By: kenneth on December 09, 2012
“Hey, what’s this weird-looking thing?” I asked my friend, Sandra.
“Oh, that’s a butt plug.” she replied.
“A WHAAAT?” I returned the object back on its hook, wiping my fingers on my jeans . “ Um…they don’t sell stuff here second-hand, right?”
I have no problem whatsoever if people spice up their sex life with toys, but it’s a bit yuck to be handling something that’s been through a random stranger’s bum. I might have to boil my whole arm and rinse it with Clorox.
“Yeah, you know. For butt sex.” Sandra hopped towards me to take a closer inspection, eyes wide, curious little rabbit that she is.
I looked around, trying to concentrate on the task at hand. The annual studio Christmas party, themed Masquerade, is due in a couple of days and I still didn’t have a mask. Maybe I can walk around with my hands on my face, but I need both of them for carrying food and alcohol. And it’s a bit lame to be the only one not incognito.
Sandra decided that the best places to hit were the sex shops because they have all kinds of head-garb and Masquerade-ish looking paraphernalia. So we went to one that occupies space at a busy corner in the long stretch of road that is Oxford Street.
I guess it makes sense. But it’s still a mission to find a mask that’s not attached to a whole dominatrix outfit. Or one that doesn’t come with a ball gag.
It’s a bit odd, really. I’ve never seen so many spikes and metal chains in a shop that doesn’t specialize in Hell’s Angels merchandise. This place can rival most establishments that sell biker gear. But with more kink. Think Sons of Anarchy in pink, furry handcuffs. With nipple clamps.
Near the cash register, I finally found a separate masks section, hiding beside whips and an assortment of costumes made of feathers. They cost $40 each, at the cheapest. Holy crap. They weren’t kidding when they said sex sells.
Sandra was still at a corner of the store that displayed items which suspiciously resemble medieval torture equipment. I walked towards her direction and asked her if she wanted to go for pizza. There was no way I’ll find anything in the store that’s within my price range. Besides, I suspect that my lungs have already inhaled too much leather and has hit above tolerance level. If I stay longer, I might also have to gouge out my eyes from the trauma. I don’t think I can look at hats, helmets and masks the same way ever again.
We left the store and trudged along Oxford Street. We got some 7-11 Slushies, because hey, it’s on the way to the pizza place. It took at least 45 minutes via our lazy feet to get to Sven, so we’ve worked up an appetite for delicious Nordic pizza by the time we got there.
Breathing in the wood fire and hand-tossed dough, we chose seats near the window. And oh hey, what’s that on the wall? They got Viking helmets?
No, I didn’t have to drown the day’s shenanigans with alcohol. For some reason, they serve water from Vodka bottles. That’s Scandinavians for you – even their water will put hair on your chest.
Free salad. We don’t know what it is but it tastes like cabbage with mayo.
The pizzas at Sven comes in medium and large, mostly named after Norse mythological gods, demigods & creatures. I’ll say, they are definitely heavenly. An abundant heap load of toppings on crispy crusts, fresh from the oven. Sven Pizza, I thee worship.
We ordered one large pizza each, because we can take home the left-overs and have it for lunch the next day. Okay, who are we kidding here. Sandra and I can destroy these pizzas in one sitting. But yes, 2 people can probably share one large-sized pie.
Man oh man. Check out these babies. Beautiful.
RAGNARÖK – “JUDGEMENT DAY”
Spanish Chorizo Crispy Pancetta Pepperoni Smoked Ham Spicy Red Chilli Crème
YGGDRASIL – THE WORLD TREE
Garlic & Chilli Marinated King Prawns Crispy Pancetta Roma Tomatoes
Chèvre Goats Cheese
Note: The Bondi Junction address, where we ate the yummy pizzas, seem to have disappeared from Sven’s website. They might have closed or moved. Maybe they don’t get much foot traffic, but I doubt it. That side of Oxford St. is pretty busy.
If you ask me, they should have contracted Chris Hemsworth in full Thor get-up as waiting staff. With all those muscles in full display, they’d make a killing. They might have to watch out for rabid, female customers though. But hoo boy, he’s so hot all the cheese in the resto would melt even before they hit the oven.
Sven’s Viking Pizza
171 Carrington RD
CNR Alison RD
phone – (02) 9664 9668