“Strolling naked along a chilly surf beach and collecting other people’s rubbish is not everyone’s idea of fun. But the naturists of Point Impossible, near Torquay, are on a mission — to keep their beach bare of rubbish — and of compulsory swimwear. As nudists await a State Government decision on the fate of the beach’s ‘clothing optional’ status, a small group of regulars yesterday took part in the annual Clean Up Australia Day to help keep their beloved strip pristine… Clean Up Australia chairman Ian Kiernan said an estimated 1 million people took part in yesterday’s Clean Up, at more than 7000 sites. ‘I just think it’s great we’ve got so many diverse groups… we’ve got churches and schools and governments and now nudists,’ he said.” — The Age (Australia)

The bulk of this story concerns that tiresome debate about whether nude beaches are catalysts for orgies, fun family frolics, or both. Don’t read the story for that. Instead, contemplate this picture for a minute or two. It’s marginally safe for work, presuming your employer can tolerate you looking at the naked butts of five guys and a dog. If some boss type sneaks up behind you and asks what the hell you’re looking at, you can always declare that you’re studying an example of civic pride. After all, those naked asses are helping to clean the beach of “8000 tonnes of rubbish” that included a parking meter, four wallets, half a boat, and the leg of a mannequin.

(Maybe that’s the perversity in the story: who brings a mannequin to the beach? Imagine some lonely perv escorting his artificial love to a moonlit beach for a night of amour… Then he leaves part of her behind when he’s done. Isn’t that just like a man? He gets what he wants and then displays a callous disregard for his date. “I got mine. I don’t care about your fuckin’ leg. You can’t walk anyway, Plastic Patty.”)

Have you looked at the picture now? There is something strangely bucolic about the thing. It shows nature (nice beach), companionship (five buddies), altruism (cleaning up the community) — and then there’s that little dog tagging along like one of the guys. It’s hard not to imagine the little bugger picking up soda bottles in its mouth and putting them in a garbage bag. The picture is practically the work of some demented Aussie Norman Rockwell. It’s so corny it could be a placemat — little kids eating bowls of Cheerios and milk off these guys’ asses.

But what would happen if you turned the picture around so that the guys were walking toward the camera?

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