Well, the Sun has now risen on a new financial year and with it, the start of my 180-odd day foray into the realm of the blog. I’m still unsure where the concept of ‘blogging’ fits into my concept of good-and-evil right now. After all, this is a medium that grants fuckwits like Perez Hilton a platform to gain a level of success or notoriety that they, quite frankly, do not deserve. In fact, I’d quite happily put Perez Hilton into a garden-mulcher feet-first (Rumble in the Bronx style) so that I could watch the excruciating pain on his face as he is transformed into fertilizer, somewhat of an irony considering that this act would render him significantly more useful to the Universe. Seriously, what a fuckhead…

I find it somewhat terrifying and a little nauseating that I already have writers’ block. Being day one, perhaps I don’t yet have my self-indulgent juices flowing. I truly believe that the steadfast insistence that others actually give a shit about what you think is a must to be a true blogger.

Regardless of the whether you are discussing the merits of high-waisted pencil-skirts and how they can help to accentuate a petite physique or pondering the finer points of Frank Ocean’s new album and how it is re-defining vintage 80’s post-electro nostalgia, the conclusion that I generally draw of bloggers is the same. You are a cunt, were potentially a cunt in the years that led you to initiate a blog and will continue to be a cunt for some years to come (unless you die).

Herein lies the true irony of the wager (I like to refer to bets as wagers, as it makes me feel more gentlemanly). To be paid my bounty of cash and booze ($450 and a few cartons of Tasmanian lager) I must write 400 words or more for every day of the week from now until end of December. The same way in which the prostitute yields to the businessman with the fat wad of cash and the fetish for playing spanksies, I am about to embark on something that I find abhorrent to obtain financial gain. Who knows where this transaction will take me? It has the potential to get very weird.

Make no mistake, I will write for as long as I have to and then I will stop. As I sit on the main-stage lawns at Falls this year, drinking beer that I didn’t pay for, it will taste that much sweeter knowing that you paid for it ALL.

/end communication (that’s kind of wanky too, but I’m going with it).

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