In spite of his uncanny resemblance to a Canola-oil soaked Golden Retriever and his numerous and overtly petulant protestations about 3rd world famine and his claim that Westerners can end it by attending free concerts headed up my self-righteous ‘lead by my example, meek & unworthy human’ cunts like Bono, Bob Geldof and his Boomtown Rats hit the societal nail on the head when they sung about their disdain for Mondays. I fucking hate Monday too, Bob! The main source of my frustration is that my precious weekend seems like it goes for about 20 minutes before Monday morning rears its hideously ugly head again. Do you know I achieved this weekend? I bought a new set of hubcaps. I fitted them to my car on Sunday night. End of weekend.

I removed my not inconsiderable nose from the grindstone this afternoon and wandered up the road to the thoroughly uninspiring local shopping centre. Shrouded as I was in a thick cloud of desolate Monday misery, its bleak exterior setting of unpainted concrete highlighted by the remnants of airborne brake-dust and assorted grime served to reinforce my mood categorically. Once I crossed the threshold into the artificial atmosphere of the centre itself, my mood was momentarily lifted when I spotted a phone store called ‘Hellboy E-Gift’. Glorious!

I find the act of traversing from one end of a shopping centre to the other quite difficult. I think it’s because I must’ve missed the memo where someone proclaimed that it was deemed appropriate for these plebs to walk PRECISELY in the middle of the fucking thoroughfare as crowds of angry fellow shoppers condense slowly behind them like the pressure firmly building in R Kelly’s bladder as he reaches peak-voracity at the after-party of a Jonas Brothers gig. I especially despise how these individuals amble mindlessly, as if unsure why they have found themselves in the centre to begin with. I got stuck behind one of these zombies today because she was staring asininely at some silver beet (which wasn’t even on special). FUCKING SILVER BEET! I felt like seeing if I could stuff her entirely into her ridiculous wheeled shopping carry-all and then push the thing into oncoming traffic whilst politely humming ‘Yankee Doodle’ just loud enough for bemused onlookers to hear.

In closing, if you’re any younger than 60 years of age and you are utilizing a wheeled shopping carry-all, have a good, hard fucking look at yourself. Every now and again in Brunswick you’ll see some hipster fuck running around with one, hoping to make a statement like, ‘I’m artistically re-tasking aids for the elderly into conveniently chic, fashion-forward & unique accessories that illustrate how society is neglecting to draw on the experience of our older generation.’ GET A FUCKING BACKPACK AND FUCK OFF.

/end communication

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