Why Wogs Hate Vegemite - In Wollongong Tonight

I don’t want to start a race war or anything, but I seek the means to wax lyrical on some differences between Wogs and Non-Wogs. With knowledge comes understanding. It’s good that we are talking about it.

I like to think the Csapos (registered Wog name) have assimilated quite well to Aussie culture. I often use words like “cobber,” “girt” and filler words like “stuffin’” and “bloody” to pad out my sentences. However my Cobbers, I’m sorry to say, Vegemite is in the cupboard, on the top shelf, too high to reach.

Vegemite…yuck. It’s an urban fact that Wogs won’t touch Vegemite, even if they have lived in Australia their whole life, like me. I think I made mum buy a jar of it once when I was a kid just so I could try it, because all my non-wog friends told me how good it was. That and I was sick at the time and couldn’t keep anything down (little did I know Vegemite would only aggravate that issue). Mum spread a hefty chunk of “Vege” onto it, put it in the toast bowl…Yeah and that was it. Never again. By the way, toast bowls, for the uninitiated, are another Wog tradition. Well, not really, but I eat my toast out of a bowl so shutup. Anyway, my point is, when you’ve heard a food called “axle grease” your confidence isn’t too lofty about it.

I was about to check what ingredients Vegemite has in it, but seeing as how vegemite doesn’t exist my house, I can’t. But I know it’s got salt and yeast in it, and I think that’s about it. Salt. Yeast. No wonder us wogs don’t eat this. Salt goes with the ridiculously massive roast that grandma made for us and yeast goes in the fantastic pastries and cakes she makes, that she then inundates us with, without hope of us ever eating it all (but we need to, we’re getting skinny). Which bloke from way back when thought it was a good idea to mix up some basic ingredients and call it food? “Say there old chap, I know a grand idea for a breakfast spread! See this here yeast and salt? Yes, yes we shall add it all together and give it a name that sounds nothing like what this stuff is! No vegetables, no might. Egads what an idea!” – What idiots! What a stupid and pointless idea that made them truck-fulls of money for them and their families for generations and one that I wish I thought of.

Jealousy aside, with all the goodness that can only come from a busy kitchen with a wog lady bustling about listening to unbelievably loud ethnic radio, why would we want to eat some of the ingredients of salty bread mashed into a shocking looking brown paste that’s always fooled me for nutella? There’s really no place for the crappy little yellow jar on a wog’s table. That’s not a figure of speech, there’s seriously no room. I mean just the other day for mum’s birthday we had our meal, and we had a bread table. Yeah, a separate table for bread. This was for 6 of us and I was still taking the leftovers to work for the next 3 days in my wog-boy style oversized lunchbox.

I can understand why us wogs hate vegemite – mostly because it tastes like arse – but I can’t understand why the rest of you can’t handle a little wog food. So what if it’s got a bit of chilli in it. Man up. It’ll clear out your sinuses, not to mention adds taste to every dish imaginable. If your eyes aren’t stinging after that first slice of hot salami sprinkled with the chilli flakes, then it just isn’t salami. And don’t come over and complain about it either - when your old man grows vegemite in the back yard, I’ll eat it when I come over, but this is a wog house where there is such a thing as a free lunch.

But it’s not all just about not eating vegemite. There are so many other great things about being a wog. You never go hungry. Tradespeople respect you. Your father knows tradespeople. You are a tradesperson. Your house gets built for half price. Your car gets fixed by a bloke your cousin knows who speaks Macedonian. Cabbies relate to you as soon as you start talking to them without plurals or much punctuation. You don’t ever need to borrow tools. It never matters if your car doesn’t work because you have 2 spares. The list goes on. Vegemite just doesn’t fit anywhere in there.

Now I’m off to go eat some overly greasy pork something-or-other that grandma made, and re-invent my hate for vegemite.