You don't say? Or can't say?

I'm not sure if it was the smell of the two-stroke or the roar of the V6 Evinrude, but I found my inaugural speedboat ride most exhilarating. It was 2002, I was ten, and Grand-Paps had bought a new waterski he wanted to try out. Charged with the responsibility of spotter, my job was to let the boat’s pilot know if a skier fell. It was a huge responsibility for someone my age, and I took it on with the respect it warranted. I remember it being a perfect day. The sun shone, and the water was as still as a dead dog. But unfortunately, every man and his dog knew this and had the same idea. Families were out picnicking on the shoreline, and teens were sling-shotting from an old car tyre tied to the outstretched limb of a river gum. We took the first run easy, ensuring there weren't any mysteries floating in the water after that summer’s heavy rains. Then pappy called out to Dad, who was at the wheel, "Open her up!". Dad obliged, pushing the throttle all the way down. The boat's bow pointed skyward, and we lurched forward at great speed. Weaving from side to side, Paps cut a fine line for a man his age. With each pass, his alternate shoulder would skim the water's surface before catching the bow wave and launching him high into the air. We had completed three runs without a hitch. My eyes fixated on Paps the entire time, more impressed by his display of sheer athleticism than diligently performing my spotter’s duty. We'd turned to make our fourth run and had started to get up to speed when up beside flew another craft. Its passengers were four beautiful bikini-clad young ladies, all of whom were cavorting about their boat and waving. They were all goddesses to me. Even Paps waved back with a smile from ear to ear. Now I'm not saying I lost focus, but I swear something moved in my shorts. It was my first epiphany. A life changing moment for not just me, but Paps also. You see, I didn’t see. Didn’t see that Paps had tried to impress the girls with a wake jump. One that went horribly wrong. By the time I noticed an empty tow-rope, the girls’ boat was circling Paps to see if he was OK. By the time we motored over, he was already on board their craft. He moaned in pain, and I felt like it was all my fault. Will he live? Will he ever ski again? One girl cradled his head in her bosom to comfort him. It was then I heard this ‘brrrrrrrring’ noise and saw Paps’s head shake between the lady’s ample breasts. Miraculously, he leapt up and shouted “Motorboating”, gave a loud hoot, said ‘Thank you ladies’ and dived overboard. I was so relieved he was ok…and so confused the ladies called him a dirty old bastard as he swam to ours.

Don’t let the do-gooders and woke folk stop you laughing. We live in a woke, cancel culture where the old schoolyard adage of “sticks and stones will break my bones, but names will never hurt me” has been turned on its head and words – uttered innocently or without malice – can still ruin the life of not the victim, but the spokesperson. Offence – is literally a lethal weapon in character assassination, and it is used to suffocate that most basic of human rights, Freedom of Speech. Is it the media, is it social media, or is just that the noisy minority can now have sway over the silent majority? At SubtleTee, we appreciate that people can take offence at the spoken word but they can’t take offence at an illustration which is subtle, cryptic, and inoffensive – unless of course you know the meaning behind the illustration. If you do know the meaning, then you’re 99.9% likely to have a sense of humour and a light, relaxed attitude to life. So, cheers to happy days and fuck ‘em if they can’t take a joke.