Tag Archives: arsehole

But… butt… why the arsehole?

9 Sep

I know I’m getting older and I’m losing touch with what’s cool and what’s not, but…

Asshole tattooSeriously?

If someone come to me and said, “hey I want to make hundreds of tiny painful incisions in your poo chute and leave ink in those holes so that there’ll be a permanent design there”, the only chance they have of getting me to agree to it is by following that up with, “and I’m going to pay you $1,000,000 if you let me do it.” And even then I’m not sure I’d go for it. If I did, I would do so begrudgingly and be keeping it very, very quiet.

So it makes it difficult for me to understand that the girl in that picture went to that tattooist and told him, she’d pay him to do that to her. I actually feel bad for the tattooist because that’s gotta be one of the shittiest jobs he’s ever had to undertake.

And you’ve gotta wonder why anyone would want a tattoo on their clacker. Even if you’re an exhibitionist, it’s not exactly an easy location to see. Frankly, the whole thing is outside of the realm of logic for me, and I’m sure I’m not alone in thinking it’s just a bit too out there to be anything less than cookoo mcgoos.

Hey, at least it’s unique

Y’know, it’s amazing how far people will go to be unique. The Guiness Book of World Records is testament to that. Maybe the woman in the picture above thought she was going to be unique because of her tattooed brown eye. Maybe that was part of why she decided to get it done.

I hope not, because…

and also…

So…

It’s your body, you own it. You can do whatever you want with it. It’s just that some things might seem like a good idea at the time but turn out to be horrible choices down the line. Think about it. As weird as it would be going through the process of getting a tattoo on your rectum, at least tatooists are generally used to weird shit, but if (when) you change your mind and decide to get it removed, you’re going to have to explain to someone that you thought getting an anus tattoo was a great idea back in the day but you’ve changed your mind now and you’d really like lasers shot directly at your bunghole to get rid of it.

It’s your right to make bad choices and trust me, I’ve made a fuckload of them myself, but I’ve never gotten a goddamned butthole tattoo because everyone knows that’s a fucking crazy thing to do.

Crazy bitch tip: You really, really, really, really realllllllllllllllllllly don’t need a tattoo on your arsehole.

10 Things you should not do at a bar

26 Mar

10 Things you shouldn’t do at a bar

Bars are fun. Drinking is fun. Meeting strangers can be awesome and dancing your butt off to your favourite tunes can be downright glorious. Remember however, bars are magnets for crazy bitches, and seeing that I’m trying to dissuade women away from being crazy bitches and/or being mistaken for crazy bitches, I thought these suggestions might come in handy.

These aren’t the only rules for not what to do at a bar, but they’re some of the more important ones.

10. Don’t get shitfaced

Sure, you’re there to have a few drinks, but you don’t need to empty every bottle in the bar. Try to keep in mind that the point of being at a bar is to socialise, and it’s difficult to socialise when you can’t even talk. Also, the more you drink, the worse you’ll look in photos.

too drunkWhy not?

Looking bad in photos isn’t the worst of it.

Massive hangovers suck really bad. So does waking up with someone you would very much prefer to have never touched. Waking up in a jail cell is pretty shitty and I reckon waking up in the hospital is even worse. You can usually avoid all of these things by keeping yourself from achieving shitfaced status.

Think about it for a second… they call it shitfaced… it’s not exactly a positive description, is it?

9. Don’t get into fights

This one applies to inside and outside the bar. If the point of going to a bar is to socialise, rolling around on the ground trying desperately to cause another person to bleed seems to go against that objective.

You’re not going to get along with everyone in a bar. That’s ok. That’s part of life, and that’s why you can choose to talk to someone else, or go to a different bar or, y’know, any other civilised way of not ending up rolling around on the ground trying to rip out someone else’s hair.

Why not?

Even if you really hate someone there, before you engage in fisticuffs with them, consider how much time you’ll waste in dealing with the bar staff, the police, and potentially at the hospital. It’s not fun dealing with people in uniforms when you’re just trying to have a fun night out with your friends. It’s not fun for your friends to wonder if you’re ok. Having a record for assault is never going to improve your life.

If you can’t think clearly enough to avoid getting into fights, look back at point #10.

8. Don’t be shitty to your boyfriend

A bar is not the place to test how much your boyfriend is into you, or to see how willing he is to stand up for you.

Don’t go around flirting with guys in front of your boyfriend, that shit’s not cool. If you’re not sure how much he likes you, there are better ways to figure it out than trying to enrage him by being massively disrespectful to him in public.

Similarly, don’t go around expecting everyone else in the bar to put up with you doing whatever the fuck you want, and then get all surprised when they point out that you’re behaviour is making their night worse.

Why not?

What almost always happens in these scenarios is that your boyfriend is going to have to stand up for you, and when you tell the random, massive dude who’s beer you just spilled all over the place that “My boyfriend will kick your ass!”, you’re either going to cause your boyfriend to take punches to the face for you, or get into a big argument with you about why he sided with those complete strangers over his girlfriend.

And if you’re flirting with other guys in front of your boyfriend, he’s going to get pissed off at you or at the guys. Either way, you’re pissing your boyfriend off.

That’s ultra shitty. There’s no good way out for your boyfriend and that’s just a straight up shitty way to treat someone you claim to care about.7. Don’t take your clothes off

This isn’t one of those hard and fast rules, I’m just saying, at least think to yourself “Would I be doing this if I was sober?”

For example, if you’re wearing a coat and it’s really warm in the bar, take off the coat. You’d do that if you were sober, so it’s a reasonable decision. If removing the article of clothing would cause the police stop you in the street, were they to see you, you can generally assume that’s not something you’d usually do when you’re sober, and thus is not the right way to go.

The woman in this video clearly didn’t follow the simple “Would I take this off if I were sober” decision assessment.Why not?

Well… there are several reasons. If you can’t answer them for yourself when you’re sober, I don’t think there’s anything I can say that’s going to help, except that maybe you should consider a career in exotic dancing.

6. Don’t go overboard with public displays of affection

Just like the previous rule about taking your clothes off, the PDA rule requires a bit of self evaluation.

The whole point of going to a bar is to socialise, so it’s bound to lead to showing some affection sometimes. Note that word some. Kissing your boyfriend or your girlfriend, if that’s your thing, is totally cool. Depending on the place, some sneaky groping might not cause too much hub-bub.

There are a couple of clues that it’s going too far which are hard to miss. One of them is that you realise that you’re kissing someone more for the benefit of everyone else, rather than for you and the person you’re kissing. A really easy way to figure that out is when the bar erupts into applause.

Another way to evaluate if your PDA is going too far is to consider if it would make a good viral video.

Even when the irony of the situation demands it, it’s still not a good idea.

Why not?

Because if you’re really into it, you can find somewhere private. Also, not everyone is actually into seeing you do that shit, and the people who are don’t give a shit about you, they’re just in it for the show. Think about it this way, do you really want to be one of the “skanks” those people will be laughing about later in the night? and probably jerking off to later that night? Do you want to be the star of a viral video about having sex in public? See, that’s the sort of shit that make’s it tough to get a job.

If your answer to those questions is “No”, what else is there to say?

5. Don’t cry at or around the bar

Hey, look, emotions happen. That’s just a part of drinking and socialising. Getting some sort of emotional response is kind of the point of going in the first place, but those negative emotions… the ones that lead to crying, they’re just not good for a bar situation.

Why not?

Crying is an obvious sign of a person in a vulnerable state. Predators seek out people in vulnerable states.

I don’t know about you, but that video skeeves me the fuck out.

The other major reason to keep your negative emotions in check at the bar is everyone is trying to have a good time and it’s way harder to enjoy your night with people crying around you. If you keep it up too long, you’re going to piss people off, like the girl in this video, who was crying at the bar staff that she needed a charger for her phone.

You want another reason? I feel for the girl in this video because she seems really nice, but it is a great reminder that crying isn’t very flattering.

4. Keep the dancing to the dance floor

I know how it goes. You’ve done some pole dancing lessons and you’re feeling really good and you know for damned sure you’re looking good. Those tequila shots are kicking in and then you see it… a pole. It’s just there waiting for you to dance on it and show everyone in the vicinity just how well you can ride it.

Unfortunately, the people who put that pole there probably weren’t expecting it to be used in an ad hoc amateur pole dancing session.

Maybe it’s not the random pole, maybe it’s the table.

Maybe it’s barely even the table at fault

Why not?

Did you not watch the videos?

3. Don’t pee anywhere except in the ladies toilets

Yeah, the lines are long and the wait is horrendous. Maybe if women didn’t turn using the toilet into a social affair things would move a long quicker and you wouldn’t have to do the gotta pee dance half the night. Doesn’t really matter though, because the only place you’re allowed to pee when you go to the bar, is in the ladies toilets at that bar, or at your place when you get home.

You don’t get to use the gent’s room. They already make us piss into a trough like livestock. We shouldn’t also have to deal with the confusion of seeing a woman in there! The point in the night when you start to think using the men’s room is a good idea is the point in the night at which you need to focus on rule #10 again.

And that doesn’t mean

2. Don’t lick any buttholes

At no point in your time at the bar, should your tongue make contact with a butthole of any sort.

No.

Some of these rules have grey areas. This one does not.

If your tongue somehow does make its way into the general locale of a butthole, just call it a fucking night and go home because something either went really, really wrong, or you’re into that sort of thing, in which case something went really, really, right. For good or bad, it’s time to leave the bar.

Why not?

Most people go to bars to get away from the assholes they have to suck up to during the day and they don’t want to be reminded of that bullshit.

1. Don’t suck 24 dicks at one bar

Alright, listen up. No matter how awesomely and magically it is explained to you, there is never, under any circumstances, a good reason to suck 24 different dicks at a bar.

Usually I prefer to leave room for a potentially plausible cause for outright ridiculous behaviour, but when it comes to putting the cocks of 24 different guys in your mouth in one night at a bar, I just can’t come up with an even remotely acceptable explanation.

Apparently the girl in the video thought she was going to get a holiday. She didn’t get a holiday. A Holiday is the name of a drink they serve at the bar. If my understanding is correct on this one, this young woman put the various dangly and/or firmish man bits of 24 guys in her mouth in hopes of earning a vacation while she was already on a vacation, and instead earned herself a drink.

Jesus H Christ! Most blokes will buy a girl a drink if she bloody well smiles at him! Maybe try that first!

And as for this supposed trip, what fucking holiday could possibly be worth sucking off 24 strangers?!?! Unless you were promised a first class guided tour of every country on this ridiculous planet, and the moon, and every planet in our solar system, and maybe backwards and forwards in time, then maaaaaybe it’d be worth it. Otherwise, what in the fuck could possibly convince you that you need to put 24 individual sweaty, gross, hairy, unprotected cocks into your mouth?

If you really want to play the old trading sexual favours to gain wealth and a luxurious life style card, you’d be far better off heading over to the casinos in Monaco to find yourself a billionaire rather than a shitty dive bar in spain where the clientele are totally cool with watching drunken teenage girls get convinced to suck 2 dozen wangs for the promise of a motherfucking holiday!

Even a porn star would rate sucking 24 dicks in a single night as a pretty big deal. So maybe that’s one way to avoid doing something like this. Ask yourself, “would a porn star be remotely uncomfortable with this?” If the answer is yes, and you’re not a porn star, maybe you should nope the fuck outta there right away!

nooooo

Crazy bitch tip: Rules 10 through 3 are pretty important and you should definitely stick to them, but everyone slips up from time to time, just make sure as hell you never break rules #1 and #2.

Origins #6

17 Jan

So, last time, I was telling you about how everything seemed to be escalating. It really was. It was such a strange time for me. Things seemed to be going equal parts good and bad at the same time. The good parts were off the charts in the good way, and the bad parts were off the chart in the opposite direction. There was very little middle going on.

Goodbye to my car

I forgot to mention earlier on that I was now stuck without a car to get around in. That might not be a big thing where you’re from, but in Perth, that means you’re pretty well screwed. The public transport here will get you where you want to go but it’ll take an inordinately long time. As an example, some mates asked me to fill in for their sports team for the night. I’d normally get to the stadium in half an hour. On public transport it took me an hour and a half, and someone still had to pick me up from the train station! So the round trip was 3 hours to play a 40 minute match. See, I was without a car because, just before I went to Europe, I ran into one of those cops who’s just a cop because it allows him to get away with being a dickhead. There I was driving along in my 1970 Ford Capri doing the speed limit and behaving myself when Officer Cock-Knocker decides he’ll show off to the new recruit partner by pulling me over and having a bit of fun with the fact the has a uniform and a badge and I don’t.

Look at that terrifying death trap. Better pull him over.

Look at that terrifying death trap. Better pull him over.

I pull over when the blue lights flash behind me and Mr Plod is on the attack straight away “What are you doing with this Capri?”, “Is this vehicle stolen?”. “Of course not”, I tell him, “I’ve owned this car for 5 years”. I’m pretty confused why he’s asked such an attacking question to start proceeding. Then he fires out  “This is a British car, why does it have an Australian spoiler on the back?”

Ahhh…. It starts to make sense. Between the accent and these questions it occurs to me he’s English, and he likes his English cars. I explain that this is an Aussie built Capri and the spoiler was an option here. He ignores that bit of rationality and continues pointing out things he doesn’t like about my car. Not things that are illegal or make it unroadworthy, just things he doesn’t like. He asks me why I’ve got bigger brakes than standard and I make the mistake of informing him that I’m going to replace the original V6 motor with a V8.

His whole face went red! I thought steam was going to come out his ears!

It turns out this particular Englishman was a huge Cosworth fan and the idea of me modifying an original Ford Capri GT with anything but Cosworth parts was sacrilege to him. He ranted at me about how “You can’t just modify a piece of motoring history however you want!”, and “You’re disrespecting the British legacy of the Capri!”. All the while I’m just thinking, “Mate, this is my car, I’ll do what I bloody well want with it.”

I was slowly converting the Capri into a race car but the changes I’d made at that point were all to improve safety of the car for the road. Bigger brakes so I can stop in shorter distances, wider tyres for more grip, new seats that actually go further than half way up my back, a limited slip differential to reduce traction problems, etc, etc. All those changes will come in handy once the car is relegated to track use only, but in the meantime I had a car that was much safer to drive on the road than it was when I bought it.

Mr Uniform didn’t give two shits about how much those changes improved the car from a safety perspective. He was unnervingly irate at the fact that I had dared modified a classic Capri and was being weirdly aggressive in his posturing. His rookie colleague seemed a bit put-off by it all too but said nothing. Mr Blue Lights tells me he’s heard enough and tells me I’m getting a Yellow Sticker.

A Yellow Sticker is a defect notice which requires you to take your car to the licensing department for an evaluation. It costs a few hundred dollars to and you only get 10 days to have it done. If you don’t get it done you can’t drive the car on the road anymore. The awesome part was that this happened about 2 days before I was going to Europe and I had absolutely no time to get the car to the pits for the check, so when I got back from Europe, I had a car I wasn’t allowed to drive.

Once I got back I did take the car to the pits but the guys there are really pedantic and you’re not going to get a car from 1970 past them without a shit-tonne of work being done on it. It’s difficult enough to get a modern car past the pits, and even though the mechanic that was looking over my car was quite complimentary about the condition of it, he pointed out things like the headlights not meeting modern brightness requirements and things like that, and it just worked out that it would cost more money to keep the old girl on the road than it would to get the new engine in and get all the other work I’d been planning done. Doing it that way I could kill two birds with one stone by getting it all done at the same time. I sent the Capri off to my mates to get the work done but it was going to take months.

So that left me without a car.

I love that car. I love that she’s a conversation starter. I love that people smile when they see her coming down the road, and that kids get wide eyes and ask their Dad what it is. I love that some bloke literally tried to negotiate buying it off me as we drove down the freeway as he yelled from his car through my passenger window telling me that he’s always wanted one. I love how well that 40 year old engine sounds as she out accelerates more modern cars with ease. But more than all that, I just loved being able to get around and it really, really sucked to have to go without my own mode of transport.

Goodbye favourite band

Ever heard of the band Powderfinger? If you’re not from Australia, the answer is probably a big, fat nope. That’s a damned shame because they were an absolutely fantastic band.

For a long time there, Powderfinger was my favourite band. They dominated the charts here in Australia for over a decade by putting out 5 #1 albums in a row, and by taking out Triple J’s Hottest 100 2 years in a row. They even got 4 albums in Triple J’s 100 Australian albums of all time, including getting 2 albums in the top 10 and taking out the top spot. That’s right, Australia voted Powderfinger’s album Odyssey Number Five as their favourite Aussie album of all time. Personally, I don’t even rate Odyssey Number Five as their best album and I don’t really care about all the awards they got, I just love their music and I was completely gobsmacked by their ability to reach in and touch that indefinable thing that is being Australian.

I can’t explain it. I just know they captured something intangible about Australia and that era and somehow translated it in a way that hit me in a way very few other bands have managed.

My favourite Powderfinger album is Internationalist. It came out in 1998, when I was a little 19 year old pizza delivery boy. It might sound strange, but I learned a lot from that album. One of the common threads on Internationalist is that of people falling prey to watching their lives slip away, day by day. Internationalist hit me right in my head and stuck there.

Because I was working 60 to 90 hour weeks delivering pizzas at the time, I had a lot of time to listen to music, and Internationalist was in extremely high rotation on my car’s cd player. I think that’s a big part of why I took so much from that album. It influenced the way I thought about the world and how to live and still does right through to today.

I’m a musician myself, and in addition to influencing the way I see the world, Powderfinger has also had a massive influence in the way I approach making music and the sort of music I want to make. It was pretty sad news then, when Powderfinger announced they were calling it quits midway through 2010. As is the way with the retirement of musical acts in Australia in recent history, though, they decided to do a farewell tour. It was particularly disheartening for me at the time because they weren’t over the hill, they’d put out a stellar new album called Golden Rule just a few months beforehand. Anyway, I was really disappointed they were calling it a day, but at least I had my ticket to see them one last time. I’m not sure if anyone else will relate to being so horribly bummed out by their favourite band breaking up, but it was big deal to me.

Hopefully it’ll make sense why I’m telling you about this as the story progresses.

Goodbye great manager

Before Gus the devil monster, demon manager came on board, my team had been lead by a really nice bloke. His name was Mike Monarch. Mike’s a bloody champ.

Under Mike’s leadership we’d developed a system that was bringing in about $2,000,000 a year for Everlong. That’s a pretty damned good outcome considering our team was only 5 people at the time. After that project, Everlong decided to chase a few ‘big leads’. One of these big leads was a tender for a massive contract with a mining company. Getting all the documentation in for a tender like that is a massive amount of work and Mike was shifted over to that project and my team was left twiddling our thumbs.

There were good points to being left to our own devices. One of which, was that I had the chance to write some software to make maintaining that million dollar system much simpler. Another was that there was very little stress at work. The downside, however, was that our team couldn’t work on the projects we wanted to (projects which we believed would help make the company money) because we nobody in the team had any authorisation to lead us.

I would often lead the team to do simple little projects. They were just little proof-of-concept projects to show that we were able to create things that we believed were able to bring in an income and we could knock them out in a few days, so I wasn’t concerned with getting in any trouble for taking over the team. But to really do anything worthwhile, like redeveloping the system to work properly on mobile devices for example, we’d need to spend months in development. I wasn’t getting paid to lead the team and I didn’t want to be blamed for taking over the team and doing whatever I felt like, so instead of being unified and progressing projects, we each worked on whatever we thought would be useful.

In hindsight, I really should have taken over the team but I’m just not the sort of guy to go trying to steal power. Everyone would always come to me for guidance anyway and I’d been in the industry long enough to know the right moves. The years that have passed since have well and truly proved that I was on the right track, but hindsight is 20/20 and there ain’t much I can do about it now.

Mike realised we needed someone to lead the team while he was away, so Everlong advertised for a project manager, and in came Gus. What a talented imposter he must have been to get that job! I didn’t like him from the get-go but everyone thought he was ok, so I tried to convince myself I was wrong about him and just get on with my job.

Man, was I an idiot to not trust my gut! It wasn’t long before Gus had started manipulating everyone in the office. He was triggering in-fighting by making underhanded comments and blaming them on other people. He was sucking up to Tim Everlong. He was sneaking his way into the Everlong family’s trust and quietly bad-mouthing Mike and complaining about how little we had to show for the recent months. He was blaming Mike specifically for the lack of productivity and he must have done a pretty good job because Mike was ousted from his job as Gus’s boss, and Gus was given the higher position, leaving Mike in some bullshit demotion job where he was in charge of very little and bombarded with enormous amounts of stress on a daily basis.

Mike went from being a happy, easy-to-talk-to guy who was in good shape and good spirits, to slowly becoming an out of shape, glum, quite, ghost of himself who would occasionally try to force the edges of his face upward into a smile, but was otherwise an automaton with red eyes and a defeated expression.

That was really tough to watch happen to such a nice guy. I would have liked to have done something about it, but we were now under Gus’s complete control, and that was such an unpleasant situation that I was relying on my reserves of patience and ‘just put up with it until Gus actually learns how to do his job’-ness that I didn’t have much time to do much to help Mike.

Goodbye great job

Losing Mike as our manager and having Gus in his place was the key thing that turned my great job into a chore, then into a punishment, and eventually into a torture, but more on that later.

Goodbye Flash

Steve Jobs screwed me over! Well, really Adobe screwed me over and Steve Jobs just chose not to let them screw Apple over too.

See, I was a Flash Developer for a very long time. I did (and still do) work with Javascript, PHP and various other technologies but I had found that Flash was the best technology for the majority of projects I needed to develop in the early years of my career, so I focused on become very, very good at Flash.

At the time I was focusing on Flash development, Flash was available on 99.5% of all internet enabled devices. That made it a pretty safe bet as far as I was concerned. In addition to that, Flash was the only way to achieve all the fancy shit I was trying to build. Back then, if you wanted audio, video, interactivity or animation in your project, your project was going to have to be built in Flash.

For a long time I reaped great rewards by specialising in the use of Flash. I cranked out a lot of work that nobody else in Perth seemed to be able to get anywhere near. At one point I built a complete web browser in Flash! I know this is all nerd-talk but it was really quite cool being one of the top specialists in such a useful technology.

And then the iPhone came out.

The iPhone was the first phone to give you the real internet on your phone. Before that you could maybe read a bit of text from a few specific websites, but the iPhone showed you the actual internet! It showed you the web the same way it looked on your desktop.

Well… almost.

One thing the iPhone didn’t include was Flash. For a while there, that meant that you couldn’t view any videos or animations on your iPhone. Everyone just assumed that Apple would put Flash on the iPhone sooner or later but the iPhone was such a huge deal that many developers were clamouring to make sure their websites could be viewed properly on the magical new devices.

I became quite interesting in the idea of building apps for the iPhone and was trying to chase that up, but Apple won’t let you develop software for their systems unless you use a Mac. I didn’t have a mac and they weren’t keen on buying one at work, so the best I could do was try and find a way to output a Flash app as an iPhone app.

It was right in the midst of this when Gus decided to make us work like maniacs on stupid, useless shit all day everyday. That left me with no time to learn different technologies at work, and so exhausted and dejected when I’d get home from work, that the last thing I wanted to do was more work at my computer at home.

In early 2010, Steve Jobs goes and puts out a letter about why Flash is shit and will never go on any Apple mobile device. The shitty thing about it is, he was absolutely right about those things. And the reason Flash had all those problems was because the company that distributes Flash, Adobe, was more concerned about having Flash everywhere than they were about having Flash be any good. Adobe had bought Flash from another company called Macromedia a few years earlier, and everyone involved in Flash development had pretty major concerns at the time.

Turns out, we were right to be concerned because Adobe really drove Flash into the ground and left Steve Jobs with no choice but to choose not to include it on the iPhone, and in the process completely smashed my specialised skills.

So I owe Adobe a big ‘Fuck you’ and I owe Steve Jobs a punch in the face, because that left me without a specialised skill only a year and a half after the Global Financial Crisis kicked in and ruined the world economy. I therefore owe a lot of shitty bankers a punch in the face too.

The outcome of that situation was that I was pretty stressed about not being able to find another job if that situation was to arise. That’s not a good situation to be in when you’re working for a guy like Gus.

Gathering steam

All of these things had happened in the lead up to the end of September, 2010. All of these things, and everything else I’ve been yapping on about in my previous Origins posts were all coming to a head in September 2010.

September 2010

As I mentioned previously, Rene Everlong had been communicating with me a lot. So much so that her dad, my boss, had mentioned that she brought me up in conversation at family dinners. He pointed out that Rene had challenged me to a match of Wii Tennis and thought I had no hope of beating her. I had, of course, already told Rene that I would demolish her. I’d been playing that game a lot and I was damned good at it. It’s funny thinking back, Tim even seemed a bit perturbed by the fact that Rene and I had been communicating out of work but at the time, I was certain I’d done nothing wrong, so I was in no way concerned about that.

The invitation

Rene had been working at a job her father had gotten for her at a company not too far away from my office. That’s part of the reason she had become a regular visitor at my office, and more specifically, at my desk. Part of Rene working so close by meant that she was being included in any social invitations that were going out to my work crew.

I invited everyone out to see The Expendables, for example, and Rene said she’d come along. I was a bit excited at the prospect of hanging out with her in that scenario and she had been telling me how much she was looking forward to it. Then the night comes and she sends me an sms half an hour before movie time saying that she can’t make. Whatever. I was a bit disappointed I guess but I still got to see all those 80s heroes bumble their way through a terrible plot while stuffing my face with choc bombs, potato chips and soft drink, and laughing my arse off at the ridiculousness of it with the other 7 people from work who had made it along.

Now, I’m sure I mentioned earlier that we had a few social traditions amongst the crew at Everlong. One of them was Tuesday Steak Night at the local pub, and the other was Friday arvo drinks, also at the local pub. Often we’d go for dinner after a Friday afterwork drinks session and take up plenty of seats at any of the many awesome restaurants surrounding our local pub.

The pub we went to was called The Chesterfield. It was a brilliant pub. Cruisy atmosphere, cool staff, cool patrons, great food, great restaurants nearby, easy to get to from work and walking distance from home. What more could a guy ask for?! Rene was well aware of our Friday arvo drinks tradition having come along a few times with her sister for a quiet drink before heading off to whatever fancy evening affair they had planned and leaving us to continue in our merriment sans their company.

One particular week in September, Rene sends me an email from her new job explaining that, while she had only been there about a month, a new guy had come on board, and she thought he was a bit off. She said something about thinking he was suspicious or weird and that she was hoping that, if she brought the people from her work down to The Chesterfield for Friday drinks, I could suss him out.

I don’t know what she expected me to do as far as sussing out this bloke, but if your boss’s daughter implies that someone is making her uncomfortable at her job and asks for your help with that, you say yes, don’t you? I mean, shit, we were going to be at The Chesterfield anyway, what harm could it do to agree to give this bloke a once over and check for any psycho tendencies? So naturally I told Rene telling that her and her colleagues were welcome to join us at The Chersterfield for a few post-work bevvies and that I’d let her know what I think of the new guy she mentioned.

And that was the start of one of the biggest mistakes I’ve ever made.

Next time…

Alrighty, maybe I didn’t quite make it to the night the pin was pulled to the grenade this time, but all of this stuff is really important to the story. Things are really going to start cranking up In Origins #7.

Do not lick cream out of someone’s buttcrack for tickets to a festival

21 Dec

A Chilean woman was so desperate for tickets to a festival called Maryland  that she LICKED CREAM OUT OF A RADIO DJ’S BUTT to ‘win’ them.

Tastes like eternal shame

Tastes like eternal shame

I don’t think I need to go into a lot of detail on this one. Suffice it to say, you shouldn’t do this.

Crazy bitch tip: Don’t lick cream out of people’s butts for tickets to festivals.

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