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*****
The humidity in Sydney this time of year causes intermittent rain. Sydney’s rain in humid weather doesn’t pour down – it kinda leaks like a weeping sore.
There was apparently some big hail storm over the weekend here, which I completely missed. I honestly don’t remember any storm whatsoever. Torana, however, assures myself and Adam that it happened, as he left his door open when he went out to the pub that night. He came home, and his little box-unit now smells like a little shoebox-unit. My mum, who takes great delight in communicating news that potentially causes other people physical and/or financial damage, gleefully emailed me to let me know that if the storm had occured in Canada, it would be classified as a tornado.
She didn’t hear this on the news. She researched it.
*****
There was a lot of swearing here this morning.
Firstly, I woke up to discover there were no clean pants. I hurriedly washed and dried some jeans – just in time for my train. Then I stepped in a dirty old dish of lasagna, and broke the congealed layer of pasta on the top. Three of my toes sunk into a bolognesy mess. Swearing, I hopped across the room and accidentally stepped in some leftover meat pie from the night preceeding the lasagna.
Secondly, Adam jumped into the room in one of his ninja stances, screaming ‘FENG SHUI ATTACK!’ He then pulled some of his martial arts moves.
It suddenly dawned on me that feng shui is not a martial art, but the Chinese art of arranging furniture and household objects in a harmonious fashion. Thus, a ‘feng shui attack’ should not really have involved Adam leaping at me with ninja-style karate kicks. He should have leaped into the room and calmly moved our couch from one side of the room to the other, and meditated.
*****
Big Mo was showing off at work today. ‘I’ve moved into a new apartment,’ he sneered at us all with some sort of new-found yuppie attitude. ‘A city apartment,’ he continued; although he pronounced it with his new-found yuppie accent (it was spoken as ‘cittay’).
‘A city apartment?’ I asked him.
‘Yesss,’ he was quick to drawl at me. Drawling at me in a fashion that clearly indicated I was not the one living in a city apartment, but a Westie suburban flat.
‘There are drawbacks to cit-tay apartments,’ I retorted, over-doing the ‘cit-tay’ yuppie pronounciation and bordering on stereotypical gay accent. (Where does the gay accent come from? Why, Gayland, of course).
‘Oh real-lay?’ Big Mo challenged, picking up the Gayland accent completely. Although he may not have meant this, as he’s gay anyway (then again, I am too).
‘There are certain things you’ll find difficult to buy in the cit-tay,’ I explained. ‘Like vacuum bags.’ I know for a fact that Adam once lived in the city and had to travel three suburbs out to find vacuum bags.
‘Oh, I’m getting a clean-ah,’ Big Mo dismissed. ‘I have no need for vak-oom bags.’
‘You’ll see!’ I threatened, waving my fist. ‘Just wait until you need something like a lint brush, or a litre of milk that isn’t overpriced soy crap!’
*****
On Monday morning as I disembarked from the train, I walked up the stairs and hit my head in a really dignified manner. I managed to pretend nothing had happened at all, by simply screwing up my face and looking as if I’d just swallowed a turd.
When Cam visited us last time he hit his head on the train too, but as a tall guy I’m sure his skull is quite used to damage such as that. In fact, it was Cam who called me on Saturday night to talk about some more damage he’d done to himself.
‘I just broke my hand,’ he drunkenly rambled.
‘How?’ I asked, thinking he didn’t mean it literally.
‘I kept banging it on the bar,’ he explained. Quite literally.
‘Oh,’ I said. ‘The bar? Are you at a pub?’
‘Yeah,’ he confirmed. ‘And my car window, yeah, that too.’
‘Car window? What what what?’ I was confused. I think Cam was too.
‘I smashed my car window open because I locked my keys inside,’ he explained.
‘So that’s how you broke your hand?’
‘No! No! Bar.. mad… BAR! And car!’ he clearly explained.
‘Rightey oh,’ I replied. Then he hung up after telling me he’d be okay and would call me later, and that was that.
*****
After discovering Jeb II at my work (he’s got the same first initial and surname as myself), he’s now snobbing me! He walks past me without even acknowledging my presence. Not good! Obviously, there can be only one Jeb. The Highlander movies were right all along.
We got a whole boxload of Tic-Tac’s at work for some promotional deal. Most of them were for a new flavour called ‘Extra Strong Mint’ which is about to be launched. I brought some home, and Adam promptly gobbled them all, but left two in the pack for me. Have you ever noticed when someone gobbles all of your lollies, they’ll leave two left as if this makes it okay? As if they’ve left you behind a sufficient amount for you not to get mad at them?
*****
‘You know you’re drunk when you’re happy to lick a train track,’ McCraig concluded, recounting his weekend’s drunken adventures. Indeed, he had indulged in a small amount of rail-licking on Friday night.
‘I have a new challenge for you,’ I challenged in a challenging manner, akin to the host of the children’s game show Challenger. ‘I challenge you to wipe your arse on a train track.’
‘That would require me to be extremely maggotted…’ McCraig pondered. ‘But – I feel I’m up to it.’
‘I want photographic evidence,’ I warned.
‘I will do my best,’ he promised.
*****
McCraig: I never realised the Greenpeace boat was so small.
Me: What, the Rainbow Warrior?
McCraig: Yeah. I went and visited it when the Olympics were on.
Me: Ah, they’re all about inflated self-importance, anyway. It really was more of a small tugboat rather than a giant ship.
McCraig: Exactly.
Me: In fact, I bet they convert it into a yacht on the weekends.
McCraig: With PVC sails, the bloody hypocrites.
Me: Exactly! Exactly! PVC sails all around. In fact, even the name Rainbow Warrior is misleading. That ship is not a warrior at all.
McCraig: Has it been involved in any war that was loosely translated to a Hollywood movie?
Me: Of course not! The word ‘warrior’ is entirely misrepresentative!
McCraig: I can just imagine what they get up to on these yacht weekends.
Me: They go fishing for whales, then they cook them up and eat the for dinner.
McCraig: Yes, whale meals, with dolphin sauce.
Me: PUREED dolphin sauce!
*****
I’m a believer in Vending Machine Karma – occasionally I lose my money in a vending machine, but often I get a free chocolate bar or bag of chips at the expense of the person who previously tried to purchase something. However, I’ve been on a bit of a downhill run lately, and lost too many munchy pieces of crap for my liking. When a bag of Burger Rings got stuck in a vending machine on Friday, I snapped and called the phone number listed on the vending machine.
Smiths woman: Hello, Smiths Snackfoods, how can I help you?
Me: Raaargh!
Smiths woman: Hello?
Me: Oh, sorry. I was just trying to get my Burger Rings out of this vending machine. It says to call this number if I need help with it.
Smiths woman: Oh, right. Well, we can arrange a refund for you. Firstly I’ll need you to tell me the locati-
Me: What? What? All I want is a bag of Burger Rings.
Smiths woman: Right. Um…
Me: Can’t I just, you know, um… get someone who works here to tip it sideways for me?
Smiths woman: Oh, well, they’re designed not to fall out if you do that.
Me: Amazing technology. Um… you know, it’d probably fall out if I kicked the side of the machine.
Smiths woman: (sceptical) Really? Um…
Me: Do I have your permission to kick the machine?
Smiths woman: Oh, I guess… oh, actually, before you do that, does it say ‘Electronic Retailer’ on the front?
Me: (checks) Yep, it does.
Smiths woman: Oh, God. No! No! Don’t kick it?
Me: Why not? You were about to let me.
Smiths woman: No, these are our new ones. They’re really good.
Me: Sure, they’ve got nice new beepy noises, but my chips are stuck.
Smiths woman: Please, no, we’ll get a refund organised..
Me: (dull clanging noise)
Smiths woman: Oh, don’t kick it, please…
Me: (dull clanging noise)
Smiths woman: Mercy!
Me: Got ‘em! (hangs up)
*****
Robb Flynn Jnr: Hello, welcome to China News Update, and… this is a factory where we make bananas.
(half an hour later)
Me: You are watching Deutche News Update. I am a man who likes bananas, and ooh, look; here’s the weatherman! He likes bananas too, don’t you? He loves bananas to the point where it gets sexual! Oh, how we laugh about our banana antics.
(half an hour later)
Robb Flynn Jnr: JAPAN BANANA SUPER NEWS UPDATE! TOKYO HAS GONE BANANA CRAZY MAD!
(half an hour later)
Me: Well, the French government does not look lightly upon the banana situation in the Middle East.
The cafeteria TV at work is tuned to all the foreign news updates on SBS in the morning. Robb Flynn Jnr and I have developed a game where you have to guess what the newsreader is saying, except relate it to a common theme (preferably something to do with food).
However, that doesn’t mean Robb Flynn Jnr hasn’t stopped playing his stupid little snide waiter games with me.
Robb Flynn Jnr: So what do you want for morning tea today?
Me: Hmm.. a croissant would be nice. Do you have any of those?
Robb Flynn Jnr: Sure. Ham and cheese?
Me: Yes, that’d be great. Thanks.
Robb Flynn Jnr: Nooo problem. (sly grin)
(five minutes later)
Robb Flynn Jnr: There you go. (gives me plate of food)
Me: (boggle eyed) What?
Robb Flynn Jnr: Ham and cheese croissant.
Me: That’s a fucking BROWN CROISSANT.
Robb Flynn Jnr: Chocolate croissant, actually.
Me: Are you joking?
Robb Flynn Jnr: You asked for a ham and cheese croissant.
Me: I didn’t even know chocolate croissants EXISTED!
Robb Flynn Jnr: It’s all we have at the moment.
Me: Chocolate fucking ham and cheese croissant.
Robb Flynn Jnr: You never asked.
Me: This is SO not the end of this.
Robb Flynn Jnr: (mockingly waves fist)
*****
McCraig, one of the managers at work and myself decided to go to the casino for lunch on Friday. At my request, we caught the tram to the casino instead of walking. The tram is so much more fun!
The manager hadn’t caught the tram before. As we walked on, he was screaming ‘Fluffy velvet seats? With FLOWERS on them? What am I paying for?’ I never realised this was such an issue.
The whole time we sat on the tram, I was trying to figure out what advertisement was on the outside of the tram. The trams are covered in giant ads which cover the windows in a weird kind of mesh that has little holes in it, so you can still see outside. It makes it hard to guess what ad is outside, though. When I stepped off the tram, I realised I’d been staring between a giant pair of very athletic thighs for the whole trip, advertising some sporting goods company.
McCraig had a little play on the poker machines. I love the way all the pokie machines are themed – there’s some really bizarre ones. My favourites were Money Mouse (everyone’s favourite gambling-related superhero!) and a bizarre one revolving around drag queens. If I was given the opportunity to design a pokie machine, I’d design one featuring common household pests (match three silverfish and get the jackpot!)
It was decided that Chinese was to be ordered for lunch. We asked the waiter if we could have six spring rolls between the three of us.
‘Six?’ the waiter repeated. ‘We serve them as four spring rolls,’ he explained.
‘Well, we would like six,’ McCraig persisted.
‘Ohhh, ohhh,’ the waiter held his head. ‘Ohhh. I will have to ask my manager.’ He continued making ohhh noises and started to look as if his head would explode under the sheer concept of six instead of four spring rolls alone. We had to order four instead just to calm him down.
We were talking about exotic foods, and the manager who was eating with us told us that he’d once eaten snake.
‘Snakes are just fucked, though,’ he complained. ‘They really bug me. I mean, why is the sick fuck going to bite me if he’s not going to eat me? What’s the point?’
*****
One of the women I sit near at work is going away on a holiday. She’s got a new little potplant on her desk that she keeps watering.
Potplant woman: While I’m away, could you water my plant?
Me: Sure. How often?
Potplant woman: Oh, just twice a day should be enough for him. He’s growing quite well.
Me: Okay.
Potplant woman: Actually… (sticks her finger in soil) I’d only water him once a day. He’s getting all wet and moist lately.
Vanessa Undresser: (stifles laugh)
*****
We’ve bought some porno playing cards, but unfortunately there’s some really bad pictures in there. They’re all from the 80′s from the looks of it. Here are my favourite bad cards in the deck:
Eight of Hearts: Adam thinks he looks like Van Damme, I think he looks like Mike Whitney. Whoever he is, he looks very disinterested in what’s attached to his groin.
Three of Clubs: Taking too much crack while you’re posing for porno photos will cause you to fall asleep.
Six of Clubs: Taking too much crack while you’re posing for porno photos can also cause you to die.
Queen of Diamonds: Red-head porn is strictly a niche market thing, and definitely should not be introduced to the general porn-purchasing public.
Two of Diamonds: Maybe it’s the rat-tail, but something’s suggesting to me that these photos were taken in a decade closely associated with leg warmers.
Joker: And if you need any further convincing, surely you can’t go past this.