Columns
First things first, the spoilers were published after the final of Lost was aired. That made me sad. But seeing as the new in thing is to bitch on about how Prison Break is “way cooler”, “has a better stor,y you fuckwit”, and “r0xors my boxors lol!!1”, I’m sure no-one actually cares. On a more interesting note, Special K has entered the OutbackVodkaCruiserBurgerKingChlamydia Manfest of the Yearfest competition. Of course, due to the hilarious time-travel properties of Nexus, by the time you read this it will already have happened, in which case you need to get on down to the final which will be in the week you read this, where I’ll be strutting my stuff in a bid for a shred of respect and some free alcohol. The eventual plan is to solve all our problems by having Special K parade around half-naked: from our broken kettle and our flatmate always going to bed at 9.30, to getting new carpet and getting rid of the gang that keeps coming round demanding money. Oddly enough, they always get sidetracked and leave us to argue if we give them sunflower seeds, but that is such a temporary measure. I’m pretty sure they are all called Hatsume. They keep calling each other Hatsume. I called one of them Hatsume once, but he got angry. Our Friend Andrew thinks they are looking for the beer we buried, but I mean honestly, they should know that it is STILL buried in the forest. Seriously. I shit you not; I went to find it just two days ago and IT’S STILL THERE. YOU MORONS. FREE BEER. On that note, we are still on the hunt for a replacement for Medium Salsa. In one of our columns we had an email address to apply to, with 5 reasons we should pick you, and a tasteful nude. I can’t remember the email address now, so just text and pxt to 0276992022 and we’ll make a decision.
ISSUE 16 / 31 JULY 2006
A split decision. Ha.
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So anyway, drop me a line sometime. It’ll be great. Anytime is fine, I’m usually awake all night, and long into the morning, long after all the Boy Racers have drifted off to sleep. Oh God you need to be PUNished. See you all on Thursday.
Every morning I sit staring at a sign that says simply ‘stop’. Also every evening I stare at the very same sign. ‘STOP’. Does it have some kind of subconscious effect? Is this why I sit and wonder why on earth I’m working 9-5, Monday to Friday, and living this inconsequential, boring life? Perhaps. Perhaps on a subliminal level, my bus is telling me every day to stop. What would happen if I did stop? Would I be finally satisfied? Would I enjoy the fact I’d wrung every drip of normalcy out of my life? Would I finally be happy when the last drip was on its merry way down the plughole? Is it at all possible that it could be that easy? If my life were an unstructured mess, would I feel complete? If no day was exactly the same as the last, if there was no path to follow, no pattern to adhere to, if everything was random, would I feel secure? I think not. I think I’d be worried, scared, climbing up the walls in frustration, wishing desperately for a little schedule, a little predictability. Some people do it. I’ve recently learnt the term hobo-ing, not to be confused with homo-ing, a mistake I made at first. ‘Gosh, you’ve changed’ I thought, unsure of what to say next, but no, it’s ho-bo-ing. Hoe-boe-ing. Basically, while on your OE or travels, you adopt a lifestyle that takes you from minute to minute, forget living from day to day, this is really living on the edge. You practically live as though you are a homeless person. You sleep where and when sleep arrives. You don’t wash for days. You let your hair grow wild. You go where the wind takes you. You live as close to the world as possible and in the easiest manner for fate to take control. Would you, could you live in an unstructured, unreliable, unpredictable mess? It’s one way to see the world.