Got here by googling for Bonus Bonez? I cover them in more detail here. It is a scam.
Now, back to our regular programming:
I like to talk about infinity a lot. You might have noticed that every now and then I might use the phrase "staring into the black abyss of his/her soul."
This is because it sounds fucking cool.
Admit it, you fuckers, you love it.
Okay, so I'll get back to this in a minute, but you should probably know something.
Okay, this is it. Disclosure time.
I am... multi-tasking.
While I'm writing this beautiful prose - admit it, it's fucking beautiful, you bastards - I'm also checking my email.
Whatever shall I find in my inbox this morning, I wonder...
A new message... but from whom? And in regards to what? And all the other Ws and a H.
I click on the little inbox button to reveal...
Okay, so I'm also watching GoGoStop, which is a stupid gameshow, with stupid questions, and the guy's hair is way stupid, but who am I to talk?
Anyway, I'm admiring the cunning of the short guy... but that chick with glasses seems pretty switched on too... Though, it's not really cunning, is it.
It's basic recall skills.
But back to the secondary point!
My email... I click on the little inbox button to reveal....
MEET SINGLES WITH CHRISTIAN PRINCIPLES!
If you're tired of online dating, LET US SHOW YOU THE WAY!
WHERE CHRISTIANS MEET!
Fuck you, Bonus Bonez, you fuckers... All of my spam comes from a spamming company called Bonus Bonez.
Firstly, that's a stupid name.
Secondly, don't email me anymore.
I know that not everyone who reads this is entirely "there," so... uh... if anyone wants to stalk through the offices of Bonus Bonez with a machete, killing indiscriminately, before stepping into the office of the CEO and raping his every orifice, then slitting his throat and ejaculating into the bloody mess... well... that would be... uh... wrong... of course.
But how can it be wrong.... WHEN IT FEELS SO RIIIIIIIIIIGGGHHHTTT?
Anyway, back to the primary point, staring into infinity sounds cool, but no-one ever really does it.
Well, except for Sean Connery.
Who I dreamt I was last night.
Cue wavy dream lines.
I was kicking back in my suave leather chair - the VERY TYPE OF CHAIR THAT SEAN CONNERY WOULD KICK BACK IN - and listening to the radio... Andrew Wilson, neo-nazi and all-round carbon-based lifeform was on the radio, TALKING TO TRIPLE J.
He sounded about as stupid as you'd expect... I'd upload the recording... but you know... IT WAS IN A FUCKING DREAM.
I can't believe I'm dreaming about nazis again.
Anyway, I was only half-listening anyway, cause I was Sean Connery playing James Bond, and was actually in the middle of programming some poor sap into assasinating some goon.
He was all, "Nooooo!" and I was like, "Shut up, you. I'm brainwashing your punk ass."
Anyway, a short brainwashing later, and he was all set to kill this guy.
Why I didn't just do it myself, I don't know, but when it came time for this guy to get his assassination thang on, he was all, "I'm shaking!"
The reason? My enemies, possibly part of some commie organization, had busted some sort of blocking thingy on him... I don't know, it made sense at the time.
Anyway, they foiled me good, but you know what they say, if at first you don't succeed, suddenly switch scenes and be going up to your room in an elevator with a very foxy lady.
Now, I am, the last time I checked, a male. And this foxy lady was very much female.
So, I'll leave it up to your fertile imaginations to speculate on what happened next...
Actually, no, I won't, because you're going to get it totally wrong.
You're going to say, "SCORE, MAN!"
You're going to say, "HOLY SHIT, THEY'RE GOING TO FUCK!"
You're going to say, "DUDE, BE SURE TO TAKE PHOTOS!!!!"
But you're wrong. We were headed for the ninth floor.
At the eighth floor, we ran into a little snag.
The elevator broke down. Again, this was the work of my enemies.
We were stuck in an elevator with the bellhop dude and some drunk.
The drunk leered at us. "I guess we're all stuck together, eh?"
I looked at the wall of the elevator. It was mirrored. All the walls were mirrored.
At this point in the dream, physics shat itself.
I was there, and I wasn't there... I could see my reflection repeating into the distance, but at the same time, I wasn't getting in the way of the Me at the end.
He was doing a robot dance.
Then I woke up.
God, I rock... Recognise this pattern of behaviour?
It normally goes something like this:
Cam praises his super-human skillz as an editor.
Cam examines what he actually accomplished.
Cam bags out self for getting over-enthusiastic about said skillz.
Not this time, though... My skillz pay the billz, and I'm not ashamed to say it.
I suppose that when one works in increments of 1/25th of a second for most of the day, conquering a daily deadline is so much more significant than if you work by the hour or somesuch.
What I guess I'm saying is, as I almost always do, I got everything done by deadline again. But... but... the thing you have to understand is... is....
Oh, it's true. I suck. I shouldn't get so over-enthusiastic about such little things.
HA! POST-MODERN SELF-REFERENTIALISM! TAKE THAT, GENERIC CONVENTION!