#1
Chris relaxed on the couch, thoroughly enjoying the second State of Origin match on tv at his new house in Brisbane. It would be fair to say that Chris had been enjoying many new things in his life lately.
He was loving the freedom that came with being an official tennant for the first time. Sure, he missed his parents having dinner waiting on the table every night when he got home and actually having to pay rent was far ideal, but it was a small price to pay for the ability to live the dream, as he frequently told anyone who would listen.
He smiled as his whacky Chilean housemate started up another grating acoustic rock ballad on his guitar. It was great having such diverse housemates, and the thin walls of the house meant that they always felt connected to one another. It was true that they weren't exactly the life of the party when he did manage to get them out on the town, but gee it was nice to hang out with a crew who were different to his Perth friends. Besides, Chris religiously checked Facebook after each and every weekend to see what his hometown mates had been up to, and he was sure they weren't having anywhere near as much fun as when he was around - at least that was what he assumed as he couldn't be certain since he no longer understood any of their in jokes.
But the best part of his move was definitely his new job. He really had been getting sick and tired of getting the same generous pay cheque each week without ever really stretching himself, personally or professionally. Whereas now that he was promoting online grocery sales door to door he was really making a difference. It hardly mattered that he was earning a relative pittance, working long hours and getting abused regularly. Because it was his love of fresh and convenient groceries, delivered for free to your door on mondays and thursdays, that really got him out of bed in the morning.
Yes, life was good. Now he just had to work out what the fuck the rules were for this stupid fucking sport and it would be perfect.
#2
Chris Hassen had just spent the last 6 months living in a van, and he was fucking done!
This morning he was up at 7 for his new job, and he loved it. the simple act of doing the same thing every morning for 5 days in a row was something that had become alien to chris. The novelty of a van wake up in another fucking rural setting with some european bro had worn off about as quickly as that shitty weed those europeans always had.
Chris surveyed his immaculately neat room, everything was ordered and where it should be... not like in that fucking van. Chris walked into the kitchen, there was a stoned chilean bro in the loungeroom laughing his box off at kids tv. 'Hey Chris!' the chilean bro said excitedly 'You wanna go for a surf today?' FUCK NO CUNT shouted chris as he threw the mount franklin bong at the chilean bro. YOU KNOW WHAT ITS LIKE TO SURF EVERY DAY FOR 6 MONTHS??? ITS FUCKIN SHIT!!" .......FUCK THE OCEAN!' .......'clean your shit up' chris said finally as he calmed down a bit, 'and get a fucking job'
Chris walked out the house.. satisfied... he was driven and ready for another day of hustling housewives for his fruit n veg dealer
#3
Chris awoke and stretched out in bed, at least, stretched out as much as could be achieved in a campervan. Yes his living quarters were small and cramped, yes he had been woken by the sun at 6am again, yes the girl lying next to him was another average looking, unshowered European......but none of this mattered, as far as he was concerned he was living the dream.
The real world could wait, thought Chris to himself, for the the 5th time that morning, as he pulled on his hippy pants. For the time being he had dreams, big, ambitious dreams, like working in a pub, surfing at least once more, growing his hair even longer and eventually being a stay at home son until his parents died and he took up squatters rights in their generous Applecross home.
#4
Chris Hassen, self unemployed visionary, was driving his camper van along the New South Wales coast. After putting a surfing clinic for the locals at Coolum Beach that morning, he was now looking for next caravan park full of new friends that he could talk to about his days' surfing. Chris loved to tell stories to anyone who would listen. His favourite story of course was how an educated, talented, young guy had come to be in his current situation. Of course Chris knew that you can't just jump in with your back story as in "Hi I''m Chris...so anyway i decided to sell everything I own, buy a van and travel for year.." He knew it was important to be ask a few questions about themselves first otherwise you would come across as a massive jerk. The answers to these questions seemed unimportant, particularly once he decided that he didn't want to bang them any more. However, he would still always enjoy telling them his story not matter how ugly they were.
Chris was in a constant battle between wanting to have sex and the ability to convincingly tell a good story. He knew that in order to tell people that he was 'living the dream' without a care in the world, he needed to look like he didn't care. For this reason he had not trimmed his hair in a about a year nor shaved in almost as long. Also weather permitting, he didn't wear shoes. To a large extent he didn't actually care. Despite the fact that he knew that his beard looked like shit, he was confident that his allure and ability to tell a great story would tempt the girls into his van like a paedophile with candy.
Having arrived at a caravan park in Barina, Chris was quick to identify a group of young Polish girls. "This spot will do quite nicely" he thought to himself as reversed in to ensure that side door opened up on the same side as the girls' tent. Chris and the girls then spent the next few hours trading stories whilst they smashed back some beverages. They were even joined by some other backpackers from exotic places like Brazil and Morocco as well as not so exotic places such as England and Adelaide. Chris knew that his stories were better than anyone else's. However he all let them have a turn to telling one just so his would look better in comparison.
The night was going well. He had one of the Polish girls right where he wanted her. It was just the two of them at that moment drinking together as the others had gone to bed. He had her eating out of his hand whilst he fed her a story about a bridge in Tasmania that he had jumped off. Then, out of no-where, one of the English dudes came over and put his arm around the girl. Not wanting to look like the jerk, he didn't say anything. Instead leaned back in his chair, and gleamed at the English wanker whilst all the time sipping his beverage through a straw. The conversation had dried up. The Polish girl didn't care for Chris' stories any more. Not even the one about 4 hour pork belly that cooked some nights before. She was more interested in the English fuckwit stroking her leg. Chris intentional stayed longer than he knew he should have. Hoping that the awkwardness of him being there may at least prevent the other guy from having sex that night. It didn't. Alone, he kicked the ground as he walked back to his van.
"FUCKIN SLUT!" he punched side panel as he returned to van in what was a rare display of anger. "What the fuck is that girl thinking!" Chris thought to himself. For he knew that he was cooler and more interesting than that English dude. Sure the other guy was more tanned despite only being here for 3 weeks, but he dressed like a douche, was clean shaven and had fucking gel in his hair. Who the fuck gives a shit about what they look like when travelling in a camper van?
Frustrated at the prospect of yet another night of involuntary abstinence, Chris slammed the door after he stepped inside his abode. Alone, depressed and drunk, Chris was not thinking straight. He picked up his sharpest knife and hacked off a chunk of his beard. Immediately, he stopped and looked at the his clenched fist. He opened his palm slowly to reveal the long fiery strands of hair that once occupied the left cheek of his face. Looking up he stared into his pale reflection on the side window of his van. A solitary tear dripped from his eye. He felt the weight of the knife again in his hands and for a couple of seconds he considered slicing his wrists. However, in a moment of clarity he realised that the beard would grow back and that if he killed himself, how were the people of the world meant to hear about him 'living the dream'. So instead he fried up some chorizo, eggplant and mushrooms for some late night tapas.
The next morning Chris awoke knowing that he somehow made an arse of himself but without any real solid recollection of how or why. Considering it for the best, he threw on his captain's hat and left the caravan park heading up the coast. All the time looking to find Australia's best break to surf, mountain to climb, beer can to drink, German hitch-hiker to root or any other story who could imagine as he crosses things off his list.
Apologies to Max Lavergne. For true a lesson on fan fiction check out his efforts on http://reallyreallyreallytrying.tumblr.com/
