Well, my birthday has come and gone for another year. What did I do all day? Well, I sat in a darkened room with a laptop on my lap, staring at the Facebook homepage while waiting eagerly for all of the ‘Facebook love’ to pour in (as is always the case when it’s your birthday). I felt so important with all of the push notifications I was getting… I even narcissistically turned my phone off silent for the first time in about 3 years to hear the glorious tones of people using the most informal means of communication available in 2012 (short of posting me a pamphlet with ‘Dear Householder’ written on it) to acknowledge an arbitrary recurring event my life.

(I didn’t do either of those things and didn’t receive a mail out either…L)

I have to admit, this birthday is the first one where I’ve been somewhat shocked at how old I am. I can’t really compute how I’m all of a sudden on the wrong side of 25. It seems to me that I was 18 last week. It’s funny what a couple of years of life experience can do for you too; I remember when I was going through high school I pretty much toed the line with teachers and other students and didn’t cause much trouble. With the teachers, it was if there was the threat of some sort of disciplinary action always hanging over my head if I were to step out of line, even for a second.

Really though, teachers hold no real power unless you let them. If I had my time again, I’d be the most abrasive, abusive piece of shit kid in the entire Universe. I guess that kids were probably a little bit more naïve even 14 years ago (when I was in Grade 7) then they are now; nowadays every kid has a fucking smart phone to send pictures of their genitalia to each other and/or bully classmates into killing themselves. It’s like a pre-pubescent, hyper-sexualised re-enactment of ‘Lord of the Flies’. I mean, even compared to the hardcore fuck-ups I went through school with back in the day, some of the kids these days aren’t just proper thugs, they’re in a completely different fucking league!

The other day on the tram, I saw what must have been an 8 year-old child with her father, speaking to someone on what had to be her own phone (as it was pink and looked cheap and her dad was doodling around on his own iPhone) while chewing gum with her mouth open. She reminded me of that spoilt little whore from the Willy Wonka movie (the original one, not the shitty Tim Burton one) that asks for a pony (girls that like horses freak me out) and ends up turning into a Blueberry. I wanted to punch her father in the face for letting her turn into such an unbearable little shit.

More to the point, what the fuck is an 8 year-old talking about when they’re on the phone? Are they venting about a difficult day they had at school?

“Oh my god, you won’t believe the day I had. Billy pushed me over in the sandpit and my floral dress is just ruined! I’m really stressed about getting my pen licence too; half the class already have theirs and I’m worried I’ll be the very last to get one…”

Nobody ever hears an 8 year-old drop some startling revelation about the world around them. It’s mostly boring shit like, “Hey daddy, look, it’s a dinosaur!”

Well, goodnight, fuckers. I’m off to jump in a sauna to try and purify myself (my body that is, unfortunately I fear that the purity of my soul may have been sullied to the point of no return already). Tomorrow I’ll hopefully be riding an old motorbike around North-West Tassie.


I fucking hate cunts that say that.

PS: If I ever have a kid, that fucker isn’t getting a mobile phone until their 16th birthday.

/end communication