After All The Years, I Forget What Miserable Slags They Were

One of their cunts smelt, putrid bitch. There was no mistaking it. I could smell it wafting around my nostrils, every so often, like passing clouds, that damp, musky, rank odour just passing over me, by me.

Did I have to bring in a flannel and some phenyl and order them to the ladies?

Was it Rachel, or was it Kylie? I so wanted it to be Rachel, all perfect on the outside, but rotten to the core, dripping out her fistula, but I suspect it was probably northern nuffy Kylie. It's usually the simpleton.

I wanted to say, take yourself away and wash your filth, woman.

I wondered if it was nylon panties across her red lips, excreting gunge. Or was it dirty knickers not washed, the reason for her shame. I know it's cold in the bathroom in the mornings, but you've got to wash that thing.

Of course, she looked quite happy, they say a dog can't smell it's own rancidness. Getting up with fleas, indeed.

2026. Oh yeah, Okay. Wow! Did I write the above. The years have passed and I forget now how miserable those cows made my life. But still, wow, I must have been pissed that day

The two slags huddled over the monthly figures and seemed to struggle.

They asked me to check the support company when it go to, now what was it, an hour past the first sign off for the monthly figures.

What do you think the effect on self proclaimed control freak Kylie would have been to me finding something like 20 mistakes? So many mistakes that needed to be fixed. Yeah, good call Rachel, this one is a keeper.

Kylie went home with a head ache, around 4pm after all the work was done, I guess, as a reward for her incompetence.

Maybe he nylons were wedge up her patootie? No, just no

It was good to get out of there, away from the dirty slags. (Can you pick that I don’t like them? Really? What gave it away?)

Sam worked late and when he got home the cover had blown off his sky light. He didn’t notice straight away, but as he is taking a leak he looked at the floor and wondered why it was wet? Then he looked up to see the lid to the skylight had blown off.

That gave me my first laugh for the day. Sad really.

I Hear It's The Latest Thing

I've seen a lot of mix race couples around lately... as much as I hate to use that particular term.

They look gorgeous together.

I hear it's the latest thing to be an Asian Caucasian mix couple.

Cutting edge love.

 

Lady Ga Ga

Sebastian and Luke cooked, Sunday night dinner in front of the open fire. Poofs night in. Mark and Luke were down for mother's day. Princess Charming was here too, of course, no show without him. He bought wine and chocolate. We watched Lady Ga Ga's Monster Ball tour. Luke and Sebastian bought the pot. Ga Ga's pretty fierce. Isn't she lucky she's had all those diva's who came before her, to draw on. She's certainly got the chops, though, Madonna could only dream about singing like that.

I reckon now, if she wants to completely capture twenty first century pop culture, she should blow Harry Potter. One night on drugs in London she and Daniel Radcliff off their faces. And then sing about it. That would be hot.

Night In

I watched dvds in front of the open fire, with my sweet boyfriend. Nice, huh?

The Kings Speech. Some stupid si fi movie called Skyline, which made no sense whatsoever. And Eat Pray Love.

I cooked pasta. But, I didn't cook my signature dish, as Sam called my tomato, olive, chilli and tuna sauce, the other day, realising that he was saying it, at least in part, as a little sarcastically, that, maybe, that that was the only pasta sauce I knew.

This much. Fingers held up just millimetres apart.

So, I made tomato, basil and choritzo sausage. I think he was impressed.

Tony's Eyes Are Called His Best Feature by Some People, And What Scares People By Others

Friday Morning

My eyes cracked open and gazed at the clock next to my bedside table and the numbers said 9.24am and I was pleased. I thought about the world whirring away beyond my walls and wondered how it would view the people who, like me, still lay with their heads on the pillow, with one arm hanging down beside the mattress with their fingers strumming the carpet, absentmindedly.

Did I care? I mean, what else should any reasonable person be doing on a Friday morning?

Truthfully, I'd already been up at 7am to take a leak, the whole 9 to 5 brainwashing runs deep, bing awake, but somehow that morning-off-leak is made even more glorious by the fact that I can slip myself back between the sheets when I had shaken the last drips off.

It was cold and my feet were feeling the chill, winter is here for sure. That now seemed an age ago.

Radio National were talking about the value of work and how Australia used to be the land of the long weekend but in the last twenty years we have morphed into the land of the lost weekend with Australians now working longer hours and putting in more unpaid overtime than just about any other western country.

I adjusted my pillow and rolled over and snuggled down into the warmth.

Tick, tick, tick. I knew it was nearly time to get up, but who could blame me for wanting to luxuriate for just a little longer. Mean hearted politicians, I guess, whose re-election prospects somehow now hinged on getting even the sick off welfare to get the budget back into surplus. I thanked the universe I wasn't on welfare, I thanked it again that I could fund my own days off, in this increasingly mean and conservative society we now live in. Somehow, I don't believe our new-mean society could have sunk to those new depths. Personally, I choose to believe the politicians have read the polling wrong on that one.

However, the roller door man was coming between 10am and 11am, to view the carcass off my roller door and to somehow perform a modern day miracle by raising the dead once more. Jesus in a tray ute, no doubt. 

At 9.55am, I slid out of bed, pulled on my black hoodie and my black track pants and headed to the bathroom mirror where I heard an almost involuntary inhale of air as I viewed the apparition staring back and immediately wonder about the "matchy matchy" outfit, as they say, (maybe I have been watching too much Project Runway) that I was wearing. Maybe, I should think about my brown track pants with my new black top in future. Apparently, you shouldn't wear the same colour track pants and track top, you should break it up.

At exactly 10am, the roller door man called to say he was running late and that he’d be here sometime around midday. 

Was that okay?

Yes, of course.

Has anyone ever had a tradesman turn up on time?

I poured the coffee beans into the grinder and watched them disintegrate through the clear lid, as the motor whirred and the whole thing vibrated in my hands.

I poured the milk over my muesli and wondered if the roller door man would take one look at me and think, Now about that outfit?

Sam and I Played With a Cute Dog in the Street

Hello Handsome

I’d been contemplating BreadTop ever since I’d walked passed it this morning, regretting that I didn’t stop, cursing that there wasn’t a second shop on my way. The universe only knows how many 7/11’s there are.

I was reassuring myself that I’d done the right thing, as I’d eaten my muesli and drank my coffee and BreadTop is really only junk food, the equivalent of a McDonald's big breakfast, or stopping into the sweets shop and buying a bag of lollies.

I glanced sideways, you know, as you do, as I felt the presence of another human being next to me, to be met with a vision of masculine beauty.

I want to lick your lolly, is all I could think as the handsome boy in a suite stood next to me waiting to cross at the lights on William Street.

It was cold, sure and maybe I looked as though I could do with some warming up. You know, a warm drink, possibly.

I must have been staring, as he looked sideways at me with his beautiful big eyes, as he adjusted his ear phones in each of his ears, smiling at me, his forehead creasing in the most adorable way. He looked just as I had the lolly thought, which is what made me smile, as I wondered if he could read minds and if he had heard what I'd just thought. Maybe he was from the planet Giibour and he was doing field work.

The corners of his mouth curled up in a smile of greeting. Beautiful, really beautiful, he was. Square jaw, dark wavey hair, blue eyes, he kind of glowed with vitality in the morning light.

The corners of my mouth curled up too, because I was staring him in the eye and I was still thinking about his lolly.

We both just looked, momentarily and I wondered if there was any truth in the idea that eye contact with a stranger in the street was finishing off unfinished business from a previous lifetime.

The small red man turned to green and he kind of nodded and stepped forward. I held up my hand, my fingers split in the middle forming into two groups of two.

The Corporate Mantra – There Is Always Someone Else To Blame

Beck, my old manager, her new manager goes off and screams and yells and swears and generally blows her top, at the slightest provocation, for no apparent reason, alarmingly, to the point where Beck doesn't think she'll be able to put up with it for much longer.

Ah, the corporate world.

Beck left the "black" law firm so burnt out by the executive staff that she no longer wanted any position of authority, so she has been doing the equivalent of what I do. I never wanted her job, as I used to do the managers/exec job before I worked for Beck and I never wanted to deal with the humourless work-is-my-life manager bags of self-focused corporate wind, again. I was quite happy to work under Beck while she dealt with the executive wannabies/try hards/nut jobs. I found the extra pay just wasn't worth it.

Beck now agrees with me, executive positions come with thankless executive hours and incompetent superiors all desperately paddling up the corporate management line for their bonus', blaming whoever comes within arms' length with their mistakes.

The corporate mantra - there is always someone else to blame.

She told her new boss to give her all the work and she'd happily do it, just to leave her alone and let her get on with it. But no, her boss has to be a psycho cunt. So many psycho cunts, so few coronary occlusions, plummeting lifts and corporate terrorists.

Beck and I have been having commiserative lunches.

You see back at the "black" law firm I have witnessed a couple of startling developments. There have been two occasions where I have been pulled into Big Renee's office where my skills and abilities have been questioned. Big Renee and Little Renee presented their evidence of my ineptitude together, none of which  actually made sense to me. Here is where the startling part comes in, upon further investigation, back in my office, the work I have been criticised over is not my work at all. Now, I'm not sure how, but either Little Renee has re-done parts of my work, for whatever reason I am unsure, and she has got it all wrong and then attempted to shift the blame onto me, or she is deliberately setting me up. And her re-doing and replacing my work with incorrect work does not make any sense.

Therefore, I am left to ponder what it all means?

So both Beck and I will both immanently be looking for new jobs.

Why so many psycho cunts? Beck asked me. The short answer is, I don't know. Surely, it is much easier to work in a cooperative collective to achieve acceptable outcomes for the good of the company.

Ba, ba! Wrong!

The long complex answer is, so many people work for so many reasons. Power. Prestige. God complex. Self focus. Inferiority complexes. Bitterness. Therapy for childhood trauma/abuse. Mental disease. To gain meaning in their otherwise empty and unhappy lives... the list goes on.

Sadly, the well adjusted amongst us, e.g. Beck and I, have to endure all forms of psychosis just to earn a buck. It's a fact of life.

Frankie Smokes Bongs As Soon As He Wakes Up Most Days

Bin Laden

It's a sad day when we celebrate the death of another human being, no matter what kind of terrible things that human being has done. The only way to heal is to forgive and move on. Maybe there should be a quiet dignified end to an awful situation. Maybe? Silence and contemplation. But it doesn't call for celebration, it doesn't call for partying, it doesn't call for joy on the streets.

This is what the new psycho patriotism leads to.

What exactly is it that America is celebrating? It can only be revenge. It can only be an eye for an eye. It can only be a celebration of blood and death and killing. That's what the world's most civilised society has come to. As the death of Bin Laden won't, actually, change any thing. It won't stop terrorism. It won't change fanaticism. It won't change most of the worlds negative feelings towards America. It won't change the fact that America meddled in the affairs of the middle east for its own gain. It wont change the deceit and dirty tricks that America has been involved in. It wont change anything.

It won't expunge the blood from Americas hands.

Lovely Lisa & Karl

Karl's Wife's Arse

I thought it was kind of nice that Karl Stefanovic thanked his wife and said she had the sexiest arse around.

How can it be "icky" as the more puritanical amongst us have said, to say that you think your wife of sixteen years is still sexy.

It's naughty, it's sexy, it's a positive nod for the more liberal thinking amongst us and takes us away from the wowser, anti sex christian types, who no longer call themselves christian types - have you noticed that? Woman's forum, Family Association, Collective Cuddle, whatever - who seem to be gaining traction in the thinking of the more and more conservative general public.

"Oh think about the children," they say, as code for "believe in the values that we believe in."

The word "arse" probably does the children good, not harm, if it has any effect at all. It's a great word, true, honest, real. If anything "arse" is funny. Bums are funny.

Of course, this all leads on to Karl's arse, he put it out there and now we have licence to think about his arse. So Karl, show us your arse... we want to see your arse.

The Burqa

The burqa, surely is a part of women's rights? Why shouldn't they be allowed to wear them? Whatever the reason they want to is a whole other story.

Isn't it just racism - you know, not white and christian - that is behind the push to ban them?

Isn't everybody else free to wear what they want to wear?

Ah, Up at 9.30, Breakfast and the World News

Ah, up at 9.30, breakfast and the world news until I had to head off to the doctor by midday to get a few new scripts. Then a mosey around the book shop on my way home, to see if they have the book I read about in the doctor's waiting room, The secret history of queer Melbourne, they didn't. Then catching up with a friend for a quick lunch, the friend is fitting in in between appointments and then home by 2pm to call the roller door man to fix my roller door, something I have been putting off for some time.

The joys of working 3 days per week.

One of my old colleagues tells me that a company that we both used to do consulting work for is desperate for staff... apparently, there is a skills shortage, or some such thing. Who'd have thought? Coincidentally, I've been thinking that while working 3 days per week is lovely, just gorgeous, I'm not, actually, doing the writing that I was meant to be doing. You know, take 2 days off per week and write that great novel. Yes, well, nice in theory, but not a lot is happening in practise. So, I had just been thinking that I should increase my work hours, when my ex-colleague told me about the before mentioned company.

What do they call that? No, I'm sure it's not kizmit.

It's all very nice having four days off and working three, but am I wasting my time pissing it all away?

And, of course, Sam, being the strict work ethic type that he is, thinks it's a grand idea that I go back to full time work. He just looks at me when I say I like my three day weeks, as though I am speaking some sort of alien tongue. Most of my excuses affect him like water on a ducks back and he crosses his arms and purses his mouth, the way he does and he calls me lazy Christian.

Apparently, I could have a new car and I could fix all the things that need fixing around the house and I could have a mountain of "new stuff" if I went back to five days.

"Good plan," he says. "Make it happen."

So, as well as calling the roller door man - my roller door no longer, actually, does what you would call work, so I can put that off no longer - I'm supposed to be calling my old company and teeing up a contract or a million.

You see, I do not like my current company enough to go back full time with them. I was going to suggest it to them last new year, but then I had all that trouble with the anorexic bitch boss and I decided it was a bad idea. This way, I can go and work for my old company Monday and Friday and most likely that would morph into more work than that with them and then I can leave my current company.

"It's a good plan," says Sam. "Call them."

But, you see, if I do that I will, actually, have to work five days again and... and... and, I like doing lunch and I like going to the doctor (when it suits me and not squeezed in after work) and I like looking around book shops.

The Royal Wedding

Wills and Kate taking beige to new heights. I'm with David Letterman... I'm not sure if I don't care, or I could care less about these people.

I think the royal family had their turn with glamorous princess', Diana and Margaret, to name two. Now there's a couple of chicks who could enter a room.

But Kate... (shaking head, she's probably a fucking virgin) oh, I'm bored already. And Wills (he probably is too), you know he used to be handsome.

They are a shining example of the homogenised, pre-packaged, nice, never say anything inappropriate (I always see that word being uttered by rat-faced receptionists with voices that could etch glass), never be disrespectful (ditto about this word), always be safe and beige, world.

Give me Harry, at least he's interesting. At least he can be counted on to smoke a joint, get drunk and thank God, do something inappropriate... in this every more bland and safe world.

Ah Harry - I'd like to slap on a swash sticker and goose step him into the bedroom.

2023 - Wow! It is amazing how 12 years can, actually, change my mind completely.

Harry turned into a complete dick and Wills and Kate seem pretty cool.

Cute, Isn't He

Smokes, likes to party, likes to get naked. He sounds like our kinda boy.

Anzac Day

The celebration of the world's stupidity.

I don't get it.

The horror of war... now a major date on the social calendar.

Sebastian Said We Should Be Selling Chocolate Nails

Sebastian said we should be selling chocolate nails, as our part towards the international chocolate festival, we'd make a fortune. He bought pot over Thursday night.

And something for Shane I suspect, as he's been doing meth since Friday, and trawling the net for boys, big time, locked in his room for days at a time. He's desperate to replace Leon. He's got ten days off work, it could be a train wreck.

Sam and I have been cooking and shopping for food and bike riding. Lovely. The weather has been grand. Shane cooks for me during the working week, while I hate with a passion coming home and cooking after work. So, when I get an opportunity when I am home with no real plans, I like to make it up to him. So, I wanted to cook the classics, risotto, pumpkin soup, spaghetti carbonara, big breakfasts and brownies. So, that's what Sam and I did for three days. We watched movies in between.

I'm sorry it coincided with your meth weekend, babe. That's just how it goes some times. I even headed to town and bought new saucepans.

I went and gave my mother an easter egg and took her on a picnic, today, to make up some of the guilt for not having seen her for the last two weeks, not to mention not seeing her till the Monday of the Easter break. My sister picked me up.

Sam headed home.

As I was leaving today, standing out on the street with Sam, I couldn't remember if I had put the fire grate in front of the fire - I had a fire last night, Shane was up all night, I couldn't bare to see it go out over breakfast - and I walked back inside, when I couldn't keep control over my OCD, to greet Shane coming downstairs with who he said was to be a hot wog boy coming at 1am, to be my old fuck buddy, Benjamin.

"Hi Benjamin."

"Oh hi Christian." Big smile.

"You two know each other?" said Shane.

"Although it's Nick now isn't it?"

"No, back to Ben."

"How do you two know each other?"

"I've got to go," I said as I headed back out to Sam. "Nice to see you."

"Yeah, you too, Christian."

"You two know each other?"

Shane said later that the cute wog boy made it to 4 am, that's when he went back on line to find a replacement, and Ben turned up.."

"Benjamin... Ben. The last time I saw him was when David introduced me to him at a film festival but he introduced him as Nick - Ben had changed his name, unbeknownst to me, and while I thought he looked like Benjamin, as I knew him, but I must have been mistaken as David said he was Nick. That was last year.

As we walked home after the film, I said Nick sure looked like my old bud Benjamin, at which David squealed and said Nick was Ben. How do you know that filthy boy? And he called him and said how funny...

The rest is history.

Nick was the filthy fister David has been talking about, but I didn't realise who he was talking about. So, he'd learnt a few new tricks since I knew him.

I got home from visiting my mother by 2pm. We had a picnic in a park with rolls and a thermos. The sun shone, it was beautiful day.

Shane was wided-eyes and eating noodles when I got home. He said he hadn't eaten since Thursday and that he crawled around to a local cafe in his sunglasses and begged for a take away, when the shakes were getting too bad.

Then Ben arrived for round two and the two of them disappeared upstairs never to be seen again.

David rang later to say he was coming over. He lives vicariously through Shane's meth habit, as David himself doesn't touch the stuff, well, not any more. He can always be counted on to turn up if he sniffs a drug story. When I told him about Ben, David said he knew and that Shane put a cock lock on him so he had to come back to have it removed. David's high from a successful retreat in Broome. He was going out to get his cock sucked before he came over. He'd tell me all then.

How he knew, I wasn't sure.

Mark and Luke dropped around and ordered home delivery pizza, and we smoked pot and Watched Wallace and Grommet.

David arrived on the high of life, breathing in my face as I opened the door, saying what does that smell like.  He rattled on about his coming trip over seas, before asking if Ben was still up stairs with Shane.

"Yes."

"I so hope he brings Benny down to the lounge."

"Why?"

"I so want to say to him when he walks into this room, SO, how does it feel to walk into a room of men, when you have slept with everyone of them?

He slept with Mark and I when we were together, quite a few times, he was a regular. He'd slept with Mark and Luke more recently, at a Mardi Gras off their faces. He went out with David. Now Shane, it was true. 

Woman Savagely Raped in Brisbane

"Woman savagely raped in Brisbane", read the headline.

It made me stop and think. Huh? What the? Is there a way where a rape isn't savage?

Is that when you sneak up behind them and yell, "Surprise!" (Oh sorry, I don't know what came over me) Feminists and humourless god botherers hate that joke. And I guess I can see why, as it is not a joke.

It is some gay boy's fantasy, and some girl's fantasy too, apparently, as long as it never happens, for real, of course, as long as it stays a fantasy.

So it is back to the original question, can you have a rape that isn't savage? And brutal? And degrading?

Savagely raped. What is not savagely raped? It is the media milking it for all it is worth? But really, do you even need to do that, do you, if it is a rape? Click bait, is that what they call it? I guess the media can't help itself.


Me either, so it would seem.

8pm

It's 8 o'clock and I'm hungry.

Wow! It's 8 o'clock no wonder I'm hungry.

It's 8 o'clock and I'm hungry.

8 o'clock.

What have I been doing up until 8 o'clock?

8 o'clock.

8pm.

8 @ night.

And the world's alright.

Now I just have to get myself a bite.

And then say good night.

Driving home from the mechanic in peak hour traffic last night this great cloud drifted into sight just to brighten up our moment to give us something to look at other than the sea of red tail lights up a head

What Can I Say, We've Been In A Pot Phase?

What can I say, we've been in a pot phase? Every night after diner. And while that usually inspires me to write, not so much, this time around it's been the complete opposite. Nothing.

Oh, I don't know why, we can't wait for the end of the year, um... er... that's why we're getting stoned. Cigarettes and all, weak as piss. It's been a long year, thus far.

It's winter? Open fires, lots of mindless faces staring at the teev.

And just in case the pot failed to achieve, it was followed up with mugs of red wine. It's the only way Shane knows how to pour them.

We've been cooking. I've been cooking. I'm contemplating locking myself and Sam away at home for Easter and just cooking. Cooking the basics, spaghetti carbonara, risotto, lasagne, pumpkin soup, chocolate cake, lemon slice. 

Easter eggs and bike rides, that's how I see Easter. Walking, talking, taking photos, doing iPads, eating. 

Has anyone eaten one of those creme eggs? The ones they advertise by splattering them against the camera lens? They just never give in, they are tough.

I've got to iron a shirt and go to bed. Repeat. Life's mindless. Bring on the holidays, two more sleeps. 

Living The Stink, Living Is Dirty, Loving Is Wet And You Get It All Over You

It all just got a lot stinkier, murkier, started to smell. It got dirtier, filthier, more putrid, slimy as hell. Cunt juice, prick fluid, slime down my thigh, down my leg, across my stomach, in my hair, matting it, sticking it together, in clumps. Life is for chumps. 

You know, I kind of like it, want it, am used to it on me. not adverse to it in me. I like that sweaty walk home, the cotton stuck to me, cramped in my pants, up my crack, across my balls, down my thigh, down my leg, (walk home from a sex club, juiced peg).

It reminds me to live, to get out there and mix, to be friendly, to mingle, to love and be loved. 

Loved, you say? You laugh. It is love, loving, loving being together, love all over each other. It is a great way to make friends.

Getting the love, enjoying the love, lovin' the love, before you find the love, before you settle in love. You should taste all the love, so you know the love when it wanders into your life... wet and stinky and hot. 

Otherwise, you may not, get the lot, when it’s hot. Nothing wrong with giving it a shot. Some of my best friends started with hands down each other’s pants. And occasionally we still give it the dance. Just to see if we still know how to prance. Make each other hot. It doesn’t cost a lot. Perhaps some skin on your chin, and some fluid you probably shouldn’t keep in.

When We'll Have Peace

When there is no gender, no orientation, no race, no war, no religion, no politics, then we will finally have peace...

I Am The Smartest Person I Know

It's a shame that I am the smartest person I know.

There is Fergus... AIDS got him.

There is Josh... we've fallen out. He pissed of to Germany because his parents are bigoted Christians.

There is Tom... dead. Lukeamea.

There is Anthony... damaged. Alcohol. (2022 - now dead, drank herself to death, stupid bitch)

So, that just leaves me. Lonely of planet high IQ.

Oh, of course, there are Mark and Luke.

But they are moving away, damn them. 

And Sam, of course.

Me and Sam

Thinking What to Think

I find it so hard to think what I think. Hasn't everything been thought? You know, it's all just a rehash.

What's new, what's different, what's interesting? What's an original thought? What hasn't been fed to me by news agencies? What hasn't been thought before?

What do I want to do? How would I know until I have done it? How do I know?

Chomping Down For a Whole 13 Seconds

It turns out that Adam may have what the Americans might term "rage issues". Or he's been watching re-runs of Mike Tyson v Evander Holyfield on Fox Classics. Adam caused quite a ruckus last week in the CBD when he bit a street beggar’s ear, chomping down for a whole 13 seconds, according Brian, the tramp in question. The details are still hazy, as Adam is saying very little, but it seems that he had been so upset and emotional attending the funeral of his friend, Vic, that the only possible solution was to drink a bottle of vodka at the wake and start a fight with the nearest street performer.

Of course.

Brian apparently asked for change, as Adam and his mates, Jesse and Rick, passed by. They all ignored him. Brian asked again, to be ignored for a second time. 

Brian then seemed to single Adam out and Adam seemed to take exception to the intrusion.

Hey presto, Adam was attached to the homeless person's ear with his pearly white choppers.

Lovely!

"Get off me, you idiot," demanded Brian.

That just seemed to cause Adam to bite down harder.

"Get off me," cried Brian. "Help! Police!"

“Hey, Adam,” said Jesse. “Adam?” Adam?”

“Get him off me,” called Brian.

“Adam, that is enough,” said Rick. “Adam.”

“Get him off me,” demanded Brian.

Blood started to drip from Adam’s mouth.

Jesse and Rick pulled Adam off. He was sat back on his arse by Jesse and Rick. He sat there breathing heavily.

Brian pulled his hand from his ear. It had blood on it. “You fucken loser,” exclaimed Brian. He made a lunge at Adam, but Jesse and Rick stopped him. “No, no, no,” said Jesse. He and Rick sat Brian down on his arse far enough away from Adam as to be not a threat.

“Adam, are you okay,” asked Jesse.

“Hey Adam, mate,” said Rick. He rubbed his hand through Adam’s hair.

Adam did nothing but stare and breath heavily.

“Fuck him, what about me,” asked Brian.

“Shut up,” said Jesse and Rick in unison.

Liberal Past and the More Conservative Present

The difference between the more liberal past and the more conservative present is,

once rules were meant to be broken, in fact it was looked upon as endearing,

now rules are meant to be obeyed, and woe betide the rule breaker.

I think the conservatives are winning.

Cute Boy At The Lift

I tried to take a picture of a hot boy waiting at the lifts this morning, but a combination of him turning around and me not having the balls for such sneaky manoeuvres, resulted in this. 

Big feet, though, big feet.

Oh, yeah, I know it is kind of tacky, but you have to have some kind of distraction from the grind of the corporate machine. You would have to agree, rather than just standing around like obedient sheep towing the business line, especially this time of the week.

She And I Ended Up at The End of the World Bar

The number is 3068. Now, that's not a postcode, neither is it a street number, or even a phone extension, it is the anorexic bitches pin number. She gave it to me, in a stupor, when the pain wouldn't stop and her cash had. She couldn't really walk by that stage, so she said.

Sad really.

She and I ended up at The End of the World bar, drinking pints. Crying. Actually, she was crying and I was, ashamedly, enjoying it. Coaxing the full story out of her, lubricating the telling of it with beer after beer. She cried and said she'd be sticking her fingers down her throat before she went to bed and I got her another one.

Nice barman, his name was Lex.

She's got a pretty, more successful sister to who she doesn't speak. "Everything comes easily to her."

"Some people are lucky."

"Lucky? I hate her." She swigged on her beer. "But, she isn't as slim as me, he diet isn't as precise. She can't control her exercise the way I do. I've always had way better control than her. I have always been better..." She swigged at her beer again. "...in that sense." Some fluid spilled down her chin. She wiped it away with a flat hand.

Then I woke up. It was 5.50am. 

Slippery Morning

Sam and I catch the tram to work, as it is raining. It has been raining for days. What’s with that? I guess, I shouldn’t complain, you know, the drought was only a short time ago. How quickly we forget, but that’s hard when you are cold and wet.
We head off down to the corner shop to pay some bills... okay, I have to pay some bills, while Sam gives me one of his looks, which I skilfully interpret as, why don’t you have internet banking? He’s funny. He waits dutifully and doesn’t, actually, make a comment about my lack of 21st century technology. Good for him, considering what a techno head he is.
I’ve got him well trained.
Ha, ha.

As we headed out of the post office, Sam announces that we will catch the first tram that comes to the cnr, from whichever direction. “Okay?”

One is our usual tram, which we don’t normally catch, as we normally walk, which takes us to the front door of my office, two blocks from Sam’s office and the other tram would take us closer to Sam’s office.

“Okay.” As I agree, I see the tram – that we don’t ever catch – arriving at the corner. I feel I have been conned. I've got to be on my toes with my boy. Early in the morning, no coffee, the maths is easy.
You see, we usually walk to my office and Sam walks the extra distance to his. That’s how it usually works. Okay, always works. However, just lately, there have been a couple of mornings when Sam has headed off to work, on my days off, while I have stayed in bed, waving him good bye with kisses and, yes, smug looks. On these mornings, he has got to walk the way he wants to and alarmingly, it has given him all sorts of ridiculous ideas about equity and fairness and give and take on the walk to work. Translation – it seems I will be getting my way no longer. And we all know we hate that. Damn! He should never have been let out of the house unsupervised, clearly… I think as I’m heading off in the wrong direction towards the city, on the wrong tram, trying not to comment, as I was hardly occupying to superior position. You know, I always get my way, blah, blah, blah.

He looks pleased with himself, as he waves me good bye up the William Street hill.

I can't get the smile off my face all the way to work.

I'd go off him, I know, if he always let me get my away.

Why Are We Still Hearing About the ADF Drama?

Why are we still hearing about the ADF drama? Goodness me, so a few boys acted like boys and filmed some girl getting stooped by one of their own, broadcasting it to the select few perverts who were in on the act, it’s hardly earth shattering stuff. I don’t mean to lessen what they did, invasion of privacy and all that, but why does it have to be the focal point of the news for days and days and days and days? Couldn’t this have been dealt with by the respective powers that be? I mean, it’s hardly new, now is it? Dirty little boys doing stupid, ridiculous things, like they always have and probably always will.

Then it dawned on me. Of course! I can almost guarantee that the minister, Stephen Smith, was told to go hard on this, by the upper echelons of the Labour Party, to take all the heat off the government's unpopular Carbon Tax.

It's the equivalent of the Tampa chugging into Labour's muddied political waters.

It makes perfect sense.

So, really, has this girl had her case taken up by govt ministers who really care, or is she being used further as a pawn in someone else's dirty game?

Gone To The Country

Gone to the country, escaping the city - the clogged arteries and the crowded veins, the network choked, modern roads. 

You know, if it's not the tourists, (visitors to the inner suburbs) it's the traffic they create. And those fucking cafe tables clogging the footpath. Over run suburbs with sightseers. 

Slipping away on a wave of enthusiasm, shaking off the city's cynicism for the fresh, open spaces and the crystal clear air of rolling paddocks as far as the eye can see. Breath it in, taste its sweetness.

I love it when I hit the Calder highway, just after the airport turn off, it signals the shaking off the city and heading out into the big, open planes. Peace is in sight, calm and wonder beckon. Whoosh and I am away.

Run away, run away.

Actually, it is run to, run to.

Run quickly to.

He was also very keen to get down to it, as the sun was coming up already

New Toys To Keep Up To Date With

Here I am on my new iPad, sitting on the couch with it on my knee.

Lovely.

I'm guessing I will get used to it, but it all seems very awkward and small. I'm used to a 21 cm monitor and a full keyboard, but I can put this in my briefcase and head off to work... yay.

That's the deal, that's the trade off for an undersized keyboard and a tiny screen...they say. Portability.

I can hook on to any one's available network. I didn't get 3G, because I think that's what "they" want you to do. You know it's not the revolutionary new amazing products that are the focal point here, no siree Bob! It's the monthly bill that "they" can attach you to... forever.

Suddenly, I seem to have giant hands, bigger than the screen. Ah!

I'm in the land of Zorb, I'm getting bigger and bigger and everything around me is shrinking... the intellect of the human race and all. Where will this stop? Where? When we are ginormous retards... oh... yes... already there...

... you know, when the master race of cockroaches looks back at this era they'll call us the fat and stupids.

Jesus Christ! Not sex!

A female cadet says she was unknowingly broadcast on Skype having consensual sex with another first-year army cadet.

The encounter was watched by approx six other cadets, she said.

Why is this even a scandal? Oh please. Boys behaving badly. Why have we even heard about it?

Nothing really terrible happened it's only sex, yeah, sure, some guys perved on you, but...  A third of the world can't access clean water, while a huge number of people are starving. People live in war zones and are dealing with, actual, death every day.

You only felt like you might die,

So, someone saw your tits and some boy sticking it to you. (I presume it was a boy?) Not really a national scandal, in my book. You'll live.

You know, I blame these conservative christian woman's groups who keep their dirty little christian back ground hidden by calling themselves The Woman's Network or Collective Something, all the time spreading outdated moralising and unwanted Christian messages by stealth, until, you know, anything dealing with "sex" is almost considered a taboo.

AH! Don't mention the S word.

I mean, don't get me wrong, I'm sure it isn't a nice thing to have happen, but it is not a scandal. It is not something that the whole of Australia needs to know about, or have an opinion about it. There are far more important things, really.

Those boys should be dealt with by the army, presumably they would be kicked out.

There Has to be a Minimum Level

I, for one, would be very happy for all of my tax dollars to go towards welfare payments, specifically dole payments. Is there a box somewhere on your tax return to tick?

I'm happy for people to live on the dole, Australia is a rich country and we can afford it. I'm happy for there to be a safety net for society.

I just thought I'd say that, while Tony Abbot is speaking for the whole of Australia.

Let's face it, there are many shitty reasons why people are on the dole, it's like compensation for the fucked up things that have happened in peoples lives to make them have to live on one hundred and fifty dollars a week. It's a way of evening out the wealth, even in a small way.

It just doesn't gell as a policy, having people who earn two hundred thousand a year kicking the poor and disadvantaged around to win political points.

It's the evil of free markets, people's lives are only worth while when they work for the minimum wage, to grow the economy, to put the food on the tables of millionaires, ultimately.

Bottom of the Gene Pool?

I don't know what all the fuss was about with the woman who drove her car off the top of a six story building and lived. It's just about natural selection, isn't it... or at least should have been, you know, if she'd been selected. I guess, not so naturally, hey?

A car. A six story building. If you have someone who will drive a car off the top, accidentally or not, do you really want them to survive?

I mean, you've got to wonder.

Really?

I guess I'll get my karmic comeuppance, for those thoughts.

But it's still survival of the fittest, isn't it?

"You drove a car off a six story building," says God at the pearly gates. "What did you expect would happen?"

I imagine God speaks with a stutter, not sure why, as he rests his big doughy chin on the back of his hand and raises his eyebrows.

“You know, the day in question was not a good day for me,” says this genius. She scratches the top of her flat head.

“Clearly,” says God.

I Thought That Was Nice

Mark says that Sam and I fascinate each other. I thought that was nice. He observed us over the weekend at Bolago.

The weather was gorgeous, blue sky, golden sun.

I spent the weekend, pulling weeds. I put Sam to work, next to me. He doesn’t like dirt, or soil, it scares him what creepy crawlies might be in it. Baby. 

But, to his credit, he worked and didn't try to slack off.

He was bemused by my hourly tea breaks.

He was unhappy about my jokes about snakes.

We laughed. Drank tea. Pulled blackberries, piles of blackberries. "Ouch, sweetie." We were constantly emptying wheelbarrows. good thing we've got a hundred aches and a million trees to hide it behind.

I rolled joints... well, you've got to relax and be in the mood. It's the only time now that I partake, up the country (spoken with a Queensland twang). My friends think I'm wicked introducing Sam to dope, a nice clean living lad, before he met me. I tell them he is an adult... roll my eyes and sigh.

Secretly, I harbour a slight pang about it. But, he’s never turned it down. He says that is all going to change. We’ll see.

Warning Signing Ourselves into Oblivion

Hands up who thinks we are "warning signing" ourselves into oblivion? You can't fart without a warning sign popping out of your arse first.

Everything has a warning sign attached to it now, just to further enhance the climate of fear that we all now live in.

I think we are missing an opportunity here. For instance, toasters should come with a warning sign, Insert Fork Here, it would be a simple and effective way to test the intelligence of the population. You know, no expansive research projects, or studies needed.

Shooting Star

Johnny was a school boy
When he heard his first Beatles song
Love Me Do, I think it was
And from there it didn't take him long
Got himself a guitar
Used to play every night
Now he's in a rock 'n' roll outfit
And everything's alright
Don't you know?

Johnny told his Mama,
"Hey, Mama, I'm goin' away
I'm Gonna hit the big time
Gonna be a big star someday"
Mama came to the door
With a teardrop in her eye
Johnny said, "Don't cry, Mama,
Just smile and wave goodbye"
Don't you know?

Yeah......yeah.....

(Chorus)
Don't you know that you are a shooting star
Don't you know
Don't you know
Don't you know that you are a shooting star
And all the world will love you just as long
As long as you are

Johnny made a record
Went straight up to number one
Suddenly everyone loved
To hear him sing his song
Watchin' the world go by
Surprisin' it goes so fast
Johnny looked around him and said,
"Well, I made the big-time at last"
Don't you know?
Don't you know?

(Chorus)
A shooting star

Don't you know that You are a shooting star
Don't you know?
Don't you know that You are a shooting star
And all the world will love you just as long
as long as you are

Johnny died one night, died in his bed
Bottle of whiskey, sleeping tablets by his head
Johnny's life passed him by like a warm summer day
If you listen to the wind you can still hear him play

(chorus)
Don't you know that You are a shooting star
Don't you know?
Don't you know that you are a shooting star
Don't you don't you don't you don't you don't you know
Don't you know that you are a shooting star

Don't you, don't you know that you are a shooting star