Wheelie Bin Syndrome

laziness and procrastination syndrome

2005-09-29T22:22:00.000+10:00

Can you feel that, Satan? Yes, it is what you think it is. It's the cool nip of an arctic breeze as it skips through the firey plains of hell.

Which means that it's time to return to the world of Blogging.

I was okay with letting this blog lie, I really was... until I gave in to my nagging sense of self-love by checking my WBSYN site stat counter, only to discover that someone landed themselves here by Googling "Laziness and Procrastination Syndrome". I could've reacted to this in two ways: 1) re-name this site as I wept in to a twelve pack of Nutellas, or 2) log in to Blogger with one hand as I gorged on a twelve pack of Nutellas with the other.

As one can tell, I am very lazy. And my tukhus is the size of Peter Jackson's prior to his love affair with pulling all-nighters and fistfuls of Metamucial (note to those at home: Metamucial and the Atkin's diet seem to go hand in hand in the land of Googling). Actually, I am lazy when it comes to being an Internet geek and mysterious entity (because identity is a word that conformists use, mang) because I am so busy trying to achieve such aspirations in the real world... which is really hard when there's something good on the tele. Yet, I assure you that I have been keeping myself busy with the production of bad fillums (a given, really), the consumption of alcoholic beverages (read: fancy drinks in large glasses) and the never ending discourse on a very important matter: gay, or eccentric?

Let me begin by stating that MANY people I know have been puzzled by this sudden epidemic, which I blame on an upsurge of pretentious art-wank types and emo goths (no offence) in this fair city.

So how can you tell if he's gay or eccentric? I am of course exlcuding the obvious signs (i.e. the person in question enjoys his job at the Beat because of the uniforms).

I'll leave this as an open forum, Satan.

hello, my sweeties...

2005-06-29T23:06:00.000+10:00

Thus were the opening words of Mr Johnny Blunt, aka the best goddamn Elvis AND Freddie Mercury impersonator this side of Burpengary.

And when a Blog entry begins with an opening sentence like the one above, I become aware of two things: 1. that it epitomised one of the better weekends of my life and 2. I am slowly mutating into one of those creatures that watches amusing things with the inner monologue of "This is great... I can't wait to get home so that I can Blog about it!" But then I usually drown out #2 with copious amounts of girly drinks and everything becomes pretty in the world where Anni can actually dance. And stuff.

Saturday commenced with a shift at The Fortress of Evil that lasted long enough for me to finish with "Ummmm... John will take care of this for you... my shift is over and I'm outta here". As an aside, may I mention that old people are the biggest a-holes in the consumer food chain? It's as though they believe that because they 'had to trek 50K barefoot (with ingrown toenails) in the snow carrying dyslexic lesbians' in their day that they deserve special treatment. By 'special treatment' I of course mean treating young sales clerks like the drug fuelled, seal clubbing hooligans that they are. That, and they usually smell like moth balls... and I'm allergic to moth balls (I'm also allergic to the stench of bodily fluids, but that applies to the demographics of many men, women and children that I have to encounter on a day to day basis).

Speaking of stench, I then spent the next two hours on the train to visit A2A Angie in her brand new mansion of success over on the other side of town. When her classy 'better half' came home (whose first name I always forget, sober or otherwise), I then sat through enough burping, farting and grunting to turn me off married life for another decade. However, it did prepare me very well for the crowd over at the Caboolture RSL, where Mr Blunt and his band Majestic awaited.

A2A Angie's mum was very excited to see the Queen tribute band. By day, she is a very successful (and rich) figurehead in the real estate business. But by night, she becomes the alcohol-fuelled puppet of zee dance floor, shaking her thang whilst her toy boy holds her bag and looks tough in the direction of advancing male competitors. An example was Mr Qantas, who latched on to A2A Angie's sister Bev for the entire night. Not only did Mr Qantas share his entire life story, but he also made an obvious crack by trying to use his role as an ex-employee of a certain airline to get a hold of some non-bogan goodies (which would have been exceptionally rare in that part... and my own part of town). When Bev gave him the age old "I have a boyfriend" line, he headed straight for A2A's Angie's mother and her Bold and The Beautifulesque looks (ASIDE: imagine a group of five attractive people, one bogan [Mr Qantas] and one albino/vampire/pseudo-intellectual [myself] for this exercise). A2A Angie then poked the bear that is her mother's toy boy, who opened with, "What the f*ck do you think ya doin', mate?". Mr Qantas merely smiled, complimented the clenched fist on how lovely his woman was and proceeded to the dance floor. Toy boy was left speechless, although I think it was because Mr Qantas got a tad too close to his man tukhus when patting him on the back in desperation.

Mr Qantas sure could dance though. It was cross between those crazies in the Fatboy Slim 'Praise You' music video and the l33t skillz of A2A Angie and me in a home video that will be hitting her mailbox next birthday (which, funnily enough, was also to 'Praise You'). Convinced that he was desperate to find love (or at least something warm to hit and scream "Squeal like a pig" to), I wasn't surprised when I saw Mr Qantas trying to hit on a couple of preteens on the dance floor shortly after. Ironically, Freddie was singing 'Somebody to Love' at the time.

"That should be his [Mr Qanta's] theme song. He wants SOMEBODY. Men, women... or children."

The band was great. In fact, they were so good that the majority of patrons were running over to buy merch and hunt for Johnny Blunt's autograph after the show. I must admit that the guy was a dead ringer for Freddie on the stage, so when he came out looking completely different, a lot of bogan mutton chops and bingo wings went flapping about as single ladies thrust themselves (or their hair-lipped daughters) in the direction of the good Sir.

Bev's first reaction, "Definitely gay."

Note to true believers: you know that you've had way too much to drink when you start getting kissy-eyed ala 'Perfect Match' over a man in a lycra body suit and feather boa.

you scored as drama nerd (not bloody likely!)

2005-02-25T14:00:00.000+10:00

You scored as Drama nerd.

Drama nerd

81%

Goth

69%

Loner

69%

Geek

44%

Ghetto gangsta

38%

Punk/Rebel

38%

Stoner

19%

Prep/Jock/Cheerleader

What's Your High School Stereotype? created with QuizFarm.com

Well, I'm not really shocked by this revelation. Everyone knows that I am and always will be a drama nerd. As I always say when we do warm-up at theatre: "If I wanted to partake in strenuous activity, then I would've been an athlete, not a thespian". This of course can be seen by the fact that I scored the lowest on the prep/jock/cheerleader option. As an aside, I shall mention briefly that I don't believe that cheerleading is or ever will be a 'sport'. A sport is something that you're not embarrassed to share with others (i.e. "What do I do? Well, you already know that I discovered that fact that spontaneous proton decay in the diaphanous nucleus distends from the elliptical orbit of heightened amplitudes*. However, in my spare time I do enjoy a spot of hot-oil wrestling"). For heaven's sake... it's like telling someone that you think that Photo Scrap booking is not only a craft (shudder), but also a form of art.

*Anni has no idea what any of this means, as she was too busy reading Breaking into Acting for Dummies in Physic's class. She also stole the link for this quiz from Asper-gen.

powder rooms

2005-01-30T19:26:00.000+10:00

"Damn, this place stinks!" I exclaim to the wall as it farts out another cloud of smoke on to the dance floor.

"Oh, that's just the smell of man-love", replies A2A Angie. She gulps down a quick-f*ck and gestures around the room. "Didn't you notice the poster over there?"

I look to the far end of the club and spot a large poster spanning from the floor to the ceiling. "Hee hee, he's pretty naked, huh?" I slur, becoming slightly fascinated by a set of bright blue pants gyrating amidst the smoke.

"Anni, you do realise that this is a gay bar, don't you?"

"Yeah, but it's fun. Anyway, you came here first and called me. I thought that we were going to Belushi's".

A2A Angie shrugs and returns to her drink. A hand taps me on the shoulder as T leans to my ear, "Yeah, but the drinks are cheap-as here. We get pissed here first, then we move to other clubs", she shouts rationally.

"Ah, I see".

"Dude, I just went to the loo over there," she points to a large sign titled 'Powder Room' in neon lights, "and the door is like a metre off the ground. It's a good thing I was hovering, coz everyone else would've been able to see everything".

An old man suddenly crosses my path and casually perches himself at a stool beside the bar. The bartender adjusts his mid drift bell-hop shirt and promptly takes his order.

"He looks like someone from the RSL club," I reflect to those who aren't busy swimming in liquor.

T nudges me enthusiastically, "Dude, I dare you to go and ask gramps to dance".

"Nah, he looks too buggered from all of those games of lawn bowls".

A2A Angie tables her empty glass and rises, "Where is he?"

"Seriously, I reckon you'd give him a heart attack".

A2A Angie turns and spanks her arse enthusiastically in reply.

And so it begins...

The next part of the evening is spent at Rockerfellas, where many drinks are consumed very quickly. Music pumps as a large puff of smoke shoots out from the hood of the car the DJ stands behind. However, unlike the other club, the smoke doesn't reek and another kind of love is in the air.

Or perhaps it was just the smell of many sweaty booties shakin' it on the dance floor.

The alcohol takes it full effect and I am coaxed on to the floor. I start to do my thing and because there's a wall of mirrors opposite, I can tell that a) I really do need to get some serious sun, b) alcohol does not improve my dancing (or pool-playing) and c) all of those photos drunkenly taken during similar outings suddenly make sense... especially the greasy skin and glint of unintelligence within the shallows of my eyes.

I catch Becsta in the eye and smile as though I know what I am doing. A2A Angie signals that she's grabbing a drink and I take the hint.

"Dude, I just thought I'd warn ya about Antonio," she mentions earnestly as we check our bags.

I look over to the bar and notice Antonio in all of his Asiatic glory. A tune kicks on and he begins to improvise some form of pseudo break/liturgical dance. I notice that it seems like a hard feat for someone dressed like a graduate from Metrosexualism 101. That, and the fact that he's completely tanked and currently residing in 'I'm such a hot drunk' territory.

"What about him?"

She clears her throat, "Well... you see, Antonio is kinda like the Terminator. You know how Arnold analyses everyone he looks at?" She waves her hands in front of her eyes and makes the corresponding scanner noises.

"Yeah," I reply uneasily.

"Well, he told me tonight that he wants to pick up... anything. So you should probably warn your friends."

I glance over and catch Antonio thrusting at the hot air, "Will do."

Hours begin to blur over into a pool of dancing, drinking and Antonio making cracks at all of my friends in succession. Suddenly, Becsta waves her phone around and announces that it's all happening over at Birdie Num-Num's.

Birdie Num-Num's greets us with a large line-up outside its doors. We all get out our ID cards in anticipation whilst A2A Angie and I amuse ourselves by quoting 'A Night at the Roxbury'. We slowly make our way into the club, but only after T drops her card twice. The first time is by accident and Becsta picks it up because of T's skirt. However, the second time is created by Antonio, who demands that T picks it up herself so that he can see what she had for breakfast.

The interior of the club is so packed that I can't help but muse that an emergency would no doubt end in a 100% fatality count. People are no longer breathing oxygen, only stale smoke machine emissions. It takes us twenty minutes to find the toilets... and that's where T spots Louie the Fly.

"Oh my God, what are you doing here?!" She shouts as the line pushes her towards a stall and further from Louie's grasp.

Louie points towards the sea of people behind him, "I'll catch up with you later!"

Another of our party, The Walrus (titled so because of her Beatles obsession), turns to face me in the line.

"Geez, I haven't seen him since school! We used to tease him so much, hey Anni?"

I think back at to Biology class. "Hee hee... yeah, he wouldn't leave her alone."

"He was so in love with her."

I smile knowingly, "They are so going to get together."

Alas, the mystic forces of Birdie Num-Num's begs a-differ, as the last time that Louie and T meet up that night conclude with the pair parting their separate ways... and T stating that Louie's friend mentioned something along the lines of, "Why the hell isn't Louie trying to hold on to you?"

"I think it's because he's afraid that I want to take him into the bushes and rape him".

With that, we bid Birdie Num-Num's adieu and return to Rockerfellas, where T and Becsta are greeted with a love-sandwich on the dance floor.

Busying myself with my phone in an attempt to locate A2A Angie and her mates, I look up briefly to find a dance floor... minus T and Becsta. I turn to The Walrus in a fit of panic.

"Where are they? I can't see them anywhere..."

The Walrus rises and manages to locate them within the bowels of the packed club.

"They're over there..." She squints, "They appear to be dancing with two dudes..."

I rise from the table. In the distance I can make out T and Becsta dancing with two gents... with very busy hands.

"Ew."

We watch in amusement as T and Becsta attempt every manoeuvre in every girl's guide to 'trying to ditch a dickhead in a busy environment'... to no avail.

"Oh, they are good," I smirk, "They aren't going anywhere".

Ten minutes later Becsta escapes Mr Creep's grasp and heads joins us.

"Dude, that was GROSS," Becsta utters, rubbing her side. She takes a swig of water and continues, "He kept rubbing his boner on me... I had to leave coz it was beginning to hurt."

We all shudder at the notion as T returns to the table.

"You guys coming back out?" She asks.

"I'm not going back out there", Becsta quickly replies.

"You guys wanna cruise then?" I suggest.

Without a word, our eyes interlock and we know that it is time to taxi away... leaving the Metro Fonzies to high-five themselves and retire to the Powder Room to clean up.

looks a tad like a song by coldplay

2005-01-24T22:08:00.000+10:00

Yes kiddies, it appears as though a number of things have happened recently:

1. Anni finally got off her tukhus and created a colour scheme and layout that the average punter can read.

2. After breaking too many keyboards in fits of rage, Anni realised that typing in multiple paragraph breaks over at Diaryland wasn't one of her favourite past-times.

3. Anni is still missing an active social life and needed to create a new blog in which to better showcase the lives of those she vicariously lives though.

4. Anni majorly sold out by moving to Blogger.

Anyway, now that the de rigueur act of self-derision is well in truly out of my system, I welcome you all to WBSYN Ver. 3. If you are new here, feel free to poke around... I recommend my first entry as a good place to start :-)

If you are an oldy to my neck of zee woods, cheers for sticking around (and sorry... you can't hit the 'back' button on your web browser). Hee hee!

forty questions: the sequel

2004-12-30T21:50:00.000+10:00

Well dear friends, 2004 is drawing to an end, so you all know what that means. Yes, it is officially time for Anni's 40 Questions, that (like last year), you don't give an utter shite about.

But before I get into it, I just want to wish you all a very Happy New Year. Keep safe, drink lots of truth serum and don't be afraid to live, because as Tracey Moffatt so eloquently told my film class this year, "Make sure you don't forget to fuck up, kids".

Amen to that, sister.

1. What did you do in 2004 that you'd never done before?
Got a job! Yeehaw! Yes, it is true that I have been scabbing of Mistah Howard for years now. However, due to the current changes in the Higher Education Contribution Scheme, I have reconsidered my career as a professional student/pseudo-intellectual/general wankette and have opted for the dregs of part-time/casual employment to fund my enigmatic energy drink addiction (which, in turn keeps my grey matter functioning at University).

I also performed three songs via karaoke at the Victory in one night: 'I Will Survive', 'Summer of '69' and 'Love Shack'. I was pretty pissed during songs one and two and the threat of sobriety during 'Love Shack' was covered by the fact that everyone in the room was drunk and doing Keith Strickland impersonations. The best moments of the evening however, were had by a young man named Scott, who had the balls to sing Outkast's 'Hey Ya' to a room of semi-drunk patrons. Not only did Scott manage to get through the song alive, but he also had a line of lovely ladies (including myself) screaming, dancing and shakin', shakin', skakin' it like a Polaroid picture.

Another great moment was when my friend Bec's better half got up with his mate and performed a chilling rendition of Queen's 'Bohemian Rhapsody'. I'm sure people over in South Bank could hear hundreds of Vic patrons screaming 'Nothing really matters, anyone can see, nothing really matters… nothing really matters to me'.

2. Did you keep your new years' resolutions and will you make more for next year?
I'm 99.99% sure that I made a lame resolution like, 'I'll try to stress less' or something. Well, the good news is that I have managed to stress less (Satan is now very worried, as a cool artic wind just skipped across the fiery plains of hell). I told myself that since stress will most likely kill me in the end, that I may as well enjoy myself now. I had a shatload of fun this year and I vow to up the ante in 2005.

3. Did anyone close to you give birth?
My cousin was due on Boxing Day and I am yet to hear any news of the birth, so I assume that she's about ready to burst.

4. Did anyone close to you die?
No. No one died this year! Yay!

5. What countries did you visit?
I didn't visit any countries because I don't think the world is ready to cope with the wrath of my unleashing.

6. What would you like to have in 2005 that you lacked in 2004?
A car... and someone to sit in the passenger seat (awwww... SHUT UP!)

7. What day from 2005 will remain etched upon your memory, and why?
The day I saw T.I.S.M. Enough said really.

8. What was your biggest achievement of the year?
I finally got over my writer's block (i.e. I finally stopped giving in to habitual laziness and procrastination).

9. What was your biggest failure?
Not networking enough at Uni... and being a slackarse when it comes to returning phone 'calls'.

10. Did you suffer illness or injury?
Only emotional illness... we're all a tad mad here... it's that nice, tingly sort of mad though.

11. What was the best thing you bought?
Oooo... tough decision! How about: my Chuck Taylors, John Safran Verses God on DVD and The Nightmare Before Christmas on DVD.

12. Whose behaviour merited celebration?
Nad, for being a good little chicken and director. Good on ya for getting that job with the ABC... I'll be begging you for a gig sooner or later :-)

13. Whose behaviour made you appalled and depressed?
Mistah Howard and Mistah Bush Jr, for winning their elections and for making all non-professional wanker/wankette's lives a misery.

14. Where did most of your money go?
On zee making of fillums... and the consumption of alcoholic beverages.

15. What did you get really, really, really excited about?
Being in the front row of a T.I.S.M. concert... So much naked man-flesh, good music and funky anti-liturgical dance moves for so little cost!

16. What song will always remind you of 2004?
'My Ego' by Regurgitator.

17. Compared to this time last year, are you:

i. happier or sadder?
Much happier. I'm stemming off from my post-2003 self-induced epiphany (everyone else was having them, so I decided to give in to peer-pressure) by working towards stress reduction and a noticeable increase in 'funness'.

ii. thinner or fatter?
I don't really care because I am enjoying my Peter Jackson diet at the moment.

iii. richer or poorer?
Richer! Who would've thought that I'd EVER write that down for future reference in the spirit of honesty.

18. What do you wish you'd done more of?
Networking... and returning phone calls to the opposite sex.

19. What do you wish you'd done less of?
Creating complex mind games out of obscure occurrences.

20. How did you be spend Christmas?
I spent it near the water at Manly.

21. Did you fall in love in 2004?
Nope. But there could've been a work in progress if I didn't get slack and mess it up. I let another moment pass!

23. How many one-night stands?
Nought... zero... zilch... nada.

24. What was your favourite TV program?
John Safran Verses God, Outback Jack and Regency House Party.

25. Do you hate anyone now that you didn't hate this time last year?
Nope.

26. What was the best book you read?
The Thompson Gunner by Nick Earls.

27. What was your greatest musical discovery?
Progressive Christian Rock bands. Veeeeerrrry Interesting...

28. What did you want and get?
Chuck Taylors.

29. What did you want and not get?
The chance to direct in semester two.

30. What was your favourite film of this year?
Team America: World Police and Kill Bill Vol. 2

31. What did you do on your birthday, and how old were you?
Got drunk at the local watering hole... I felt older than I actually am.

32. What one thing would have made your year immeasurably satisfying?
If the elections went the other way.

33. How would you describe your personal fashion concept in 2004?
Anni-wear.

34. What kept you sane?
Pay checks and the promise of audience appreciation.

35. Which celebrity/public figure did you fancy the most?
Robbie Williams... hee... some things never change.

36. What political issue stirred you the most?
Take your pick. There are so many to name that I'd be in danger of becoming a political pundit.

37. Who did you miss?
A2A Angie, who disappeared some time back and told me recently via SMS that she's now engaged.

38. Who was the best new person(s) you met?
Nad, Cameraman for Hire and Ming Mong.

39. Tell us a valuable life lesson you learned in 2004:
Don't be afraid to fuck up. In fact, celebrate the fact that when you do, you actually attempted something new and simultaneously learnt something (with thanks to Ms Moffatt and the gaatekeeper [good luck with 'Blood Line']).

40. Quote a song lyric that sums up your year.
'If I stopped lying I’d just disappoint you'.

'tis the season to be devious

2004-12-13T22:08:00.000+10:00

Hey kiddies! Only 13 more days to go until Christmas and you all know what that means (the number should say it all)... that's right... it's time for "Anni's Retail Nightmare 2004" (TM).

There is nothing worse than shopping during Xmas time. No wait; actually there is something far worse than participating in the act of festive gift purchasing. And that, my friends, is working in retail during the festering season.

Well, it isn't the "silly season"... it's more like the "psychotic season" from my garbled view behind the service desk. People act like utter tools during this time of the year (so don't pretend that you don't know what I am rambling about). Mothers no longer gently push their babies along aisles of politeness. No from this moment on, mothers everywhere are using their children as valuable weapons in a green and red war of mass consumerism. Prams zigzag dangerously along the aisles, collecting the long queues that stretch out into infinity (which really isn't a *bad* thing in retrospect). As a wad of reindeer antlers fly up into the air, their soon to be owners are dazzled by an annoying toy rendition of "Little Drummer Boy" that escapes through a small set of paper-thin speakers hidden behind a tuff of synthetic reindeer fur.

After a moment of idiotic fascination, their attention is turned to their little pride and joy, Tarquiinn-Ski, who is screaming "Mummy's in the kitchen, cooking fish and chips... Daddy's in the toilet, bombing battle ships" at the top of it's lungs in the middle of the store. They also notice that Tarquiinn-Ski is creating an effective homage to Jackson Pollock on the linoleum floor with urine.

They turn to each other and smile lovingly. Meanwhile, everyone in the store vomits into their handbags because of the blatant cheesiness of the situation.

I smile and nod as the elderly couple before me bitch and moan about the cost of a plastic snowman.

Did we get that twenty percent off the marked price?

Yes, yes... see on the docket here? It's worked out a total minus twenty percent.

What about the fifteen percent store-wide discount... was that taken into account too?

Yes... yes... see? Wait a tick...

I grab my calculator and make out that I am trying to work out why five dollars seems too steep for a plastic dancing snowman (which also plays an annoying carol)

A scream breaks my concentration as a pre-teen in spike plugger thongs slips in Tarquiinn-Ski's masterpiece.

And as a mop is wheeled into aisle 13, and a urine-strained rarr-rarr skirt disappears into the sea of desperation, a hand taps my shoulder. I turn to face a choir of carollers singing "Silent Night"... and the greying face of the dude who's about to take over my shift.

Ahhhh... 'tis truly the season for deviousness.

i live like a worm

2004-12-02T22:14:00.000+10:00

Last night I was standing in a crowd of glassy-eyed concert goers when I received a text message from my MIA best friend.

It's funny how things just kind of happen randomly in course of a day. There are people who later reflect and cite some form of ESP ("Oh, I had a *feeling* that was going to happen!"), but they are merely trying to realign their brain with onset of 'change'.

I really don’t enjoy the notion of 'change'. Perhaps a better sentence would be "I only welcome change when it I fully reap all of its benefits". People think that change is pretty unpredictable… and sometimes it is. But the majority of change begins to creep towards you long before the shockwave hits and it's denial that keeps the mind from catching on.

So when my best friend told me that she was engaged via text-message, I should've shrugged. However, my brain did that little dance it does when the shockwave hits in time to melodic wave of The Tea Party (and in the spirit of 'randomness', I unknowingly received my floor ticket about two hours prior to the show). I was surprised, but not really surprised as one can imagine... saw it coming from a mile away really. Yet, there my brain was, slithering in my skull like a sadistic little Dali painting.

The first time it really boogeyed was a few years ago when love-interest #44455 told me online that he was getting married. After that, I vowed that I would stay away from messenger-services for catch-ups and opt for the traditional 'coffee' instead. At least when the person is face-to-face you can't take twenty minutes to respond in a really shitty fashion, usually along the lines of, "Wow, how do you feel?" *insert error buzzer* or... no, actually I haven't really progressed past the first option before. Methinks that it is time for me to make up some new random responses for the 2005 engagement season. Something really witty, yet meaningful with a touch of class.

Or I could just smile and nod :-)

On another occasion my brain decided that the boogey was so 1990's and opted for a break dance in its stead. I was listening to Doctor Worm by They Might Be Giants, when my phone danced across the table as if to say, "Hey hey, I may dance like shit, but I can mess with your head". Another close friend thought they'd let me know that they were also officially 'off the market' and had joined the land of rock-hard cakes and buck's/hen's nights which are always too short for their own good. Out of the blue came the message and out of the blue my brain rolled over and played dead. I waited for it to waltz, to jive, to do the freakin' Macarena... but nothing happened. I stood up, walked for five minutes until I reached a nice park bench and watched the pigeons take up the dance. About an hour or two later a close uni friend sat next to me and wondered why I hadn't made it to class. As my brain was busy adjusting to the 'new world order', it automatically launched into another time zone, where the tutorial existed two hours after the original universe's version.

About twenty minutes later, the author of the announcement pretty much received the same message as I sent last night:

Wow... so, how do you feel?

ASIDE: One year ago today, an idiot ~~savant~~ named Anni typed her first entry.

something is nigh!

2004-11-29T17:19:00.000+10:00

Changes are coming!

I just wrote an inspiring paragraph on the whole growth element of this exercise, but my subconscious no doubt thought that it wasn't wanky enough. Thus it prompted my hand to hit the X on the browser and all was lost.

Bugger!

Anyway, I promised to write more then and I'll type it here again for clarity. More words shall hit this page very soon, along with a noticeable template change (I have already grown tired of this one).

Watch this space (being sure to slightly move your eyes from left to right periodically to avoid dryness).

mandatory random haiku #01

2004-11-18T21:49:00.000+10:00

I sit here, lonely
Plucking petals one by one
When you don't exist

it's a strange world

2004-11-09T21:06:00.000+10:00

So... tired... can't sleep... can't type... can't make complete sentences...

Ahhh... only ten days or so left of this madness and then it's time for Anni to go into 'hibernation' mode for a good three weeks or so. It's never a good thing when you feel like your day is over at 10am, or when you have to make a special mental note at work on the intricate process of rounding change up and down. Oh well, such is life... and the *disturbing* thing is that I enjoy the madness the most when it reaches its breaking point.

Speaking of madness, what the hell is with this weather? On Saturday I looked out my bedroom window only to witness some of the crazy monkey children from the flats across the street body-boarding down the raging rapids which had somehow replaced the road. I then walked down the street (waded would be a better verb is this sentence) where I spotted several local hick-types bathing in the waist-high puddles whilst my brother attempted to push his water-logged car out of the way before they could start using it as a floating pool toy. I now wish that I had my camera at the time to capture this gem of a moment to send to the lads over at Logan Life *cough* shameless plug *cough*.

Speaking of insanity, a good friend of mine is making a doco on BASE-jumping. You may have seen his footage tonight on A Current Affair. The interview footage of Jason Fitz-Herbert is the exact footage that shall be meeting the eyes of several people at the doco's screening next week. The strange thing is that not only did Jason die the day of his mate Roland Simpson's funeral (he was on his way to the funeral in fact), but he had SMSed my friend the day before the accident to tell him that he would return to Brisbane to make a jump off the Story Bridge for the doco (!)

Like Sandy says in Lynch's Blue Velvet, "It's a strange world, isn't it?"

dominated by the male gaze and the computerised chicken

2004-10-25T07:36:00.000+10:00

I have been writing an essay non-stop since yesterday afternoon. With only two paragraphs to go, I have suddenly realised that my old Tamagotchi (circa early 90's), has had more sleep in the past three days than I have.

Oh dear.

mandatory love-lorn haiku #575

2004-10-15T20:23:00.000+10:00

I really like you
Guy with dishevelled presence
Behind exposed lens

emotional bombshell [short fiction]

2004-10-07T20:34:00.000+10:00

The man sits with his pen poised, ready to gently curl his nib across the shuddering paper.

He pauses as the train grinds to a halt. Distracted, he searches for his muse as a sea of commuters and students push towards the bursting carriage door. He sits and waits, until she steps gingerly into his realm.

The woman awkwardly adjusts her oversized sunglasses as she searches unsuccessfully for a vacant seat. Defeated, she rests against a frozen pole and rummages in her patchwork bag.

The man watches the woman silently, intrigued. He studies her body language intently as she shuffles about in slight agitation. She pulls a small mobile phone out of her bag and fiddles with the keys. A blast of light from the setting sun penetrates the carriage and highlights the radiant hues of her cropped hair. She reconsiders her actions, bites her lip and returns the phone to the bag.

As she tilts her head slightly, the man notices a tear forming under the sunglasses. He picks up his pen and begins to write periodically.

He writes about this woman. This train. This life. He makes assumptions as to where she is from, where she is going and the man who has broken her heart.

As he exploits her with this pen, a mobile phone shrieks with an incoming message. He looks up briefly, only to witness the woman scrambling through her bag for the phone in desperation (even though she probably knows that the ring tone isn't her own).

He writes about her desperation. Her willingness to forgive a man that keeps her hanging. Probably a man that doesn't even know how important his message is to this woman's existence.

The man's pen shudders as he writes about another's ability to make this woman feel dead one moment and alive by controlling her phone. He imagines that she'll never get over it... even when she looks into the eyes of her life mate, she'll think back to the first of so many to break her heart.

He's beginning to enjoy writing now. He smiles slightly as he punishes this anonymous woman with his inky words. More obscure tears form under her sunglasses, as though she knows what the man is writing. From glances, she now knows that he is writing about her. For the rest of the journey she feels, powerless and exploited.

And when she finally walks away from her author and steps on to the night-filled platform, her phone rings...

...and he has rescued her again.

googlism

2004-09-30T19:54:00.000+10:00

So what must one do when they hate their job?

Procrastinate with Googlism of course!

GOOGLISM FOR: ANNI

anni is a professional singer

anni is always trying to bounce like a kangaroo in the ring

anni is jason's dream girl

anni is jason's healer

anni is joined by shake russell

anni is working on her 5th recording

anni is an advanced artificial intelligence

anni is available to download and try out for free

anni is an acceptable choice

anni is a "quotgeordie" and presents an unusual repertoire featuring dialect songs earning anni a well deserved reputation

anni is the only one who still has a job

anni is behind this

anni is also specializing in land in cochise co

anni is an advanced artificial intelligence securities modeler

anni is not free

anni is the title of the historical catalogue that accompanies the exhibition of our firm's activity at the national central library of florence

anni is the actual architect of the assassination scheme

anni is swishy's best friend and they are double trouble

anni is trying to piss megan off using john

anni is the performance manager for the north wales drug & alcohol forum

anni is suiteable for handicaped people

anni is not taking the clotheslines well

anni is intrigued by giulio but fights her attraction to him

anni is played by malavika

anni is said to have liked this loom because it is "portable"

anni is the owner ryan house studio of stained glass

anni is cool

anni is also busy establishing herself as an artist

anni is a struggling nightclub singer

anni is an avid weightlifter and admitted "exercise freak"

anni is 33 years old married with two children

anni is apparently ten years old as she travels with her parents for three and a half months around the perimeter of india

anni is a rare find for me

anni is the strongest

anni is also a natural practitioner of the art of bliss ninnying

anni is een aparte klasse

anni is a high

anni is an anthropology student at smith college in northampton

anni is working as what we in denmark call a pædagog

anni is keen the production promotes the work of organisations

anni is coming back for a repeat performance at the wachusett village inn

anni is currently responsible for the deployment team

anni is making an impact all over the united states

anni is still waiting

anni is a panda

anni is named after the Åland author anni blomqvist

anni is neutered

anni is the plural of annus

anni is a arec v bunsenkocker daughter

anni is a beautiful songwriter and performer

anni is an artificial intelligence securities modeler

anni is a huge fan of hers

anni is having the most trouble of everyone

anni is a native mainer whom i've had the pleasure of hearing several times

anni is a member of scriveners

anni is closed

anni is "training"

anni is a brown classic tabby & white born 9th december 2001

anni is based in room b249

anni is clear

anni is a dancer too

anni is that she really loves what she's doing

anni is never sure what she wants

anni is wise and not overcommitting

anni is impressed with maven's confidence

anni is totaly cool

anni is his biggest fan

anni is originally from finland and speaks fluent finnish.

a stationery film

2004-09-26T20:52:00.000+10:00

Snapshots of a film that will never see Tropfest (Office Works pulled their permission two days ago... however, I am still in the middle of post-production).

Of course the crew and I were royally pissed off about this. The lovely director/producer Nad R spent weeks organising permission, release, etc, only to have it granted, shot and finally yanked out of grasp only days before rough cut.

*sigh* So, the following are a series of stills from 'A Stationery Life', a very funny documentary about Michael the stationery addict. These are all the public shall ever see of the film methinks...

Fine Print: All stills are by Nad R and are strictly bound by copyright.

the site (sic) is continuously (d)evolving

2004-09-25T17:06:00.000+10:00

Hello... I am still alive. I am buried under a mass of femmo art assignments, forlorn discussions on anger management and ten rolls of KODAK TRI-X Reversal Film 7266. But I am still alive nevertheless.

Now I'm not going to be one of those bloggers that bitch about their workload or type one sentence along the lines of "Oh, too busy to blog today... oh the humanity!". After all, if people constantly wasted their blogspace on tripe like that, we'd run out of room for apathetic teenage poetry, daily accounts of domestic pet antics and... well... more angsty teenage poetry.

However, I have recently acquired a casual job at a highly capitalist institution (where we have to refer to ourselves as 'team mates' rather than 'employees'), so I'm sure that future entries may drift into the realm of angst... or maybe just general pissedoffness (aside: I'm attempting to make up words like many authors of wacky femmo lit).

Speaking of wackiness... I'm beginning to wonder how readers of this blog spend their free pornweb time. Like the majority of peeps out there, I have a visitor tracker which tells me where you all come from, what ISP and browser you're using, etc. It also tells me what Google searches link to my site, which are sometimes 'ever so fun' to read.

Someone Googled pic of brown paper bag batman mask and somehow WBSYN ranked #1 on the results list:

[Wheelie Bin Syndrome] - new design, but still blatantly ......
As the engine revved, the head reappeared with a brown paper bag. ... have seemingly evolved to throwing garbage bags full of ... shed (which I shall post a pic of one ...

I love it how Google automatically attempts to slot page text into obscure searches. I can't actually remember writing anything about a 'head reappearing with a brown paper bag'. But because my memory is pretty shite, I'll leave that up to one of you guys to spot it in the archives (shouldn't take too long with a browser word-find search). I'll give you a shiny new penny if you do :-)

Someone out there also wants to find a wheelie-bin-making machine (I mean, who doesn't???). Unfortunately, I am also ranked #1 for such a query. I think I may search for such instructions and post them to your right to make it easier for future visitors.

However, a fav of mine would have to be a search for animal fug thin women, which, I am glad to say, WBSYN is ranked as #45 in a long list of Google results. #1 is a site titled Children of the Earth: A History of the Fug. I implore you to visit this page, as it has the ironic by-line 'This Sight is Continuously Evolving', spread over a truly fugly background.

And on that note, I haven't got much to blog today... too busy.

Oh the humanity!

rambling but compelling

2004-09-18T19:29:00.000+10:00

Holy tall poppy syndrome Batman, Germaine Greer is at it again!

Ahhh... Ms Greer. Such pearls of wisdom. The thing I like about Germaine is that she usually rambles on about 'taboo' subjects such as Aboriginal rights and kiddie pr0n whilst simultaneously admitting that she has no answers or constructive criticisms. This usually occurs at a public appearance, held namely at a luncheon or any other place where alcohol runs like water throughout the Jenolan Caves (such as Universities, etc):

Speaking at a business lunch in Brisbane yesterday, a rambling but compelling Greer said it had always frustrated her that women did not understand the nature of power in the workplace.

She said women lacked ruthlessness and had the "naive conviction" that if they did a good job they would be promoted.

"We (women) have never understood the nature of the corporate world, that you could rise within but you could (also) slide all the way down," Greer said.

Describing management as "the art of taking credit for other people's work", Greer said women at university often deluded themselves by thinking "the academic hoop being held out for them to jump through" was a real assessment of their inner value.

Jeebus... some of the people that I go to Uni with mustn't care that much about their inner value. As a female, I am a minority in the film course that I am studying (is anyone really that surprised?). Thus, I work particularly hard, not because I feel like it is giving me an accurate assessment of my inner value but because I reckon that I can make films and write wanky art essays as well the menfolk can (sometimes I can pull a Greer and write even better than our patriarchal overlords). However, all is not lost when GG says something that makes sense in a particular context:

"The girl is looking for her father's attention ... her father represents that big glass mountain that she's trying to climb. When she goes into the male corporate world, it's his world and she's still looking in a sense for his approbation.

"And that makes her, I think, extremely vulnerable. And she can be exploited."

Greer said fathers generally had trouble relating to their daughters because they were used to treating women as sex objects. This tended to make them push their daughters away.

Of course this isn't applicable to everyone. But then I read this article and, using my experience as an academic hoop jumper, I came to the conclusion that our protagonist Trina didn't 'lose it' because she received a phone call from her dead father whilst attending his funeral. Rather, she was anguished over the fact that her sick leave would now be cut short and that she'd soon have to return to her corporate position... forcing her to once again search for her returned father's approbation via overworking and self-exploitation.

...Or she went bonkers because she had to pay for the funeral when she's probably still paying off her accumulated college debts.

you spin me right round baby

2004-09-11T08:43:00.000+10:00

Three years ago today thousands of people around the world switched to their local news channels. Of course, I don't need to tell you what people were watching because we've had it shoved in our faces everyday since then (not including the times when politicians bring it up during election scare tactics... but I shall not speak any further on this topic because there are all ready too many politically-driven blogmeisters on this wide, brown, unpleasant land).

Anyhoo... I was one of the hapless that constantly watched the news and web (and still do). Rather than out of fear however, I like to keep informed so that I can disprove the theory that my generation is a pack of halfwits (although you can usually spot a contemporary portion of dense Aussie yoofs as they are often clad in Rah Rah Skirts, leggings or trucker caps). My tool of choice of course is news.com.au.

Yet, this morning when I opened my browser in search for fresh political/media spin, I was pleasantly surprised by the headline bar:

Major update on the status of the Aussie election: CHECK

Allegations that Bush did coke at Camp David: CHECK

Ummmm...

Basset hound secures place in Guinness Book of Records for world's longest ears...

CHECK!

the quip before the hit

2004-08-30T09:11:00.000+10:00

I am seriously stuffed. This morning I went to bed after writing a very annoying (and completely pretentious) art theory assignment on semiotic analysis. As I lay in my bed, my abdomen crippled with the pain of being hunched over a computer keyboard for several hours, I limply raised an eyelid and established that it was 8:30 in the morning... and that I had to be up by eleven at the latest. Thus, in past twenty-four hours I have had a total of two and a half hours of sleep. Although I have done this countless times before (speaking from an insomniac’s perspective), I completely feel as though each experience is cutting off about a week or two from my life-span. So much for the validity of Channel Seven's Life Expectancy Test (people will apparently have to endure my presence for at least fifty-seven more years according my results).

So excuse the usual lack of structure or literary conventions within this text, as I am currently unconscious and dreaming of a world in which the entire Greek Olympic closing ceremony was performed in the nude (in my honest opinion, all historical codes should have been adhered to). But I digress...

As I lay in my bed this evening and willed myself to stay awake to witness Mr John Safran vomiting up copious geysers of peyote, I became acutely aware that I never really speak of filmic works and the part that I often play in their creation. Upon further investigation, all I have really written about are moments in which friends of mine have made complete arses of themselves (hello to those who are reading) (ahh... sweet alcohol), wrapped within twisted, whiney diatribes of text.

So in the spirit of peyote-induced chuck, I present the synopsis of the short doco I am currently working on:

Michael is a seemingly 'regular' guy who works, loves red wine and socialising. However, there is another side to him that not many people know...

Michael is a stationery addict. He knows the difference between a ball point and an ink tip, he knows which staple removing device is best for any given situation... and he always has a highlighting pen handy, just in case!

Michael is a stationery addict. He frequents Officeworks so regularly the staff know him by name. He cruises up and down the aisles for hours on end, finally walking out with one humble little pen, but this isn't just any sort of pen...

(Project by Nad, Cameraman for Hire and Anni H).

*eyes roll back into head, which lifelessly slams into keyboard*

10 min writing exercise #2333345340

2004-08-27T19:16:00.000+10:00

DUSK. The sound of soft rain. Fully dressed, Sarah lies on the bed, gazing up at the ceiling. After a few moments, she gets up slowly and...

Runs into a wall. She curses loudly - once - twice - then flicks the light switch in annoyance. Her face morphs into that of self-disgust as she then notices the reflection that appears beside her in the light.

She approaches the mirror, her hands slithering to adjust the crushed lumps of her damp nurse's uniform in an unsuccessful attempt to look presentable. She notices how the creases in the red-spotted fabric match the deep contours of her weathered brow. She yaaaaaaaawwwwwns...

The warm tingles subside as she glances instinctively at her watch. The hand has stopped ticking around its water-logged face.

So much for buying a water-proof watch, she dryly quips to the empty room.

The rain continues to tap incessantly on the tin roof above. It grows fierce, desperate, as though it’s coming back for seconds after devouring her broken watch.

She forgets the broken watch as the shrill scream of the bedside telephone rips through the cloud of silence and drips. She approaches her beside table and grasps the receiver slowly with a shaky hand...

death death death... and other listed things

2004-08-14T20:53:00.000+10:00

Argh! I be a sickly child! Someone at Uni has given me a bug (namely a vector at Uni called Garfield, who has been gloating all week... and coughing loudly without covering his mouth [he'll get his in the end!]). So here I sit, feverish and blue, with only memories of the past week and all of its glory.

Being the lazy, flu-ridden student that I am, I have decided to condense everything into an eclectic, pseudo-po-po-mo list like so:

1. The Floating Masquerade Party Over the Brisvegas River: Nice people, nice alcohol, nice views... nice. I have discovered a funny revelation about male film students and their drinking habits. They drink often, plentiful and openly chat for hours about cameras, shot-types, narrative structures, etc. Now I took along my good friend T, so I had to apologise quite a bit for the conversational topics... even though we both acknowledged that the sight of a grown man dressed as Batman clutching a can of VB and raving about film stock was quite amusing.

I also discovered the secret drinking personas of the Norwegian students. Mr A and Mr M both arrived on the South Bank pier promptly at 7pm, their pimp-wear swaying gently with the city breeze. They both carried bunches of flowers and concealed their faces beneath large, butterfly-shaped masks littered with thousands of eclectic feathers. They had already payed a visit to a local backpacker watering-hole.

As the party wore on, many people consumed girly vodka drinkies and cans of man fuel, whilst struggling to stay alive. The first death trap was the set of 'stairs' that lead from the boat's bottom floor to the upper viewing deck. Being the girly girls that we are, the majority of the boat's occupants (including T and I), struggled up and down these stairs (which really looked more like a ladder), vodka drinky and corner of skirt/dress in one fist and railing (i.e. the only thing stopping us from plummeting head first below) in the other. The second death trap was the boat's toilet, which would have been ideal if the human body was kneeless/arseless/gutless/armless. Nevertheless, the line-up was long and people looked at the Brisvegas River longingly throughout the night.

The highlight of the party was the highly prestigious Best Mask Competition. The finalists consisting of people who have way too much time on their hands... although there were some nice exceptions, including Mr A and Mr M, a guy with a KFC bucket on his head (which has a crazy coincidence later on) and a guy called Cobber. Cobber was a classy man, who spent all night prior to the judging milling around the boat and introducing himself like so: "Hey girls, Merry Christmas! (turning to a guy behind him) Buy these ladies a drink... Heeeeeyyyy... my name's Cobber and I'd just like to let youse know that I am competing to win the best mask. (he then takes off the mask, consisting off two Dominos Pizza student coupons stuck together) You see this, ladies? I cut these eye-holes out myself. I didn't use a hole-punch or anything! All free-hand... and I was drunk! So... remember, lovely laaaaadies... vote Cobber! Merry Christmas! Who are you going to vote for? (waits for us to respond "Cobber", then backs away with his thumbs up, ala 'Lath-Daddy' when he's 'getting down with the kids').

The finalists each had their chance to state their reasons for having the best mask. Everyone was pretty straight forward, until Mr M, our Norwegian friend, grabbed the mike off the MC and started screaming about how much he loves Skippy and Vegemite and Steve Irwin. He even managed a couple of Irwin impersonations, which resonated throughout the boat's shonky PA system at ear-piercing volumes. Unfortunately, this resulted in a record number of laughs, but few votes, so the crown went to our good friend and hero, Cobber. As Cobber departed, he stated something about hoping to win future competitions... perhaps with a new mask.

But all wasn't lost for Mr A and Mr M, who wound down the festivities at the end of the cruise by being odd. Whilst Mr A went off to retrieve his vocal cords after losing them somewhere in the Vegas waters, Mr A turned his attention to Garfield, who cradled a single beer for the entire night (!). Leaning dangerously close to Garfield, Mr A slurred something incoherent in his ear and laughed mightily to the heavens. Garfield freaked and told Mr A to feck off a tad. Mr A then retaliated by cheerfully slinking up to Garfield, rubbing his crotch against his knee and biting him rather hard on the ski jacket. After this, I tried to convince T that Mr A and Mr M were not gay, but overt attention seekers...

Later, when we exited the boat and were having our final chinwags, Mr A approached Cameraman for Hire (another party patron, who I regard highly), who was sitting on a wall. Mr A then raised a cold can of VB up against Cameraman for Hire's un-expecting crotch quickly and silently...

And that's when I gave up trying to debate T in general.

2. TISM @ the Arena (7th Aug 2004): This show was completely GOLD. I implore you to go HERE for a complete gig review, because I have fragmented memories of the night and wouldn't do it justice at all.

What I do remember however, was the fact that Nerb and I were up front for the entire night, so I was able to shake hands with Ron Hitler-Barassi and Humphrey B. Flaubert many times, as well as see Les Miserables dance naked for at least two songs (I think that is a record). They performed the majority of my favourites, including '40 Years - Then Death' and 'Root'. I particularly liked it when they played 'Root', because I danced along with them and did the actions like the little fan girl that I am.

But the best moment of the concert occurred during the opening minutes of the show, when the band entered to 'Message From A Big Day Out Port-A-Loo'. Ron stepped off the stage and on to the barricade and proceeded to gyrate about three inches away from my face, resulting in many bouts of laughter.

I awoke the next day with black knees, a sore throat, the knowledge that the crowd crush was worth it and memories of one of the best gigs I have ever been to.

...and the coincidence with the KFC bucket, you ask? Well, Coxy has taken a nice photo of Ron at the Troccadero TISM gig (as well as a bunch of other lovely pics). This gig was on the same night as the Masquerade Party...

3. I was going to waffle and bitch about the Olympics or something, but I'll leave that for another time. After all, who needs to blog about such topics when we have Roy and HG on the task?

proof that anything is funny when one has a massive hangover

2004-08-07T13:35:00.000+10:00

Just a quickie before I have to recuperate for tonight's TISM show (I feel the excitement creeping up amidst hangover, which was a result of last night's boat party [more on that later]).

Culture Strain's Sam found a very funny and very politically-incorrect article over at the BBC UK News Website. Sorry, but I just can't help but convulse on the floor with laughter on this one (as if I had any credibility to begin with) :-)

you say "bond"... i say "university"

2004-08-04T19:50:00.000+10:00

Shatloads of people I know are bitching about Eric Bana's proposed role as the next James Bond. Now I know this is only a rumour so far, thank jeebus. Yet, being the massive Bond fan girl that I am, I decided to go with a 'what if' scenario and wrote a possible opening for a scene of Bond 21, starring Mr Bana:

INT. CASINO - NIGHT

BOND strolls commandingly towards the busy bar. Warm air streams from a hand-held fan, entangled seductively between the long fingers of REGINA GOODENPLENTY. Goodenplenty turns away from the game of Two-up before her, distracted by Bond's presence as he sidles up to the bar and addresses the BARMAN.

BOND: I'll 'ave a can of VB... un-shaken an' un-stirred... an' that bowl of nuts, mate.

The barman quickly grabs a bowl of beer nuts from the opposite end of the bar. Stylistically he slides the bowl along the polished bench until it rests parallel to the maroon-hue sleeve of Bond's attire. He then busies himself with Bond's beverage. Bond grabs a handful of beer nuts in one hand and shoves the lot into his gaping mouth. With his free hand, he carefully removes a customised stubby holder from a holster concealed within his dinner jacket and places it upon the bar in waiting. The barman returns, places the beer before Bond and cracks open the tab.

BOND: Cheers.

As the barman exits, Bond loads his stubby holder with the can of VB. Unbeknown to Bond, Goodenplenty slinks up to the bar and plants herself upon the stool beside Bond. She quickly orders a fluffy duck and glances sidewards at Bond, witnessing his nut-eating and beer-swilling prowess. Impulsively, she flicks her fan back, catching a lock of Bond's long, golden mane. Bond spins around to face Goodenplenty, his face twisted in annoyance and fist raised to biff. Reconsidering, Bond devours Goodenplenty's beauty with his eyes. He lowers his fist and cocks his head to the side arrogantly as he smiles at the top bird beside him.

GOODENPLENTY: I couldn't help but notice you from across the room Mr...

BOND:Me name's Bond... Poida Bond...

stale wind

2004-08-04T19:01:00.000+10:00

The window opened, expelling the round face of a stereotype. She looked at me briefly, face contorted with anguish and discomfort.

Thank god! Fresh air! she squeaked through the open drive-thru window. The sewerage system is broken in the toilets, so there isn't much fresh air in here.

Before I could fathom this remark or respond, she disappeared inside to prepare my lunch.

Huh? What did she say? I queried aloud. I then recalled the mention of raw sewerage... inside the take-away 'restaurant' where my lunch was being prepared by Miss Asphyxiation. I turned green very quickly, yet remained wretched with hunger and the knowledge that money had already changed hands and there was no time for reversal. As the engine revved, the head reappeared with a brown paper bag.

Ummm... what did you say before? Something about sewerage? I gagged.

Miss Asphyxiation raised her eyebrows in surprise, yet attempted to make light of the earlier unhygienic outburst.

Ummm... I just said that there's a bit of leak inside in the toilets... she said as she handed me the bag.

This isn't going to affect the food is it? I asked, still tinged with greenness.

Oh no no... she back peddled, realising that joking about sewerage inside a place of food preparation wasn't going to keep her in the running for 'Employee of the Month'.

I departed, still dubious about the food. I promised that I would 'open up a can of whoop arse' if I came down with salmonella.

Luckily, I didn't, so Miss Asphyxiation lived to see (and smell) another day inside the pit of cooking and poop smells that she calls *** ******, whilst I lived to go to a free screening of Super Size Me.