Saturday, November 19, 2005

Exam Stress!

For some unknown reason (*cough*examstress*cough*), I feel that my life is perhaps less interesting than I had hoped. Due to my recent attacks of morbid jealousy of people with "interesting" lives, as well as being inspired by recent events, I have decided to embark upon a new plan for my life:
  • I somehow find a part-time job in the best paying brothel in Melbourne.
  • As a workaholic, I make loads of money as a result.
  • I use this money to buy many different drugs.
  • I take said drugs.
  • While in the throes of a drug-induced psychosis, I give a public speech to a crowd of several hundred near Flinders Street Station along the lines of: "I believe that all ethnically Sri Lankan New Zealanders born in Hong Kong but who are now naturalised Australian citizens should be shot."
  • I then get arrested for "advocating terrorism" and imprisoned for 28 days without trial.
  • My brothel fires me because they have an employment policy which strictly forbids the hiring of "known terrorists".
  • Amanda Vanstone deports me to the wartorn country of Afpakistine in the Middle East, where I am supposedly from.
  • Later it is exposed that I am actually an Australian citizen and therefore cannot actually be deported. It is also revealed that I am not, as it turns out, from Afpakistine.
  • Amanda Vanstone proposes a bill which would allow anyone she doesn't like to have their Australian citizenship revoked. This bill is not passed due to a technicality. Tony Abbott is hailed for proclaiming this technicality to be "un-Australian". Kim Beazley's support drops to a record low of -40, at which point it does not matter whether this is a "preferred leader" poll or a "2 party preferred result". After blaming this on "winter" and "low pressure fronts", in a last ditch attempt to increase his popularity, he opts to compete on Dancing with the Stars.
  • I attempt to immigrate to Australia on a rickety boat. While in the Baxter detention centre, I finish writing the novelised version of "The Life of the Dire Assassin", as well as a "semi-fictional" memoir about my experiences as a good Aussie Sheila, a real battler. The title? "I'm not Schapelle: The Kylie from Quoinslend story"
  • Lynndie England is handed her sentence by the American military: to manage the Baxter Detention Centre, which is then renamed "Abu Ghraib".
  • Guards electrocute my nipples. This makes me very sad. Ink sad.
  • Somehow I manage to get a secret supply of amphetamines and pirated mp3s into the Detention Centre with the help of my old political ally, Fred Nile. Somalians protest.
  • We have a rave. The mainstream press decries this rave as another "horrifying account of the abuse of refugees in detention centres". Street press magazines describe it as the "gig of the year". Kim Beazley calls for an investigation into "Abu Ghraib". He gets voted off "Dancing with the stars" as a result. Amanda Vanstone eats another muffin. The Greens use this as an opportunity to attempt to legalise Hash Muffins.
  • Eventually I am freed from the detention centre. Despite being plastered over newspapers throughout the country, and not showing up to any of my exams, the Medical Faculty has still not noticed my absence and indeed has given me yet another set of identical marks. I am now about to finish final year.
  • "I'm not Schapelle: The Kylie from Quoinslend story" sells 1,048,576 copies on its first week of release, boosting it to the top of the Australian non-Fiction bestsellers lists above the autobiographies of all the Socceroos players. Numerologists proclaim that this as a sign of the imminent destruction of the world. Said destruction does not occur. Numerologists commit suicide en masse. This day becomes a national holiday.
  • I graduate medicine after an absence of 2 years.
  • "The Life of the Dire Assassin" is published. It sells 300 copies in total, all of which go to whiny goths with LiveJournals. Said whiny goths commit suicide en masse. This day becomes the first "National Gothic Day". Citizens are confused as to whether to mourn or celebrate.
  • I make an additional income stealing drugs from anaesthetics cupboards and selling them to Abu Ghraib through Fred Nile. I almost get caught, but fortunately the person who catches me "has an accident" later that day.
  • I rise through the ranks and become the Director-General of the WHO.
  • "I'm not Schapelle: The Kylie from Quoinslend story" is nominated for the Nobel prize for literature AND the MTV music awards. It wins the Nobel prize, but loses the MTV awards. Australian fans who attempted to SMS their preference to the awards are outraged. It is pointed out that there is no SMS voting service for the MTV music awards. There is rioting in Chapel Street for 1 hour. Then Big Brother comes on.
  • As a result of being the Director-General of the WHO, I am now rich, a doctor, a drug dealer to many detention centres around the world, and obscenely fat. I sleep with a semi-automatic weapon hidden in the folds of my rather significant bosom. I adopt an Italian accent and change my name to "Don Quixote" (pronounced kwik-soat), you know, because it's literary. I use my power and influence to sleep with as many hot Doctor types as I possibly can. I take to wearing diamond encrusted rings on all of my fingers.
  • After a fulfilling life, I die while choking on an escargot, lobster, truffle, rhinoceros, oyster, pâté de foie gras, caviar, placenta, hot dog seafood bisque. My body disappears from its underground crypt after 3 days and 3 nights...
  • Snipergirl sightings become commonplace. Face appears in toast. Photographs of me in various settings, including the sky appear in bad tabloids throughout Michigan. It is rumoured that I am in league with the Nintendo Aliens of Metroid-5. Samus Aran is not amused, and goes and shoots some shit, just for fun.
The End...

... Or Is It?!

Wednesday, November 16, 2005

Where do I find these people? Part One

In a direct followup to the previous post, we have another edition of...


Today we will examine the a sample of the various pickup lines and flirting methods (I think this is the most reasonable explanation of what they were trying to do) that people have once used on me.

My room, 6 a.m. The phone rings.

Me: Hello?
Ben4Sex: Hey, it's Ben here.
Me: Why are you calling me at 6 a.m?
Ben4Sex: Can I come over? I've been out all night
Me: No.


Me: I'm sorry, I'm busy all week at class. And at my part-time job bathing ducklings.

On a Second Date

Guy: ...and then I had this horrible skin condition as a child and all my skin peeled off.


Me: I think I'm gay.

At the Groove Armada Concert

I am walking to the bar with Fearsome Beret
Random Girl: Is that your boyfriend? [points to Fearsome Beret]
Me: No...
Random Girl: Because you could do so much better...
I walk away quickly

At the Peel

Guy: Would you like to dance?
Me: Sure, why not?
We dance
Guy: Would you like to watch me masturbate?
Me: WHAT? No!
I walk away quickly

In my house

Girl with the Red-Haired Boyfriend: Are you a prostitute?

I am not sure what possesses people to think that these tactics will even vaguely work. I can't think of anything more off-putting than these methods! Excepting, you know, if a girl asked you if she could take a dump on your chest.

Sunday, November 13, 2005

Unsubtle Enquiries

So, this fine evening, the following “interesting interchanges” went on between me and other people of my acquaintance out of the blue:

Girl With The Red-Haired Boyfriend: I have a random question for you...
: Go for it
Girl With The Red-Haired Boyfriend: Are you... a prostitute?
Me: Huh?
Girl With The Red-Haired Boyfriend: Are you a prostitute?
Me: What? No!
[Awkward pause]
Me: What on earth gave you that idea?
Girl With The Red-Haired Boyfriend: Oh, Red-Haired Boyfriend and I went past your room about a week ago and there were two guys outside your room. And then a few days later you had some other people over, and we were a bit drunk, so we just assumed...
Me: Oh. Right. Well, I’m not.


Girl With The Red-Haired Boyfriend: So, Red-Haired Boyfriend was sort of talking about how he’s surprised that I’ve never slept with a girl. And then he said something about how he once had this threesome where his ex’s friend just came in while they were having sex and he didn’t really enjoy it. And then sort of said that he didn’t mind if I slept with girls and suggested that maybe we should have a threesome...
Me: Oh, OK.
Girl With The Red-Haired Boyfriend: So, I just can’t really work out whether I want to or not. I really can’t. Like, maybe I couldn’t, but maybe I could, and I’ve just been thinking about it ever since...
Me: Uhhh. Yeah.

Even Later:

Girl With The Red-Haired Boyfriend: Yeah, so I went for an interview for nude modelling.
Me: What was it like?
Girl With The Red-Haired Boyfriend: Well, I was expecting it to be more artistic, you know? But it was sort of, well, pornographic, I think. So I didn’t really sign up.
Me: Sure, sure you didn’t.

[Exit Girl With The Red-Haired Boyfriend Stage Left]


Me: My housemate just asked me if I was a prostitute
Pet0r: Did you say yes?
Pet0r: Tell her you won’t do her for less than $100
Pet0r: In the bath
Pet0r: Offer to shave her for $40
Me: And then she started going on about enquiring about nude modelling
Pet0r: LMAO
Pet0r: You should have said, well I could pay you $50/hour for shots for my NEW site, but it isn't being launched for a while yet
Me: "You can have a discount for my services if you forgo your fee"

Aetherfox: Post her pic
Aetherfox: I wanna see if she’s hot

I blame the recent appearance of Tendafoot and Charhate in my lives as their counterparts Sexy Ryan and Sexy Alan, the quantum-entangled repopulaters of the human race for these happenings...

This whole incident very much surprises me. Before this, the closest I have come to prostitution was that time someone gave me $5 for my pair of socks.

I sold my soles for $5. Har har.