Avant garde, no?

Wow.

200.

That's a lot. Who would have thought, somewhere around the vicinity of a year ago when this particular incarnation of my internet publishing endeavours was begun, what I would achieve.

I've had people threaten to kill me and burn my house down (Ben Weerheym).

I've fucked up the political ambitions of racist academics (Drew Fraser).

And I've generally been a pain in the ass to a lot of balding dickheads. Not literally a pain in the ass though, cos that would imply Bruce LaBruce-like shenanigans.

Hmmm... something to keep in mind for 2006. The future lays before us like an unspoiled virgin - or even just an unspoiled can of spam.

ONWARDS, KOMRADES!

To put it another way, I'll re-commence writing this internet webdiary when I have fulfilled various contractual agreements inre: articles.

La la laaa laa laaaaa...

Vegie came to town last night.

My busy social schedule had not been looking terribly busy. I was planning on kicking back with a cold one and listening to "Let's Go! 1985" which was a cassette I had purchased that day.

Anyway, I got bored REALLY quickly, so I called SteveSteve, to find out how everything was going on his side of Waz Vegas.

Not much. Just study. Studying pot.

"What do you mean? You're getting stoned?"
"No, I'm doing a paper on pot."
"You mean you're rolling a joint?"
"No, I mean I'm writing about pot."
"I see."
"Understand?"
"Yes."
"What am I doing?"
"You're getting stoned, right?"

He wasn't. He was really writing a paper on THC. His search terms were too broad. Way too broad. Everything with the words "positive effects" was showing up.

I told him: Your search terms should be less specific.

He agreed. Anyway, there was no time to be studying. There was a whole wide world out there to enjoy.

We went over to Vegie's. I'd heard from my source in the underground that he was back in town for the weekend. They'd come through again. He was.

"Hey Veg!" we shouted as we threw ourselves through his poor excuse for a door.

"Hey guys," he replied despondently.

"Wassa matta, bro? You look down" we asked him.

"Oh, it's nothing," he said, choking back a sob.

"Nah, serious, bro, what's the matter?"

"It's... it's... it's my pants."

"They look fine to me. Good pants. Good for sitting, walking... you know."

"You really think so?"

He needed our assurances. We assured him.

"So, what have you guys been up to?" he asked us, eager to move on from the embarrasing pants debacle.

SteveSteve jumped up, like an excited child who has just been to the zoo and seen the tigers and the snow leopards and the butterfly enclosure.

"I went to the zoo!" he exclaimed.

He really had.

"I saw all the big cats: the tigers... leopards... snow leopards."
"Lions?"
"No, but we went to the butterfly enclosure."

Hang on.

"Hang on! Who is this we?"

"Me and Jelly!"

That bastard. That fiend. That backstabber. Going to the zoo with SteveSteve. RATFUCKERS!

"Oh, okay," I said.

Then SteveSteve said, "I'm trialing at the O&H (a Waz Vegasian pub) this Friday night."

This was interesting.

Would he be wearing a skimpy top at all?

No, apparently not.

Nevertheless, a plan for the following weekend was beginning to present itself.

On Friday, we would go to the O&H. SteveSteve would give us free alcohol. It would be good. Then, Saturday would come!

We would go to Chapel St., down in the city, and beat metrosexuals (and suspected metrosexuals) with rolled-up newspapers.

"I say, sir!" we would cry, "Have you thrown up on your shirt?"

"No, it's supposed to be lik- WHACK!

"Excuse me, old bean!" we would cry again, "Is your shirt on inside-out?"

"Actually, this is how it's suppos- WHAM!

Motherfuckers wouldn't know what hit them.

Anyway, I'm on the radio this Sat'dy 5-630, and then I'm the special guest host on Joplopping Hoddities on Monday night 9pm-1030pm.

104.7 FM. Listen in or be square.

Jelly and I have started a band. Feel free to suggest potential bandnames in the Comments.

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