Avant garde, no?

I spy... with my little eye... something beginning with... D.

That's right... a discarded condom!

Okay, okay... next one.

I spy... with my little eye... something beginning with... F.

That's right... a femme fatale from the future, wearing stilettos and a short black skirt.

What do these things have in common? I saw them both shortly before I was hit by a Mack truck. Well, two mack trucks actually... I saw one at around 8:55am and the other at around 3:00pm... A Mack truck! With Mack written on it.

Actually, there should be an almost in there somewhere... I saw them both shortly before I was almost hit by a Mack truck. Oh, the confusion.

Anyway, as you might have noticed, I've neglected this interweb diary a bit of late... COS MY ATTENTIONS HAVE BEEN DIRECTED ELSEWHERE. Directed at Fight Dem Back actually... Dig the "Old Nazis Never Die" section for some Cam Sexenheimer written word gold, fool.

Anyway anyway, it's Friday, eh bro, which means two madcap days of human interaction that will surely lead to some sort of marvellous tale... It's been proven time and time again that the moment I venture out of the office and into the world of people I end up being accosted by a crazy person/punched in the face/being accosted by a neo-nazi... Wait, I think I just said the same thing twice in there somewhere. Or maybe thrice.

The point is, human interaction is something I have neglected of recent days... well non-telephonic human interaction at least... God knows I've met enough faceless voices. But that's over for ye olde momente. I'll catch you all on the flipside... no doubt I will write a brilliant and emotional post tomorrow which will reduce all you motherfuckers to tears.

Yours,

Dr. Cam

--------------------

The next day...

Human interaction? HUMAN INTERACTION?

What the fuck was I thinking? Human interaction, indeed... if there was one thing I didn't need, it was interacting with the fucking humans.

Wouldn't it be a merry thing, I thought, when the working day was through, to visit my parents... They brought me into this world, bloody and screaming, after all. The least I could do was pay them a cursory visit, right?

Christ, what a mistake that was.

I jumped over the back fence, so as to avoid having to fuck around with the front door, whereby I almost died when the ground I was jumping onto was quite a bit lower than it should have been.

In fact, the entire backyard seemed to have undergone some sort of... makeover.

Please note, I use that word as loosely as possible. In fact, I'm going to call it a mkver... LEAVING OUT ENTIRE LETTERS TO INDICATE HOW I FEEL THAT THE WORD MAKEOVER, WHILE BEING THE APPROPRIATE WORD, SOMEHOW DOES NOT FIT THE SITUATION, DUE TO THE WARZONE LIKE MONSTROSITY I SEE BEFORE ME.

And I've seen warzones, people.

My mother was at, you guessed it, the bottom of a fairly deep hole.

"Do you want anything, mum?" I asked, because I am a good son, "A longer ladder, maybe?"

She was fine... I walked inside, to find my father and Sexton playing cards, rather ironically thick as thieves.

"Surely one of you is violating your parole by being here," I said, cos I am up with the law.

"Nonsense," said Daddio, "Now... do you happen to have... like... a jerrycan of petrol at all?"

"Why?"

"Now, Now, Cammy," said Orville, "You don't want to become an accessory, do you?"

It looked like there was going to be trouble in Warragul, this still Friday night... Best to get as far away as possible, especially if they were going to be using my spare jerrycan.

But where to? I thought I'd pick up my trusty sidekicks Jelly and SteveSteve, and we'd let the will of the gods steer us...

Ninety. Mile. Beach.

It's a beach. It's ninety miles long, apparently.

This is where we ended up.

Let me tell you something about Ninety Mile Beach, you bastard.

It is not a short drive to the beach.

It is not a short, merry jaunt.

Unless you live in Loch Sport.

But if you live somewhere real... Somewhere with a hospitable atmosphere for instance... it is a long, long way away.

Please note, I'm not playa-hating on the people of Loch Sport. They're probably great during the day when they're not asleep... Well, they could be a bunch of arsehats and dickmuppets... I mean, I haven't met them...

But the point is, when I refer to the inhospitable atmosphere, I mean that human beings cannot survive in Loch Sport... you cannot breathe the godawful air.

Anyway, let me tell you something else about the trip.

Not only is it long, it is hazardous.

Hazards include:

Unpredictable wildlife, such as kangaroos. Or Jelly climbing out the window while I'm kicking it pretty quickly.

Eventually we got there though... Imagine our surprise, turning up at a remote part of Ninety Mile Beach at 2 in the morning... and finding someone else there.

We got there... and SteveSteve and Jelly, in their infinite wisdom, decided that they should go swimming.

I felt this was not advisable behaviour.

It was, to put it politely, rather brisk.

To put it less politely, it was fucking blue balls freezing, motherfucker.

But they would not hear a word of it... they were loaded up on Port, and did you just call my mother a whore, Neptune, King of the Sea... that's it, you cunt.

Yeah... human interaction was a great fucking idea.

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