Geez it’s weird working one day and then having the day off again. I achieved zero today, other than reading the paper cover to cover and completing the cryptic crossword. Half the office took the day off, and it’s hard to get motivated in an empty office. I swear that I saw a tumbleweed roll past at one stage. I’m pretty if you were to take a straw poll, the general consensus would be that public holidays are fucking epic. (For those non-Melbournites playing at home, tomorrow is the Melbourne Cup Day public holiday).

I’m going to sleep in until midday tomorrow, roll out of bed and walk the 10 feet to my kitchen to eat cereal in my underpants while watching copious amounts of shitty daytime television. That, ladies & gentlemen, is truly living… Yes Guthy-Renker, I do want to take the thirty day Proactiv challenge. Your enigmatic celebrity host Jessica Simpson has convinced me with her carefully constructed sales pitch that she & your team of crack scientists have backed up with unassailable empirical evidence and a deftly executed dash of Southern charm. It’d better work though, because if it doesn’t I’m fucking coming for you…

I was playing street hoops with my homies across the road from my house tonight at the local primary school outdoor court (which means that I and 5 more of the whitest motherfuckers on the planet played a game of pick-up basketball after work, performing lay ups en-masse while wearing an assortment of badly worn NBA team singlets) and there was a kid rolling around on one of those Razor scooters that I mentioned in my rant yesterday. It was raining on and off and the ground was a little wet underfoot, which basically meant that the already difficult act of riding a Razor scooter was made about 100 times more difficult. In the time that we were playing, I swear this little guy ate the pavement about 5 or 6 times. He just kept on falling over, it was fucking ridiculous.

At one stage, we actually stopped the game and one of the guys asked if he was okay. He gave a feeble thumbs up, only to walk over to the park bench at the other side of the court and complain about ‘having a cracked jaw’. I’m sure they are words every mother wants to hear. I just imagine the ER doctor’s comments when she takes her little fella to the hospital.

“Well, Mrs. Smith, I’m afraid that your decision to purchase your son this ridiculously stupid two-wheeled contraption has resulted in him fracturing his little jaw. Bow your head in fucking shame, ma’am.”

/end communication

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