Avant garde, no?

Don't worry about me, gentle reader, I'm doing okay.

Well, sort of okay, in fact.

Lately... well, I've been feeling kind of empty, in fact... Not completely empty, in fact, not very empty at all.

Quite full, in fact.

In. Fact.

I have everything a man could want: A great job. A shiny car with FOUR wheels that works at least 83% of the time. West Australian neo-nazis who either want to beat the shit out of me or kiss me. (I'm getting MIXED SIGNALS, BEN WEERHYM!)

What more could I want?

Something... there's something missing... something beyond the superficial.

Something in my soul.

Last night, I met a Christian chick.

As with most things, though, I kind of didn't catch on until we were halfway through the conversation.

The first clue should have been when I blasphemed loudly (Jelly shocked me, and I yelled out "JESUS CHRIST!" and jumped back, as people who know me know I am wont to do) and (from across the room) she said something like, "No.. no... he's not in here" and grinned.

THAT IS A BIG CLUE.

I missed it though.

Then I was speaking to a heathen by the name of Debba Trees or something like that...

Holy Fuck! Debba was quite the heathen. Christ, she made even I look like a motherfucking Sunday School teacher.

We were having something of an alterna-youth conversation about... well... I'm not quite sure, but Debba said something to the effect of, "You know, I actually said something nice about Jesus today... a rare thing, indeed."

This prompted our young Christian friend to come over and ask what she meant.

Let's get something straight here though... I don't mean she DEMANDED AN ANSWER.

It wasn't like...

Debba Trees: I actually said something nice about Jesus, which is odd, cos... um... what a cock!
Christian Chick: DEBBA TREES, EXPLAIN YOURSELF NOW IN THE EYES OF OUR VENGEFUL LORD AND SAVIOUR JESUS CHRIST OR BE STRUCK DOWN WHERE YOU STAND BY HIS ALMIGHTY WRATH!

It was like...

Debba Trees: I actually said something nice about Jesus, which is odd, cos... um... what a cock!
Christian Chick: I don't understand... whatever do you mean?

I had a great time watching this exchange. I've got no problems with christians as long as they don't try and convert me.

Eventually young Debba found herself unable to reconcile her alternayouth ideals with CC's bubbly friendliness and excused herself...

CC and Jelly had a conversation... Jelly explained how he had once been in a Christian Rock Band, but had left because they were always trying to convert him to the Way of Truth and Light.

CC: So, they shoved it down your throat a bit?
Jelly: Yeah it was like...

He then performed a complicated gesture. It went down something like this. The right arm swings right back as far as it goes, and up... the fist clenches around some metaphorical religion. Meanwhile, the left arm punches down and to the left and grabs the metaphorical jaw of a Jelly... The left arm stays where it is, and the slams the right fist into his metaphorical gaping maw.

His feet actually left the ground.

Jelly: Yeah... it was a bit too much. But I got some good stuff out of it.
CC: Like insight into God?
Jelly: No, musical ability.

All this talk of warm fuzzy religion only made the cold hole in my heart all the more obvious. It was apparent to me that I would need to fill it.

Thus began my quest for spiritual enlightenment.

I travelled to the four corners of the globe.

I traipsed through the jungles of Nepal.

I traversed the fjords of Norway.

I trekked the vast Serengeti.

When I came back down from my alliterative self-medication, the answer was clear. I knew what I was missing!

Camoflague pants.

God, I look badass in these. Women (and ten percent of men) swoon when I kick doors in wearing these babies.

They say, "Jesus Cam, you look sexy... BUT WHERE THE FUCK ARE YOUR LEGS?"

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