged double. I made the following claim on the launch's website:

In fact, patrons I don't know personally will, upon application, be entitled to a free drink, bought by one of my friends. They don't know this yet, but I can't imagine they'd mind.

The evening opened with a couple of instrumental bits from the band, Ben Sullivan And His Flying Heroin Bears (Lenny V, guitar; Jesse Bear, guitar; myself, keyboards).

Next I introduced the evening's MCs, Lenny and Paul, whom together are/were comedy force Syphilis. Their off-colour ramblings went down well, particularly with the front table.

My short film, Culture Jamming, played to what I will describe as hearty laughter and rapturous applause. During the subsequent intermission, patrons were entertained by a mix disc of segments from songs by Oingo Boingo, AC/DC and probably others.

Nobody was more surprised than I by the antics of Ben Arber, the evening's Nakedfella. His potentially damaging entrance and exit had to be seen to be believed. His costume of bubble wrap and toilet paper, however, is reproduced here photographically for your admiration.

The door prizes were drawn, and the winners of the first prize, a massive poster of Jeff Kennett, were the old couple at right of stage, who both amused and disgusted the rest of the audience with their grope-y antics. Next time, get a room, kids.

Finally, the band returned to close out the evening with their inimitable pop-culture pastiches. I don't even know what that fucking means.

Some people bought the comic, which was nice. Others didn't, which sucks. But enough comics were sold (by our fantastic door-bitch, Annette) that I could pay the sound man.

Possibly the audience's favourite feature of the night was the Humping Brain, a plastic toy which popped up every so often on the screen for yet another round of funklicious humping.

A wonderful time was had by all. But would I tell you anything else?

If I learned anything from this experience, it'd be something to do with self-reliance. And that "street press" publications suck.

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