Fuck, I’ve got to be honest with you all. It’s only 10 days until the end of bankingcommish and I’ve got one of the biggest cases of writer’s block you could possibly imagine (if you could call what I do writing, which I certainly wouldn’t, it’s just a collection of poorly patched together rants). Get me to December 28th is all I can say! I’ll be glad just to get past the 21st of this month, so that my newsfeed stops being clogged by people making jokes about the end of the world. Just fuck off already, okay? It isn’t going to happen, and if it is, well, what are you going to do about it anyway? Go and hang out with a doomsday prepper for the rest of eternity? Fk, I’d rather fall into a crevasse in the earth and burn up with the rest of humanity.

I spent the majority of today delivering Christmas hampers to families in need in Melbourne’s outer suburbs. I’ve got to admit, it was a real eye-opener and very rewarding, as I haven’t done much of that sort of stuff before. The families were all incredibly gracious and once they’d figured out that I wasn’t an undercover cop, or someone there to do them bodily harm, conversation flowed freely and we were able to help them out. It certainly got me out of my Grinch-like Christmas funk, that’s for sure. Cut to spoilt middle-upper class kids whingeing because they didn’t get the ‘right’ smartphone, or they didn’t get enough presents. It certainly puts in in perspective, doesn’t it! 

Now I totally understand why some parents hit their kids. I was in the supermarket down in Pakenham yesterday getting a bottle of water (because like a fuckhead, I decided to wear a black t-shirt and jeans on a 27 degree day) and I witnessed a 10 year-old boy having one of the biggest tantrums of all time because his mother wouldn’t buy him lollies. He was sitting on the ground with a bag of lollies in each hand, banging the bags on the linoleum floor as his mother stood motionless, pleading with him in far too passive a manner for him to stop acting like a little shit. “GIVE ME LOLLIES! GIVE ME LOLLIES!” was his catch-cry. I don’t understand how she wasn’t losing the plot with him, hell, I was, and the little fucker wasn’t even my kid. I would have hit him so hard that it’d rattle his fucking ancestors.

/end communication