Thunder from Downunder

In a few weeks the movie Australia will be in theatres. I don’t know anything about this movie other than it’s a big budget epic adventure film staring Hugh Jackman and Nicole Kidman and it takes place in Australia. They may be playing themselves or they may actually be acting as some characters from Australia. I don’t know. It’s probably also staring Russell Crowe, Mel Gibson, Paul Hogan (Crocodile Dundee), Ewan McGregor (he’s actually Scottish, but a Scottish accent is damn near the same thing as Australian), Natalie Portman (I’m just speculating about her because she’s smoking hot and should be in every movie), and Heath Ledger (posthumously as the Joker). The musical score is likely written by the guys from AC-DC and performed by the band, Midnight Oil.

Anyway, what does this movie have to do with anything?

I’ve been feeling a little under the weather lately – down under the weather, if you will (Zing!) – so the wife forced me to take some Nyquil before bed last night, which is a powerful cold and sinus relief medicine and apparently also used as a horse tranquilizer. After I took the shot of medicine I felt like Will Ferrell in Old School when he shoots himself in the jugular with the tranq dart; it was all I could do to stumble to bed before I passed out in the deepest sleep of my life.

Being such a commanding sedative, the Nyquil caused me to have some pretty fucked up dreams, including one about how I was staring in Australia alongside Jackman.

Like I said, I know nothing about the film, but if Baz Luhrman’s version is anything like mine, it will be fucking sweet.

Basically in my version, Hugh Jackman is living in Sydney but he wants to seek a better, more adventurous life as a bushman in the uncharted territory of western Australia. As his best mate, I have no choice but to follow.

Our first stop is a small podunk town where he falls in love with the first girl he sees and tries to marry her. The problem is, she doesn’t love him back, her parents hate him, and she’s as attractive as a wart hog that’s been smashed in the face with a spade. The loyal wingman that I am, I intervene to get the adventure back on track, which ingratiates me to the girl’s mother, who now wants me to marry her daughter. I’m not stupid; I can see she’s ugly. Plus, I’m wearing my Liverpool jersey while she’s wearing her PSV soccer jersey, a rival Dutch team. I can’t be caught dead in a relationship with a PSV fan.

So Hugh and I set out on the adventure again, hitchhiking and jumping steam engine freight trains all across the land, stopping in every small town we come to, getting dunk and fighting in every bar we see like two badass Australian bushmen.

The movie culminates in a riveting scene when we eventually get to the western territory and I realize I do not want to be a bushman in the barren shit hole wasteland of western Australia because I have to finish my kitchen remodel at my house back in Sydney. So I bid Hugh a fond farewell and get the hell out of there.

Presumably, he goes on to meet Nicole Kidman or something.

I smell a blockbuster.