Yes it is what you have ALL been waiting for, without consciously knowing you were -- I have received the SECOND installment of my ASIO files, which I dutifully publish below, believing, as I do, in the principle of full transparency.
You should read the FIRST post on this, otherwise you simply won't have any clue what is going on. It follows directly on and it seems to me these security pricks have some sort of fetish with recording me in a pub with a bastard called "Leslie". Christ only knows why.
* * *
[10.12AM, TUESDAY [DATE REDACTED] CARLO SANDS ARRIVES AGAIN AT THE [REDACTED] HOTEL JUST AFTER OPENING AND SITS WITH LESLIE [REDACTED] AND STARTS DRINKING.]
CARLO: [sighs] Jesus.
LESLIE: The legal system bringing you down?
CARLO: Did you know they make you wear pants in a court room?
LESLIE: So I hear.
CARLO: It’s fucking fascism.
LESLIE: Your court case. It’s not the “killing redheads” thing again is it?
CARLO: What? Oh, no.
LESLIE: Coz I was gonna say, they can’t usually survive in the environs north of Melbourne. And those redheads that do make it to adulthood have to stay indoors and move about through sewers.
CARLO: Sure that’s not vampires? Kinda similar, but vampires have a greater sense of morality.
LESLIE: No, I’m pretty sure I’m right. My own brother is beset with the redhead malady so I’ve always had to stay sharp and keep on top of their behaviours.
CARLO: YOU’RE RELATED TO ONE???
LESLIE: Yeah. So there's the whole thing of I carry the abomination in my blood too, but refuse to succumb to it, like Blade.
CARLO: That’s some heavy shit, man. It’s become such a controversial topic. Like, did you know some people actually consider it racist to kill a red-head?
LESLIE: That’s political correctness gone mad.
CARLO: I won't even kill them these days. It’s an OH&S thing. You get all that infected blood on you and it takes forever to scrub off. It’s not like NORMAL blood, it CLINGS to the skin, like napalm only worse-smelling. I tell local councils they gotta do their own cleansing operations.
LESLIE: Fair enough too. Shit, what’s the time? I gotta make sure I get home in time to watch the Tour de France.
CARLO: The Tour de WHAT???
LESLIE: The cycling.
CARLO: I THOUGHT I TOLD YOU TO NEVER MENTION THAT TWO-WHEELED DEVIL SPORT TO ME EVER AGAIN!
LESLIE: Yeah but Carlo, that’s only coz you STILL can’t do it.
CARLO: I TOOK ALL THE SAME DRUGS LANCE ARMSTRONG TOOK! ALL THAT HAPPENED WAS I FELL OFF MY BIKE!
LESLIE: You shouldn’t have mixed it with all that red wine.
CARLO: That is where I usually go wrong with drugs. The point is WHERE IS MY BEER? YESTERDAY, RICHMOND, YOU PROMISED ME A FUCKING BEER!
LESLIE: Yeah, but ... the thing is Carlo...
CARLO: WHAT? WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU TRYING TO SAY?
LESLIE: I’m broke. I can’t afford beer. I just said that to shut you up. And I really got to get home for the cycling...
CARLO: FUCK! THIS IS JUST LIKE THE SIEGE OF TROY ALL OVER AGAIN!!!
LESLIE: No, come on … the siege of Troy is still a very sensitive issue for me.
CARLO: Oh “come on Carlo, go invade Troy!” you said. “There is this girl held captive,” you said. “Her name is Helen and she is the most beautiful woman ever,” you said. “I swear she is the one! Please, please Carlo, go and liberate her and I’ll BUY YOU A BEER!” you said. DO YOU KNOW HOW LONG IT TOOK ME TO BUILD THAT GIANT FUCKING WOODEN HORSE!
LESLIE: Yeah well, I couldn’t have known she’d go running back to Menelaus. Never seemed a happy marriage. Still, it really didn’t help that the few times I got Helen alone, you invariably burst in shouting “where is my fucking beer!”
CARLO: That’s a great question! WHERE IS MY FUCKING BEER, RICHMOND?!
LESLIE: Look, I was depressed by the Helen thing! It was a hard time for me. I had to dedicate myself to wearing black and listening to The Smiths. And black was not in fashion back then and The Smiths weren’t invented until 1983, so it was a really hard few thousand years.
CARLO: Stop avoiding the question: WHERE THE FUCK IS MY BEER?
LESLIE: I can’t afford it.
CARLO: YOU LIED TO ME! AGAIN! YOU PROMISED ME BEER!
LESLIE: How about tomorrow?
LESLIE: Yeah, meet me here tomorrow and I’ll definitely buy you a beer.
CARLO: What about a pear cider?
LESLIE: Oh no. I don’t want to end up in Wales again.
CARLO: What do you mean?
LESLIE: You know you can’t handle pear cider. Every time you drink it, we end up in Wales.
CARLO: What have you got against the Welsh?
LESLIE: Asides from the constant singing, nothing, except for the fact that when we finally sober up from one of your pear cider binges, we’re always in some field in north Wales surrounded by sheep carcases and a furious mob of Welsh people wielding pitchforks enraged by some insulting rendition you did of their national anthem in the local pub.
CARLO: Haha, yeah. I do like to do that. But you’ll definitely buy me a beer tomorrow?
LESLIE: Absolutely. Now, I’m missing the cycling. You coming?
CARLO: No, I think I’ll stay here, wait till that bastard at the next table turns his back, then nick his beer.
[LESLIE [REDACTED] LEAVES THE [REDACTED]. CARLO SANDS PROCEEDS TO SPEND REST OF THE DAY STEALING OTHER PEOPLE’S BEER WHEN THEY ARE NOT LOOKING AND EVENTUALLY GETS THROWN OUT FOR A DRUNKEN RENDITION OF “DIRTY OLD TOWN”.]
'I was happy in the haze of a drunken hour...' He's singin' Leslie's song. STAY TUNED FOR MORE!