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Note – This blog is ruining my life. The $1450 I’ll reap from this debacle won’t get back the last 6 months of my life. What a fucking ordeal. Read the rest of these posts with the knowledge that I’m a shadow of the man I once was. I’m so fucking depressed…

Well, $150 later and I have my piece of shit car back. Yay. I’m so excited, I might dance the Gangnam Style dance like all of those cunts on daytime television do… (I’d never dance that fucking horse dance, fuck PSY, K-Pop might be on its way to becoming ubiquitous in Western society but I’ll never, ever yield to its gentle pull).   

You know the thing that I love the most about couples? I love it when they hire a professional photographer to come out at 7pm on a summer Friday night at the local beach & take 5000 photos of them together at a multitude of different angles for no reason other than to put the subsequent digitally altered photos up on Facebook for their equally vain, boring, cuckolded, douchebag friends to fawn over and ‘like’. The girl is always heavily made up completely out of context (who wears heavy foundation and eye shadow for a casual evening walk at the beach with her boyfriend?) Answer: Nobody!

And of course, you can guarantee the bloke is wearing some awful dress shirt that he bought especially for the occasion. It’s most likely a surf-brand short-sleeved number with the maker’s name plastered all over it in awful faux spray-paint print. He’s complementing his hideous shirt with a gaudy shell necklace he bought while on honeymoon in Bail… “Aww check this out babe, this little Asian lookin’ fella is sellin’ little shells from the beach in a little necklace babe! Let’s get some!”

There’s absolutely no need to get a professional photographer (and when I say professional, I mean your mate’s sister who bought a digital SLR because she did a photography course at TAFE and now considers herself a photographer – she even has the business cards to prove it) to take photos of your love for one another in order to fulfil some bullshit desire to illustrate the world that your love actually means something. Here’s a hint; your photos belong in your house, not on social media, you stupid fucks!

Well, off to see Scandinavian motherfuckers Turbonegro fuck shit up to a packed house at the Hi-Fi bar. I never thought I’d see them. I was wrong!

/end communication

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