Avant garde, no?

Hola Cammerino,

So I was thinking of you on account of being busily engaged in reading your BLOG, which I think is interweb-speak for secret love heart diary with pictures of snoggable boys inside. I had one once, only it was in the real world meaning it was a book, and it had a picture of Prince William inside with a Hitler moustache and the word FAG written underneath by some nefarious person. But I digress.

As a result of my Cam-related musings I have produced the first ever piece of CAM’S WEBLOG DIARY FANFICTION, or Cam-fic.

It’s rated R for pirate violence. That’s a joke, because if you say it aloud you very soon realise that R, when pronounced, sounds like Aaaarrrgghhh, which is what pirates say. Although in practise it usually sounds more like Yaaarrgghh. But I migress. (Somehow I thought it was funnier with an m instead of a d. Yup, still funnier.)

Cam’s Adventure With Pirates, by Courtney O.

One bright and breezy spring morning Cam awoke with a jerk – the jerk in question being his very good friend SteveSteve! Ha ha!

“Good morning SteveSteve, Cam articulated with the greatest of ease. “And what a wonderful morning it is, to be sure!

Donning his fur leotard and opera glasses, he left the slumbering SteveSteve and set out in search of foodmeats for the breakfast hour.

“Good morning, saucy MacDonald’s operative, he said, tipping his SS hat to a more rakish angle. “I shall have a MacDonald’s processed breakfast please, and make it snappy!

He waited to see if the operative would get the joke, but since he’d neglected to include the bit about the crocodile sandwich, she didn’t realise why the ‘snappy’ comment was meant to be such a grand jape.

Instead she smiled a smile that resembled in no small way the grim rictus of Death, and claimed that since the hour was three p.m., the breakfast menu was no longer being served.

“No breakfast? Cam said, aghast.

“Three p.m.? he said also, aghast.

He tipped his hat back to a decidedly non-rakish angle and gave the MacDonald’s slave a cool nod. “Good day to you sir, I say good day! he proclaimed.

He swept out of the food emporium in a huff – no, it took him a little longer – he swept out for a whole minute and a huff! Ha ha.

But who should he trip over outside the emporium? Well it sure as hell wasn’t me, because putting yourself in your writing is such a juvenile jape, what the fuck guys, are you really so narcissistic or so sad that you have to write down your detailed fantasies about your hot pool party with Jack Sparrow and Will Turner and show them to the whole world?

I mean seriously.

But who it was was a lovely embittered young woman called Mortney, seated on the footpath outside the obesity parlour the better to criticise the footwear of the patrons thereof.

“Jandals? Are you fucking kidding me, you’re not seriously going to wear jandals, I mean even to MacDonald’s, I know its not exactly a classy joint but Jesus, Jesus Christ come down here and smite these mouthbreathing illiterates right the hell now. For fuck’s sake inbreeders, jandals are only appropriate footwear in the most casual of situations! You know I’ve seen people wearing jandals to the public library? You know I’ve seen people in BARE FUCKING FEET?‿

At about this point Mortney noticed Cam dusting off his lovely suit, swishing his hair back to its usual state of I-don’t-buy-into-your-bullshit-society, yes-it-looks-this-great-and-enigmatic-naturally splendour.

“Oh, hi Cam, she said. She didn’t comment on any aspect of his appearance, because frankly Cam was the spankiest dresser in the whole of Warragul, and didn’t he know it!

“Hi Mortney, Cam replied, regaining some of his earlier jauntiness. “Can you believe that faggot bitch in there said it was three in the afternoon?

He offered her a cigarette, which she graciously accepted. Mortney popped the smoke into her mouth and chewed daintily.

“No, she said, finishing the smooth Marlboro cigarette, that’s right, Marlboro, it does wonders for your asthma and to clear up minor irritations like working lungs. Plus the ladies love it!

“No, I can’t believe that clown-sodomising whore. My own watch was telling me the same damn thing not five minutes ago, can you believe that shit?

Cam shook his head sorrowfully. “It’s a cruel world out there, Mortney. People playa-hatin’, baby-momma dramas, sisters doin’ it for themselves.

“Yes, I also despise Negroes, Mortney said.

“My new nickname for you is Dangermouse. Cam replied.

And then they got married and built a time-machine, and they had a baby, and you know who that baby was?

That’s right. It was SteveSteve all along.

Or . . . WAS IT???

THE END.

(Or . . . IS IT????)

Love

Courtney