all my troubles seemed so far away

OK so it's like 1 am on a Saturday and I am writing a blog. DON'T JUDGE ME, BROS. I have heaps of a life it's just sometimes I choose not to use it. Also, BONEFINGER is on TV. Awesome.


I was at a bar with the Dude and some awesome booky kids last night and we were kind of laughing maybe a little bit meanly about the fucktards at the next table (pretty harmless badmouthing, you know how it is, 'HAHA are these fuckers from like Templestowe [or similar] or what* HAHAHA did they arrive on a bus AHAHAHAHA that HAIR CUT is not HAIR CUTE AAAAAAHAHAHAHAH ' etcetc, ok maybe not superwitty or whatever but in my defence I PUT IT TO YOU, LAYDEEZ AND GENTLES OF THE JURY that at this point there were some alcohols involved, and SOMETIMES IT'S FUN TO BE CUNTY).

Anyway, we thought we were pretty safe cos the bar was in Northcote and as we are all FROM Northcote basically we assume we rule the palazzo and as such possess unlimited power over life, death, pool etiquette, bar snacks and approximately everything else. This turned out to be slightly incorrect however because last night THE FUCKTARDS FOUGHT BACK. Apparently they didn't like the way we were lookin at them.

We had some delicate moments there with one fucktard in particular, who took poorly to our random snakey jeering. We dealt with this in different ways, with me going 'heh heh let's all be friends heh ehe eheh heh PLEASE DON'T BEAT ME' and our friend L going 'hmmm you ARE a curious specimen, let me provoke you a little more BECAUSE IT GIVES ME PLEASURE' and The Dude going 'I WANT TO KISS YOU' and L's boyfriend G indicating quietly and convincingly that he could take this fucker DOWN. Luckily it didn't turn to fisticuffs though since somehow I think in the Drunks of Northcote v Fucktards of Templestowe bar brawl the Drunks are lookin at some pretty long odds. L and G can probably hold their own but The Dude prefers to conduct his homicides using large ammunitions and I can barely stand up without giving myself brain damage.



Aw Bowfinger just ended. SAD.



Anyway it all ended sweetly when the fucktard got a bit scared of The Dude's vaguely menacing homosexual advances and ran away. Sorry about this lame ending to a pretty boring story. If you like you can give it more Human Interest by imagining that it ended in much the same way as Al Pacino ended in Scarface, and that we were all dressed as GIANT PILES OF SNOW.


SUCK IT UP MOTHAFUCKAS.


Yeh.


xoxo nora

PS NORTHCOTE DRUNKS: 1 / TEMPLESTOWE FUCKTARDS: 0.

PPS clearly this is yesterday's news, but like WHAT HO brothers, sometimes Australia Post is fucking slow. SO SUE ME.

CAUTION : NEVER RETURN DRY, HARD SPECIMENS TO TETRACHLORIDE OR BENZINE YOU MUST RELAX THEM FIRST !

So in case you were wondering, I have spent the last couple of months in a pretty dark place. It was pretty much identical to that squelchy passage that Indiana Jones walks through in some fucking movie or other, except that instead of exploding with snakes or whatever it was fucking teeming with rats, earwigs, lawyers, and generally just heaps of germs.

“LIKE, EW!”

Tell me about it. If you are squeamish/below the age of consent and want a more ‘Wordsworth-of-the-Antipodes’ type explanation, basically I haven’t been blogging because I’ve been trapped at the heart of a balloon full of poo, where pretty much all I can see or think of is poo. There were occasional sweet evenings where I got to wave out the Poo Balloon window at The Dude & the Pussycats as they slopped around town mopping up blood, ‘busting moves’ etc & so on, but mostly it’s been All About Eve Poo. Let’s just say that after all the good times of my trips abroad, I have been wearing The Dude’s ‘I hate my life’ shirt around with a renewed sense of authenticity.

“IT’S GOOD TO BE HEARTFELT WITH UR TSHIRTS, BROTHERS & SISTER[N]S OF THE LORD.”

Totally. But anyway, point is that since my head fucking exploded last weekend, things have been looking up, and I am now ready to ONCE AGAIN enjoy all the WONDROUS FRUITS that the world has to offer me. So far I am focussing on pecans. Is this fruits?

Also, I am thinking of taking up a hobby so that I can acquire the ‘totally achievable work/life balance’ that is surely the POISONED CHALICE HOLY GRAILS of the Modern Young Professional. After some extensive research I have decided that my new hobby will be…




"OMG is this like Dancing with the Stars or what."


That's right bros, I will totally be COLLECTING BEETLES.

This is also known as ‘coleoptera’ and so I am pretty much counting on it involving pantswork with Mark Antony* OR dying of cholera. Obvs I will have to do more research but basically I am just deeply attracted the list of necessary equipments:

- killing jar

- killing agent

- sweep or/and aerial net

- aspirator

- knife (poss. a steel throwing knife called "silver arrow")

- Portable light

- pitfall trap

- berlese funnel

- sifter

- chopin and prying tools

- malaise trap


DOES THIS SHIT CRY OUT NON STOP GOOD TIMES OR WHAT.


How awesome would prying tools and a malaise trap be?! E.g. ‘Suck shit malaise, try keeping me down with your fucking neuroses/savage ennui/pestilence of the heavens etc from the jaws of my awesome trap! NOW I WILL USE MY TOOLS TO PRY U. AHAHAHA, etc.’ This could poss be the key to Eternal Bliss!


“THAT’S AWESOME MISTER NORA. I’D LOVE TO STAY AND CHAT BUT I HAVE TO GO PURCHASE A KILLING AGENT”


Guess I’ll see you later then.


xoxo nora
* Hot Roman, i.e. not J-Lo’s corpse bride.


P.S.
"Where you look and collect beetles:
a. under the bark of trees
b. under logs and stones
c. on the flowers and leaves.
d. on and in the soil under carcasses
e. in animals excrements, especially cows"

HI!!!!!

"HI BITCH"







Hello.






"HAVE U MET MY MONKEY BRIDES?"



Do you mean these ones?



"YES?"





That's awesome, babes, kind of like projectile vomit is awesome.


"GOD MISTER NORA, WHY IS U SO UPTIGHT LATELYS"



Would you believe...









". . . . . "






You're right to be suspicious.






xoxo nora

So how are things with you?

xoxo nora