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- Ladies and gentlemen,

welcome to the Temple of Randicus.

Thank you.

Thank you.

Thank you all very much

for coming to worship this evening

in the Temple of Randicus.

We welcome all visitors to this temple as equals.

Your gender identity, sexual preference,

political beliefs, fetishes and phobias

are none of our fucking business!

Nor is your current address.

We welcome you regardless of where you're from

or perhaps more importantly,

regardless of which bit of the earth

your mother happened to be on,

when you were lifted from her stomach

or pushed out of her vaginal canal.

It doesn't bother us.

Seriously.

We had someone in from Ocean Shores last night.

We let them have a seat and everything.

It's a very broad church.

It's a fucking broad church.

Hello there, what's your name?

Am I looking at someone?

Anyone in that general vicinity?

Am I too low?

You, there.

Hello?

Fuck that side, hello what's your name?

- Wendy. - What is it?

- Wendy. - Wendy!

How are you, Wendy?

- I'm fantastic, thanks for asking.

- Oh, thank you for coming to my show.

Wendibles, where do you live?

- At the end of the road.

- Just fucking, end of the road.

You a local Wendy, you been here a long time?

- I ain't a local but I'm here 12 years, so.

- Ah, 12 years, that's not local.

- No.

- How long do you have to live here before you a local?

- [Crowd] 20.

- 20?

What's that mate?

Someones like, I didn't hear it.

I'm a local, I am sure you'll find

I am born here and die here.

Wendy, good on you.

And you come to many shows here

in the beautiful Brunswick Picture House?

- I try to come to as many as I can.

- Well, thank you for choosing this one.

I'm honored to have you here, Wendy.

Wow!

Yeah, let's hear it for Wendy.

If someone wants to clap.

Let's do it.

You're a bloody legend, Wendy.

Hey, actually, as a local Wendy,

you can help me out with this.

I came here through Byron Bay

and I just happened to drive through

at this moment where the entire sky

was just fucking full of bats.

- Ah, yeah.

- Does that happen often?

- Every night, mate.

- Mate, I've never seen, I've been to Byron a bunch of times

never seen the bats, freaked me the fuck out.

We have bats.

I'm from Melbourne.

There's heaps of bats in Melbourne but this was phenomenal.

It was like,

coolest shit I've ever seen.

Just millions of, what's the collective noun for bats?

Anybody know?

- Colony. - A colony?

- Cloud. - A cloud?

A what?

- Bats. - Bats?

A bats.

Yeah, let's go with the bats.

Just the bats of bats.

Yeah, so I saw this huge fucking bats of bats, right?

The whole sky full of bats and then in the middle,

just one seagull, just freaking the fuck out.

What's going on?

Too many bats.

I think I got on the wrong train.

Is this the way to the ocean?

I don't speak bat.

Can you speak any seagull?

Ah, shit.

Yeah.

Byron's a very cool place.

I feel a bit like a seagull amongst the bats myself

when I'm there, Wendy.

It's a weird place you know.

I was there, everyone's fucking cool.

There were kids on the beach today just doing Nangs,

just inhaling an amount of balloons.

I was like fuck, that's cool.

You just having a Nang, mate?

You gonna share?

And I saw heaps of people cruising around in sweet cars,

just cranking sweet tunes, like five in a row,

just [beat boxing]

I was like, oh, that's fucking cool!

I wish I was that cool, you know?

But I just don't have the playlist to back it up.

This week's podcast is brought to you by Pet Guns.

There's nothing cool about driving around in your car

with the windows rolled down,

just cranking a true crime podcast.

And I always seem to pull up at traffic lights

and lock eyes with the person in the car next to me,

just at the most horrific bit of detail

and I have to nudge my head

like I'm listening to a cool song just as like,

that's when the murderer disemboweled his 38th victim.

I'm like, yeah!

Have you heard this one?

It's a classic.

You can get it on iTunes.

You can get it on iTunes.

I'm a living joke.

But don't worry, you're in safe hands

my brothers and sisters.

I know the cloak and the candles

particularly in the current climate

maybe a little triggering for some people

but we're in this together tonight, okay.

This is a group effort.

It's about evolution.

We're gonna collectively re-write the rules tonight,

my beautiful Brunswick Heads parishioners.

Starting with turning your phones off, all right?

Just if they're on, just fucking switch 'em off.

The show doesn't go for that long, just be present.

It'll be fine.

And if you do leave your phone on, fucking commit.

Take calls.

Fucking make calls.

Come up here and make calls.

Come up here and make calls

with your wireless headphones in like an asshole.

Can't give a fuck!

Don't take photos.

Resist the temptation to take a photo for an hour.

How are you gonna get through it?

I mean, seriously, what are you gonna do to those photos?

Show them to your grandchildren?

This is when I went to see Randy.

What the fuck--

is a Randy?

Your memories are worthless, grandpa.

We had a meeting, you're out of the family.

So, take photos at your own risk.

Who's having a beverage this evening, alcoholic style?

Yes!

If you're having a drink, that's great.

If you're on drugs, even better.

Apparently, I'm very entertaining if you're high.

There's a lot of color and movement that goes on here.

It's like a live cartoon.

So, now's the time to main to that second cookie.

I know you guys.

I've got your number here on Northern coastage.

So, we're gonna have some fun tonight.

It's gonna be a loving experience.

The only stipulation is that we respect

each other's existing belief systems, all right?

I know it's been fucking churchy up here.

But the idea is that we all move towards

a common collective belief.

And to speed that process up a bit, it's best that we have

a prejudice-free dialogue this evening.

Unless you're a Scientologist,

in which case, you can go fuck yourself.

People are very protective of their faith and rightfully so.

Faith is everything.

Faith can provide purpose, comfort, structure and meaning.

Faith can also protect bigots, justify atrocities

and perpetuate discrimination.

But so can the Jackson family apparently.

So, let's concentrate on the positive, shall we?

The point is, the point is,

the point is, you gotta have faith, all right?

You gotta have faith.

You gotta have faith, faith, faith.

You've got to have faith, faith, faith.

Baby.

Any George Michael fans in the house?

Strap in for his piece of information.

I actually own an autograph copy

of George Michael's "Faith" on cassette tape.

How cool is that?

- Pretty cool.

- How obsolete is that?

Can't listen to it.

Just own it.

If I wanna listen to it,

I'm gonna have to go and buy a tape deck.

And then, wind a meter and half of tape

back into the cassette with a pencil like we used to do

when we wanted to listen to Dire Straits

on a road trip with our parents.

With all the windows rolled down

cause that's what we used to do

before air conditioning was invented.

On our way to Sea World

cause that's where we went on holidays

before animal rights were invented.

Eating ice creams on the way cause that's what we used to do

before injecting insulin was invented.

It was a different time back then.

I'm at that age now where I've started using phrases like,

I'm at that age now.

I'm also at that age now where I haven't yet

and I don't believe I ever will resort to vaping

in any shape or form.

I'm never gonna vape.

I'm not gonna become a fucking vaper.

It just feels like a betrayal to all of those

sweet, sweet cigarettes that I smoked throughout my life.

If you used to smoke cigarettes and now you vape,

you're a real piece of shit.

You used to be cool man!

Now you're standing there just on some street corner

fellating a mini exhaust pipe, like Fonzie's shit sibling.

You used to be fucking cool!

I remember the glory days of smoking,

this whole room would've been full of cigarette smoke.

We all would've stunk like shit

but we didn't care cause we were fucking cool.

There would've been ash trays everywhere.

Couldn't move for ash trays.

Now you can't fucking find one anywhere.

Spare a thought for the ash tray manufacturers.

They're all living in their cars now,

thanks to you fucking vapers.

And it's not just the ash tray people,

what about the people that make matches, hmm?

Spare a thought for the companies

that used to print night club logos

onto those little books of matches

so that grizzled old homicide detectives

could fish one out of the pocket of a corpse

and know where to start looking for the killer.

Thousands upon thousands of unsolved homicides

just cause you fuckers wanna vape.

I'm bloody sick of it.

Thank you, solitary clapper.

Just one person.

Yes, I agree but no one else though so I'll shut up.

George Michael, eh?

Where did George go?

Hmm?

- Dead.

- Someone said to the bathroom

and someone followed up very quickly with he's dead.

I'm aware of that but I just want to know like

where did George go?

Where's George?

Hmm?

I mean, statistically speaking around 50% of you believe

that George Michael is currently experiencing

some variety of afterlife.

Depending on your religious flavor of choice, of course.

Some of you believe he's having a lovely time

re-united with his dead relatives.

Some of you believe he's awaiting resurrection

to face his final judgment.

And some of you believe

that George Michael's extra-curricular activities

such as touching other men's penises

with his own penis for example,

will have earn him an eternity

as a rotisserie chicken in the kebab shop of damnation.

Around 7% of you believe

that George Michael is currently making a comeback.

Possibly as a platypus.

Depends on his deeds, really.

And the remaining 43% of you either believe

that George Michael is slowly fertilizing

the soil in Highgate cemetery

or you don't really give a shit either way

or you didn't fill out your 2016 census form.

Who didn't fill out their 2016 census form?

Come on.

Yes, only few.

I didn't, fucking woo!

Wendy, did you fill out your 2016 census form?

- I did, indeed.

- Oh, you did? Woo!

Hey Wendy, what did you tick,

if you remember, it was a couple of years ago,

but what did you tick for faith or religious beliefs?

Just bearing in mind this is a judgment-free environment

and everybody else in the room has shared something

intimately personal about themselves, now it's your turn.

Wendy.

- It's a trap.

- What's that mate?

- It's a trap.

- It's a trap!

No, there's no traps here, my friend.

It's just fun times, what's your name, weapon?

- Greg.

- Greg?

Gregory?

We're gonna come back to you, Wendy.

We just need to address Greg for a moment.

- Greg, did you fill out your 2016 census form, Gregory?

- Too late.

- Too late?

What do you mean, mate?

What happened?

- I missed it.

- You missed the 2016 census?

Where were you, mate?

Just punching a fucking cone somewhere.

What happened, Greg?

Were you over the seas?

Where were you, man?

Just in mullin'?

Just fuckin', a cig.

Just off the grid, mate.

No, Greg?

What would you have ticked for faith or religious belief

if you have filled it out?

Do you have a faith system?

- I'm a Jedi.

- Oh, you're a Jedi.

That's an option on the census these days.

Do you have a practicing faith

that goes along with your Jedism?

- Only on Tuesdays.

- Do you just, just using the force on Tuesdays?

The rest of the time you're just fucking [noises]

Just imagining you just going like this

and the bong floating across the room into your hand.

I can't see Greg but I'm making some assumptions

about your character.

I hope I'm in the ball park.

In case the cameras pick you up,

you're probably just sitting there

in a business suit going,

I've never tried drugs in my entire life.

I'm merely on my way from Sydney to Brisbane

for a business trip.

I am insulted.

Is that right, Greg?

Or are you just fucking punching cones like a weapon?

- Don't judge me.

- I'm not mate.

But given the amount of time you took to answer that

I'm gonna say it was the latter.

Now, Wendy.

Yeah!

Gregory!

Wendy, what did you tick for faith?

You've had plenty of time to think about it now.

Did you tick anything for faith or religious belief?

- Yeah, I'm an atheist, mate.

- You're an atheist?

- Yeah.

Oh, we've got some atheist fans in the house.

Yeah, you just die!

Just blackness and abyss!

Never been here before, never coming back!

So, where do you think George Michael went?

- In the ground, I believe.

- Just in the ground?

Yeah, nice one.

Personally, Wendy, I believe that George Michael

was abducted by aliens.

They were very active in 2016,

the year that George Michael died.

Those musician abducting aliens.

Fuck, they got some rippers that year!

George Michael.

David Bowie.

Prince.

Sharon Jones.

Merle Haggard.

Fucking Leonard Cohen!

There must have been some sort of

alien university o-week challenge.

Scull a pint of hydrogen

and bring back a popular musician from planet Earth.

So, this book here, my friends, is the Book of Randicus.

Okay?

What the fuck is the Book of Randicus?

Great question, Wendy.

Thank you for that question.

Always asking questions.

Thanks for bringing your own microphone too, Wendy.

That was excellent forward planning on your part.

In case you haven't noticed,

just to bring you all up to speed.

I have invented a new religion, okay?

Pretty straight forward.

Keep up, it's not Frasier.

But this-

One Frasier fan.

This religion is based on the philosophy that homo sapiens

were elevated to the top of the food chain 70,000 years ago

via the intervention of an intergalactic messiah

named Barrel.

Because fucking, why not?

Now, I have called it a religion

because it seems like the most effective

method of recruitment.

But the teachings are grounded in scientific fact, okay?

For example, we know that at least 10 different species

of human lived on planet earth, many of them simultaneously.

That much at least we know to be true.

We also know that 70,000 years ago,

homo sapiens shot inexplicably to the top of the food chain

and they have remained there ever since.

There's varying theories as to how that happened.

My theory and this is where the religion part kicks in,

is that Barrel was an intergalactic missionary,

traveling from planet to planet,

choosing one species from each planet,

kick starting their intelligence,

leaving them to evolve for several thousand years

then later returning to those planets

and recruiting these newly evolved species

to help care for and maintain the multiverse.

Simple as that.

The Book of Randicus teaches us

that Barrel came to planet Earth, chose homo sapiens

and gave us 70,000 years to evolve.

Which means, she could be back here any day now

so we need to crack the fuck on with becoming enlightened.

Any questions?

- [Crowd] No.

- Wendy?

- None whatsoever.

- Excellent.

- We are ready to crack on.

- Yeah, no.

Yep, that's great.

Smattering of applause.

I am sensing a little bit of cynicism.

Particularly from the Greg region of the audience.

Just so you know, I've been doing a bit of a missionary tour

around the country to promote this concept.

And you might be surprised to learn

that a lot of people are getting on board with this shit.

I've been on the road for about a year now.

I've met some wonderful people.

I've also mastered the art of making porridge

in a motel room kettle.

And I tell you, there's nothing more inspiring

than looking across a carpark to a busy freeway

whilst scrapping glutinous oats off the bottom

of a calcified electrical appliance from the mid 1970s.

It goes well with a side of suicide contemplation I've found

I do like a road side motel, though.

Particularly, when traveling in remote areas.

Airbnbs in the middle of nowhere

can be a little bit fucking terrifying, can't they?

I thought you said that this was an adjoining dwelling.

Well, the beds are adjoining.

True story!

Regional South Australia is a chilling part of the country.

I love being on the road.

I'm a big fan of it.

I have a lot of fun and there's not many downsides.

But there is one thing about constantly traveling

and staying in different places, one thing that I'm sick of.

Do you know what I'm fucking sick of, Brunswick Heads?

- What are you sick of?

- Thank you very much.

Call and response.

I am fucking sick of,

writing my experience.

Fuck that.

Why can't I just stay somewhere or eat something

or travel somewhere, without immediately having to fill out

some customer survey to reassure the business

I've just interacted with like I'm trying to dig

a co-dependent lover out of the post-coital shame spiral.

Did you have a nice time?

How was it for you?

What could we do better?

What's wrong with us?

What's wrong with us?

Fuck that!

Yeah!

I mean look, by all means, provide an avenue for complaint.

Like if I'm unhappy,

I'll be the first to write a strongly worded email

or perhaps slip a crude drawing into a suggestion box.

But if you don't hear from me,

just assume everything was fine.

Our transaction is complete.

Fucking back yourself.

It's everywhere now.

There's touch screens now at the airports.

They feature like a spectrum of emojis.

So, you press the face that's closest to your own face

having just experienced whatever your face just experienced.

They have them outside the toilets

at the international airports.

Touch screens.

Outside the toilets!

Now, just for the moment let's ignore the fact that

that touch screen is a giant Petri dish

for literally thousands of stool samples.

I still resent having to write my experience

of going to the fucking toilet.

Oh, gosh, okay, I've gotta do this scre-

No, guys, I'll catch up!

Yeah, no, I'll get the next flight.

I'll just have to do this screen.

Okay, here we go.

Okay, golly gosh.

All right, which face most accurately depicts

my emotional state having just taken a shit at the airport?

Oh, this is tough.

I can't choose between tragically desperate

or shamefully humiliated.

Oh, bugger it, I'll just go with, I didn't wash my hands!

I can't tell if you guys are on board with this or not

just by round of applause,

who here is sick of doing surveys?

Who's with me?

That was a survey, you fucking idiots!

I just surveyed the room.

You're like, yeah, we hate surveys.

That's how they get you.

Stay on your toes, Brunswick Heads.

Stay for joint.

What was your name, man, sorry?

- I'm John.

- Why don't we do a little photo together?

- That would be so good.

- Let's do that.

- Me and John at the petrol station.

- Good on you, John.

- My wife and my little boy are gonna love this.

He's six.

- Oh, grouse.

- And we loved your show, was it something on Elm Street or?

- Which one, oh, the Ricketts Lane?

- Ricketts Lane, yeah. - Oh, grouse.

- Oh, good on you, John. - Ricketts Lane.

We love Ricketts Lane. - That's awesome.

Oh, well, so do we.

Well, bloody nice to meet you.

- Oh, you too, man.

- What an absolute delight?

- Are you still doing things with Sammy J?

- Yeah, we're still doing lots of stuff.

We're working on a new show - Oh, cool.

- But I'm off overseas next, in a couple of weeks.

But yeah, we're still doing stuff.

Bring it in, yes.

- Oh, Randy, it's been so nice to meet you.

- Mate, it's been an absolute delight.

Thanks very much for saying good day.

I would now like to take a reading

from the Book of Randicus.

Chapter seven verse 69.

Oh, grow up.

It just happens to be verse 69.

It's pure coincidence.

It's a good verse, all right?

It could've been any verse.

We're all adults here.

Disgusting.

69 is pretty funny though isn't it?

Totally impractical on an evolutionary level

but just fucking classic comedy in the bedroom.

Dinner for two, whoa!

I always think of Pompeii when I'm in that position.

You know like when Pompeii volcano erupted

and everybody just go frozen in the positions

they were in at the time?

I'm always worried I'm gonna be in 69 position,

there's gonna be a volcanic eruption

and I'm gonna get frozen and 2,000 years from now,

school children will be giggling at my undignified demise

in their holographic history books.

Like, oh no, how humiliating?

It's always a bit conflicting the 69 position, isn't it?

It's like doing your tax on a carnival ride.

You don't know whether to focus

or just kick back and enjoy the view.

There's a lot going on.

Genitals in your face.

Face in your genitals.

It's always a bit frantic.

I've not have many relaxing 69s, is what I'm trying to say.

You know, shut up Greg, I'm trying to do a reading here.

Oh fuck, hang on, I'm on the wrong page.

- Want a man?

- Don't fucking patronize me.

All right, here we go.

Oh, I was on the right page.

And lo,

Barrel held aloft her hand

and spake she in a voice that rippled

through the tall grasslands.

Like the uninvited breath of the stranger's hound

on the exposed leg beneath the outdoor cafe table.

Consider your fingertip, spake Barrel

and onward she spake.

Your fingertip,

your fingertip is currently harboring

tens of millions of living organisms.

Just the tip of your finger.

Consider that for a moment.

Now consider, that your entire body is home

to 100 trillion non-human cells.

Each of you carry around 4.4 million non-human genes.

90% of who you are is not actually, who you are.

Her words rang out across the valley.

Microbes, my brothers and sisters.

I'mma talking about microbes.

Now, consider your fingertip is planet Earth

and the rest of your body is the surrounding universe,

allowing for the limitless possibilities that that presents,

given the choice, would you doom your species

to evolutionary stagnation on the tip of a finger?

Or would you prefer to see some really fucking cool shit?

- Cool shit.

- Cool shit?

Fair enough.

I had a

a really, a really fucked up thing,

stay with me, stay with me.

A really fucked up thing happened to me

on this missionary tour.

I had a near death experience.

Recently, actually, quite recently, I genuinely nearly died.

And what happened was, I nearly died from food poisoning.

Which is a bullshit way to die.

What are people gonna say about me when I'm gone.

Ah, well he always did make poor menu choices.

What happened to me was I ate something funky

in that giant food court at that massive shopping mall

where all the obnoxious bogans go

and they're really rude to the staff.

You know, the big fucking mall, what's it called?

The really big one?

- Westfield. - No, not Westfield.

The other one, what's it called?

The massive, people are asshole, you know?

No, not that one, fuck what's it called?

Bali!

It's called Bali.

So, I was in - I ate something in Bali, right?

It disagreed with me to the point that I got salmonella.

And it was so serious that I got an abscess on my spleen

and had to have my fucking spleen removed.

I know.

If you don't know what the spleen does, by the way,

it filters your blood and it helps in the fight

against nasty bacteria.

It's kinda like the organ equivalent

of a night club bouncer.

You don't really need it and no one really likes it,

but if it's not there,

someone's gonna get their dick out on the dance floor.

I was in hospital for about six weeks, just laying there.

Six weeks.

Just contemplating my own mortality

when a single thought struck me with absolute clarity.

I'm just a temporary microbe made up of other microbes

on a planet of microbes

in an ever expanding universe of microbes.

Suddenly, I was an empty shell.

Open to limitless possibilities.

All I needed was a sign.

And that's when the old man

in the bed next to mine, turn to me

and died.

And while riffling through his possessions,

I found a book of daily Buddhist meditations.

And I turn to that day's date and it said,

each morning we are born again.

And I looked at him and said, not today grandpa.

Not today.

But it planted a seed, right?

And I was already kinda into Buddhism

but this led me to get deeper and deeper into Buddhism.

I had dabbled, previously.

I've spoken about it onstage before.

But after this, I became quite devout.

I had a meditation practice everyday,

a daily gratitude practice.

I went to Myanmar and slaughtered thousands of Muslims.

Yeah, I'm just trying to be a good Buddhist.

They lost a few karmic points

when they started dabbling in genocide, didn't they?

But I did - I did genuinely,

I did go and stay in a Buddhist temple up in Japan.

Up in the mountains of Koyasan for a couple of weeks.

And I got up every morning at like 5:00 A.M.

And I prayed with the monks.

And then, I go back to my little room

with its tatami mats and it's simple,

spiritually mindful design

and I would masturbate to internet pornography.

And I thought, this experience may be lost on me.

This, this

This is not connection.

This is total isolation.

What am I doing?

What the fuck am I doing?

What is this?

I mean, what are we as a species?

I mean, when did we lose faith in ourselves

and decided that it was more fun to own everything

than take care of it?

Let's face it.

Humans were never meant to be dominant.

It doesn't make sense.

We don't know how to behave at the top of the food chain.

We didn't earn it.

You think lions and crocodiles have existential crises?

No, they just move quick, get strong, eat shit.

They don't have time to jerk off in a temple, right?

And before you say, I'm more disciplined than you, Randy.

I'm not like that.

Bullshit!

You all wank in your own temples.

Humans evolve to be in the middle.

That's why we're so bad at running things.

We've got 2 million years of chemical evolution

telling us to run away from everything or stab it to death

or fuck it in ear.

Barrel gave us the opportunity for enlightenment

and we fucking wasted it.

We lost our way.

And if you don't believe me, look around you.

Look at this room.

Room full of magnificent creatures with limitless potential

for symbiotic compassion and spiritual perfection,

paying good money to see a man

that's dedicated the best years of his life

into finding a way to monetize screaming at strangers.

I mean, fucking look at my face.

What are you even watching right now?

And what the fuck do I have to show for this?

Fuck all, 38 years old,

no partner, no kids, no assets, no savings.

The most expensive thing I own

is an autograph copy of George Michael's "Faith"

on cassette tape!

Oh, I don't fucking know.

I don't know, sometimes you do.

You do, you travel around and you do shows and-

I don't know, I don't know, I don't know how I go here.

I don't know.

- [Crowd] Aww.

Aww, yeah, yeah.

- We love you.

- Thank you, I love- - I'd marry you!

- That's the spirit.

That's where we need to start, bit of that shit.

Yeah hey mum, no, I'm still on the road.

Oh I don't even know where I am right now.

Yeah.

Yeah, I will.

All right.

Yeah no, I'm good, I'm good.

I'm just tired.

Okay, love you too.

Okay, bye.

You know actually,

it was my uncle that got me into comedy, inadvertently.

I got this uncle, he's an amateur magician.

And by that I mean, he really wants to be a magician.

But he's just fucking amateur!

Just fucking awful!

And he always does these Christmas shows for us.

He does Christmas magic shows every Christmas.

And when I say that,

you're probably picturing like card tricks

and rabbits out of hats.

None of that.

He's like an amateur escapologist, daredevil,

illusionist kind of magician.

Just doing dangerous, dangerous shit with no training

and not a lot going on upstairs.

One of my earliest childhood memories right,

he got up on top of the pergola right, in a straitjacket

and he's gonna jump off the pergola into the swimming pool

and not surface until he got out of the straitjacket.

None of us told him not to do it.

He's up there, on the pergola, wrapped in his straitjacket

and he does this thing before he does any trick,

he goes, 3-2-1 ready.

It's like his little catchphrase.

So, he's up there he goes, 3-2-1 ready.

He takes a step back to run up into the pool

and just went

straight through the pergola,

impaled his shoulder on a star picket,

tore all the ligaments in his ankle and when he landed,

he made such a loud noise, it frightened the dog

and the dog bit him on the face.

So, Christmas was always awesome.

And that year, he wouldn't let us take him to the hospital.

He's like, I'll be fine.

He just

pulled himself off the star picket,

cracked a stubby and went to the barbecue,

you know what I mean?

But as a result, he fucked his shoulders so bad,

he fucked all the nerves in his arm

and he's got no feeling in his left hand.

He can still pick stuff up but he can't feel things

and he always says horrible, horrible shit like,

Yeah, Randy, I don't even need the missus anymore,

I just close me eyes and think of Mariah Carey.

Yeah, the man's a fucking unit.

So

This one Christmas, this is how I got into comedy

This one Christmas, someone from his local RSL club

had given him a little PeeWee 100 motor bike,

like a little children's motor bike.

I'm not sure why, maybe they wanted him dead.

But anyway, he turned up to Christmas

He turned up to Christmas right,

with this little PeeWee 100 motor bike

and he built a ramp in his ute.

He built a ramp that folded out of the tray of his ute

and then, up over the cab of little truck.

And he had this idea that he was gonna drive his little ute

around to school fetes and county fairs and stuff

and do jumps on his little motor bike in his ute ramp.

Again, none of us told him not to do it.

He turned up with his thing

and he set it up across the road,

and we were having Christmas at my family's house

in the country in central Victoria.

There's heaps of paddocks around.

We're in the middle of nowhere

so he loves having Christmas there

cause he can do dangerous shit in the paddocks, right,

and really spread out.

So, he built this obstacle course

and he's across the road all morning, setting this up

and we're in the house and we hear, 3-2-1 ready!

So, we go across the road and there he is.

Picture this, he's a massive dude.

Huge guy.

Strawberry blonde mullet.

Big blonde handlebar mustache

with a nicotine stain in the middle

like he's been eating an ass.

And he just sits there, right.

He huge in this tiny motor bike.

He's like, here we go.

And he took off.

And he was like weaving through the cones.

Popping little monos.

He did about 25 minutes as a warm up.

We're like, actually this is pretty entertaining.

And he gets to the end of his warm up,

he parks the bike about maybe 20 meters

from where he's gonna start his run up to his big jump.

And he added a little bit of showbiz flare here.

I'll never forget it.

He got off the bike and he pretended that the motor bike

was too heavy for him to push.

Massive dude, tiny motor bike.

He just goes.

Oh, it's too heavy kids.

I can't push it.

We're like, yay!

Five stars.

You're a comedic genius.

He's like

and then, he just went, oh bugger it.

Picked the motor bike up.

Put it under his arm and marched back to the start line,

like a fucking legend.

He gets to the start line.

He goes to put the motor bike down but he can't.

Because when he picked it up,

he inadvertently put his left hand on the exhaust pipe.

He's got no feeling in his left hand.

The exhaust pipe was very hot.

By the time he made it back to the start line,

his left hand had fused to the exhaust pipe,

melded to the motor bike.

He's like, oh, I can't put it down.

We're all like, ahh, the smell of burning flesh!

All the adults are pouring beer on it.

He's like, it doesn't hurt, it doesn't hurt.

We're like, but it's fucked!

That year, he let us take him to the hospital.

You have a motor bike attached to your hand.

Get in the fucking car.

But because we were having Christmas

at my house in the country, everybody was shit-faced,

because everybody was staying over.

Everyone was camping so nobody could drive him

except for me, I'd been on my learner's permit for one week.

Two hour drive to the hospital.

I'm just like white knuckling it the whole way.

My dad shit-faced in the passenger sit just supervising me.

Hey, you're doing a great job.

My uncle, on the backseat, motor bike on his lap,

his left hand fused into the exhaust pipe

and then just sculling a long neck with his right hand.

And that is not what got me into comedy

but that is definitely what got me into drinking.

That guy is tough as fuck.

Yes!

It's Christmas night in emergency.

There's chaos.

There's people impaled on Christmas trees

and kids that have eaten Christmas baubles and shit.

And so it's crazy but he walks through the doors

carrying a motor bike and the entire room went silent.

I've never seen anything like it.

All these people just went.

He marches up to the counter,

slams the motor bike down in front of the triage nurse

and just goes, I've done a mischief!

They took him into surgery.

He was in there for six hours.

I had to sit in the waiting room

and wait for him the whole time.

And while I was there,

there was an episode of Seinfeld on the television.

I was like, I wanna do that.

And here I am.

Thank you, uncle.

Thank you, uncle.

We have to start believing as a collective

that we're capable of achieving greatness

in areas that actually matter.

And it's not gonna be easy.

I'm not up here saying that I've got,

you know, I haven't got it figured out.

We just gonna have to try.

If we're gonna get our shit together,

it's gonna involve some sacrifice.

You gotta give up a lot of shit.

Stuff like casual misogyny, listening to commercial radio

and going to the horse races.

Yes.

I'm sorry, there's no more horse races now.

Here's a fun fact.

119 race horses died last year.

119 race horses killed while racing.

To put that into perspective, that's the equivalent

of six Australian rules football teams worth of players

dying on the field during matches.

You reckon if that happened

they probably put a stop to the sport, don't you think?

It seems a little bit dangerous

or at the very least unnecessarily cruel.

Oh, looks like he's done his hamstring.

Oh, that's an achilles tendon, out for the season of life.

I think we should do it.

I think we should start killing

some Aussie rules footy players,

send a message to the racing industry.

Collingwood could go first.

Who's with me?

Yeah!

You all just collectively supported mass murder.

See that?

Create the right environment.

Elicit the appropriate emotional frame of mind.

Sprinkle in a few chemicals like dopamine

or oxytocin or serotonin.

Add some consequences.

Bit of peer pressure.

You can make a person get behind pretty much anything.

- Yep

- You can manufacture faith.

- Yes.

Anywhere from blind allegiance to true love

to the belief that repeatedly hitting a button

at an intersection will make the traffic lights change.

It doesn't work.

You only need to press it once.

It's a time sequence.

But there's always someone there, isn't it?

Just going, change!

Fucking change!

Look, the question I'm trying to ask is, right,

if as a species,

we're naturally predisposed to collective belief

and if all faith is fundamentally manufactured,

why not just create a new religion that's wholly inclusive

and prioritizes saving the planet,

protecting every living species

and growing towards spiritual evolution, in this life,

not the imaginary next one?

That's it, that's the question.

People watching this going,

geez you're a self-righteous little shit aren't you?

What are you doing, Randy?

What are you doing?

Fucking this.

This is it, this is all I know how to do.

This is the only thing I've developed skills for.

So, if you've got a skill, figure out how to apply it.

Do something, fucking worthwhile, you cunts.

Okay, here we go.

I'm gonna end on a reading.

All right?

And then, we're gonna go off on the night together.

Change the fucking world.

And with that, Barrel climb aboard her space craft

and buggered off.

And the sapiens were left to ponder

their limitless potential.

So, said one sapien to another,

you think she's gonna come back?

Honestly, said the other sapien,

I don't know if it matters.

We should probably get started

on becoming enlightened regardless.

Yeah, said the other sapien.

I'm sure we'll get it around to it, eventually.

Here ends the lesson.

Thank you very much.

Good night, thank you.

- Thank you very much.