Whoo! The initial showing of a film = the thing is most definitely finished. Yes it was the premiere tonight. Yes, I completely didn't really tell anyone about it, but that's ok because the projector was buggered and the amazing rotoscoping kind of went a little unnoticed.

Jade was absolutely stunning. She broke my brain with gorgeousness.

People at after party are pestering me by phone to come and play, so I'm going to play with them.

Unf.

Recently I have noticed in a variety of shops around sydney I have become known only as the product I buy there. For example, I wont walk into a shop and get a 'hey dave! wow daves here cool! yay for dave! what can we get you dave?'. No. I wont. I'll get a 'salad roll?' or a 'coffee?' or a 'winfield gold?' or a 'get the fuck out' or a 'sorry she's with another customer'.

When I was in Thailand, staying on that big fuck off river, I was simply known as 'The vegetable'. It wasn't that I just sat there and stared and drooled a lot. It was because I didn't eat meat. This actually delighted the chef, who went about preparing me silly amounts of vegetarian food of which I could eat very little because I was watching little kids swim in a river which is mostly feaces (thats shit kids) with a little bit of water. Oh. And I was watching elephants too. I got far too much attention in thailand because I was a stupid looking foreigner. I had purple hair. The people over there arn't afraid to point and laugh either. You'll walk through a market place, and you'll just ride this wave of laughter. The people behind you will be collapsing on the floor. The people either side of you will be pointing and starting to giggle. And the people in front of you will be turning around to see what the fucks so funny. And its going to be you. I learnt how to say 'HA! LOOK AT THE STUPID FUCKING WESTERNER!' in thaispeak pretty quickly.

What the fuck was I talking about before this? I need to remember, because it had a point I was nowhere near making, or a joke or something and I'm losing a battle with my bladder. Fuck it. I'll post the rest of it if I ever regain the plot.

I also have a message to fat people and those guys who constantly need to have their hand on their girlfriends/wifes/sisters arse whilst walking. KEEP LEFT SO YOU'RE NOT IN MY FUCKING WAY ALL THE TIME. Or walk faster. I understand walking at a decent speed may be hard if your a fat tub of shit or someone who gets some life sustaining element from a girls arse. BUT YOUR IN MY FUCKING WAY.

I know I'm not going anywhere important, and I'm not going anywhere not important quickly. But I still hate being behind you.

Tell you what. Treat me like you do police cars on the road. When you hear my siren (which is MOVE YOUR TUBBY ARSE BECAUSE I WANT TO GET MY FUCKING LUNCH SOMETIME TODAY), move over to the left. Stop and let me by if you have to.

It would make me so much happier.

I am an angry young man.

Its because I haven't been allowed to spunk for several weeks.

Oh yeah, my cock. I haven't talked about it yet.

Last time I had my cock pierced, I didn't tell anyone. And I didn't let anyone who knew tell anyone. It was better that way. This time though, I'm just telling every motherfucker. I go into a shop and they say 'salad roll?' and I say 'I GOT MY FUCKING COCK PIERCED'. When I orginally told my friends, their first reaction was 'bullshit'. So instead of whipping it out and waving it around for them, I showed them the cleaning stuff and the aftercare booklet I got. And I noticed that they would read the first few sentences of the aftercare leaflet, realise i was telling the truth, and then drop the leaflet very very quickly.

Which goes in my great big list of things I dont understand. Its not like step 3 in the aftercare guide is 'Wipe cock and pus and spunk all over this leaflet'. I can understand not wanting to touch the plastic cups around, THEY'VE had my cock in them (dont drink from them. Saline + Dave Cock = Death*Pain). My nob is clean anyway. Its surgical fucking hospital obsessive compulsive clean. I don't want a nob infection anymore than you do. Or even less than you if you're some kind of fuckin wierdo.

You could eat your dinner off my cock.

And I'd like you to.

I'm going to end this about 15 minutes too late, and about 1 minute before I piss my pants.

Theres about 6 shops which say 'Flat white, 2 sugars?' through the working day.

One day, I'll really fuck them up, by being slightly less bland.

(what does a man with a 12 inch cock have for breakfast? ... well today I had a blueberry muffin and a cup of coffee)

I'm back. Since I left, I remembered why I was so outraged that shopkeeps didn't address me by my name. Then I forgot before I made it here. Its so hard to remember things.

Another thing I did was sit in the rain and eat pizza. And to amuse myself (and you) I decided to count the amount of queer looks I recieved whilst doing this.

Given that there was probably 3 or 4 of them before I noticed and started counting, the total as I was halfway through my pizza was an exciting 9. I thought maybe I should try and provoke more looks by screaming or something, but decided things like that would only interfere with my pizza eating and not getting arrestedness. Then a bus pulled up next to where I was sitting. This took the queer look total up to a massive 15. Of course I may have missed some, it was hard to count them all. Theres also the possibility that the queer looks were not queer looks at all, that those people just happened to have a relaxed facial expression that communicated 'hey look at that fuckwit..'. Of course the queer lookage might also not have been directed at me. There is a chance that they might have been giving a queer look to the tree next to me, or possibly at the abandoned building behind me. But anyway, I'm going to guess the count was at about 15 by that point, meaning that by the time I was eating the final crust of the final piece of my slightly soggy cold piece of pizza I had accumulated 19 queer looks in a 15 minute period. Unfortunatly, I recieved few comments from passer bys, as most just wanted to get the fuck out of the rain. One person did ask me if I was aware it was raining. I asked him if he was aware we're all waterproof. He congratulated me on how fuckin witty I am (Thats a lie) and walked off (that isnt).

Then I had a bowl of coffee, but thats an even less interesting story.

Hehehehe... dave you rock, I've just been giggling in front of my computer for 5 minutes and all my coworkers think I'm stoned or something.

I forgot todays material.
Sorry.

<3

There are so many things I could whine about right now. So many chances to use the word fuck in colourful ways. But I'm not quite sure which topic I should start with.

I've been thinking. Yes, its true. Of course I was pretty high, so when my brain regurgitated the thoughts into my brains neutral state, they wern't nearly as profound and I previously thought.

The microphones in mobile phones would have a certain sensitivity. I hate to break this to a lot of people, but yelling into a mobile phone doesn't make it any louder on the other end. I know a lot of people out there might argue this point with compelling reasons like 'But it DOES'. Bollocks to those people. Yelling into a mobile phone will make your voice come out the same (maximum) volume on the other end, it will just clip more and distort. Distortion can make things sound louder then they really are. I belive thats why valve guitar amps sound louder then their solid state equal. Because winding up a valve amp causes it to start distorting, something a solid state doesn't do. Or do as much. Or something.

So you fucking suit wearing latte drinking yuppie piece of train catching scum. Shut up. No matter how loudly you talk into your phone, its not going to reach the ears of anyone who gives a fuck. But it will give me the shits and cause me to write things about you on a website you dont even know exists and surely wouldn't care because you've got your big fuck off four wheel drive and much more money than the skinny guy with dreadlocks trying to tell you about microphones and clipping and guitar amps or something.

Still on the subject of making noise that shits me off, I was planning on writing a rant about people who at 11:30pm decide to pull out their painfully shit popular music, open all the windows and stickytape the 'SUPER EXTREME MEGA ENHANCED DOOF DOOF LEB BASS EXCITOR PLUS KABOOM' button down on their crap sound system.

Hmm.. surely I have a public transportation story to get all upset about.

Ahh yes.

My train routine involves catching a train somewhere, walking up some stairs, down some different stairs, and getting on another train. Of course theres much more excitement to it than that, but I'll leave that up to your imaginations.

Missing the second train in that little adventure described above leaves me a bit bollocksed. Because there is a 30 minute period where every train is a 'all stops except the one dave wants to go to, we're just going straight past that fucker'.

So a few days ago, I was about to get off train number 1, and head towards the stairs with growing anticipation of the thrills to come. Then I noticed the train on the rails right next to where I was standing. It was going to where I wanted to be. It was there. It was waiting. And it was going to be long fuckin gone before I got to it, leaving me to smoke too much waiting for 30 minute void of work suburbness to pass (my writing is so fuckin crap). Then I noticed something. A button. Near the closed door. Saying 'emergency open'. And through the window of that closed door, I saw the door of the train I wanted to be on. Closed as well. But it also had an emergency open button on the outside. So dave thought 'THIS will be a fuckin BRILLIANT entrance' and with little thought about what would happen if one of the trains decided to move, I stabbed the button to open the doors. And do you know what happened? Absolutely fuck all. Can you guess what happened with repeated stabbings of the button? Why, a continuation of the on going fuck all. Do you know what I did next? I sat at the station for 30 minutes and smoked too much waiting for a MOTHERFUCKIN TRAIN TO TAKE ME TO WORK.

I didn't have these complications today because I went to work at 5 am. This is the reason why I am especially retarded tonight.

Thank you for sharing the moment with me.

You dirty yuppie fucks.

I just had a look at the site stats dave, and a huge percentage of the visitors are fucking suit wearing latte drinking yuppie piece of train catching scum, so maybe you should tell them more of the stuff they've been doing wrong. This may be your only chance to reach them.

I just started (well a couple of hours ago) watching Sopranos again. From the beginning. Season 1 Episode 1. El Rainer (who has moved back to the Womb, respect for Rainer) and Jade helped me, and I think we did an admirable job of consuming almost 4 hours of mob-related television episodes.

Unf

J

A lots been going on in the exciting world of what people refer to me as when I walk into their shop. A few more have started calling me Dave. Giving me free shit. But I fear that more have simply started greeting me with a one word comfirmation of what they already know. Its like having a expensive call girl take off her clothes, spread her legs, and just point to her cunt before lying back with a good book. Fuck that. I'm paying good money. I want some enthusiasm. Some excitement. Some foreplay.

And despite my best efforts, there are some people who I just cannot break. I can't drop that my names dave. I can't make them call me it. The 2 I'm having trouble with are the pizza place and the turkish place down the road. I'm trying. I really REALLY am.

OLD TURKISH PIDE KING: Regular?
DR. DAVE: I wasn't, but then one of my friends told me to try some Draino.
OLD TURKISH PIDE KING: What?
DR. DAVE: Serious man. That shit goes through you like a fuckin ferrari.
OLD TURKISH PIDE KING: Vegetarian, no egg?
DR. DAVE: That would be brilliant.

The more perceptive of you will have surmised that everything between the first and last sentence in the conversation above is total total lie. I mean, dont get me wrong. Theres SOME truth in it. But the truth isn't funny. Its the bits in between which are. The facts are all in there. If I just made them up, all of this would be more interesting than it is. I've just manipulated whats really going on to make everything easier to swallow, ala John Dirty-Fuckin-Hairy-Midget Howard.

At this point I'd like to digress (further - since I already have). This is a bad idea, because I'll forget what the fuck I was talking about and why I was talking about it at all. But I just felt I needed to point out I just made a joke of a political nature. This (combined with the fact I'm no longer making any sense) indicates that its all downhill from here kids. I've got nothing. Cover your eyes. You dont want to see whats below us.

Not that I've got any fuckin idea whats going to come after this. I guess I'm just proving my points. Points I've already forgotten and hence might not have ever made. Oh thats right, my writings crap, and might be better if I just lied to you.

You see, you dont really understand me (man). The true dave. To you, dave is just a figment of your imagination. Like all the things I post here, the facts are there, but the bits that connect them are mostly just fucked up fairytales. I'd like to request no one shatters the illusion. If you see the atoms that make up dave, just run the fuck away. I am a Level 10 Fuckwit with a +5 Flail of Inane. The fantasy makes things fun, which would otherwise be dull.

Are you aware this is still digression at its very best? I'd love to know how many people have stopped reading.

The place where I always get the same thing for lunch has new owners. One of them already calls me Dave. He calls me Dave too much. He ends every sentence with Dave now. Even the ones not directed at me. Its starting to shit me off. Just get my fucking pasta ready when I nod at you. Thats what the old owner did. I liked that. I could stand outside and finish my ciggarette instead of having to endure agonising minutes of waiting for my food. WHY THE FUCK WAS IT TAKEN AWAY FROM ME?

I'm simply not adjusting well to this scary new world of having to actually enter a shop and wait my turn and say 'yes' everytime someone ends a sentence with Dave. I'm having trouble coming to terms with it all. For the first time in years, there is a new person in my life who puts my pasta in the microwave. Its all a bit of a shock. One day I walked in, scanning the room to figure out where the sneaky bastard had hidden my penne.

NEWLY RETIRED PASTA KING: Dave, sit down, I've got some bad news
DR. DAVE: W-W-What?
NEWLY RETIRED PASTA KING: I've just sold the business. Those are the new owners over there. I'm going to be leaving next week.
DR: Tell me it isn't true!
NEWLY RETIRED PASTA KING: It is dave. I'm retiring. You can only see so much pasta. It brings you down. It hardens the heart. I've seen so much goddamn pasta. So many friends and family eating pasta. I just.. cant do it any more.
DR: But what will become of my penne?
NEWLY RETIRED PASTA KING: You'll always have the penne dave. Nothing can take that away from you, not even rampaging hordes of gorillas.
DR: I'm going to miss you man. You were one of the best. Yeah, so the microwave drys the pasta out a bit and you put a bit too much sugar in my coffee but fuck.. whos going to put my gelato in a seperate bag so it doesn't melt? Whos going to remind me that containers of soup should be held vertically not horizontally? WHOS GOING TO NUKE MY FUCKIN PASTA WHILE I FINISH MY SMOKE?!
NEWLY RETIRED PASTA KING: Shh dave. Its okay. You'll meet someone new. Someone who will give you free bread rolls. Someone to provide their own material for your insane ramblings on jaymis dot com. Someone who can really call you dave.
DR: I love you man.
NEWLY RETIRED PASTA KING: ... Medium Penne dave?
DR: Yes please... I'll be outside smoking.
NEWLY RETIRED PASTA KING: ... Dave. Its been a pleasure heating things up for you kid.
DR: Thanks man.

And he hasn't been the first shopkeep to sit me down and tell me of a departure. Many a waitressii have placed a coffee at my table, then hugged me fiercly, sobbing that they were going overseas or they were going to become jelly wrestlers instead and that they'd miss brining me coffee and that I really was a bit of a fucko.

In fact, waitresses have actually left messages with other staff memebers to deliver me. To explain why they arn't going to take my order anymore. 'Hey, you know that skinny little fucker with the dreads? Tell him I said goodbye. Tell him I might see him again one day... Make him a fuckin good flat white on me.' Cue violin music and tearjerker scene.

The waitress who became my girlfriend... SHE gave me quite a goodbye. Not only did I get free stuff from her work, I got a whole lot of drinking and sex and 'I love you's. (Carefully note the punctuation.. I wouldn't let any girlfriend of mine say 'yous' for long, even if she is only 4). Yeah, I was sorry to see that one go. Sometimes I almost feel like I'll just sit down, and she'll walk over to me in that sexy little waitress uniform, a cup of coffee in her hands for me. A big smile and a 'Can I come back to your place after work?'.

Its touching that I have such a profound impact on peoples lives having only ever said 'Coffee' or 'Food' or 'Bollocks I don't have any money' to them.

I miss you all guys. Its been a blast. Maybe one day, you'll all wait on me in that big cafe in the sky. You know. That one in the CBD where the food tastes like burning plastic.

And to those of you who have made it this far, I congratulate you. I lie to you so much.

----------

<3 to Carly. My only fan who actually exists, and isn't just trying to get into my pants. Don't talk to me though, because I'll fuckin eat you.

----------

I'm sorry if this has all been a bit crap.

Dave, i just got a mental image of what would happen if Carly actually did get in your pants. You would wake up in the morning after to some little sausages, buttered toast, runny eggs sunny side up and a smile. You’d eat all the breakfast, oh yes you’d eat it alright, but secretly inside you would probably be steaming "gesus shit, i just slept with a woman who thinks i like eggs sunny side up, dear god what have i done"

If the 2 of you (Dave and Carly) ever meet, can I buy tickets, I don’t think I know two more opposite people ever. Unrivalled sarcasm and scepticism v/s blind love and Cuteness.

Of course I only know you from your posts here, so for all I know I could be completely wrong about you; you might like your eggs sunny side up.

jum

I just really dont like eggs.

Dave doesn't like eggs either, as evidenced by:

"OLD TURKISH PIDE KING: Vegetarian, no egg?
DR. DAVE: That would be brilliant."

So Carly making Dave (who is rather vegetarian) sausages and eggs would cause him a whole range of mental quandries.

But you were right right Jum, he doesn't like his eggs sunny side up. He likes them under the control of the little chikkins, who are running around in the clean fresh air and reproducing just as God made then to.

And not getting eaten by humans.

(I am full of shit)

After spending a night with me, they'd probably be little sausages, buttered toast and runny eggs of arsnic death.

You know, in case I tried to tell someone.

We need more sarcastic cute sceptics full of blind love. I think we owe it to the world to breed carly.

I've got nought to say tonight. I'm too bollocksed to function any longer.

Oh.. today at the train station there were sniffer dogs. For the first time, ever, it didn't come and sit next to me and look up at me with a puppy version of the 'you're fucked now sunshine' look.

I actually saw the dog, and just stood there, waiting for it to come over to me. I started to pull things out of my pockets, ready to show the policemen that I didn't have any drugs with me so they'll have to work harder. And it came up and started sniffing me and I thought 'yeah, here we go..'. And it went away. I was blown away. Dave = 1, Sniffer Dogs = 4.

(I'm getting sick of sniffer dogs.. I'm going to teach monkies to pick policemans pockets to get them back).

Tomorrow, I might be funny.

BTW jay, no one else read as far as the vegetarian no egg part. They read the first 2 sentences then went and masturbated furiously.

Since everyone else is writing about me and the contents of my personal emails are being published randomly now, I figure I better say something. Dave, I don't think you rabbit on, or if you do, it's very interesting rabbiting because your posts keep me coming back. I switch back to a double degree of law/creative writing next year, I hope I can express myself the way you can. Except I maybe don't have such strong feelings about Yuppie fucks.

Jum darling, thank you for calling me cute, you're very sweet, that made my day. And the blind love thing...well, the fact after dumping me three years ago, three years of being my best friend and even though he ditches me for 17 year olds (however gorgeous they may be), James is still my favourite boy ever...well yeah. That's blind love to the fullest.

Don't worry Jum, you're right behind James as my favourite boy.

Dave, you seem to be pretty cool, but I can't put you on the list because you threatened to eat me and that was a liddle scary. Although I'm all up for breeding sarcastic cute sceptics full of blind love, that's a brilliant idea.

And I wouldn't be cooking anyone anything, because I burn porridge.

I read the runny eggs bit, because I had just finished masturbating furiously.

Dave, why do they have sniffer dogs at stations in Sydney? What happens if you get caught with weed? Here they just take it off you.

Carly: I wouldn't really eat you. I'm one of those smelly vegetarian hippy types and don't eat meat. Which you qualify as. I'd eat jum though, he's a vegetable.

I'd also hope you expressed yourself quite better than I do after completing a creative writing degress. I don't even have my HSC, partly because I never showed up to my english class. Which was the stupid english class. We were so full of stupid people that we had 2 teachers. At once. To cope with all the sacks of stupid in the class. I was one of 6 people who could actually speak english. They told us “Don't worry, this class isn't graded”. Which of course means “You're all stupid”. Its strange. I've never been in a graded class before.

I'm sorry jay showed me your email, and those pictures of you in the shower. He forced it upon me. They're good pictures though, I keep them in my wallet.

If you want some advice from a master, when it comes to a big fuck off creative writing assesment thing, write “Some of the many reasons to hate public transportation and yuppie fuckwits”. You also said “liddle” which would make me say “awwwww” if it wouldn't shatter my macho facade.

Jum: Carly is trying to tell you she is a troubled young girl (which is easily understandable having had jay in her brain for 3+ years). The reason she is telling you this of course is because she wants you to take advantage and get it on with her. Good luck son, you'll need it.

Pesh: They have sniffer dogs around the city here because chasing stoners and candy ravers is much easier than figuring out why there are dead bodys in garbage bins around redfern. And its not like you can pocket a dead body and sell it to your friends, unlike my bud.

Like a lot of minor offences in this country, if you get caught they'll abuse their power for a bit before telling you to fuck off so they don't have to fill out the paperwork. If I got caught, I might get a fine to add to the collection.

But I haven't actually ever been caught with drugs on me by the dogs. I've just been caught reeking of bud, which makes the puppies love me.

The cops actually got this fuckin stupid idea from your country I believe. And much like your country, the happy public pretty quickly fucked the theory by leaving bits of stem around train stations and running around trains with water pistols filled with bong water. I actually know someone who managed to spray a sniffer dog with one which would have rendered it pretty useless.

These dogs are also fuckin expensive yet couldn't find any bud in Nimbin. During the mardigrass. Ha. Not that you'll understand that, because you're a limey bastard.

Jaymis: You're a dirty child mollestor and I'm jealous of her. You also have too much white space at the end of your pages.

Mum: I'm sorry. But you know as well as I do that its all your fault.

(in other news, ive decided to start using actual quotation marks, instead of the inch thingos and i've figured out the routine of the ticket nazi's at the train station, so I now save about $50 a week on train tickets. Also, I think I've used a lot of wrong words in this post. If you're teh smarts, you'll figure out how little I care but the fact I haven't bothered to fix them)

<3 everyone. thanks for participating.

Random: “What are these little film cannister things?”
Dave: “They're butt bins. The idea is instead of throwing your cigarette buts on the ground or down the drain, you put them out in this little thing. Then, when its full, you throw it in the harbour or down the drain.”
Random: “..... what?”
Dave: “Nevermind. Just stop standing there.”

Its why cafè people love me.

Dave write more.

Fuck off angst. You're not in my target demographic.

Okay. Fuck me dead. The computer next to me is making that irritating fan death noise. Its going to shit me to insanity in about 4 seconds.

Which will be about 3 seconds after I strangle the silly bitch making the stupid fuckin whistling noises as she types.

I am currently contemplating my work prospects, as well as contemplating smashing the computer next to me into itty bitty pieces. Theres a few thoughts in there about boobs. Theres a tiny little bemused voice coming from somewhere deep inside my brain saying 'Heh.. That was a massive goddamn joint. Posting now is only going to end badly. Less do eet.'. I'm also wondering if I've written a sentence without a spelling mistake yet.

Possible Job 1: I could apply for identical crap work in a different place. A computer related place, notorious for being crap and tight arsed. The only part of the job I couldn't legally do would be the forklifting. And I am determined not to get my forklift license, because it seems too much like resigning to a fate of doing crap work with stupid people while even stupider people with better ways of hiding it give me shit because I called a box a ¨stupid motherfuckin cuntwit” rather loudly.

Bollocks that was a long sentence.

They'd probably also pay me less than I'm making now.

Possible Job 2: Some crazy girl from the navy wants me to let her hook me up with a job at a phone sex line. She thinks I've got what it takes (vocal chords and little self respect). I have absolutely no idea what this kind of work would be like (hey, if you've done it, tell us all) although it would be cool to tell people I have phone sex with desperate people and they pay me for it.

Possible Job 3: Get sub-contracted by someone who makes signs to do website for people who have no concept on the limits of technology or my talent and see how long I can live off flour.

Possible Job 4: Lick peoples shoes for $1.

Right. I'm going to smash this fucking computer for being a whinging little beige cunt, and I'm going have to start walking to the net place further away.

peace, motherfuckers.

Who's in your target demographic?

Jay your comments are fucked.

Let me fill you in on the situation before I start ranting, because I've got no idea how else to start this post.

Its almost 9PM on a saturday night. I am of course sitting in a cyber convienence store, typing away on a greasy keyboard. I'm carefully positioned with my back to the camera, so that the indian guy at the counter wont notice I'm consuming my 8th rum and coke on his premises. I've gotten quite wired. I might have already said that. I don't know. I'm typing mostly blind to stop the fat chick in a beanie reading my post over her shoulder. I'm celebrating. In a few short hours I shall be 19. Its stupid. I feel far to old for this shit. But it seems I'm not.

Tonight has been spent wandering around the streets of newtown, pulling endless cans of rum and coke from my bag, photographing stencils on the walls and trying to have some ideas of my own. Triple J has been constantly in my ear throughout my urban adventures, helping to foster paranoia about people around me. People have been looking at me funny. I weighed up the costs of the medical bills and a replacement digicam, and decided to try and photograph these people looking at me funny. Because I know something you dont.

I understand all of this makes me sound like a bit of a sad case. My friends piked. 2 of them are getting married in Febuary. The wife-to-be would have decided she'd rather go and hang out with her uni friends than watch me sit around drinking too much and getting progressivly more sarcastic and cynical. The hubby would have caved like a sex slave meeting a sledgehammer. My childhood friend, who I have shared many a cone and conversation about quantum mechanics with, has decided he'd much rather accumulate salt and pepper shakers and salads bowls and toasters and whatever other dreck you give people getting married than watching me get my head punched in for doing something stupid to someone bigger than me.

Yeah I've got other friends. Some of them have gone to a closer party, because they can't be fucked catching a train home. Some I just haven't been able to contact, because I don't have any credit or a phone.

Do I sound bitter? Well I'm not. And fuck you for instantly not believing me. I tried to organise something, it turned to shit, and I dont care. Do you feel sorry for me? Well dont you silly fucks. I'm happier than you are right now. When I promise you I don't care, I'm telling the truth. You don't belive me because if you were in my situation you'd be curled up into a little ball crying “WHY DOES NOBODY LOVE ME?”.

Do you think I'm lying when I tell you that it would be impossible for me to care less about any significance people attach to tommorrow? Yes, you do. Because you would have heard a lot of other sad acts say it. Maybe you've even been one of those sad acts. Either way, you'll know what you really meant was “Get me a good present because I'm feeling disillusioned”.

I'm having fun and you dont belive me because you wouldn't be.

I would like to say dear readers, fuck you. Fuck you and your stupid lifestyles. Fuck you if you think I can write. My english teacher once complimented me on not using excessivly long sentences, apparantly something the hack wanna be teenage writers in her classes did a whole lot. In typical dave style, I've completely disregarded it now. Fuck you if you think I'm interesting. You simply don't know any better. If you want to read someone elses experiences, get someone to make you a nice flat blunt and curl up with John Birmingham's Off Ones Tits. I'm not JB. I couldn't even be a tryhard JB.

Or better yet, drink a bunch of rum and go out alone. Learn the hard way how much shit you can give people who provoke you before they punch your teeth out the back of your head. Take photos of them when they look at you funny. Find some people having more fun than you are and invite them back to your house for a cone. Just go out and do something. I don't fucking know. And if I did, I wouldn't tell you.

But I know that I can take photos of happy generic people in clothes from urban and not one of them will punch me in the face for it.

Happy fucking birthday dave. When your an innercity cult druggo author, we'll proudly claim to the sorry cases around us that we read your posts on jaymis comments when we could have been going out and doing better.

And lastly - fuck you angst. I dont want to write more. I don't want to write at all. I wanna rant. I wanna talk absolute gibberish of no fuckin concequence. If you want writing, may I reccomment Off Ones Tits? OMG. IT MENTIONS THE SUBURBS I LIVE IN. ULTRA REALITY COOL.

and i know i'm fucking drunk..
its why i cant stand up and leave just yet, stupid.

Dave is drunk like a Drunk Dave.

Happy birthday Drunk Dave. <3

Also, happy birthday from Lukie and Bag o Drunkie (although she's sober tonight)

Also, I'm in love with sleep.

my comments are fine angsty you spud head. some code is borked I believe, but that's MT's fault, and I couldn't be buggered to fix it. Probably don't have the expertise either.

Hey im just beside myself with happines that the innercity cult druggo author (kinda) referred to me by name. My grand-children shall hear the story of this moment.

Call it writing, call it ranting, call it talking absolute gibberish.... call it what you want: it's all the same. A turd by any other name would smell just as foul.

Does my telling you to write make you want to write more or less? Or is it like water off a ducks back? I know if I hated me as much as you hate me, it would annoy the shit out of me to have me telling me to write more.

Cause you know if you keep up this whole "blogging on jaymis.comments" thing i will be definitely patting myself on the shoulder. "Good work Angst" i will say to myself. "Because of your encouragement Dave is still writing about the things that trouble him". Bear that in mind.

Is writing good for Dave or bad for Dave? Or just indifferent? Is it just something your doing to waste the time untill the next hit of THC or is it actually helping you to understand things more clearly? It never sounds or feels quite right for me to refer to Marijuana as a blunt, joint or a spliff. Almost like the words can sense that I am a middle class white boy/internet nerd thats never ever even looked like smoking dope and consequently refuse to come off my tongue properly.

I dont know what I am doing here. I think I was going to explain to Dave what he should do with his life, but suddenly i realised i dont know the answer.

Happy Birthday Dave.

Pat yourself on your back all you want angst. While your at it, give yourself a nice big hug and a quick one off the wrist because if it wasn't for you the world would stop turning. Whatever you tell me to do I am totally indifferent to. I imagine it has as little effect on what I do as me telling you to go and buggerize a chicken has on your daily life. You're going to do it anyway, because you want to.

Thanks for the happy birthdays. But rest assured that I wasn't trawling for them as that goes into daves big book of things that are uncool - along with date raping, john howard, public transportation, angst, scabies and many many more things.

Pot, weed, skunk, bud, mary jane. It all rolls easily off the tounge. Marijuana.... Marijuaaaaannnaaa. Taste the sylables. Enjoy the feel of the words vibrating out from your vocal chords. Then shut the fuck up. You've got next cone and you've gotta concentrate.

The words will stick in your mouth if its something your not comfortable saying. If drugs make you feel a little uneasy.

Think about fucking. Its like saying “Ugh, yeah, thats its bitch, take it, whos your daddy?” to the local hooker or telling the poor girl bored to shit underneath you “I love you” while you climax. One sentence will seem crude and stupid. One sentence might seem like it has a little class and meaning. But they both mean the same thing. Which is generally “I can't believe you're letting me do this”. Either way, you enjoy it and you can know that so does everyone else under the right circumstances.

Its the same act, regardless of what you call it, who you choose to do it with, when, where, why. Its all just how you set it up in your brain that makes it acceptable to you.

I like to blow out my maryjane with a soft “I love you”. Others like to choof with “Oh yeah bitch, take that, it feels good doesn't it? Bring that bong over here”.

Guess which people I think are sad cases? Congratulations, you win a big bucket of fuck all and patronization.

I'm not uncomfortable with drugs. I just don't do them. Partly for want of an opportunity, partly because i've never had a good reason to start.

I'm pleased you will disregard everything I say.

Write more Dave.

If you're waiting for a good reason to start, you're going to be waiting a long time. The only good reason - possibly the only good reason - to start is because they are FUN.

You see, thats why people take them. Because they enjoy the experience. Oh I know some people just take them because they're fucked in the head, but they still started because it was fun.

Drugs don't do a whole lot except make things more enjoyable.

Comment more Angst. You fuckin' kebab monkey.

I should really be at work. But I really just couldn't be bollocked today. I think I might go home and pretend I dont live there since we've got an inspection coming up and I'm not on the lease.

I'm glad I actually checked the mail for once. Generally I don't since even at the house where people knew I lived I never got mail. The letter says they will come on x day between x times and if we're not there they'll just slip in with their master key and have a look around.

I'm quite glad I found out they were going to be there, because my pot and the utilities to prepare it for my lungs have a designated patch on my floor.

They might have taxed it, then I'd have to buy more. And I can't afford that. Or anything else for that matter. Including this time on the internet... fuck.

They sell hash cakes in Camden Market. Yesterday we were going to get a canal boat from Camden Market to Little Venice and back. But by the time we saw the boat we couldn't be bothered to get up so we sat by the lock all afternoon. Those hash cakes are stronger than you think. We had a great day...

gawd... how hard is it to get you to be on aim every now and again Jay?

I'm dying out here.

Jay has girlie bits on demand. I'm not sure you can ever comprehend how poor a substitute you are for that one angst.

Hash cakes are not stronger than I think they are, because I know how strong they are.

As some of you may know, the typical way you make food with bud is to heat up your drugs in butter, to inpregnate it with beatiful, beatiful THC. You then cook something and be sure to add fuckloads of sugar because otherwise its going to taste like crap.

Of course theres other ways to do it. But the fun is in the experimentation. And putting an ounce in the blender.

The perfect compliment to hash cakes/muffins/cookies/etc is green dragon. You find some fuck off nasty alcohol. Like 190 proof wood grain alcohol. Everclear works (its in the higher part of 90% alcohol I think). You dump your spare pot in that, heat it up a little (below boiling, stupid) then rebottle it and leave it around somewhere dark and cool for a while. Strain it, pour a tiny bit over some ice with some lemon and guess what? Drinking it will fuck you up.

Also, don't buy hash muffins from glebe markets. Because the smelly hippy who occasionally walks around selling them either a) doesn't know all of the above or b) is taking the piss.

I know someone who bought one, and pulled the top off one and found some exciting things. Not only were there small green chunks of bud (which arn't going to do anything like that) there were also other such interesting ingredients, like huge balls of hair, little bits of plastic, a staple, some black unidentifyiable stuff, and just some random linty fluff dreck.

So, as this person has demonstrated, scraping your carpet for the chunks of bud you've dropped there and then making muffins out of them, is NOT a good way of getting people high. Selling them to people who don't know better is a good way to make a bit of cash and have a laugh though.

But remember kiddies, anything you can make using butter, you can make fuck you up. If it tastes like shit, you can always wash it down with stuff that would have made you go blind BEFORE you decided to give it a little extra kick.

Its a fantastic way to get high though. Just try and have some less mind altering food around, because otherwise it can just turn into an endless cycle.

angst - jay is having trouble with puter, aim isnt working for him. Lets all take a moment to prey for his safe return to the net

My room has been girlified. We're having an inspection tommorrow and the lease says that there are 2 foxy young ladys living there. And as quite a few of you would have sussed out (possibly due to the many references to my holy cock) I am not a girl, let alone a foxy young one.

So my room has been filled with pictures of boys and girlie mags (the kind that tell you what the red stuff leaking from your vagina is, not the kind that show nekkid bits - I checked). Theres also a bunch of girlie clothes and stuff around.

Now whenever I go in my room I get a mean hardon.

I've also had to hide my drugs and destroy my bong. It is a sad day for humankind, and I sadder day that I can't remember where I put them.

I think there was stuff in my brain I was going to bitch and moan about here, but its gone somewhere else. Its somewhere in there along with the knowledge of which key goes in which lock, where I put my lighter, when I last had a ciggarette and a multitude of other bits of information that should be somewhere accessable. The burial ground in my brain. Where my thoughts go to die.

Bollocks to it.

These cakes were actually damn nice. I pay homage to the cooking skills of the man who made them. There were no chunks of bud or anything else and they were a smooth yellow colour... a pretty good cake although the bud did make it taste a bit weird. Needed more sugar. But damn, it got us high all day and all night and Ness reckons she was still stoned in the morning.

you know what?
Dr. Dave, I wanna sex you up.

that is all
the end
!

You don't really want to sex me. You just think you do. If you ever actually met me, you'd think “I really DONT want to sex dave”. But deep down, you really would. You just wouldn't admit it.

Im confuzed too. Anyway, back to all the boxes.