Stuff. It sucks.

No work for me, oh no! No wants anyone to work right now, but I need money right now! Only for rent, because yesterday I went out and bought 15 cans of chopped tomatoes for the premium price of 50c a pop. i am going to be eating so much tomato over the next few weeks I would not be surprised if my blood turns red.
so here I am, at uni, at 8.45 in the morning, waiting for the student job search offices to open so as I try once more, and proably fail once more, to get a job. then I will try and scam more money from the government!
'Yeah, I lost my glasses, and I need money so's I can see.'
'Aren't you wearing glasses?'
'Glasses? No, I just drew glasses on my face, like on that OPSM commercial. Pretty realistic, no?'
The goal being to make them beleive that I am uncapable of living and then they will put me in a mental institute where, I hear, they do a very good plate of tomato mush.

Still ten minutes to stab repeatedly. Perhaps I will stand outside the sjs office until they pay me to go away.

Crotch Ball

The last two days of my life have been, without a doubt, the most exciting two days of my life.
I have been shopping, tasted canned coffee, walked around in a suit, seen crazy people ranting, been mistaken for a 30yr old, and met some Jehova Witnesses without my pants on. And been drunk. So much drunk.
But there were two things which stood out as major acheivemnts.
The first thing was being accepted into the summer creative writing course. Only 12 people get into it each year, and people think I am good enough! My heart swells with pride and my head with hot-air. Because I am great.
The other is the imvention of crotch ball.
You will need a tennis ball and two people, male. Both participants sit down and take turns bouncing the tennis ball with the hope of landing it in the others groin. You can bounce it high if you want to hurt the other person, or low for more accuracy and if anyone guards their regions the other person gets to take a free 'crotch shot' which has no bounce. The game ends when it becomes impossible for one participant to have children.
It's a fast paced game of strategy and skill that is sweeping the nation!

And you cant sue me because you dont know who I am!

The last of the summer meat.

The person rang as I was finishing my last sausage. Oh well, it is not as if I need meat. It's just a luxuary really. I have leeks and capsicon, so why do I need pork flavored miscelaneious? It isn't even reall meant anyway.

I don't need it. No more meat.

*sniff*

nobody wuvs me...

Damn and botheration! Why won't this person ring me! They are supposed to pick up the phone, dial my number and say 'yes, we want to give you $480 a week for awnsering tellyfones! No, we don't need to know your true identity, or even if you are working at all! Just come here at the end of each week and we will give you could hard cash!'

Well, perhaps not the last bit. But working the antisocial hours of 12-8am seems perfect for me, the man with no life. And working lots for lots of money means I have no time to drink, which means money gets saved into a saving thing. Saved money means I get to eat something other than porridge! Yay!

Perhaps I should get off the internet, as I did not give said person cell phone number. I don't know it. I have only had it for five years.

Good old alcetel bricks. I don't need a cell phone that can take shitty, shitty pictures or remind me how little I have to do each day. And I definately do not need a phone that is compatable with the 'crazy frog's greatest hits.

Goddamn that crazy frog.

You cannot deny my spleen!

I have thirty-six episodes of 'invader zim' the zany cartoon about a small green alien thyng and his bungled attempts to enslave humanity. It was taken off Nickolodeon for being as disturbing as 'ren and stimpy', but funnier.
You would think that obtaining such pearls of greatness would fill me will tumors of joy, but you would be wrong.
I am unhappy because the Freezer keeps eating my bread.
It is a monstrocity of a thing. You could chop up three people and preserve them inside. But it eats everything I place inside. And if was it placed is not eaten then it is trampled to pancake oblivion by what I can only guess to be the freezer goblins.
And so my bread is gone. This happens at the wost possible time, when I have no money. And I don't mean I have no money in the usual 'oh crap I spent all my money on cheap wine now I cannot drink untill thursday' kind of I have no money. No. I mean I have no income for two weeks, nothing to buy food or wine or combustibles or even enough to fund my own euthinasia. I have to wait untill I find out weather I am able to get into a summer course, in which case the government will pay for my living.
If I do not get into the course, I will be forced to either gut myself or get a job. I can't wait untill the coin-toss decides that one.

I am off to sample my last faithless worm-monkey.

Kicking sticks and tyres

Today my friend and I were eating popsicle slushies on a convienient bench and watching people with lives walk past. I remarked:
"you know, I think the youth of today deserve a good kicking."
"yes, with sticks." He replied.
"With sticks?" Ask I.
"We shall tie them to our shoes."
I think this is the best idea in the world.

Now, directly after my little speel about how I hate metaphors that attempt to explain life, I will now blog about how great my metaphors for life are. And they are. It is the best thing in the world. You will marvel at how much you resemble a vehicle with wheels upon it.
Yup, we are all some kind of mobile tyred thing.
I am a spare tyre: I am comfortable being the extra man of the group, the thing that isn't needed but always kept around. I am Inexplainably greasy, and you don't show me to your real freinds. In a pinch you will call on me to help but I will always let you down due to a slow release puncture.
Other things you could be are a unicycle (you are unblanced and difficult to steer), an articulated truck (you are bendy and have a cool horn thing), a kitted out subaru (you enjoy to company of the same sex and try to disguise it by tinting your damn stupid windows) or even a nifty-fifty (everyone thinks you look like a dick and even some old wommen with zimmerframes are quicker than you, but with the upcomming oil crisis you will be the only one who can get out of your driveway on $10 gas).
I think I shall make it into one of the super great awesome cool internet quizzes that through a seris of easy to awnser questions reveal your inner workings to you. The inner you that is a retard, of course.
Those people will be Segways on my test.

Haven't seen you genitals in years? Stop segway-ing to the kitchen for mayonase samwiches.

Mushroom and Ham omletts

Today I am going to have an omlett.
Do you ever get the feeling that you whole life is just one great big omlett? You break a few eggs, mix in some random activities that you have lying around the place, grate on a whole lot of cliched cheese and what you are left with is either a good meal or a very stupid metaphor.
I hate metaphors that try to explain life. Life is not a box of chocolates. I see a distint lack of cellophane and gooey centers. Life has a hard, brittle center filled with hunger and a need of money and it chips your teeth. Life is also not a joss stick. I do stink, but the stench wont go away no matter how many windows I open. Life is also definately not a used car. Why? Because. just because.
Life for me has been filled with countless, countles games of Worms 3D and near countless bottles of cheap, cheap wine. So perhaps, life for me is slimy and filled with toxin. Close, but not quite. Always beware those who try and pigeon hole experences. They suck.

Blood transfusions my Jehova cry. And we dont want a crying Jehova now, do we?

The Days

It's a show called 'the days'... and the name of the family is 'Day'! AHAHAHAHA! I WET MYSELF LAUGHING!

On saturday I am going to be a pirate. There will be other people there, as it will be a partying occasion. But most notably there will be a keg.
Keg. The word sends shivers of anticipation down any alcoholics spine. I have been to a keg party only once before. It lasted 6 hours. I threw up. At the end of the night it ended up being just me and three other buddies passing the keg hose back and forth in a vain attempt to finnish it before comatosing. We didn't manage it.
But now it is happening again. I have starved meself of alcohol since monday in anticipation of this unholy celebration of some mexican festival held in graveyards. It will be great.

I am the offspring of Satan and a Huntley and Palmers water cracker. Fear my mightly interlect and pasty flaking skin!

The nusance of mucas.

Doing nothing is only fun when you are doing it to avoid other things. Pushing myself around the living room floor on my back is fun when the other alternative is your 'dead writers who didn't amout to much' lecture, but not so much fun when you realise that you are supposed to be in the best shape you will ever be in your life and that alcohol rots your teeth.

There is a big difference between fun and nessicary, and I have a sneaking suspicion that the divide grows ever larger as you get older. Cleaning the flat? Not fun, but nessicary. Throwing yet more rotten eggs over the flat and into unexpecting backyards? Hours of fun in minutes! How about cleaning out that orange stuff from the fridge? Proably a good idea before the landlord comes around, but wait, makeing dirty words out of fridge magnets fills a place inside that has been empty since birth. Reading this, you proably wonder why I get out of bed in the morning. The awnser is simple: It smells.

But the truth of the matter is this: if everyone was like me, there wouldn't be an overpopulation problem, the ozone layer would still be intact and there would be less violent crime.

So vote for Flan. He bribes you with cookies.

New Age, New Demographic.

A month after my last post proudly proclaiming my lack of things to do I have been unable to post because of being swamped by things. I have had essays to leave untill the last night before botching, I have had video games to play. I have been to parties, been to town and been in bed, all as exciting as the last. I have witnessed the phemonomon (well, you spell it you bastard) of 'flying cauliflower' and pelted neighboring houses wit 6 month old rotten eggs. It has been a futctis month indeed.

But now I am 20. My teenaged years are over. Responsibility is poised to drop on me like an enraged tree monster. No more sitting on the couch drinking beer eating pizza and playing tekken repeatedly, trying to beat my time attack score. Yesterday, being 20 made me go out and apply for a job. My well founded aversion of working for money made me ring up the place of employment and proclaim that I proably wasn't indian enough to work in this dairy, sorry.

I am old. OLD. And what is wrong with reading and elderly bloggers rants on sex? Everthing really, so thats why I will not rant on that particular subject. But while I was filling out my resubscription to 'Playboy' at the breakfast table this morning I realised something.
I am no longer 18-19. No.
Now I am 20-25.
Perhaps the next five years of my life are going to be so boring that they deserve to be lumped together by one homogenious check box. Playboy thinks so anyway.

Today I will play 'Breath of Fire IV' and Twister untill my thighs burn.
Fun in your bum!

Two in a row

What am I doing? Two days in a row I have posted here. It comes from a lack of life I tells ya.

Tommorow I get money, so I am off to town with my good freind Giles to spend it. Money has no use burning my pockets, so why not spend it on booze and other nesisities? Like pasta and tomatoes. It's what I have survived on for the last week, which also means that each meal costs about 20 cents. You gotta learn to live like a damn hippy if you want to become a serious alkie.

In real life, NOTHING IS HAPPENING. The biggest event this week is my father's birthday. Good on the old man for getting a year older and everything, but it is a bit pathetic when you consider that my dairy has been counting down to his big day.

Off to sing a little song. Lalala.

Doing the life limbo

Ever thought you couldn't get any lower with out falling and getting seriously hurt? That' s what I would think if I was playing limbo sober. As it turns out, I am neiter limbo-ing nor am I sober.
No, I am in relationship limbo, the worst kind of limbo next to existance limbo and the waiting-for-some-big-company-to-attend-to-your-call limbo. At least this limbo isn't punctuated with bad quality recordings of Kenny Rogers songs.

So, to say the least, creativity is at an all time low. I just managed to pump out a couple of short stories for the Sunday Star Times short story competition, but only because I had written them about a fourtnight ago and they only needed some very minor tweaking. Honestly, I feel about as creative and inspired as an exceptionally unemotional lump of coal.

in short, I feel sick.

reeeee...scrischwishyEEEEEE!!

Oh, how I love dial up connections. You see, you may think that I have just been to lazy or to drunk to post here but in reality it has taken the better part of the last month for ANYTHING TO LOAD! God damn kiwi online straight to purgatory, where it and it's unholy services will spend the rest of eternity listening to my theatre tutor. Whats that mr.tutor? you just spent the last two hours of my life on mind-numbing drivel? Seems I must now eat your family.

In the real world, life has not been good to poor flanny. (Thats right! Prepare for the bitch moan whine! Your ears will bleed in the boredom!) But with relationship problems and the taste of rank in my mouth each morning I think I am fully justified in only going to the minimal amount of classes needed to pass my courses. On a plus, however, this leaves plenty of time for writing. Damn you Sunday Star Times, I will win your $5000 which I will then spend on keg beer and scratchy tickets. In that order.

I have new jeans. one pair black, the other blue, both the same style, cut, price and purchaced in the same shop, at the same time. So tell me, why does is the black pair unable to stay on my comfortable hips and have a fly that is bent on exposing my shriveld lump of manhood to the world? No one wants to see that. I don't want to see that.

That bastard Satan has even infutrated postie plus. If he wasn't already, I would damn him to hell.

Going to massey today to play pool and drink beer. Untill then I will sit in the sun and do sweet nothing. And yes, I will still moan about how awful my life is.

Moan bitchy whine.

brown paper packages

I am back in waipuk. I don't exactly have alot of spare time at the flat (most of it is spent gazing out the window and playing freecell) but while im back I intend to chain myself to the computer. With the chains immoveable.

In half an hour, however, I have to get the last of my Meningitusus injections. And then I will be INVINCIBLE! Thats right! I will be able to go out and lick any surface I like without fear! I will drink saliva for breakfast! Or then again, I might just stick with toast. Less gooey.

Anyone who reads this think on a regular basis/at all will be excited/commiting suicide when you hear that i want to write stuff for money. especially for the $5000 prize that the Sunday Star is giving away for short stories! I like money, so I's gonna write good big yes.

Why the hell does this damn iTunes program insist on merging the start and end of all my songs? I like my music to have clear cut endings. It's like catharsis for the ears. And it doesn't make everything sound like the auditory equivilent of my patented 'rice and gravy gloop' meal that I have been living off for the last week. If you put it on toast and close your eyes, it almost feels like meat.

Off to fester in my own filth.

Got any Retalin?

Damn fridays and my two hour 9am tutorial for bastard Classical theatre where there are the scary theatre people! People who work in theatre need shirts that say 'I AM A CRAZY BASTARD' so that the rest of us hungover people may avoid them and spend our mornings in peace.

A week has past, and I went to the doctor. Apparently I am quite healthy if you take away the 50% chance of death by heart attack. Have to go and have a blood test on monday morning, so that means no eating for 15 hours before hand. Well, I'm outta food anyway. But since this is a new doctors surgery they will proably insist on trying to find blood in my right arm... oh fuck, I forgotten which arm they can get blood out of. They will be poking around in my arm for months if they get the wrong one. And I am not a fan of needles.

Got locked out of my bedroom last night by a sleepwalking roomate. Had to spend night on couch.

There needs to be more slaughter of the innocent. Especially the bastard theatre innocent.

Procrastination

On thursday I have a 1500 word 'dramaturgical report' due in. It is worth 25% of my mark for this year. So instead of reading the play or even finding out what a dramaturgical report is, I am here complaining about my lack of motivation to do such things.
I haven't done anything for about two months. Nothing. Remember when your primary school teacher told you that lazynes is a habit? Well, it's more addictive than coke. I managed to get out of bed at 7:30 this morning, but I can quickly see the rest of the day dissolving into a non-productive blob. It will be purple (real blobs aren't afraid to wear purple) and may have small chunks of anime floating around in it.

In other news, I have no food. I am going to borrow some rice off my flatmates so as I may have rice for lunch, and then I will have rice rissoto for dinner. Tommorow I will get up early and go to the university for at 8am on a wednesday they give away free bread. I may also ask if they have any spare rice kicking around. Since I have come back to wellington I have lost 5kg. I have been the same weight for the last 3 years, so this is rather interesting.

Life is good. Even if it sucks balls.

Godless bastards.

Yesterday I watched "the Frightners". God damn, Micheal. J. Fox comes back from the dead more times than Jesus! I wonder weather he has beaten Parkinsons yet...

Many things have been happening since I have been back in welly, and many of them I have forgotten about. Fist up, I have relocated. I no loinger live inb a self contained room at the end of a flat, but in a cupboard that doubles as my drinking den. Yes the drinking has beeen more copus living with this crazy bunch of fools I call my freinds.
Also, for the last week I have been BUT UGLY SICK AND ILL GOD-DAMN. The influenza virus suck complete bitch cock. I think that Illness is really THE reason god invented swearing. So I can curse my headache to hell and back. Stupid fucken inflated head cells. They make the paoin happen.

Today I am going shopping. I only have $15 to spend, so that means I am buying a loaf of bread and two bottles of 'passion pop'.

Only Six dollars a bottle....

The taste of great

Yesterday I returned to wellington. The high speed internet access alone makes it worth it.

Today was my first day of lectures for the new trimester. It isgoingto take some timefor me to get back into the habit of getting up going to school and retaining information. I made a great start today by being hung over to hack.
But thearter students are strange. I have a class with theatre students, and they all like to hug each other and then have discussions about personal space and feelings. It kind of strikes me as the same trend as the emos have. If you are sad and easily hurt, why the fuck do you want to put your horrible poetry on the net or work in the industry with the highest rate of rejection? But for some reason the prospect of being unemployed and insulted on a daily basis draws the kind of people who complain of indigestion if you put milk instead of soy in their damn coffee.
Idiots.

Off to stick my tounge in the wall socket.

Zombie Cow Nazis!

Today I saw three very strange sights. First of all, while driving to the supermarket I saw two wommen deep in conversation, on who would not stop doing the nazi salute. Then, While gathering wood, I saw a cow council. Many cows were standing around one cow, and they all stopped mooing when it mooed and listened to it's moo melody intently. Then, in a parking place, I saw a child eating the stomach of another child. True, I couldn't see them too well and I think on reflection that the larger of the two children may have been eating skittles, not kidneys. But still, a strange, strange day.

Tomorow, I go back to Wellington. I have bought some supplies from the local el-chepo supermarket. I got a pie and a sasauge roll for $1.50! Mmmmm... the taste of cheap. Anyway, amounst my purchases (yes, a shopping fable!) I bought cramy chiken soup and promite. For some reason you can find neither of these products in our nations capitals supermarkets, and I do like professional yeast spread on my toast rather than those mites who are only doing it as a hobby or part time.

Yesterday I finished the libary books I got out. Now I will have to rely on my own imagination. *sigh*

...and I just finished reading ALL the toothpaste for dinner pictures! Time to curl into the fetal position, me thinks...

lost time...

Do you ever suddenly get the feeling that you cant remeber what day it is and you ccant remember yesterday? You try to remember what you did and who you did it with, but you cant and begin thinking that you might have actually just slept all that day or some demon possesed you and forced you to do unspeakible acts that you cannot, thankfully, remember. Then you look at the calender, take a few breaths and realise that it is actually thursday, not friday. You didn't miss out on anything.

Well, today I was blankly looking at the wall when I suddenly realized that it was friday, not saturday. I looked at the calender and this confirmed my thoughts: at some time during the week my mind had created an extra day, possibly an extra wednesday. I can remeber all that happend on wednesday, all that happend on thursday, and all that happend on wednesday: the sequel.
Not even a demon would be so fucked up as to possess someone and then give them an extra days experience of sweet fuck all. It makes me drink.

Anyway, deseased thoughts aside, today I made a house. Or at least part of a house. And then I got paid for it. $25 dollars for little over two ours work. I should go into the partial construcion of houses buisiness. I didn't even have to lift heavy things. Now I am rich. Richer than Jesus. And he could just wish for money. He could say "MONEY" and he would have some. Rich bastard.

I had a shower, but now the puppy is on my lap. So I smell like puppy, not shower. Damn.