The Beginning of Common Sense Spence

'The beginning is always the hardest part, and sometimes, you need to rid yourself of shit to get to where you wanna go.'

Spence Spenceforth - 2036

15 Years Earlier

'Maybe I can leave now and make the next Glass Animals concert?' Spence Spenceforth said to himself. He was a young bassist from Newtown who had just performed a gig for his transgressive noise band, 'The Collection of Men with Scary Inflections', and was looking to make the next Glass Animals gig at the Enmore. With little time to waste, he was looking to make a swift exit from his local library, having to regretfully leave his copy of ‘Fight Like a Girl’ by Clementine Ford behind.

See, Spence was what one considered, desperate. A gangly young man who was perpetually searching for even a modicum of attention from a female, he fashioned himself as a male feminist; a male who resist the primordial urges of his fellow males. He considered himself an important ally for the feminist movement of Australia. In reality, he had moulded himself into this façade of a character to talk to a girl he fancied, name Deandre.

Deandre was an expert in radical feminist movements in 60’s Tajikistan, and with a 280k-tweet Twitter account, she held a serious amount of social capital within social justice circles. Spence knew that if he could wield his virtue to woo her, he would be seen as a good guy; which in turn could seriously improve his chances of bedding ladies. He was a sleazy man, and as a permanent cellar dweller in the hipster dystopia of Newtown, he fit right into the cultural landscape of the inner-city suburb.

As he looked to make a quick exit from said Library; spurred by the hopes of an even quicker entry into Deandre later, he was accosted by this man. He wore a bright yellow suit, a monocle, and a tattoo of Aussie country Icon Shane Warne on his neck.

‘My Spenceforth, I’ve been observing you for a while.’ The man said, wielding several books in his hand. Spence pulls up, and as he checked his watch, he said,

‘Look, dude, I need to make this concert at the Enmore, the vibe is gonna be lit.’ The man in the yellow suit wasn’t sensitive to Spence’ desperation, and leaned back in his chair, chortling,

‘Mr. Spenceforth, these Glass Animals you are looking to view, they pale in importance to the 4 books I current hold on my person.’ Spence looked down to look at what books this man was holding. Whenever someone had asked Spence a similar question, he was usually met by any assortment of FHM, Playboy, Hustler or any magazine of a similar ilk. He’d call the men who’d showed him these creeps, tweet it to his friends, and savour the rush of dopamine one gets when seeing 40 likes on your wittily-worded tweet.

However, these books that this man wielded were different. All four of them had a picture of a man wearing Oakley sunnies on the cover, holding any two pairings of VB, Great Northern, Fosters and Corona’s on his hand. All four had different titled, all preceded by ‘The Common-Sense Guide to’ – It was a practical guide to life, and a lesson in common sense.

‘The Common-Sense series’ is the governing dictum for all Australians, books that all should read and idolised.’ Said the yellow suit wearing man, quietly handing them books over to Spence before saying, ‘Please read them, please follow their ideologies, and when you’re ready to start wielding said common sense, see me.’ With that, the yellow suit wearing man leaves. Spence inspects the books for a brief minute, looking inside to see what the fuss is about.

They are a weird combination of ‘How to’ guides, and airy-fairy self-help advice. They were if Tony Robbins and a forklift operational manual had merged and converged in the laps of ordinary Aussie Battlers. On this day, Spence had found himself in possession of these books, and despite the Glass Animals concert, he decided to read these books to see if he could learn a new hold or a knot.

For the next few hours, he became enthralled. He learnt the basics to life, the universe and everything. He wasn’t a man of skill, and the most useful asset he previously possessed was how to make a chai latte and the exact right temperature. With this book, he learnt a whole slew of ‘Common Sense’ tips designed to make him a hardened Aussie battler.

After a few more hours of reading, he finished the books. These books, these oh so mysterious books, caused his to rethink everything. Was there a world outside of his insular inner-city bubble? Could he really obtain this mysterious substance called ‘Elbow Grease’ could he really spot Shannon Noll in the bushes around Condoblin; an urban legend comparable to Big Foot. 

With a dose of knowledge and a slice of reality in his pocket, he was eager to put his newfound penchant for common sense to the test. Knowing he needed to shed himself of his self-serving, vainglorious lifestyle, he made his way down to Surry Hills, ready to show the world what he now knew.

***

The next day, Deandre was live tweeting at a cultural festival in Surry Hills; a suburb not too far and just as hipstery as Newtown. She was at an art festival with a friend, observing a rare painting from transgressive painter Svitilaya Svendenwhenderawlings, titled, ‘Can of Peas after a bout of Gastro’. It was an interesting piece, considering he had been made after Svitilaya has eaten a can of peas, before having a rather violent bout of Gastroenteritis.

After accidentally spilling the contents of her stomach onto a canvas, she realized that this could be worth something, and decided to put it up for auction. She was right though, as for many who attended, it would be worth bringing a vomit bag next time they attended one of her exhibitions.

‘I like how this piece serves as a total disintegration and deconstruction of the very fabric of capitalism’ said Deandre, complimenting Svendenwhenderawlings on her experimental little piece. A fellow hipster, a long haired, skinny male named Jacko, also chimed in on the piece, commenting,

‘I think it’s a social commentary on the effects of the patriarchy.’ Like Spence, he was too trying to get lucky with some of the local artsy types. As a 33-year-old virgin who had been on Centrelink for 10 years, he was looking to get it where he could get it. He was sleazy, but no one could really tell as they’re too caught up in themselves to notice.

‘Well thank you, I wanted this piece to really deconstruct a lot of different things, hopefully to expelled a lot of bad stuff I had bottled up inside of me.’ The three continue to look at this piece, marveling in its absurdity. One person in this art gallery didn’t quite appreciate, and felt like he had to make his opinion know; to ‘tell it like it is.’

‘I think it’s shit, and judging from its contents, I’m about right.’ It was Spence Spenceforth. No longer sporting long hair and a V-Neck, he had inexplicably bulked up. Also wearing a handlebar moustache, several Southern Cross Tattoos and Oakley sunglasses, he had transformed himself seemingly overnight, something that broke the paradigms of logistical reality.

***

See, overnight, something happened to Spence. After reading these books, he fell into a deep sleep. During this slumber, he lucidly dreamt of Vb’s, Utes, of a trip to Deniliquen. He saw Shannon Noll driving a big black shiny car, and shared a beer with Slim Dusty. It was like a journey into an outback Utopia, one designed specifically for Aussies who reside in regional Australia.

When he awoke, he was like a completely different person. He was no longer wearing a V-Neck, tight jeans and a flatcap. He wore a white singlet, NRL boardies and thongs. He looked at the mirror, marveling at his newly found beer-belly. He was no longer a miserly hipster, he was a rinky dink Aussie bloke, and he had one crucial weapon; Common Sense.

***

‘What, what?’ asked Deandre, baffled by the new garb that Spence was sporting. For months, Spence had been seen with the same shirt when talking to Deandre, with the logo, ‘Men Should Support Women’ emblazoned on the front. For Spence, the primary function of this shirt was in many ways similar to a Peacock’s feathers. This was basically his mating call, and unlike the Peacock, this had been mostly unsuccessful.

Spence stepped forward and grabbed the piece. Svitilaya was worried that he was going to destroy the piece she’d spent one painful night on. Sensing this, he confirmed her suspicious,

‘Hope the dodgy vindaloo or whatever you pinkos eat was worth.’ Spence stepped on this poster, causing Svitilaya to wait in horror at the destruction of her greatest piece.

As she cried and cradled her destroyed masterpiece, Spence reached into his pocket and grabbed out a piece that would indeed be less shitty to many an Aussie. It was a poster of Shane Warne’s ‘Ball of the Century, and armed with blue-tack, he quickly put this poster up, celebrating the real heart of Australian culture.

Deandre wasn’t happy. She thought Spence wasn’t like the others, that he was more sensitive or the wanton needs of Tajikistani radical feminism. She thought she had an ally, but as she stared at Warnie, she knew she had an enemy,

‘This piece is a shot to the heart of the patriarchy, and you’re taking it down?’ Spence quickly retorted,

‘Mate, it’s literally shit. Common sense dictates that most people don’t want to smell this shit at an art gallery. Not that many true-blue Aussies would go to an Art Gallery, but if they did, they’re prefer to just stare at a portrait of Gough Whitlam,’ Deandre’s rage begins to show,

‘I was wrong to think you were different,’

‘No, I’m not different, I’m an Aussie.’ Spence raises a can of VB to the picture of Warnie, before storming out of this place. Deandre is apopletic, and screamed,

‘My god, it’s almost like he was only talking to me to sleep with me.’ As Svitilaya grabs her piece and Deandre cries, Jacko is left to mull on that point. His plan had been thwarted, and now, he needed to develop something that seemed foreign to him; a personality.

***

A little while later, Spence is strolling through the streets of Kogarah, proud of himself and accepting his newfound personality. He was no longer the desperate weirdo looking for attention from a female; he was a common-sense wielding figure, wearing to pull your hydraulics and give you a blast of reality.

‘Good, you’re learning’ said a voice from what seemed to be an indiscernible direction. Spence looked around, and to his shock, the man in the yellow suit reappeared. With a VB in hand, he passed it to Spence, before pulling out another can of grog. The man looked ecstatic, and he had every right to be. Spence passed the first test, which was to embrace the common-sense ideology. Having read the books and fixed an illogical situation, he was now ready to accept his true fate,

‘Spence, are you ready to become the standard bearer for Common Sense in Australia?’ This man said, passing Spence a contract. Spence read through this, and it was clear. He was about to sign a contract for a TV Show called ‘Common Sense Spence and the Truth tellers'.

‘Bloody oath,’ he said, signing the contract quicker than a hiccup. And with that,his was the birth of Common-Sense Spence, one of Australians most beloved TV Show host. From the dingy vegan chicken cafes to the harsh Australian outback, Spence’s took the spreading of common sense worldwide. He couldn’t of done this without these ‘Common Sense Guides’, and he’d be eternally grateful for them.

He would later become the host of a Sydney Weekender styled show, but instead of teaching us the best places for Barramundi in Sydney, he was to go around to different cultures, teaching ‘common sense’ solutions to everyday problems. It was a tremendous opportunity, and he was ready to take it. Despite his subsequent 'cancelling' by Deandre, he would forge a path of glory, teaching people from the Philippines that a fully grown roast chook with chips and gravy was a touch more preferable that Balut.

The End For Now…