Avant garde, no?

Palmy North - We stare into your abyss and see not monsters, but the darkness that resides within our souls.

Hahahaha. What a faggy thing to say. It's been an interesting few days, which is strange, because the last time I checked, nothing interesting was supposed to happen here.

It all started on Sunday night... I was all on my lonesome... I had a pad... I had a pen...

And well, I am a writer. So I wrote. I wrote the most amazing short stories that you ever would see. But you won't. Cos I gave them away. With the most awesome cover of all time.

Anyway, this brought young Reggie Arcade and Dirtbird to the website, whereupon they mentioned secret messages.

Now, as part of doing that thing that I do, I did leave rather a cryptic message in a phonebook for someone - but I wouldn't have said the streets were filled with secret messsages.

Reggie Arcade, however, would beg to disagree.

"Please, Dr. Cam!" he whined, his high-pitched squealing like an angle grinder up my spine, "Please can I disagree?"

"No," I said definitively and with overtones of overt masculinity. One must be prepared to lay down the law in these situations, lest the balance of power tip.

Then he grabbed my leg, and wouldn't let go. "Pleasepleaseplease etc.

Well, what could I do?

And with that, I set out to discover exactly what he meant by secret messages.

Wait, no. That's not what I did at all.

I set out to get some dinner.

But as I walked along past the watch repair place on broadway, something caught my eye... A secret message? From the mysterious Dirtbird?


So I started looking for other secret messages... and boy howdy, were there a lot of them. Apparently we should save Mingus Casey. I've emailed Mingus to find out why, and will let you know as soon as possible.

Apparently various people are H.O.T. HOT/good for a fun time and but a phone call away.

Darling children.

So, there I am, walking down the street, and my thought process goes something like this:

large breasts.
we're looking for secret messages on walls and the ground and stuff.
why do we always end up doing this sort of thing?
it's like we attract weirdos.
what's with that?

At this point my thought process is interrupted by a drunk/mentally disturbed white-haired lady sitting on a bench. She's saying something to me, but I can't hear her over the roar of the traffic. Well, one passing car.

"Sorry?" I say, by way of asking her to repeat herself.
"They're just hard to avoid, aren't they?" she says.
"You've got that right," I reply jovially, and run away.

Thought processes:

what the fuck?
perhaps we should have talked to her.
she might have known something.
maybe? she knew what we were thinking, dude.
that was weird, i will admit.

Anyway, then it was time to return to the Hostel, whereupon I met a pretty cool person indeed.

I was chit-chatting with this young lass about various stuffs in front of the television, you know, idle chit-chat, and suddenly this Indian guy on the other couch pipes up:

He says, "You know, In New Zealand, they respect Australians. But in Australia, there is no respect for New Zealand. They are lesser people - they are considered lesser people."
He says, "The problem with New Zealand is that they think like women."
He says... well, he said a lot of things. The point is he was a dick, and this is all misdirection.

The cool person, was in fact... THE YOUNG LASS!

There I am, right, getting a drink of water, cos that's the sort of wacky thing I do.

Plus, get this, I'm in the kitchen.


Anyway, this lass comes in, and she says, "Oh, are you still here?"

A strange question.

But not so strange if you know things that you - YOU THE GENTLE READER - do not know!

Because, the thing was, she thought that I was here with Daniel - that we were in fact the Pizza Crew.

But! You do not know anything about Daniel. Or The Pizza.

And thus, we must call upon the wavy lines of time to take us back - back to a different time, a time when the men were men, the women were women, and Go-Go Boots reigned supreme!

I refer, of course, to a couple of days ago.

Remember that rum I drank? Remember how it made me melancholy, and let's face it, pretty schizophrenic?

Well! The thing that I didn't tell you at the time cos I was waiting for the right time to tell you but darling it just didn't come up was....!

That after I finished writing that, and was all sane and whatnot, this guy came in: Daniel. He was a wee bit drunk.

And we got to making with the mouthwords. Well, Daniel did anyway.

Daniel was a fascinating lad. The notebook page devoted to him goes a bit like this:


18 - almost 19.
Owns two pizza shops.
Why was he here: to scout out a new location.
Member of NZ KKK.
Father is a cop - "takes care" of stuff.
"we can't get away with murder"
Wants to come to Australia - to kill abos.
Going to open up a new pizza shop in PN.
Going to open up pizza shops in Aus...

Inre: this last point, I got a whole lecture about how Pizza Haven tried to start up in NZ, but didn't understand how kiwis think - he won't make the same mistake.

Some bizarre pyramid scheme he was starting.
Hangs with the Mothers as well.

A fascinating lad, to be sure. Of course, I didn't have it written down like that... I have fucking interconnected bubbles and shit. Also, a big disclaimer at the top that says: "This Guy May Have Been Full Of Shit."

Which brings us hurtling back into the fast-paced world of today - she thought I was here with Daniel because she'd heard us chit-chatting.

I corrected her on that point: I thought he was a dick.

Hahahaha, she said, I thought you were like the Pizzaboys or something.

Oh, did he tell you about that too, I asked without quotation marks because I am avant garde.

Yeah, she said, because she can be avant garde too. And then she revealed an awesome bombshell: Daniel didn't own a pizza shop. He was a delivery boy. And he'd told her that his dad was a farmer.

I thought this was all very hilarious, and boy did I laugh.

And we talked a bit, and she revealed the secret of the Knights of Templar to me.

The End.

Hahahaha, I jest, I wouldn't leave you hanging like that.

It's the way they get the holes in the swiss cheese.

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