While you go to work and fumble around in that greasy till to scratch out a modest living for yourself, I am off doing things. Important things! Scary things! All kinds of . . . of things, man. All sorts of, y'know, stuff. Ferocious stuff.
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Look at me, alone in my apartment cooking pasta for one. I’m like a young Greek girl living out of home for the first time against her mother’s wishes only her moustache is probably way better than mine.
Is this The Room With The Red Doors that Tolkov wrote about in his eponymous 1974 exploration of class consciousness and psychedelia? Or just the Darlinghurst bordello I got kicked out of last night for trying to pay with a mixture of five cent coins, old baht and Monopoly pieces? We may never know.
There’s a naked man passed out on the toilet and Bieber is playing through someone’s iPhone 3. I rub the place where my eyebrow used to be and wonder when Satan will show up with a flaming bar code brand and a box of welcome cookies.
I paid her $300 to dress up like Tom Waterhouse and skitter up and down the alley for an hour while I drank cherry brandy and took pot shots at her with a BB gun. Wouldn’t cry ‘til I coughed up an extra fifty though.
Oh, this is some Grade A bullshit right here. How can these guys just swan in and steal my idea? I mean, sure, they’ve got, like, an actual store and stuff, whereas I just wrote Dr Candy on a t-shirt with Sharpie. And hung outside junior schools with a bag of sour gummi worms. And got arrested. But surely this is some kind of copyright infringement, right? I need to lawyer up.
Well, here it is, definitive proof that aliens have arrived to enslave the human race and colonise our planet. With the shit Abbott and the Liberals have been up to lately, I for one welcome this change and put myself squarely at the disposal of our new insectoid overlords.
Is there anything more Australian than a sunburned old salt in Ruggers, sandals and a terry toweling hat walking a long a wharf with a bag full of fish heads to feed to the young daughter he never knew he had but now has to take care of because her mother, who he hasn’t seen for years, dumped her on his doorstep along with a note saying she’d run off to Panama with a Zumba instructor named Carlos?