Why I didn't get to see snow.

I decided I wanted to build a snowman.
They had snow falling 3500km's away, so I bailed for a week and a half.

Next thing I know, I ended up on a plane to Melbourne at a moments notice. Packed my bags, had a bacon and egg roll and jumped on at Gate 17. There was a child grabbing at my jacket as I was queuing up to board the plane. For once, I wasn't repulsed by the sight of an infant looking interested in something other than a babies tendency to live vicariously through it's almost autistic outlook on the world.
I actually smiled at the ugly little bastard.
He just wanted a safety pin.



I think I caught the plane at around 1.30pm, downed a few of these and a handful of Valium.
I was sitting next to this Middle Eastern woman, seperated by an empty seat.
She was chanting from arabic cuecards, and when I looked over at her and gave her a smile she retreated back into her palmcards, rhythmically nodding to what I can only assume was the tune of the chant. She didn't want any Valium either. Talk about economy snobbery.

DONNY CAN FUCK HIMSELF.
This will pan out into a logical statement toward the end of this entry. Anyway, Donny is a cabin "leader", or "facist homosexual who wears a wedding ring to counteract any stigma" for Virgin Airlines.

My plane arrived 15 minutes early due to wind or something.

My plan was to surprise a bunch of cunts when I landed and crash at their houses until I could make it up or down or whatever the fuck direction Falls Creek is.



And this is how I spent most of my time waiting. Sitting at random pubs, everyone I knew over there having phones stolen or turned off, drinking Bulmers after Bulmers, until Evestay reckoned it was a feasible option to drop my shit off at his house just outside of the CBD until I made it to the snow. It is situations like this that I slightly contemplate the idea of creating a Facespace. That's when the next pint settles me down and reassures me I don't need it. The females at the next table could accept my friend request, but if you never ask, you never know.

Poke.

The day before I buy my ticket to Mount Beauty, I call Arcyday to check out the sitch on how I get around the joint, what's what, who's who and where gronks keep their bags so I could get myself a snowboard.

Adlay here apparently got his junk out and thought it would be a good idea to wave it in the face of the girl he was staying with, all the while pissing in her makeup case and playing with her mascara.
This girl subsequently made a complaint to the manager of the resort and two old mates lost their jobs for letting Arcyday and Apobay stay at their little sharehouse.

SO I WAS FUCKED. MY ACCOMMADATION WAS FUCKED UP I HAD NO IDEA WHAT I WAS GOING TO DO. I PROMISED MY MOTHER I WOULDN'T GET ARRESTED THIS TIME.
And the lure of Victoria Street was a hard one to avoid.

Now my old mate lives it swank right. Him and his flatmate get free internet and free foxtel. The opiate of the masses for those who can't score the sedatives. The children all end up dead somehow. Old mate lives above some old cougar smackies, who tend to fry sardines alot. Old mate is a vegan. I missed his cooking from back when I couchtripped with him and double hache Rach in North Fitzroy. The only problem was that with all the carrot and celery and potato and eggplant and cous cous, I was left with no real protien. I craved the dead flesh of an animal carelessly slaughtered quite often.



Enter the Six Dollar Feed Bonanza Shack of Port Phillip Arcade.
Everything on the menu is six dollars.
EVERYTHING.
Above is the chicken steaks and fried rice. Imagine a crunchy fillet of Kentucky's finest, double the size of it, then times it by two. Add rice, egg, shredded pork and soy sauce and you have a meal fit for human consumption. Cash only, no split bills. Alot of Connex workers eat there. I didn't get a chance to nick one of their jackets but there is always next time.
Dweebies, dickheads, they all adore this place. They think it's righteous.

This girl moved there a few weeks ago.



I ate crocodile. It was as if they had just given me chicken in X.O chilli sauce, so I got a bit aggro, then I kept eating and it was all like, hang on, they put fish in it as well, now it's a fishy chicken, more fish, more chicken, chickeny fishy meat tofu on rice. That's the shit that fucks up my game yo. If it wasn't crocodile then why would I eat it? I might as well just be like those dudes on It's Always Sunny and eat people from the morgue.



Fuck I enjoy eating weird shit. I wish I had some lamb's tongue and some purple stuff.
I wonder if Painstop would be a good marinade.
I could make a mint.



Jehst made me buy this drink. Heads will know the lyrics.
I hate burdock but the dandelion sweetens it up a touch.
I like to think that it's selling points are three qualities that are reflected in my own self centered, egocentric perception of a collective reality, in pursuance of the goal of a true self image, manifested.

That or I just like the taste.



Rush looks like it's going to be a good season this year. Cops getting shot, cops having sex, cops getting shot.
Amazing.

I read a pamphlet about starting brothels over in Victoria. For 200 dollars you can apply for a High End Escort licence and operate it with two workers from a private residence. The advantage of this is that the working girls and boys can choose their clients and that due to the fact it is a private residence you can claim, wait for it, 100% of your rent, 100% of your taxis and transportation, 100% of your S&M gear and 50% of your makeup back on tax.

Any takers?



Impair your ability to think, talk or walk, you're wack and it's all your fault.



Me and old mates were scoping the front of this exhibition trying to find a way around the cash money issue. I'd just beaten Arcyday at chess down at Bar E55, and gotten cockblocked by some hipstur from the amazing girl with homadez pouring beer. I felt down on my luck and kept on going hard at the pokies at Clocks on Flinders. After some proton pills and a few more jugs I was contemplating wading through the wishing pond for change until i spied these princesses from afar. And after a bit of banter and such, some cheecky compliments and brazen sexual innuendo, they offered to give us their tickets. I took a photo of a Dali sketch and left after his short films. Disney massacared what could of been an amazing visual exercise for the mind and left me thinking I was watching the cutting room floor scraps of Hercules.
So bitter was I after this, I ended up getting myself a discount on a keyring.



This guys mother made me a burger in South Melbourne.
What title would his mother have then?
She couldn't be the queen, that would be all weird and shit.
Dame? Lady?
Grey Poupon?



I spent a bit of time catching up with people I had lost contact with over the years.
This occured on Johnston Street.
This involved Uno, you know?, Uno?, Murder in the Dark, my filters and papers getting greased on the regular, salami pizza and Melbourne Bitter.



The kids graduated to kings in a matter of moments.

On the night before I left I clashed heads with a character who seemed familiar in Northcote, and after a few beers it was evident he used to live in Maylands around the corner from me and snitched on my good self after I got a bit too enthusiastic with my behaviour at a certain Perth weeknight drinking locale.
He apologised, shook my hand and we continued to drink.
Onya Bryan.

I really can't be fucked with this so I'm going to wrap it up now.
Although there is much more to type about to influence your Tourism Australia potential with all these Rudd sponsored journeys, i'm going to finish my story about FUCKING DONNY THE STUPID CUNT AND THEN GO WATCH SOME SHITTY YOUTUBE STREAM CRIME SHOWS OR SOMETHING.



RUDEST CUNT I HAVE EVER MET. HIS MATE WAS SOME LIKE, 55 YEAR OLD LADY, I THOUGHT THEY BANNED ALL THAT SORT OF AGE GROUP BECAUSE IT DIDN'T SELL WELL TO THE YOUNG JETSETTERS OF OUR GENERATION? ANYWAY THE FUCKING BASTARD PURPOSELY IGNORED MY REQUESTS FOR FOOD AND BEVERAGE. I HAD ONLY HAD 2 HOURS SLEEP BEFORE THIS FLIGHT AND I NEEDED FOOD.



THIS WAS AT 7AM WAITING FOR THE TRAM TO GO TO THE SKYBUS, I HAD NOTHING LEFT TO THROW UP AND DONNY THE FUCKING NAZI WAS DENYING YM THE HOT BREAKFAST.
I had even made sure I had withdrawn 50 dollars in order to obtain Foxtel and copious amounts of overpriced food and drink. Yet Donny, who had been Cabin Leader or whatever the fuck on my flight there, was now taking his fucking time serving myself. AND I WAS SITTING IN THE AISLE IN ROW FUCKING FIVE. THATS PRACTICALLY IN THE FUCKING COCKPIT.
It took half an hour to get my opiate screen on. Forty five minutes to get some shitty service station wrap, some off nuts and a Sprite. And when I wanted a noodle cup, he made out like it was such an effort to go to the back of the plane and get one.

So I tried to take a photo of him to flame him on the internet. Apparently the old duck snitched on me to him, but due to the glory of Foxtel headsets being the wonderful anti-social self serving devices they are, all I managed to make out was "I DONT THINK YOUR ALLOWED TO DO THAT WITHOUT PERMISSION", but not in a stern, i'm talking to you way.
In like a, two faced, hectic snide, snakey, acid tongued witch of eastwick way.
Donny decided to throwdown.
"MY COWORKER HAS INSINUATED YOU HAVE BEEN TAKING PHOTOS OF ME!?"
"I've never flown on a plane before. I took a photo of the plane."
"Oh.. that's.. ok then."

IN YOUR FACE FUCKARSE I WAS ON YOUR PLANE A WEEK AGO.
Fucking reminds me alot of alot of people I know.
You know who you are fuckarses. I ain't wasting no time on Donny's.
I definately need to go travel to some shitty cultural hubs more often.
Like the prisons they build and call housing commissions.


I wonder what GZA's going to be like in September.
I'll remember more about something else that happened or explain something else another time, my back hurts, I need a cigarette and a Maybach.

It's my birthday in an hour and fifteen minutes.