grindring

i fucking hate tennis - fuck you margaret court

so Margaret Court is still being a total fucking bitch. her opinion piece in the Herald Sun is why

she sees a steep decline in moral values. why? because "minorities are now making it harder for the majority" the Christian majority in Australia. yeah, like remember a long time ago when all those women wanted to vote and stuff?

she believes being a homo is a choice, is the result of child abuse and you can also catch homosexuality by being around other homosexuals. she was a female athlete. word is (and not the word of this god person she keeps raving on about) word is that a lot of female athletes are... well, you know...

the bitch like is rough too: "a nun at my primary school once gave me the cane and it was one of the best lessons of my life."

i say Margaret deserves a little more of that

watch Margaret court in action here (starts @ 7:00)

dirty tranny fucker

so Chantelle hired me again. and again with the morning sex. fuck it's tough being a rough dominate arsehole at 10am when i've only just finished my coco pops minutes before. maybe if she let me know the night before i could stay drunk all night and show her what a total abusive cunt i can be. go all Dennis Hopper on the bitch and show her some real method acting





i first met Chantelle here part I and part II

i can do it. i can still be a cunt

a saddle up next to her on the sofa. "you smell so good." i'm wearing my filthy blue wifebeater. i pulled it from my gym bag this morning and it was still wet with sweat. she wants butch realness, right? "i've been thinking about you so much since the last time you were here. my pussy has been so wet."

"Mmmm my baby girls all wet for her daddy?"

"oh i love it when you call me a girl!" Chantelle melts down into the sofa. moaning as she hitches up her skirt while my hand slides up the fishnet stocking covering her inner thigh. the rough callouses on my hands catching and pulling at her stockings so cheap i thought they would ladder from my touch. my hand rubs her 'clit' as i rub my beard across her cheek. with a gasp she dissolves further into the cushions, almost sliding out of her wig

it's happening again. i'm boning up surely before the viagra will take effect

am i getting off my own act? or am i dirty tranny fucker?

well this does nothing for me. nothing sexual anyway. 

unless pissing my pants with laughter is sexual

who knows. i fuck the ass off Chantelle. watching myself in the mirror, angle perfectly so it cuts off her head from view and all i can see is some chubby chocotaley legs in fishnets wrapped around my waist as i fuck her

um... yeah... that's not so hot. i'm definately getting off on me

damn! my ass looks hot :)

i fucking hate tennis

Martina Navratilova getting censored out of tennis coverage

Doug's blog: http://www.currentaffairs.net.au/censored/

http://www.australianopen.com/en_AU/news/articles/2012-01-22/201201221327227854145.html

shit gay guys say to lesbians

one of the best

Melbourne, i think i love you once more

in a week back in Sydney i made what i would make a month in melbourne. i left so quickly without saying goodbye to a few people so i decided to fly back for the weekend. that, and Trough X was on

the taxi ride in to the city from the airport, with a burnt orange sun setting behind Melbourne's nondescript city scape that could pass for nearly any city in the world, i was once again excited to be here. The Irish Elk had moved into my old room in the share house until it was due to get demolished in a few weeks. i didn't tell anyone i was coming except him. the look on the former flatmates faces was gorgeous. they're always gorgeous of course, especially when they're staggering around the back yard a little drunk. half holding hands and half leaning on each other in order to stay upright. 

it sucks. why can't we relocate the whole house to Sydney?

beers at the Laird then some underground light painting with Murdoch and Elk. where i didn't listen listen to anyone's advice and while spinning fire i successfully burned a hole in my shoulder.

no photoshop involved (except to lighten the image)
the bright spot in my shoulder is hot metal burning a hole into my skin 

(the scar looks damn sexy, by the way...)

4am we get back home. i'm sleeping in Elk's bed. my old bed. the was a couple of used rubbers on the floor. seeing them felt… weird. i made a joke out of it instead. we crawl into bed. i think i should keep my distance but what would be the point of that? i wrap my arms around him and pull his little body into my chest

Saturday i got to catch up with my personal shopper. it was good to see him and be happy for a change. nothing to whinge about. kick ass coffee in my favourite little over-cramped cafe before a little bit of shopping. i just bought summer clothes. beach clothes. why? because i fucking live in Sydney now and i can go to the beach any fucking time i want!

i sniff around the MacBooks in one store. i get offered a discount, a couple of hundred dollars off, and consider it for a bit. for me to buy. not my shopper. of course it would be great if he got it, but i'm not expecting that. 

"wouldn't you want to spend the money of something else?" my shopper asks

"yeah i guess you're right. i don't really need it right now."

"put it on that amazon wish list you're gonna make for me."

i nod and we walk off for a bit. "hang on. did you just talk me out of buying something?"

i race home. get drunk and head to Trough X

Trough X is the best homo party in Melbourne. therefore, the best party in Melbourne. held in the basement of Club 80, a room full of empty metal drums and sling rooms full of steamy hot men dancing to steamy hard music. or like me, since i don't dance, getting steaming drunk. it was awesome. i don't remember too much except running into a lot of good mates i hadn't seen in a while. watching my old flatmate Giles who keeps the sound in order long into the party, a little fucked up and standing at various points around the rooms, scratching his chin. is the sound right? a nod of the head. wait… no? he slides between the writhing sea of shirtless hairy men to twiddle some knobs at the speakers. checking again. another fiddle. then a nod. ears working deep into the night long after his eyes can barely hold themselves open. a true master of sound. 

TROUGH X - Plug No. 6 from Nik Dimopoulos on Vimeo.

it's a great mix of sleazy and friendly. random guys coming up and groping your ass or pulling you in for a passing snog. it's great. a few guys would come up and snog the Elk and my mind would stagger a bit

what? what's your problem, boy? what are you thinking? 

being held in a 4 story sex joint means you can stumble around all levels of the building and bound to find what you want rubbing itself in a dimly lit corner. i didn't find anything. i think i already found what i want

the boozing and the party went on well into the night. one by one the eyes of various friends would start rolling into the back of their heads, cocks would be getting waved around and shoved into the people's drinks when they weren't looking… okay, so maybe that was just my mates…

a text message woke me up early the next morning with my arms holding the Elk by his scruffy neck in a loose sweaty headlock. the phone slipping from my sweaty hand. i got time to read it before it fell to the floor. "holy fuck!!!" i choked

"umpf?" Elk mumbled in to my armpit

i showed him the text. it was from my personal shopper. "i got you your macbook. let's meet up for coffee later today and you can pick it up."

Sunday's catch up with was Maria. she is another reason i moved to Melbourne. surviving a painful break up she is now on her own, living with friends and a shitload happier. she is now mustering up the courage to chat up guys in a bar. so far, despite how much she has to drink to gather up that courage, shed is still unsuccessful

"so. hey. how you doing?"

"yeah. good you?"

"yeah."

(silence)

(more silence)

"well. i guess that's it. so… yeah."

"ok. bye."

that's about her most successful pick-up attempt so far. huge step for a girl who was an incredibly shy introvert who would not talk to anyone. she was now jogging. not smoking. but jogging, with her long black dyed hair and facial piercings blowing in the breeze. a few minutes was too long in a sports store for either of us so we stumbled to the bar across the road and knocked back a few pear ciders as the sun peered through the clouds

i met my shopper up the road. just then a few mates from the party last night drove up, waving to me just i accepting expensive computer equipment from a strange man they've never seen on a street corner. i waved back with a big grin "hi!"

we grabbed a coffee and i couldn't thank him enough. i didn't know what to say. so i just kept saying 'thank you'

one more sleep with the Irish Elk then one last catch up with the ex-wife. yes. ex-wife. incredible woman. why can't she be around more? breakfast and then she drove me in air-conditioned hybrid car comfort to the airport

a fucking kick-ass send off from Melbourne. that snooty little hipster bitch finally came good in the end. and, yes, i still love her, she still has a heart of gold but i just can't be with her and her insecurities. hopefully one day when she gets over that and loves herself for who she is, instead of trying to compare herself to others. she's a great gal deep down

Sydney, Melbourne's slutty older sister, barely had time to close her filthy sore infested thighs before i returned home. i jumped refreshed back into to work, back into whoring, back into some writing and design. and of course, banging all the new hot men that have come to town. well, i tried to… but i'd find myself staring out the window or shutting my eyes thinking of somebody else… it just wasn't as much fun as it should've been… 

what? WHAT!?! oh, jesus fucking christ, what's wrong with you now!?! you miserable fucking hooker! aren't you happy yet?

shit people say to sex workers

it's not that funny, because the delivery sucks, but yeah i've heard them all

i could also be biased because of the Australian accent

plus

"i don't like condoms. are you okay with that?"

and the post coital:

"oh. so, are you going to charge me for that?"

the chode welcomes you back to Sydney

i slipped quietly back into Sydney. i scored a cheap sublet apartment. huge one bedroom with a pool for a few months. long enough to wait until i figure out what the hell i'm gonna do with my life. and long enough to have a pool for the summer. 

work rolled in for the first week. a few new clients. the chode and the shy filipino guy. 

though there is some debate over the actual definition, a chode is a cock that is wider than it is long. i thought it was just lost in the folds of his fat gut, but no, it was just fat and short. the dude had a chode. trying to wank him off was tough, it was shorter than the palm of my hand and not an easy task. you are forever trying to grip the damn thing usually without much success - like indoor rock climbing. it was somewhere between milking a midget cow's teet and jerking off a jar of vegemite.

sporadic pubes grew at length around the sides of the (for want of a better word) shaft right up to the head so in the right angle of light it resembled a meat dandelion blown into his sweaty crotch. he wasn't an unattractive man, but between the chode, oppressive belly, steaming body odour and rancid breath i decided to assume the role of selfish dominate top and touch as little as possible. unfortunately for most of the session my cock has other ideas and tends to shrivel in fear. i'm able to coax it back to life with the promise of a good strong disinfectant the second the chode os out the door

"if i had a daughter i'd name her Chodie Foster"

the shy guy filipino guy with the cool tattoos was the best. shy as hell until i shove my beard in his face and he goes crazy. he's a sweet guy that works too hard and too long hours. stick an armpit in his face and he has a dirty big grin grow across his face i imagine anyone rarely sees. he enquired about flying me Manilla for a week. i can't say i have any desire to go there, but it's work and i'm always up for going to someplace i've never been. 

"i'd just love to see all those guys who work out their cars during the 4 hour commute to work each day."

"i used to be one of those," he said. so much for my wise crack. "they're only travelling a few kilometres but the traffic is so bad it takes hours to get there. it would be much faster to walk but the areas you walk through are too dangerous. i commuted like that for many years. you get used to it"

 fuck. and i think my job sucks. i gave him a big hug after that. 

now back to spending my days laying by the pool...

the first 3 words describes you

leave it all behind

R.E.M. - Leave (quiet version)

i suffer the dreams of a world gone mad. i like it like that and i know it


R.E.M. - Leave from George_78 on Vimeo.


R.E.M. - Leave (loud version)

i like it loud

BURN, MELB BURN

i had made up my mind. i was leaving Melbourne and moving back to Sydney. i tried… sort of… 

so many things were just too miserable that i could no longer appreciate the great things going on around me. i should not subject my friends and flatmates to me moping around. the few clients i'd get would foolishly ask "so how are you doing?"

"well…." and they'd be surprised that i'm not raking in considering the performance i just gave in the last hour. unless you are prepared to see the same handful of clients week after week to the point you feel like you are in the most loveless relationship ever, then Melbourne may not be the city for you to whore your ass in

"how did your interview with VCA go?" one client asked and i told him how badly it went. "oh thank god!" he breathed a sigh of relief. . "i've known them for many years. and if you indeed did study there you might even see me around the campus now and then. i won't tell you why, but know that they are are a bunch of snooty self-important fools who haven't produced any good artists in many years." 

odd. because that's exactly what my first impressions of him were. he's a little pompous in the way presents himself, and in the beginning i thought he was a totally self-important wanker. but he's since proved himself to have a dry humour and self awareness you wouldn't expect. "but you can't leave Melbourne. what would i do? i like you and i enjoy our time together. you enjoy what you do. that is every rare. you are great to chat to. other escorts can't even hold a conversation. i hope everything works out for you in Sydney"

my ass was quite full from all the smoke he blew up there. so full of hot air i almost floated to the ceiling, but i understood what he meant. then he went on to complain about his neighbours, Bert Newtown and the Minogues (Kylies' parents), who are sure to be bringing down the property value of his home. "very simple. tiresome people."

the last few weeks had been good though. knowing you're leaving forces you to appreciate many things you took for granted. i was seeing more of my friends. spending more time with my great flatmates that i barely spoke to for fear of boring the tits off them with my whinging. a little more urban exploration too

i will miss them. a lot

one great thing had been hanging out with the Irish Elk more. we were training just about every day at the gym beefing his tight little body back up. we'd ride his dirty old cruiser to the gym. Elk as pillion, his arms squeezing tight around me as we two fags ride up to our biker gym thing of thugs. (pictures on the Doherty's shooting here. there's also some lovely pictures published of the witnesses. seems a little irresponsible of a news source to do that).

the victim. this is what most of the thugs look like at my gym

the nasty old bitch who works in the fruit shop giving a cop the finger

i didn't like it at first. i don't really like to be touched. but after the second or third day, i loved having his meaty little arms around me. now and then i'd get him to hang around at my place. cook dinner. have a few beers. watch some tv. then "oh, it's late, you should stay here."

i knew how he felt about me. i know i was using him. i wanted someone in my bed. dammit, i needed cuddles just to get me through the last few weeks of my time here in this city i'd rather forget. if we'd fool around i couldn't look at him. i couldn't make eye contact because i knew i was using him - for cuddles, for sex, for a gym buddy, for having someone close to me - and i didn't want to lead him on thinking something more ever going to happen between us but i couldn't keep my hands off him. around his shoulders. around his waist. that faint scent of sweat that comes off the back his neck. his hairy muscled chest. that hot little ass…

i was using him. because i wasn't giving anything back. what could he possibly be getting out of this? i was just using him, right?

i packed up all my shit in a few boxes and vanished from this town as quickly i appeared. hopefully leaving less of a trail of destruction behind me that i have left in the past. but really, i couldn't give a fuck about this city right now. it's not the great city it was 5-10 years ago. it has changed. 

when i told people i was leaving sydney over a year ago the general reaction was a sad face and: "that's great! take a risk! i'm sorry that you're leaving and hope it all works out. if it doesn't, we'll be happy to have you back."

when i told people in Melbourne i was leaving, expats were fine (some even a little jealous), but the general response of locals was a pursing of the lips followed by: "what's the matter? don't you like Melbourne? do you think Sydney is better or something!?!" 

i had an argument in the laundry of my house with a friend's partner one night. i started diplomatic but then... "you know what. yes. i do. i do think Sydney is better than Melbourne and it's been cemented by your fucking insecure response!"

not everyone is like this. i had a great time here. i can't stress enough there are some fucking amazing people in Melbourne. i'm glad that i met them and know them and hope they won't be offended, but the arrogant pride, pretentious hipsters-in-denial and immaturity of this place can go to hell. 

Burn - NIN

shit etc....

this is why i don't hang out with chicks anymore

i'm still waiting for shit manwhores say

edge of the gloryhole II

FMLx4 - NO!!! everything's coming up Millhouse!

after another year of fuck ups i decided to do something with my life. yes, living the life of an international playboy, sleeping in daily, rolling in cash, hanging out in penthouse suites and being flown internationally was beginning to grow tiresome. mostly because none of those things had happened since i left Sydney 12 months ago. now i'm in Melbourne all i was doing was getting constantly sick and struggling to trap blood in my penis long enough to keep it hard and stuff it convincingly up the prolapsing colon of some geriatric who doesn't want to cough up for cab fare

i'm going to art school. because use my life already isn't unstable enough, i want the uncertainty of being an artist. so i can finally complete the natural progression of every other inner city fag who never took responsibility for himself or grew up - hooker/dog walker/personal trainer/drug dealer/artist*

*artist = meth junkie who produced one work 9 months ago and nothing since… nothing other than joining the dots on his track marks

you can also become a dj for extra credit. add that to the list of careers that you're unlikely to go anywhere with but will keep you barely ahead in your rent and your desperate ego afloat

my roid cycle had finished and within a week became sick as a dog. i don't think my body was used to having to take care of itself. knowing i'd be bed ridden for a while i decided to scrape up the cash i made from my last month in sydney and buy a new macbook to replace the one i kicked a pint of water over. in the second week of sickness in a half-dazed haze i left the house with my window open. i came home an hour later to find my house broken into. my macbook stolen less than 24 hours after buying it, as well as my flatmates laptops, money, watches, jewellery

again my fault (FML x 4)

sick as a dog my interview with the Victorian College of the Arts went appallingly. interviews are tough

the two interviewers were from my number one choice only - sculpture - and they were the funky young chick and the slightly batty old female art teacher stereotype. 

"so you've only been here a year and you're from Sydney? oh, i hear Sydney is really difficult to get around."

not quite sure how the piss-poor public transport of a city i no longer live in is relevant to my process as an artist, i ignored her statement and moved on

"what's your tattoo of?" the young teacher asked

"a snake eating some rabbits,"

"that's interesting. does it mean anything?" i shook my head not wanting to explain what it means, "what chinese year are you?"

"i'm a snake."

"ok, see i was born in the year of the rabbit so i find that tattoo a little disturbing." 

she was only half joking, so again, unsure how my tattoo relates to my ability as an artist, i ignored her statement and pressed on. if you're going to be offended by a tattoo, be offended because i'm celebrating traumatising images like this, not because of your stupid belief in a horoscope

unfortunately i coughed for most of the 10 minute interview while trying to explain what my aim was. to entertain themselves while i choked, they flipped through my sketchbooks and somehow managed to always open to a page with a picture of a big fat cock. 

"they were some sketches i did for mural in a gay sex club in sydney, if you open to…" she opened to another random page which also happened to be another sketch of a big fat cock. i could see them getting uncomfortable and unimpressed. "believe it or not there is some actual work between all those co… penises."

i showed them my sketches and sculpture work, and when it got time to view my photography, "i'm sorry we don't have time to see that now"

the interview was a failure. i trammed home feeling like i'd wasted my time, but i think by this time, after the shit month i have had back in melbourne i already decided not to stay here another year. it's been a not so welcomed slap in the face

a week later i had my interview in Sydney with Sydney College of the Arts. this time i was well prepared for another harsh interview. SCA is in the old Mental Hospital at Rozelle. a beautiful set of buildings that must still have years of meds seeping out of its walls, because every person i met there was exceptionally calm, polite and friendly. the interviews were structured better. information handed out in a group so you got more time for your interview. you also get representatives from your top 2 choices to better analyse your work. 

i was the only male in the 3pm session. i went first

my two interviewers were another slightly batty old female art teacher type and turtlenecked bearded fellow reminiscent of David Stratton. 

"so tell us about yourself."

i explained that i completed high school way back in the early 90s and have avoided the visual arts for many years convincing myself it wash't a real career, says the manwhore, but have produced works for the entertainment of myself and sometimes of others. i removed all the penises and anything porn-like from my portfolio and begun with the photography. they were impressed. really impressed. going back over many of the photos a second time and reading way more in the technical apects of each. 

"so who's work do you admire the most? what work inspires you?"

"it's tough to remember the artist i admire. they tend to be more individual works than artists," and i dropped in seeing the Patricia Piccinini exhibition in Adelaide earlier this year, "but what inspires me is bad art. art that is so crap that i think ''dammit! i can do better!' that's what drives me."

after pawing through the rest of my portfolio the Margaret counterpart laughed aloud and and clutched her pearls, "oh thank god. when you said you haven't studied in 17 years i thought, oh my god, what kind of rubbish is he going to subject us to?," she laughed again as the colour briefly ran from my face, "but your work is excellent!"

"indeed," David added, "your work has an overwhelmingly sexual nature i haven't seen for quite sometime. for someone without schooling it's quite remarkable. change your preference to photography and we will be very pleased to see you study here next year."

knowing no offer is definite, but hearing them describe the work was enough to put me on a high i haven't had for a long time. 

also, the 4 days i had in Sydney i raked in a tonne of cash, making up for the failures of Melbourne

then a friend of a friend offered to sublet his his one bedroom apartment with a pool in Sydney for 3 months

everything's coming up Millhouse!

googling yourself is so 00s

Bella's explanation

way back in the beginning of this blog i worked with Bella, a tranny in the brothel. she recorded this into a collegues phone so he could play it to the other whores so we could understand her

it's pretty fucked up

bella appeared in these 3 entries from early last year:

I   in house outhouse - day one

II  day four

III bella's sketchbook




so kick back. take off your shoes. turn the sound up. 

powerlunch with Jack

it's not that often you get excite about work. but after 2 failed attempts i was finally gonna bum Jack. it had been a year of flirting.

i turned up at John's and sat down in his lounge room decorated in odd colours and religious art drinking a cup of tea i wash't enjoying until a few minutes later when Jack arrived. same as a year ago he was huge, his muscled shoulders squeaking sideways through the doorframe. he shook my hand and sat in the armchair beside mine. his thick thighs busting out of his footy shorts and nearly snapping the wooden arms off his seat. it had been almost a year since i had seen him and for a 47 year old, he was still a hot man. hell, for a 27 year old, he was a fucking hot man!

john, jack and i talked pleasantries for a while (and by pleasantries i mean pleasantries. it was like having tea with the queen) "alright gentlemen i'll see you in the other room. there's a bag of underwear under the seat," he does;t like the sessions to start off naked, "so i'll be looking forward to seeing what you choose to wear."

the second he was out of the room Jack and i leaned over to each other and simultaneously whispered, "holy shit you are looking hot!" and grabbed each other by the jaw and kissed

"fuck i've been waiting a long time for that!" he looked me up and down, "but now you are fucking huge!" he said, "you're on something. what are you taking?"

i rattled off a list of hormones and steroids, "and you're still fucking huge. you're even bigger than you were before!"

"i've been on testosterone for a year remember i only had hairs on my chest before?" Jakc always wanted to be hairy, but body hair was one thing he wasn't blessed with. he peeled the shirt from his huge chest and exposed a fresh carpet of check hair.

"holy fuck you're a man now!"

"yeah! finally at 47 i'm a real man!"he grinned. i started to strip and he saw my jockstrap underneath, "you came prepared. i'm gonna tear that arse up."

stripped down his footy short. his thighs so huge they made his rugby shorts fan out like a tutu. "not if i fucking rape your arse first!"

"i'm… ah… not cleaned out for that."

"dammit!" 

we entered the room and John's eyes lit up and opened so wide with excitement it was like they were pulled open by fishhooks. we stood on either side of his bed turning and showing all the meaty hairy bits. Jack on the other hand knew proper body building poses and he sure had the body to pull it off

john was impressed

we started with the focus on john, but that didn't last long until jack and i were tearing each other to pieces. trying to convince myself we were putting on a show for the client, but really we were just fucking with some other guy in the room. how could i keep my paws of that hot arse? easily, as it turns out, he threw me rammed me from behind so John could lie down and watch the whole thing. neither of them were prepared for the growling and demonic voice that exploded out of my throat when i'm being fucked

the session ended a little overtime, but that didn't matter. i had to leave to get some university applications in and Jack had a few people to train and the gym. "thank you gentleman for a very pleasant time, "said john grinning from ear to ear, giggling "i hope we three muskateers can have morning tea again some time!"

Jack was giving me a lift home. we sat his car and he said, "i don't have any clients to train. i'm gonna take you home and fuck the hell out of you."

"oh… err… sure!"

he's got the body of a daddy. but he's a kitten deep down. in the privacy of my bedroom where he could drop his macho tough guy act, i fucked the guts out of him all afternoon. 

all up, a good day at the office with a nice little powerlunch

do gay people have feelings?

FML x3

you need to be feeling your best to make someone's perverted dreams come true. so one manwhore dilemma is if you're having a bad day do you politely decline the job or do you begrudgingly persevere knowing that your most unenergetic lazy mode will more than likely still give them the best fuck they've ever had?

i usually say fuck it. it's not worth it. sometimes i've stuck with it and the job had turned out to be great, rewarding and sometimes even cheered me up a little. other times i'm wanting to punch the cunt in the fucking throat and stab them into a bloody mess should they lay their fucking filthy faggot hands on me one more time

usually i back out. the money is not worth putting myself through shit and possibly pissing someone else off by giving them a shit time. 

i had received a call from John. i had not heard from him in a long time. i got a bit tired of seeing him so referred him to a mate who needed cash. Jack was a guy i trained with out  in the country. he was a great guy and fucking hot - not just for a dude who was nearly 50, but just a fucking hot muscled daddy. he was a long time friends of my ex's, so as much as we wanted to fuck the guts out of each other, i chose not to because it would have made a weird situation worse. i chose to have morals and shit. if i only knew what a cocksucker was ex going to become. i'm adamned fool for being a nice guy

John had been seeing Jack for almost a year now. they wanted to spice up their weekly meetings. i was invited to join them. "fuck yeah!"

that thursday morning came. i jumped on the bike to scoot across town. then "WOOOOOO!" just outside my house the police pulled me over. my bike had been unregistered for a week. a $360 fine. 

i grinded my teeth a little. my fault. no matter. 

i had the spare keys to my friends bike. i grabbed a taxi and no more than a few hundred meters down the road all the roads were blocked with traffic. with a little exploration through some back alleys i managed to make it to my mate's house at twice the price. i pulled out the keys and fiddled with the bike lock. it wouldn't unlock. i had fucked my mate's bike lock and given him my old wheel lock. there was only one key to that. that key would be on the set of keys my friend has - 1500kms away. 

again, my fault. 

in a cab to the other side of town, in today's rotten traffic would not only get me there late, but would eat away half the cash i would make. plus, i'm in such a fucking bad mood i can't be arsed fucking 

anything, no molter how hot the other guy in the room is gonna be

i call it a day and cancel

i catch the train home. two stations are equidistant, i chose the one where there is only a train every 45 minutes. again, my fault for making a bad decision

in a foul mood i think KFC will cheer me up. i bit into a piece of chicken and half my rear molar falls out. eating steroid chicken was my fault

i drag my sorry ass back home, plonk myself on the couch and accidentally spill a glass of water all over my mac. frying the logic board. my fault

bike fine + taxis + tooth + macbook = a few thousand dollars. that's an expensive day. this was a day when i should not have gotten out of bed