Jack Bauer is so alpha. I could be alpha.

I’m Original Gangstar Soccer. I was into soccer back in the beginning; way back when the beautiful game was a childish grin of glee on the young world's face. When soccer was still an unknown and un-quantifiable anomaly on the rich pastures of Chipping Norton, I was its biggest supporter, crying forth the majesty that is the only true football in the world. That’s right, I was into soccer way back when Australia played Uruguay to qualify for the 2006 World Cup. Now, of course, everyone is hopping on the bandwagon.

Where were you all 6 months ago when soccer was first introduced onto the world’s stage? Jacking off donkeys, that’s where! Ooh, look everyone, look, I see a bandwagon approaching, have you got your ticket yet? All a bunch of sheep.

Being OGS, I’ve set my alarm to watch the Croatia match tomorrow morning. The only time I will ever get up at 5am is if I can stay in bed, then fall back to sleep, or if I have to appear in court, and even then, only if I’m pleading innocent. If I’m guilty of anything it’s being into Soccer from the beginning. Oh look everyone, here comes another bandwagon!

I think I might set up my own bandwagon business. You always hear of people jumping on them, but spotting one in the street just never happens. What we need are hoverwagons. I need to take this shit into the future. Pretty soon, when my business takes off, everyone will be jumping on the hoverwagon bandwagon. All a bunch of sheep I tell ya.

Anyway can’t stay for long as I have a pizza bubbling away in the oven and a plate of steak and chips setting in the fridge. Fuck I’m a good cook. Although, if someone suddenly un-invented the microwave, I’d probably die. I’d just stare at the empty space the microwave once took up and through blurry eyes and sounds of whimpering think, “Foooooood?”

There’s way too much stuff to learn how to do in life. Of course, you get over the basics as kids. Dressing, tying shoelaces, black magic etc., then you reach your teen years and you’re expected to be able demonstrate skill in math, rope climbing and general acne maintenance. You think graduating is the celebration of applying all that you’ll ever need to learn, then some fucker swindles you out of money through a dodgy finance deal and you think, “Finance, what the fuck is finance?”

Back to the fucking books.

I just went to a website that explains how to accomplish the perfect shave. Apparently you need the right type of cream and a shaving brush with which to apply it. I just looked down at the sharpened butter knife I had previously been using and thought, “Hmm, all this learning has made me hungry. I could totally bubble up a pizza right about now.”

Hopefully it will be ready in time for the new episode of 24. That shit is like crack. After the credits roll at the end of the episode I feel all giddy, yet serene and floaty, then after about an hour I start shaking and sweating. Neeeeed 2wenty 4our!!


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Who wants to jump on the no smiling hoverwagon? All a bunch of sheep.

Relationship: Negatory

There is a big gaping hole inside of me. Well, inside one of my teeth anyway. Don’t talk to me about teeth. I’ve had…eight teeth extracted, including three via general anesthetic (two bottom wisdom and one extra tooth inside the top of my gums) two fillings, braces for three years and a plate for one year. To look at my finely crafted choppers now you’d never know the work that’s been put in. With all the money my parents have spent on my teeth, and the continued lack of attention I receive from the laydeez, it’s left them wondering why they ever decided to hold their retirements back a decade.

They don’t know the pain I’ve been through. You don’t know me!

So yeah, last night one of my fillings came out. Big gaping hole. Whatever.

Last night: bars in the city + revolver. Me sober, Daz pilling, Euro drunk. We’ve decided it’s probably for the best that we don’t hang around each other anymore. We’ve become a group of what could possible be described as a Downward Spiral of Lame. If only we played instruments we could start an emo band. The reason I was sober was because I’m sick of drinking and taking drugs. I’m tired of the crutches I’ve come to depend on just to have a good time. It’s like I use them to fill a hole. A big gaping hole. Deep inside my teeth.

Now it’s Sunday morning and I feel not a hint of a hangover.

*Winks at self in mirror*

Women are liars. Just thought I’d throw that out there. Here’s one of the most common lies that women tell. Ready?

“If you want to attract a girl, you’ve just gotta, you know, be yourself!”

Clever. Very clever. See girls know what they’re doing. It must be difficult for a girl to know when to give in to the advances of a guy when she’s not sure if the suave, sophisticated and witty façade that precedes him is real, or a bunch of canned material that over the course of the night/following days, turns into a withdrawn and boring, porn addicted loser. Girls have to protect themselves, and to help in this effort, it is in their best interests for you, the loser male with lack of wit and looks, to simply be yourself straight off the bat.

This way, by simply being yourself, you’re pre-selecting yourself out of her pants. She doesn’t have to waste a moments energy wondering. Women are clever.

For a lot of guys, tricking a girl into believing you’re something that you’re not is essential. I’m not saying that a girl who shares your interests and that you hit it off with can’t fall into your lap at some point; I’m sure that can and does happen. But it’s like sitting at home and waiting to win the lottery rather than putting yourself through school and exaggerating your resume to get a job.

As a student of this guy, I understand the theory all too well. My problem is my inability, or maybe unwillingness to put fakeness into practice. A part of me feels as though I’d almost think less of myself if I got a girl by using canned material than if I just came home alone. The problem being, that either way, I do think less of myself.

Hmm, to be myself AND get a girl. The holiest of grails.

But I’m not lonely.

See, men can lie too.




*Ponders genocide*

Really though, I have it good.

*Cries*

*Wipes tears*

*Smiles*



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Appologies for leaving the last post hanging. During its writing, I got distracted by a few MSN conversations and lost interest. The cop was a pushover. I was almost caught assaulting his dog after fearing he'd trained it to sniff drugs. Had to cover and pretend I was just playing rough with it. Drove to the city, sniffed more coke off the centre console of Daz's car. The car alarm went off as we were doing it. Went to some bars. The night descended into nothingness. I'll probably never do coke again. According to Rorschach, it's was probably cut with novocaine, hence the numbness. All in all, a waste of a shit load of money.

Is this decaffeinated coke?

I find myself listening to a lot of Sinatra. Do you? If so, do you want to hold hands?

I like you.

Exaggerating Rumours life tip no. 34543 – 34542: When doing cocaine for the first time, don’t hang out at the chief of police’s house.

It went down like this –

Eurofriend was looking after his newlywed sister and bro’n’law’s place while they where honeymooning each other somewhere near water and better weather. Before they departed and the house was officially handed over for a couple of weeks, Dave - newlywed male - handed Euro a gram of the ol’ nose candy. Dave, I may add, is universally understood to be, by everyone who has met him, a rather giant knob of a bloke. He actually sniffed coke on his wedding day behind his new brides back, and regularly espouses conversations that feature his desire for nubile young blondes. He’s a knob of a bloke that happens to have drug connections, which, when balanced out, makes him somewhat of a cool guy.

I guess we all have our price.

Anyway, far too much back story. It was Saturday night, I was at Euro’s sister’s place with a rolled up $20 and a line of coke. Had never done it before. Euro was half a pro, having traveled to Malta where drugs fall from trees and police pull you over and fine you if you’re under the requisite limit for illicit drugs on your person at any given time.

So what did I do? Accidentally blew out of the makeshift straw scattering my line across the bench. I would have been embarrassed if I was someone who still had the capacity to feel embarrassment. While the others wasted energy laughing, I set about reconfiguring my line, then I sniffed that bitch up like a government that is owed Capital Gains Tax from Donald Trump.

I stood back and concentrated on my vital signs. There is always an excitement when you take a new drug and you wonder what new wonders of feeling await you. I kind of stood there like Violet from Willy Wonka And The Chocolate Factory experiencing her everlasting gobstopper for the first time. I felt a slight buzz but nothing really. I told the others in the room who were looking at me, “I feel a light buzz, but nothing really.” No one was happy with that.

Euro snorted his line then told me to clean up the bench, which involved me sticking left over cocaine residue onto my finger and rubbing it on my gums. Nothing really mattered at this point. The television showed that Essendon was leading Richmond by 3 points and a night of wicked beats and armageddon on the streets awaited us.

*listens to Sinatra. Sips red win. Farts.*

Anyway, we left the house and hopped into daz’s car. It was at this stage that I realized that I couldn’t swallow properly. My throat was completely numb. It wasn’t a good feeling. “Is your throat supposed to go numb on this shit, I can barely swallow my beer?” “Ahhh…” Euro had to think for a bit. “Yeah, it does.”

I wasn’t expecting this. I had naively assumed that ten minutes after a hit I would be trading shares on Wall Street while getting head from a blonde random. I didn’t expect to feel like I’d just come from a dental surgery after having a tooth extracted. People pay for this shit?

We had to pick up Ben who used to be my manager at work, before he quit and had a going away dinner one hour previous to my introduction to cocaine. During the dinner we’d offered to take him out for a drink. Daz pulled up out the front of the house he was staying at, then dropped a bombshell. “The guy that lives here is the chief of police.”

“Hehehe, cool”

“No really, he is. He’s senior sergeant constable (or something similar) in this precinct.”

Euro and I were both feeling the buzz coming on stronger. We looked at each other and decided we weren’t up for that particular introduction; we’d stay in the car and wait while Daz and Tim went in and got him.

The others left, the car was dark and empty and Euro and I were buzzing harder and harder. I remember talking absolute shit, then realizing, then asking Euro if talking shit is a symptom of coke. It is. Daz and Tim were taking ages, each second felt like a minute, I felt frustrated that I wasn’t trading shares and getting head from a blonde random.

About an hour later (5 minutes actual time) Daz opens the door and says that we should go inside for a quick drink with the others. The others included work people and one chief of police. I stretched my face out, rolled my shoulders and decided that I could so totally pull this off. Inside we went.

(To be considered for continuation)


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Satanic rituals come in all shapes and sizes.

Takin' out the garbage

In about half an hour I will be departing for my new home for the next week. One of my buddies is eloping with his fiance’ (of all people!) to Tasmania. I have been trusted with the care of two dogs, a gym, a fully stocked kitchen, and a large screen rear projection TV and accompanying surround sound system. I hope I remember to feed the dogs.

I have a vision of me in four days time sitting on the couch with a girl watching a dvd and eating popcorn…

“Umm, Li, are those dogs barking outside?”

*Shrugs* - “Probably the neighbours have dogs.”

As for the gym, for the next week I’m going to go hard. I don’t mean get an erection, or at least, I don’t mean that specifically. I mean, by the end of the week, I hope to be two giant biceps and a pair of eyes. I will then be the guy at the party that tells people that he could pull a 747 if it had a rope tied to the front. I will then try to lift the TV with one arm, just to shut those weak laughing fuckers up!

Had a lad’s night a few days ago. Drank some beer, checked out some porn, watched some Chappelle and smoked some chronic. During the stonededness we came up with a kick ass web site idea. Can’t go into it cos you fuckers are always stealing my ideas, but it’s going to take some work, and a large amount of motivation, and it’s not something we’d want our families to know about, and it’s going to take….ahh, shit, I can’t be fucked already.

*Reaches for Doritos buried somewhere under left leg*

What else?

This post doesn’t feel long enough. I need to buy a blog post enlargement pump. People claim they don’t work but the one’s I’ve seen on the net have a 100% money back guarantee.

A photo will take up a bit of space, but I think people will know that’s just a cop-out. I also don’t want to fill this up with uninteresting filler because that’s also a cop-out. Uninteresting filler is such a cop-out. I hate cop-outs. Cops as well. They can get the fuck out!



“…so I said to the guy, ‘Get the hell out before I take you out!’ and I rolled up my sleeves like this,”

*Rolls up sleeves*

“Woah, all tough-like, then what did you do, Li?”

“Well, you know how strong I am, and I didn’t want to hurt him, ‘cos once I get started, man, I don’t stop you know? You know dontchya Tom, tell em, tell em how once I get started I don’t stop.”

“Ahh, yeah, it’s true, I saw it once…he didn’t stop.”

“Damn straight, so the guy’s just looking at me like a fag whose scared all of a sudden ‘cos he knows I’m not playin games. He starts backing off but at the same time, continuing to be a smart-arse and testing my patience.”

“Oh, I hate that smart-arse! Here, Li, you want a beer mate?”

“Thanks Mark, so the guy’s being a smart-arse but backing off at the same time, just like the weak little cunt that he is. So I step forward and show him that I’m not averse to using me fists as tools for my own brand of cosmetic surgery if ya know what I mean, hehe, and the fag simply turns around and runs out of the pub!”

“Hahaha, he did, I saw it! Li was just standing there, dusting off his hands like he’d just taken out he garbage!”

“Nah, nah, it wasn’t like that, they just needed to be shown who was boss you know. I just made sure they knew, hehe.”

“Well Li, my mum reckons you’re a good sort, for standing up for the ladies like that.”

“Well, Sol, I think your mums a good sort…for sucking me off the other night!”

“HAHAHA”

“HAHAHA”

[Camera moves out from pub and into the sky as the boys crowd around Li, and his heroic stories of saving the town]


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Pft, no one blogs anymore

April never happened. What if I told you I was a figment of your imagination, and that sitting here, in the far out recesses of your mind while you sleep through another month is causing a desperate loneliness in me, would that wake you up? It’s cool though, I'm not lonely. Like the great Phil Collins once said, I can feel myself coming into the air tonight.

I've experienced some dark nights before, usually while on drug comedowns. Dark images infringe on the light ones as visions of Jurassic lizards tearing each others throats out are overlayed over my life and the up-coming results of every decision I make. But you know in the morning everything will be okay so you just deal with it. I think Prince was right; anything is acceptable, even murder, so long as you do it with an intellect and a savoir-faire. I need to cultivate savoir-fair...maybe even do a tafe course on it.

But this is the world we live in, and I've recently discovered that the only way to make it better is to drink more water. The ol' 1 part oxygen, 2 parts hydrogen...if only they could bottle it.

I have an idea for a television show. Like most of my ideas, it is simply the reworking of someone else’s idea. Antique Roadshow, at the moment, is a little boring. Full of old people showing off pins and broaches and waiting expectantly for another old codger to rattle off a final figure for their treasure.

I think we need to make a Junkie Roadshow. You film junkies going through trashcans looking for something to take to a valuer. Then you get the valuer to give them an astonishingly high price for it before everyone points and laughs and tells them they're worthless, then you watch them crawl into a hole and shoot up heroin to deal with the pain. It would probably need to be on after 9:30pm o'clock though.

My dream is to be the new Mark Burnett. Sometimes other people's dreams annoy me, I mean, we can't all be living our dreams. I think this earth harbours definite finite dream living conditions. Sometimes I see us as Jurassic lizards, tearing at each other’s throats for each bit of dream living space. As Mike Oldfield once said, "*insert sound of tubular bells*".

Hmm, I guess late night thoughts are rarely productive.

In the morning everything usually turns out okay though. Sunlight has the magic healing power. The water hydrates, then the sun photosynthesises us back into beautiful flowers. But when it gets dark again, well, there's just no stopping us growing teeth and having intimate moments with the devil.

But I'm not lonely, here in the recesses.

I’m not entirely sure why I still bother with words.

Love.


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V for Ventriloquist

Although the effect is probably lost on you, I have recently learned to type without moving my lips. Believe me, crowds are amazed.

As for last night, I went and saw V for Vendetta with a couple of mates and a couple of hot Asian chicks. There were also some others, who, despite remaining in my periphery were a part of the group nonetheless. So my review? Hmm. Think Johnny Depp’s Willy Wonka inserted into the original Chocoholic film, with an acetate overlay of 1984. Think, vaudeville pantomime while a TV in the background plays British drama on the ABC. Think astonishingly bad acting while a killer concept roams through the audience applauding. I think it’s only when I think back that I realize that don’t really know what to think.

The person to my right thought it was the biggest load of shit he’s ever had to sit through and didn’t walk out only because I was his lift home. The girl to my left really enjoyed it and thought it was thematically brilliant. I thought it was a whole bunch of shruggery.

*Shrugs*

I guess the good thing for Hugo Weaving is that he’s found a way to make himself palatable. By wearing a mask and a wig and a long black cloak. If he could somehow disguise his voice I think he’d have been brilliant. Interesting to note that there must be some reason beyond science as to why London is somehow incompatible with the future. Set in 2020, the only signifier of this fact is that there are a lot of large plasma screens about. Literally everything else in this movie looks like it’s from the seventies. I can’t wait till there’s a lot of large plasma screens about!

*Stares at mum churning butter*

Overall, yeah, the movie sucked. I mean, it really sucked. Not the idea, nor the concept, but the form and colour that the director molded it into was astonishingly bad. Inept. Cringe-worthy.

The movie was like me through high school. It showed a lot of promise, but ultimately failed. It also almost got suspended in year 8 for attempting to nipple cripple a girl. The director should be ashamed.

I’m also annoyed that this movie took away time that could have been spent looking at hot Asian girls. Especially as previously one of them had been ignoring me and I was only just beginning to get conversation out of her. Is it wrong to tell an Asian girl that you really want half-caste kids, then stare intently at her as if signaling that it’s her time to speak now?

I didn’t do that.

2 stars.

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This was taken by a mate of mine at a recent art thing at the Old Melbourne Gaol. This is in one of the cells. Who ever knew that prisoners had such neat cribs?

You didn't know.

Sleep is for suckers

I sit, alone, staring at my single monitor. The other one died. All my reasons for continuing the act of living have been culled by half. I'd give my left nut to get my left monitor back.

[Breathes on left CRT screen]

WAKE UP!!!

A single tear drops from my cheek onto my keyboard. I know it’s all over because I can feel the cameras panning out and soppy music fading in.

A minutes silence please…

1,2,3,4,5,6,7,8,9,10,11,12,13,14,15,16,17,18,19,20,21,22,23,24,25,26,
27,28,29,30,31,32,33,34,35,36,37,38,39,40,41,42,43,44,45,46,47,48,
49,50,51,52,53,54,55,56,57,58,59,60

YOU MOTHERFUCKERS!!! TAKE ME INSTEAD!!!

Ahem. That’s better.

Wow, you guys look so much smaller compressed into one monitor. I might make a large eye-patch for my dead crt. Then my computer will have that much saught after pirate vibe.

I can’t sleep. I’ve even had two glasses of red, yet still I can’t sleep. I was in bed, after just completing the mechanical activity of masticating a bowl of rice mixed with tuna, when I realized that sleep wouldn’t happen unless I had something to watch on TV. I need to concentrate on something so that my brain can appreciate that it simply doesn’t have the strength to remain awake. I've got to trick my mind into believing that it's of the utmost importance that it stay conscious as only then will it give me the middle finger and turn my eyelids into proxy-anvils. Problem being, that of course, there is nothing of value on the teev and all my dvd's are BORING!

This is where you come in.

I will now attempt to explain to you the importance of the Magna Carta on modern day maritime law.

It all started in 1215 when King John…

Zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz

[Murmers: “Take me instead”]

Zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz


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Ingredients:
1 lack of sleep
1 empty beer bottle
1 camera

Good Mike Hunting

MEN WEREN'T REALLY THE ENEMY—
THEY WERE FELLOW VICTIMS
SUFFERING FROM AN OUTMODED
MASCULINE MYSTIQUE THAT MADE
THEM FEEL UNNECESSARILY
INADEQUATE WHEN THERE WERE
NO BEARS TO KILL.
— BETTY FRIEDAN
The Feminine Mystique

You know what fills me with anxiety? Juggling. Juggling is what occurs when you have three hard drives, two monitors and a high-speed internet connection. Juggling is what occurs when, by complete accident, you download video of women doing nude yoga and you decide there and then that you need more of that shit.

Hard drive space is a valuable commodity. I keep getting windows pop-ups telling me that I’m running dangerously low on space on c:\. I then quickly move some shit over to e:\ so that the nude yoga can complete. All of a sudden, e:\ is full, so I shift some stuff over to f:\, which is supposed to my Photoshoppe’ scratch disc, but has over time, become inundated with porn. I can’t even edit a photo these days without Photoshoppe’ telling me “there is too much porn to complete that request”.

I’m burning dvd’s, clearing my cache, deleting random files in the hope they’re unimportant. Warning lights and cockpit sirens reach a terrifying crescendo in my room. It doesn’t occur to me for a second that I should just stop downloading for a bit.

It’s all too much.

I was drinking on the street with some friends a little while back and we were discussing the continued mini-depression that seems to permeate out lives. C says, “You know we should be out hunting for food. How fucked is it that we just buy what we used to hunt for all packaged and shit from a shop?” “Yeah,” I said, “we have nothing left to hunt for…except downloads.”

All of a sudden it all made perfect sense. Downloading is the new hunting. Always hunting for new downloads, then gathering them into directories. If I want to stop, then the only alternative is to pick up a spear and start stalking the neighbours pets. My biology wants me to hunt for something; either animals or data. More, more, MORE!

I want to take a dog food bowl to work, place it on the floor and eat from it from time to time. I will do it to remind people that our civilized rituals can’t disguise what we really are. Animals with Playstations.

One day I want to play a game that features me controlling a character that sits in front of a playstation, that controls a character that sits in front of a playstation hunting for animals. Each time I complete a successful hunt, a new meta level will appear with another character sitting in front of a playstation until I don’t even know what I’m doing anymore. My reality will then be like an infinite progression of facing mirrors spiraling off into the distance. I will wake up to my God-nature and remember that I created this and can end it at anytime.

I will then turn myself into a giant Smurf-like creature with seventeen arm-like appendages that rolls around a maze of moving platforms collecting coins that enable me to gather speed. This will be the new world and it will be so much better than this one.

Just wait and see.

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Guys are just ugly girls

Caught a car into the city last night to check out all the fuss. Some nice vibey stuff going on. Fed square was packed with big screen Commonpoor Games goodness. Even boring shit like active people flailing around a length of swimming pool becomes half interesting when you’re watching it with a huge crowd.

“Crowds of people are very interesting.” – Teigan

“Yeah” - Me

Anyway, checked out the fish in the river. Where did all the million$ go again? I mean, yeah, big bright fish, not bad. But um…where did all the millions go again?

Needed a top up of beer so headed to Transport. It’s central and easy and Powell running the 100m dash was on the plasmas. The last two times I’ve been to Transport, the girl/guy ratio has been about six or seven guys to every girl. I’m not sure what it means. A girl named Darna approached me anyway. I asked her if she lived here, and when she put one hand to her head in a thinking pose and the other one waving in a pointing way, as if to help with explaining the directional area of her residency, I pointed at the floor and said, “No sorry, I mean, do you live here…in this building?”

She looked a little perplexed, so I clarified, “I just want to make sure this isn’t your house and I, like, just came here uninvited.” I was just trying to be stupid/funny which I think worked because she laughed and said, “No I live over there in the street. Don’t laugh.”

“Hey, I’m not laughing, actually, I find it kind of sad.”

So I stood there in silence for a little bit, as if the sadness of her predicament had made me non-talkative, then looked at her and smiled. She said, “I’m not laughing you know!” To which I said rather earnestly, “I know you’re not.”
I turned away then as I looked back at her I smiled and she started laughing. I said, “See, you are laughing, you lied to me! You women are all the same, lie, lie, lie, move on please,” as I motioned for her to be on her way.

The thing was, I wasn’t at all attracted to her. Physically she was very average, but I admired her ability to just walk right up to me and start talking. It’s an ability I’m trying to develop in myself. But soon I got scared that if I invested too much into this conversation, it would be harder to leave her later. I don’t like hurting people’s feelings, as my feelings have been hurt heaps and it makes me want to kill myself or other people. Less people on the planet may be a good thing, but I don’t want to be directly responsible for it through an act of violence. Indirectly…maybe.

So, instead of showing disinterest in her in a playful manner, I started projecting disinterest in a more real way, by toning down my responses and looking over her head as if interesting things were always somewhere else. She got the message, shook my hand and made her goodbye. I felt really bad after that. It was the mistake of an amateur because she was nice enough and I could have had a new friend for the night. Also, I noticed as I was talking to her, that other girls where looking at me, because all of a sudden I had social proof. Girls notice other guys who have been noticed by other girls. Simple social rule. Lesson learned.

After that, we went for a walk down the other side of the river where other stuff was happening. Crowds and cool lights and music. An African choir clapping and singing on stage. All of a sudden, music started pounding out of speakers all the way down the river and the giant fish started spurting water out the top and lighting up in weird and wonderful ways. It was like the whole area had turned into one big acid trip. Instead of it being the result of chemicals inside the brain, it was the result of money spent on crazy stuff in the outer environment. Essentially though, it’s the same thing. If people on acid spent big, it would be legal. Whatever helps cycle money through an economy = good. Simple social rule. Lesson learned…long ago.

Further down Southbank I relieved my bladder, got another beer and ate a pizza. I’ve never noticed the name of this place, but it’s on the corner of the arcade bit where the ATM’s are at Southbank. Mushroom pizza. Fuck me…nice.

Shortly after that, a bit more walking around, then caught a car back home.

Okay, bye-bye.


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Pft

My cat doesn’t trust me. Not that it’s my cat. But when I’m out smoking a cigarette, (I’m a non smoker btw) it peers at me through its cat eyes, wondering if I’m going to lock it out.

It doesn’t know me.

I’m complex. I could do anything.

And that’s all I have to say right now.

*Locks cat out*

Road Wage

It’s the cigarettes that do it. They make you think unhealthy shit. They should put a warning on the packet. I was outside, in the sun, wearing my shorts, no shirt, and I caught the reflection of the sun shining off my rippling emaciated stick figure in the window when I thought, I really need to put on some muscle. I remembered my weight bench and thought; I’m so going to push my body to the limits of its flexing capacity by burning through some hardcore sets. I coughed and spluttered my way through a set and half before thinking, fuck this. Now I’m back in front of my computer.

Home sweet home.

I’m supposed to be calling a girl in regards to future employment options. I have a list of things to discuss in case I forget and get sidetracked. If you know anything about me, it’s that when I talk to girls they are like putty in my hands and I end up sleeping with them…and their friends, in a matter of minutes. I really just want a job though.

I’ve tried calling her twice but she aint answering. Just playing hard to get I guess.

I’ve been sick these last few days. Woke up in the middle of the night with my throat on fire. Each swallow felt like razor blades dipped in molten lava. I didn’t have any strepsils so I went to the fridge and swallowed a pound of milk. Back in bed I tried as hard as I could not to swallow. I lasted only five seconds between each swallow thinking, I have to fall asleep, it’s the only way to dull the pain. I had five seconds between each swallow to nod off.

*Swallow* Okay you’ve got five seconds, go!

*Swallow* “Arrghh, fuck that hurts! Okay five seconds…sleep!”

*Swallow* “Arrghh…FUCK!”

Very long night.

But…

I have four days off from work! I don’t like the public, but I love public holidays. I think the greatest thing people have done as one, is all get together and decide they don’t want to work today. Kudos to the public. It’s like for once, I feel like we’re all sniffing from the same social glue. God I love a good headspin.

I got another $210 speeding fine. Only going thirteen over! I’m thinking of cheating the welfare system just to get my money back. I think the government needs to be taxed for once. I’m going to build some roads and a university in my backyard. This shit costs.

Anyway, I’m going to try calling this girl with the job info again. Sell myself like the good little wage slave that I am.


OBPhoto:


The cop and her friend at the Belgian. Apparently she didn't think I looked dogdy at all, it was just Danny playing games to get the girls. If you're wondering what they're looking at with excitement and bedroom eyes, it's Danny. Remind me not to go out with that guy until my game improves.

Btw, I'm not a midget, that photo was taken from waiste height. Pft.

Stop clawing at my legs

Today is the first day in eleven years that I’ve called in sick for work. No shit. Yesterday turned into a bigger day than planned, and subsequently, by this morning, I was in no mood to fake competence and interest at work. I had big cravings for a McDonalds breakfast, especially after chatting with Eurofriend on the net, who was also struggling with a toxic hangover and had just finished a McDonalds breakfast. I still don’t understand why McDonalds don’t get rid of everything except their breakfast menu. Their burgers are fucking horrible even for fast food standards.

Yesterday the weather started off shit and we didn’t really know what to do. We knew we’d allotted space in our busy schedules to get face to the floor drunk, we just didn’t know best way to do it. I don’t know why, but it was decided we’d go to the Espy and meet Danny, Eurofriend’s mate there. We arrived about 1:30 o’clock and got straight on the pish.

The Espy is a hole really. Severe lighting problems. Big bay windows at the front and no light at the back. That means that all you can see of the person sitting on the other side of your table is a black silhouette.

Danny needed drugs, so he’d hooked up with two girls who were pulling an all nighter at Altitude to meet us there with some chem. They were on their way to somewhere else, as party girls usually are, but were nice enough to drop off supplies and stay for a drink. In the toilets I dipped my finger in the little baggy and rubbed some speed onto my gums via my finger. Tasted toxic, which I think is nature’s way of letting you know it’s good for you.

Serving behind the bar was the cutest girl ever. She had this alterna-chick ‘tude with a hint of androgyny. We had this eye contact thing going. I didn’t know whether the eye contact on her part was from just seeing if that weird guy across the room is still looking at me, of if she was interested. I assumed it was the former. I’m a glass half empty kind of guy. I didn’t talk to her because what do you say to girls who work behind a bar? Isn’t trying to pick one up the most cliché thing ever? I don’t know. Anyone with experience?

The problem I usually have is that by the time alcohol gives me the balls to talk to a girl I’m interested in, it usually also gives me the ability to slur just about every word that comes out of my mouth.

Once the party girls had left, we looked outside and noticed a drastic improvement in the weather. Off to the beer garden we went. Hoegaarden has got to be the most disgusting beer ever. I never knew it was possible for a beer to taste like sunscreen. Carlton Draught is the second worse beer, that one has an aftertaste of sweaty sock. It was for these reasons that we ended up sticking to the stella’s.

Two of Euro’s lady friends, Marisa and Cara showed up for a while, as did another of Danny’s mates. I was trying to contact the Vikings but I ran out of phone credit. I was getting really fucking drunk as well. I had cigarettes but no lighter, so I was constantly walking around, scouring for fire. Girls can get pretty annoyed with this because often they keep their lighter in their handbags and have to rummage around for it. They’re great at giving you this look like they’re happy to help, but they hope you know it’s a bit of a nuisance. When I got that look I would say, “usually I just rub a couple of sticks together you know, but today I just can’t be bothered.” The first girl I said it to laughed, so I think I used it on another seven or so. I think the first girl was the only one that laughed.

When Marisa and Cara left, we started talking to another set of girls. Danny initiated this one. If you’ve ever wondered who uses the ‘Ten tonne polar bear’ line, it’s Danny. His style is more unorthodox though, his line is to make fun of people using ‘Ten tonne polar bear’. He gets a fair amount of play though.

Apparently I look dodgy. That’s what the taller of the two girls said anyway. Danny asked, “What do you think of this guy?” gesturing toward me. “Dodgy,” she said, “definitely dodgy!”
I said, “Wha? How am I dodgy?” She just said, “I don’t know, you just are.” I hadn’t even spoken to her previous to this. What can you do?

It turns out she was a copper. Or so she said anyway. I didn’t see a badge or anything. It’s probably a psychological consequence of this that she divides people into dodgy or not dodgy. I’m probably just too anti-establishment for her to deal with. A rebel without a causi-sui.

Anyway, like most girls, they eventually left us. I was so drunk at this point that I went to get my cigarette lit from a couple of girls, dropped the cigarette onto the ground, then put it back in my mouth backwards and just stood there waiting for a light. The girls said, “Are you joking?” I looked down all cross eyed like at the butt of the cigarette sticking out and said, “Of course I’m joking!” as if my wit just was just too clever for them. I’d crossed over that drunk line where things can go horribly wrong. The next few minutes where a blur. I remember Eurofriend trying to hurry me up, then walking through people, then exiting a gate, then hoping into a taxi.

The next thing I remember is getting out of a taxi at the Vineyard on Acland street. It was about eight o’clock by this stage and there was a cue to get in. Eight o’clock on a Sunday night! It was one of those really annoying pretentious places as well, where all the cool people walked right in giving kisses to the door bitch as they passed. Stood in line for what felt like forever. The head bouncer let us in right as I was getting ready to smack some heads. I think I saw the fear in his eyes.

The bar area was packed, as it usually is. Took us ages to get a drink, and when we finally got one, we went and drank it, then went back for another one. By this stage, after the taxi ride, and the long cue up, I’d come back to safe and happy levels of drunkenness. I’m the sort of person that can hold rather cogent and rational conversations with people when I’m blind drunk, but as soon as I stand up, I fall flat on my face. At this point I could both converse and stand without help.

I don’t really remember too much of what happened over the next hour or so. We were standing outside for a bit, started talking to some Europeans…I don’t know, Belgium or something. Then some South Africans tried to sell me some U2 tickets.

Later on I was dancing on a packed dance floor. All of a sudden I felt a sharp and purposeful shove into my back. It was some Angry Anderson looking cunt, telling me to move. I turned around and said, “What?” in a what-the-fucks-your-problem kinda way. He obviously worked there, moving heavy shit when it needed to be moved. He just looked back and said, “MOVE!” He had some blonde bar bitch with him who was also shoving people. I started dancing again, and soon received another shove in the back by this same cunt. “Alright that’s fucking twice I’ve told you to move!” he says to me. What a cunt. “Have some fucking manners,” I said, “don’t just fucking shove me!” Eurofriend walked over to lend support and the $2 an hour heavy lifting Angry Anderson cunt walked away.

Man that pissed me off. I was all in a shitty mood, and people were tapping me on the shoulder telling me it was all cool, the guy was just a cunt. Apparently it had made a bit of a scene. I started dancing again, and tried not to think about using that guys head as a punching bag. It’s not worth thinking like that, just gotta do a 180 flip and be happy again.

Later on my phone rings and Daz is trying to call me. He’s out somewhere and wants to know what I’m up to. I walk outside to try to hear better. As I’m struggling with the phone, some other cunt whose sitting down kicks me in the back of the leg right behind the knee. I turn to look at him and he’s sitting with some ho and motioning for me to move, as if I’m blocking his view of the McDonalds across the street. I couldn’t deal with two things at once, so as I concentrated on talking to Daz, I simply made sure that I was constantly in this guy’s way. When I lost contact with Daz, I turned and stared at cunt.

Like the Angry Anderson fuckwit, this guy was tidy and could have dispensed with me quite easily. I was however so drunk and pissed off, that I was willing to die. As I stared at him I willed him stand up and take a swing. His girlfriend turned to look at him as if, what are you going to do, but he didn’t do anything. I just shook my head and walked off.

Again, I was in a shitty mood.

When I got back inside Eurofriend was dancing with a blonde chick. She was kinda cute but a little chubby. Soon her friend came over and started dancing with us. She had wicked cleavage, which made up for her slightly better than average face.

Before long, I told Euro that I had to leave, I’d started drinking water and was just feeling drained. Just as we decided to leave, the other two girls told us they were leaving. We followed them out.

Euro got the blonde chicks number, and we made our goodbyes. We stood on the corner, not wanting to get inside a cab. Euro tried to call Daz to see if he was still in the city and could give us a lift but he wasn’t answering. Then the girls called over to us from the other side of the street. They’d found a shopping trolley and had offered to push us home. We walked over and made fools of ourselves in the trolley.

Soon we kind of reached an awkward moment. The girls lived just around the corner and were kind of behaving as if it wouldn’t be out of the question for us to come back with them. The problem being that it was 2am and I had to work in the morning. Plus, we’d been drinking all day and there was no way that either of us were going to be able to perform in the sex department. If they had have come out and invited us, I probably would have gone, but I was in no mood to push it. Instead we got a taxi home.

There is no moral to this story.

Sipping the UB40

I hate violence. Unless I’m winning. When I’m winning the entrails that line the gutters and the bloody footprints I leave on my way to the ice-cream shop become a fitting exclaimation point to the justice I have just helped serve. But I hate violence. When I’m losing.

Sometimes I wish I were a more violent person. From memory I’ve been in two fights in my life. Once, in grade four, I wrestled with a guy who had long hair, and, at the time, a severe attitude problem. I’m not sure if anything was accomplished by our tussle, however I do recall him coming to my house that night after school for a hand-shake and a skateboard around the block.

The other fight I got in was during football training and was spoilt by its sportsmanship. My best friend at the time and I found some boxing gloves and decided to try them out. I went straight for the head landing blow after blow. He cried foul, saying, “hey don’t go for the head!” as I laughed and punched like a maniac. But then it all went pear shaped. I smacked my thumb against his temple and screamed like a girl. He had won. TKO.

As for guns, the closest I’ve got is when I did jury duty. Some drunk kid shot a big drunk dude as he walked down the street and I was there to pass judgment. In the jury room, I held the weapon, then stroked the weapon, then pointed it at each of my fellow jurors while making gunshot sounds with my mouth. “Just kidding,” I said as I continued miming their bloody deaths.

But I was at a bar the other night lining up for my seventh or eighth beer, as one bartender per twenty people served at an astonishingly slow rate, when I noticed that the girly-boy in front of me had failed to fill up the appropriate vacuum that had been created as someone walked away after being served. This caused someone who had been in line less time than me to jump two spots ahead! That was when smoke started pouring out my nostrils, ears and penis (I’ve really got to get that looked at).

But – and here’s the rub – I didn’t do anything about it. I had two options for violence. Castigate the girly-boy in front of me for being such a ‘stand-back-and-let-the-bar-come-to-me’ pussy, or just take the line-jumper out with a right hook to the ear canal. Instead, as I fumed, I started doing something so horrible, so disgustingly inept, that I can barely look at my Brad Pitt-like features in the mirror. I started “thinking.”

I was like Deep Blue churning through every possible combination of moves against Gary Kasparov. I found myself living my violent fantasies out in my head, instead of focusing them on where they belonged…other people’s heads.

By the time I had discovered what I thought was the best plan for violent action, I had already been served and was back with my mates, dancing to bullshit pop tunes as hot girls walked past on their way to good looking guys with machismo.

It was, however, at that point that my mind was free to “think” about more pressing matters. Namely, evolution. It suddenly dawned on me, as I had trouble focusing on the beer in my hand, that evolution since time immemorial has only produced two things of any grand note:

Tits. And the Venus Flytrap.

What else has evolution done that’s cool?

Tits are still a mystery to me. Fatty deposits that produce lumps on a woman’s chest…sounds more like a disease. But when they’re jiggling in my face, I’ll gladly denounce my heritage. As for the Venus Flytrap, who has ever not wanted to trap a fly? Have you ever seen ANYONE protesting the killing of flies? It’s like these things are aware. Like they know. Like deep down, they’re plotting something. You’ve just got to respect that.

Oh btw, what does it mean when you’re standing under ultra-viole(n)t light and there are patches over the fingers on your right hand that are glowing white?

Anyway…

I’m human and I have concerns. A big one is the RU486 abortion drug, or as I like to call it, Kiddie-Be-Gone. I would now like to explain the sanity of government. Walk with me here… Hallucinogens: illegal. Drugs that kill kids: legal. Chemicals that react with the brain to cause a feeling of love and timelessness and expansive union with the world: illegal. Kiddie-killer drugs: legal. Chemicals that can produce the soundtrack of innocent laughter as fractal animations swirl through your consciousness: illegal. Chemicals that allow a woman to squirt out a kid into a toilet bowl: legal.

Let NOONE say that the government is insane. That is a fucking order!

But none of that really concerns me. I’ve known of the government’s insanity for a long time. What worries me is the potential I have to mix up my reserves of Rohypnol with my reserves of RU486. If I get mixed up with what drug is in what pocket, there’s a chance I’ll cause a girl to have an abortion before I’ve even got her drowsy enough to impregnate her. These are dangerous times.

It’s weird, the differences between men and women. If a girl drugged me up with Rohypnol, then spoon fed me Viagra, them used and abused me till I woke up weary and worn, I’d probably consider it the best night of my life. When you do it to a girl, they all of a sudden want to get lawyers involved.

But something’s just occurred to me. If men are from Mars and women from Venus, and men designed, built and launched the Mars Rover, does that then mean that right now, men are desperately searching the solar system for other men? Maybe I’ve just been watching too much Brokeback Mountain. All of a sudden though, it all just seems a little too sus.


OBPhoto:


The Belgian Beer Garden, where I will be headed this Sunday, so long as it doesn't rain. Maybe the vikings will come. Maybe not. When it comes to life, you just never know.

Instant calmer

Man oh man, the nightmare I had this morning was a killer. My alarm woke me up but I was still half asleep - half dreaming. At that time of the morning, reality doesn’t make sense to me. The full implications of my surroundings and responsibilities are still some way off from being revealed. Waking up, for me, is an extremely slow and arduous unveiling.

Before lucidity struck, I’d managed to convince myself that I had just won a competition, the prize being, that I could sleep through an infinite amount of snoozes. In my half dream, half awake state, I seriously believed this. Every time the alarm went off, I smiled at the realization that I had won the right to hit snooze again…and again…and again…

I got through seven snoozes before I became lucid enough to realize that in actual fact, I was now late for work. That’s when the nightmare began. It was only on the way to work when I realized the sad irony of my nightmare beginning the moment actual lucid awareness of my surroundings became apparent.

I’m kind of glad I don’t work in a corporate environment. Running into the boardroom late for the meeting, the directors gesture toward their watches and other expensive time keeping devices while clearing their throats to break the uncomfortable silence that signals that I have held everything up.

“First let me apologize for being so late this morning, you won’t believe…I had this thing where I woke up but thought I’d won this competition where I could sleep forever, so long as I kept hitting the snooze button every nine minutes! It was like, I never had to come to work and do this ever again, I could just sleep and sleep, and it took me about seven or eight snoozes until I realized, ‘hang on, I didn’t win a competition, that was just a dream…oh my God, I’m late for work!’ and so, yeah, here I am!”

More clearing of throats and uncomfortable glances around the room before a small envelope filled with severance pay is handed to me.

This is the main reason why I shun the corporate world.

In other news that you won’t hear on major networks due to “The Man’s” fear of revolution, I’ve just received a new Neurocam assignment. As per usual, I can’t say much about it, other than that it has something to do with, “masturbating to porn.” Despite recent upheavals, I’m prepared to give it a red-hot go.

And in other news that you indeed may have heard broadcast on major news networks, I’ve broken the kitschy little pink Sex And The City handbag that my sister borrowed from one of her friends for me to copy. I didn’t realize at the time, but inside the lid is a little makeup mirror. That mirror is now in four pieces. I wrote my sister a txt msg saying, “Oh no, I just broke the little make-up mirror in the sex and the city hand bag! What am I going to do?” The problem being that I didn’t send it to my sister. I accidentally sent it to a male friend who has now told everybody that I’m a raging homosexual.

This is what happens when you try to do a good deed to help someone out. I wasn’t even breaking the law for me, it was for my sister, your honour!

OBPhoto: