KB

Fuck my head hurts.

Avanti!

Avanti!

Avanti!

Gawd, I hate being happy.

No, seriously, it really gets on my nads.

I need something to complain about.

I'm so inebriated, the filter of my durry is damp. Thats bad.

Damp Durries are noxious.

So ends poem.

So, end of another. I wish i could say this was a bad one, but i can't.

Curses.

Ima gonna quit smokin this next year or so, you'll see. If i don't do that, i'll quit cursing those around me.

Ima bereft, my lady is in deeeeeepest darkest middle earth, and i have to do family stuff.
Thats why she isn't here to stop me doin silly updates.

Family want her here, and think i'm second best.

Just found out my daughter is to have another sibling to another father. That'll make three.

It all makes perfect sense really.

Last weekend was a shocker. I’m fucking rat arsed, especially after struggling through fifteen hours of painting tiny frigging soldiers in almost sub-arctic conditions today.
At least my head was warm though!

I’ll start with Friday. Jimmy came over to hang with Ness and I with some very vague plans in mind, none of which we had any serious consideration on doing. I think he came over for the free dinner in fact. Heloise piked from work to get a free feed, as well I’m sure, and seriously fucked my timing for dinner out. It was meant to be for about 7ish, but ended up about 9ish I think. This further added to my notoriety at being the worst cook in the world, and there was a good deal of moaning. Later James was forced to converse with the other drunks whilst I kicked the shit out of Hels with my Magic skills.

Later still was bedtime, but someone required a bucket, so I had to stay up a bit later.

The next day it was into town for a late lunch with Ness and the aforementioned twosome, then shopping! I love shopping now. I was meant to be getting Walt something for his birthday later on, but ended up spending all my money on ME. I got the stupidest hat in the world, and it keeps my head warm.

Then we went to Walt’s party. It was much the same as any other piss up really, except with a lot of food, which I didn’t eat. It was much later till it got interesting really. I was left alone to be the only white person there, which suits me just fine.
After talking to Walter tonight, I might have made a few erroneous statements to others later about my behavior late that evening.

I did in fact go to bed around 2am, but the choice wasn’t mine. It has been explained to me that the choice was wholly the fact that my generally sturdy legs couldn’t support my weight any longer, and the walls didn’t like the attention.

Before this enforced sleep time, I had in fact been dancing. I don’t recall this. Jeremy don’t dance.

I had jokingly moaned about my Vodka getting all drunk the next morning. Walt said ‘What Vodka, there was an inch left if you were lucky. You were drinking it pretty much straight from a Martini glass you fool.’
I also apparently did my best to appropriate any amount that ended up in the punch bowl.

There might have been more dancing as well, and a wedgie. ‘My first wedgie’ I apparently remarked with tears in my eyes.

I was awoken from my peaceful slumber by the screeching of Angel (Walt’s girly-type-thing), and a dry retching Ricky in the bed next to me. Ricky is Walt’s nephew, and I’ve known him since we was 10. He’s kinda like a brother, but I was fucked if I was getting mixed up with that shit. I bolted into the hallway. Ricky’s pissed story is better then mine, but I’ll leave out those sordid details.
Anyway, I’d left my glasses in the room, so I had to go back. Just in time to see him gushing. I yelled for Angel, and left for another room after getting my slightly bent ‘eyes’ out from under the big drunk prick.

So Angel and I passed each other, heading for separate dramas, not that I knew at the time.

I’ll cut this down a bit. Woman gets drunk. Woman is almost terminally crazy anyhow. Woman tackle another boy on Walt’s flimsy deck. Deck partially gives way. Woman head butts car from 6’ up. Woman staggers onto a couch and lies down.
This is when Angel had started screaming apparently, and I entered the room just as the last of the overstayers fled (apart from two others who were crashing there).
I note that the woman has a golf ball sized lump on her right temple, grazed and red.
It all happened rather fast from then on, ambulance, A&E and shit. Ruined my fucking day. Or so I thought. *

She gets out tomorrow after more tests; it was touch and go for a while. It still rather amazes me how insidious head wounds can be. I remember the one time I fell and bumped my head whilst pissed at my place. I staggered into the lounge clutching my head wailing horribly and every fucker (I think it might have been just James and Ness actually) laughed. Pricks!
I should have crawled of to sleep and die, that’d learn em.

*Went to the 48-hour film final thingy later that Sunday with the talented ones, which was a fucking blast. Most of the shit was so funny I actually damn near cried, some wasn’t so good. Although I had bagged the groups - I forget their team’s name- offering (only slightly) this year, I firmly believe that it is a travesty to not have theirs in the final, when a few that did get in quite clearly shouldn’t have been. I’m not being a dirty green nosed ball licker here, I truly despise people I know being successful. Other people’s failures make me very pleased indeed. But theirs should have been in the finals anyhow.

Good, now I don’t have to update for another year or so.

My head is still very warm.

Tonight while idly flicking through channels on the idiot box I came across some doco’ type show about the SPCA.

It was fine for a while, showing an Alsatian with hernia problems and the like, but then it got to an old classic…the cat up the tree.

The location was somewhere affluent, and a couple living next to a native forest park had rung saying that there was a cat stuck up a tree. So, the SPCA sent out what they called a ‘Mobile Officer’. From the look of him I’m guessing he was only truly mobile when heading for a fridge or a supermarket, but I digress.

This is my first issue. A cat up a tree. So what? Surely a non-profit organization that relies heavily on the public digging into their pockets (even Jewish old me is part of that public) for survival has better things to do.

Any-fucking-way…the camera’s roll as the M.O waddles down a driveway, then clumsily negotiates the deep and dark forest at the back of the couples house, all the while listening to the louder of the partnership harping on about the various cats in the neighborhood in a shockingly grating, mincer accent. M.O actually appeared to be interested in this useless information. That, or he fancied he was in for a free feed after he rescued the pussy on a twig if he humored the Queer Tosser.

Finally, after hearing the Gay Cat Stalker’s opinion on things for what seemed an endless time, we got to see the damn cat. It was, in fact, up a tree, and quite a long way, probably about 8 metres. There was no way for it to have got up there also, leading me to believe it might have been a flying cat. Flight by arm power I mean.

At this point I’m gleefully awaiting the M.O to go through his S.O.P’s for an emergency of this nature. What would he do?

Set up camp, and wait for the dopey feline to starve, or grow some fucking nads and jump?
Ask the Queer couple if their garden hose reaches this far into the bush (Ooooer)?
Call the closest Takeaway shop and trade the cats whereabouts for a free Sweet and Sour Pork meal?
Get stones, and take bets on which will strike the target first?
Call the Davey Crockett Club, and tell them to bring guns and skinning equipment? (He wore a cat-hat right?)
But no. After realizing he couldn’t climb that far to catch the stupid fucker, he calls Tree Surgeon.
‘Wow!’ I thought, that’s something I hadn’t envisaged, but I like! They’re going to chop the tree down, and watch the shitheel drop and be crushed under the branches!

Fuck my naivety. The tree dude turned up with climbing gear, and grabbed the rat-licker and tossed it in a cage. The whole sorry saga ended with it being gently lowered from the heights. I almost tossed up my dinner.

Fuck that! The damn cell phone call to the local tree surgeons hunting for someone with no self respect cost more then the freaking millions of handfuls of gold coins I gave to those cocks over the years. And the cost for the one fucktard that did come out! Jesus on a Swatika!

Grrrrrr!

p.s If its rainy, or your bored, see if you can count up how many Hate law transgressions or un P.C things Jeremy has uttered with his vitriolic tongue.
If its more then 10, Jeremy surely can now be considered for the new Church of Labour job ‘Chief John Tamaheri (who the fuck can spell that shitass murry crap) Nicker Washer’.

Last weekend I went around to Fergus’ place and drank too much.
So did he. Evidence that he had was the thought in his brain that ‘filling up a water gun and hosing Jeremy with it would be a laugh’.
It was I guess, but it was funnier when I grabbed him, and threw him on his ass.
That’ll learn him.

Jaysus, that sounded Ghey.

Friday bled into Saturday, and then on in too Sunday, my liver soaking up the weekends delights. I gotta stop this I suspect, but its just too much fun.

I had Cheezels and chocolate ice cream for dinner on Tuesday. I have more alcohol in my fridge and freezer then I have food. I don’t have anyone around to tell me its bad, so therefore it can’t be. That must make it good.

Today I made a Pantherturm. If you know what this is without looking it up on Google, I’ll marry you if you reach the following criteria:

You ain’t male, or near to being male. (You know who you are).
You’re older then 25 and younger then 50.
You’re really quite normal, and don’t have a LJ, or any other lame ass blog.

Things I have learned in the past week:

Two lightsabers and better then one.
Its time I bought an Aussie Cricket shirt.
I only have enough patience for 60 hours of mind-numbing detail work and nobody else. (Excepting Hetzer).
The government is trying to kill the old and the infirm.
I thought I might be gay, but then I realized I hated Cher’s music, so breathed a sigh of relief. (This happens all too often though, but something always drags me back).
I’m defiantly starting to agree with someone else’s idea that voters should be quizzed before entering the booth. Proof of this is abundant, but more abundant somewhere on this site and near to you.

And finally:

Midgets can be bad too.

Or maybe its just the fact that I know that I’d have to sit through fourteen hours of the whiny yank claptrap for it to make any sense at all, and when it does, it’ll be not just bollocks, but septic bollocks. Cancerous testicles.

I think anyone who likes this trash, would probably like Tad Williams ‘Otherworld’ series which is like a million pages long, and I only finished because I’d read the first half a million pages, and I needed to know that what I’d guessed was the whole plot device and ending was actually what happens. If I ever meet that fucker of an author again, I’m going to chew his eyelids off.

Anyway, I think it’s the actual ‘sitting’ bit that undoes me. Tonight I started watching 4400 or whatever its called, then continually flicked over to Deadwood. I finally went back out into my ‘studio’, Hetzer in tow. He doesn’t like that shite either apparently.

Earlier today I had drama in my ‘studio’. Ok, its not a studio, it’s a disused carport, with a 5’ pile of my stuff piled along one wall, and a table and chairs against the other, all resting on a growing carpet of fag ends, lead shavings, and dead flies. Actually, the carpet has spread onto the top of the table surfaces too, but I can still find my paints and other instruments most of the time, so I’ll leave it like that.

The drama started at four this arvo, when I realized there was sweat dripping of me, and my bare legs were becoming pork crackling in the sun. Fuck it was hot today. I had to close the vertical sliding door to shield my poor, pasty white body from the sun. I was very intent on what I was painting (Captain Upham VC and Bar, and if you don’t know who that is, I hope the gerbil eats the lining from your lower intestine) when the phone rang. And it kept on ringing. And just kept on. There was one sister and a brother-in-law upstairs, and another sister in the workshop. Why the fuck won’t they answer the phone? Bastards.
I jumped up, placed a brush in my mouth, and ran out to answer the phone…. forgetting that I’d half closed the door.
I isn’t what you’d call lanky as you probably all know, but I clipped the top of my skull pretty damn hard, and I sort of toppled to the floor clutching my head, feeling equal amounts of pain and nausea. I almost lost the six coffees’ I’d had since lunchtime.
The phone was still ringing, so I staggered inside after a time, and answered.
It was my sister in the workshop. She wanted to talk to my sister upstairs.

To say I was slightly livid would be like saying Labour is only slightly left of center. I lost my rag somewhat, which I hardly ever do, like ever, because I’m so mild mannered and even minded. They both laughed quite a lot. I stormed back to my hole, ducking carefully to avoid a second mishap and promptly caught my little toe on the desk that makes getting to my table a mission. I’m not sure what hurt more really, but I didn’t cry, not even a little. Lesser men would of.

Later my sisters bought me an ice cream, but I was still sore and mad, so I put it in the freezer, which incidentally I’d forgotten about till just now as I wrote it, so I better go in and eat it before tomorrow, as the very same sister who bought it for me, will probably devour it for breakfast no doubt.

Later still, dearest sister starts yelling that I got paint all over the phone. I pulled a face and made a rude symbol with my hand.
‘Sucked in, it’ll never come off’, I lied.
‘You better get it off, there’s red all over the numbers and stuff’
‘Haha’ I laughed diabolically.

Hmmm, back up the train. I havn’t used red paint today. Bah, it’s on my fingers…and my head. Bah. What a gyp. And then I got an instant headache, and my shin starting aching.

Woe is me.

But at least I had a cool weekend.

I had a pretty good weekend. On Friday I did myself a slight mischief through imbibing beer, not in great quantities, but with great vim and vigor. This necessitated a visit to the shower at 5am, to dry out, and not feel so bad.
I didn’t pass out though, not this time, there wasn’t enough room to. I’ve already passed out once in a shower this year, so I’m keeping count from now on. Passing out in a shower seems to save me from hangovers.
Not this time though.
Ness shook me awake at about 10am, after having woken me at least 25 times (so she said), to go start THE MOVE. This was the second Saturday that my legs and forearms have been required for THE MOVE. Last week it was Jonalan, this week it was Nickstine.
My hangover kicked in at about the “moving comic boxes up the millionth stair” part, and I had to hang over a handy fence to catch my breath. Ness moved the rest. She’s a trooper. Anyway, I felt better later, so I did more then, just when she was flagging. That’s what a partnership is I guess.
Plus, she had to drive the dreaded, ornery, horribly designed van. She hated it. With a passion. It was her dad’s baby. I didn’t think much of it either, in fact, I’ve never liked vans, especially the older ones with a virtually vertical nose, so it looks, and truly is, like there’s, nothing in front of you. Both Ness and myself cursed it at many times during the two weekends we had to use it to get about. It got its revenge, but more on that later.
After THE MOVE was over, I had somehow offered my place of residence for use as a swimming location, and a BBQ hangout. I don’t actually remember saying anything of the like, but Alan insisted I had, so had it we did. I helped my hangover along by taking some medicine spelled Grolsch.
The next day Ness went out somewhere mysterious, and James and I painted the hot hot hot day away. I managed to actually get burned sitting in a carport. He didn’t. Ness came back and read in bed. We decided that going to a movie, and getting some food would be a fitting end to the day and we decided on a romantic type movie to keep the ladies happy. It was totally altruistic. It had nothing to do with the lead being a certain French lady, or anything else about the setting, it being around the Great War. War is something I myself detest in all shapes or form, and I wouldn’t go and watch a movie that had that sort of thing in it. I’d be disappointed if I learned something I’m sure.
Anyway, we went, and we saw, and I must be honest, it was an above average movie. Ok, it was good, in a great kind of way. In fact, I could probably see it again, maybe even twice. The only complaint I have is that I bought Ness the biggest fucking box of popcorn in the WORLD, and she didn’t eat FUCK ALL. I took box with when we left, proclaiming ‘if you won’t eat it, and they won’t eat it, I’ll find someone who will, be it my dog, or my sister!’
So, saying goodbye to the Long and the Short of it at their door, and climbing in the shitty van to head home was a good end to the busy weekend. Or so I thought.
I had placed the popcorn carefully on the seat between Ness and myself. And then we were jetting down the southern. We passed an accident just under the Market road over-pass, and Ness slowed slightly, and I rubbernecked. I saw some idiots wandering around holding their heads. They looked drunk. There was an ambulance there also.

This is where everything slowed down, and I swear it did. I think its nature’s way of telling you that you got a chance to use any and all reflexes you have to avert and away from certain doom. Ness had just screamed rather loudly which caused me to turn with great haste towards the front of the van, and all I saw was a looming blue sedan with massive break lights.
I thought for a second that maybe we’d miss it, as she was braking and turning into the shoulder, but I realized almost as quick that we were going to hit no matter what. I then had what I guess people always talk of ‘their life flashing before their eyes’ type moment, except all I felt was a resigned ‘oh well, I’ve had fun I guess’ kinda felling. I’ve been in a few dicey life or deaths in my time, but they’ve always been when I was in control…roiling surf, cliffs, rabid dogs, and large brawls…that sort of thing. This one takes the cake, and I swear I don’t have any more cake to give, so it’ll be the last goddamnit.
We hit at about 50 or so (now that I’ve had time to think about it) and it was a fucking horrible noise. Actually, I’m feeling a bit queasy trying to recall it. You have to imagine the van though…it has no bonnet, so all I saw was car-hitting car, and I was sickeningly close. The windshield shattered. We came to a halt. I looked down and saw that the floor of the cab was angled up, and the dash was angled inwards. My head was mere inches from the broken ass glass. But I was breathing, and still had an unlit smoke hanging from my mouth, and surprisingly, a non-spilled LARGE box of almost full popcorn in my right hand (this fact didn’t come to my attention till about 4am later that night). My other was held against the dash. I thought fuckinbejaysusandassholesimaliveandinonefuckingbeautifulpeace, and then Ness started screaming. That actually stressed me right the fuck out, and she pointed out, in loud ragged type screams that she was trapped, and her legs wouldn’t move. I ran and put the popcorn down on the curb, and then calmed her down. I’m not sure how I did, but I did. She reckons I held her hand, and yelled at her, but I don’t believe that shit, cause I don’t hold hands. That’s whack. From then on, she didn’t make a sound, and an Ambo was there quick as a flash, Ness choosing a convenient location for a crash only 50 metres down the road from a parked Ambulance and crew.

I was pretty much just a bystander for the rest of the night from there. Firemen came smartly and chopped Ness out (see, this woman doesn’t do things by halves, if she gets bent, they need the jaws of life to straighten shit out). On the way to Auckland hospital she keep saying ‘thank god I didn’t hurt you’. She had turned into the danger, which I find a bit troubling. My natural instinct I’m sure would have been to turn away from the other car…but women, they’re fucked in the head.

At the hospital, after many extensive tests they diagnosed Ness with a fractured tibia and dented somethingorother. He kneecap wasn’t where it should be either. One of the tests that Dr.King (ness thought he was cute, and I had to agree) did on her was a twisting and a yanking of the leg. He actually asked Ness if she was double jointed, to which she promptly said no. She wasn’t, he was just heavy handed. He then made her walk after giving her some extremely powerful drugs, known as panadol, and voltarin. She found that she couldn’t. He thought it might be a good idea to get some X-rays. I applauded this, and thought of him rather highly, me being so stupid that the thought of any radiology in this sort of accident was preposterous.

The rest of the story is rather duller then what I’ve already said. Suffice to say there were many hours in the hospital being RIGHT ROYALLY FUCKED AROUND.

She finally had surgery today, and she’s fine. All I have is a bruised knee, and a fucking wickedly bruised stomach. It only hurts when I breathe though, or laugh.
It’s hot to touch for some reason. I’m also very jumpy.




p.s Debbie, Ness’ sister, informed me that the popcorn was placed back in the van along with the drivers side door and the ruined windshield. As I had said, not a bit was spilled in the cab, or anywhere else. She offered to get it for me, but added that it hard shards of glass in it. I said to throw it away. Not even my sister could eat that.

p.p.s This is mega overly long, but fuck yah's.

Someone: Happy NY dude...
Me: Yeah, same to you...hang the fuck on, what time is it?
Someone: Around 2ish i think.
Me: The fuck it is...ahhh, who gives a rats arse, someone make me another Cosmo!

And thats about all she wrote. Next year I want medicine.

Cheers Big Ears.