Everything Louder Than Everything ElseMy work has finally realised my work ethic and its principle of "Job to do now, deadline to be met now, everything else later." Half of yesterday was spent by people telling me to calm down and not to worry about the fact that I might be a little bit late, blah blah blah. I always thought it was obvious that's how I operated. Apparently not. Doesn't help that the girl I was relying has squit between the ears. She has the IQ of a boot and the awareness of a jam jar. This girl would lose a spelling bee to the Hulk at his most stupid.Moving on. It's a myth that men don't have their own version of PMS, of course they do - every woman knows this. It's a very simple experiment to conduct, all you've got to do is be with a man, wait until he starts doing something and then go up and talk to him. "WHAT?! What is it now?! I'm opening fish fingers can't you see?! You come in here, walking on the floor - breathing the air like it's yours - talking and talking and I'm doing something! Look they've fallen on the floor, are you happy?! You are happy now?! Everytime I try and do something for myself, you carbonize and then shit on my dreams. You're just like your whole family!" Moving on. I'm going to Melbourne again. This time I am leaving on Thursday with my buddy Jeff and we are coming back Saturday night/Sunday morning. The plan this time is to go down for a gig on Thursday night where a band some mates of mine play in are up...it's some kind of local band competition. Since Jeff and I were already going down for Friday night, we figured, what the hell, we'll make it a day earlier. We're going down Friday night for a Post-Surfmoot party. If you don't know what Surfmoot is, you may wanna backtrack through my journals. And then on Saturday we ended up getting invited to a 21st, so we'll go there for a bit, at least, then bail after and drive back. I have a 9-5 rehearsal on Sunday. 'S'gonna be fun. It shall be a trip full of various genres - comedy, tragedy, fantasy, drama, horror, science fiction, action, and if I'm lucky, pornography. Moving on. Damn, I love drinking. Drinking and watching rugby. I watched a game of American Footy the other day, my Yankee friends. I think it's really nice that in your otherwise primitive society you make such a big deal about men playing a girl's game. Which must not be mistaken for rugby, as you know, for rugby is a game for Men. American football? Girl's game. Right up there with netball. The Brumbies played the Blues last night at rugby, and it was on here on my TV. Camera closes in on the Brumbies team: scarred mutants to a man, with big weird bald patches where the hair has been ripped right out of their scalps in handfuls. Moving on. The mother of one of my mates is dead. I'm no longer the only one in the group. I wish I was. Boy is one of the least deserving people I know of that. Having said that he seems to be taking it pretty well...but I worry about his sisters. Moving on. Sexually progressive cultures gave us mathematics, literature, philosophy, civilization and the rest, while sexually restrictive cultures gave us the Dark Ages and the Holocaust. Not that I’m trying to load my argument, of course. Moving on. I am a hack. |
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