My footy team had its last home game for the season (although we had to play it at our opponents’ home ground because our home ground is 2/3rds underwater and represents a tangible drowning hazard for the guys playing in the midfield) and as is tradition, we are about to board a ‘party bus’ which is clearly just code for ‘get on this vehicle and see how many beers you can drink before you throw up and/or die, then get out and go to a country pub and repeat’. I’m writing this entry in a hurry because it’s 2.25pm and I’ve got to be at our local pub for the pick-up at 3pm sharp. Don’t expect much from me today.

On the way back from the game (which was in Brighton, on the other side of town from where we were meant to play and 45 minutes in a car each way, hitting all of the congested roads in Melbourne, what a fucking nightmare!) I was accosted by one of those pricks at the lights with a charity bucket that come up to your window and extract all of your spare change from you in order to feed the homeless, or find a cure for cancer, or give drug addicts clean needles etc. (there are so many charities that I’ve lost fucking count).

I didn’t have any spare change and therefore didn’t give him any. That said, even if I did have any spare change, I wouldn’t have given him anything. I actually have no idea what charity he was meant to be representing. It literally could have been anyone. He could’ve been collecting coins for the ‘We Grew Here, You Flew Here’ alliance. Fuck, he might’ve just been collecting coins of his own volition so that he could run them through the 5c pokies down the road later on this afternoon. A high-visibility vest and a can with a logo on it isn’t that hard to organise.

When I shrugged and raised my hands at him (the universal sign for ‘sorry pal, no change here’) he looked back at me with a sullen, disappointed expression on his face, as if I was somehow the bad guy for not putting any fucking coins in his little tub. I felt like getting out of my vehicle and challenging him to a fight to the death. I don’t need some predatory, jar-jangling cunt making me feel bad for not giving a donation to a cause that I don’t know about, don’t care about and have never heard of before. Fuck off.

Well, off to the bus. Nice knowing you.

/end communication