My babies.

An epiphany: Marilyn Manson must be very skilled at intercourse if he can sustain 2 year relationships with both Rose Mcgowan and Dita Von Teese.

Annual Exing.

Christmas is upon us once again … unfortunately.

We are of the opinion that Christmas is completely superfluous to modern life. We all feed our gluttonous desires constantly anyway with endless unnecessary additions to our collections of … stuff. Agreed, sometimes it can feel festive to play good Samaritan and go to midnight mass waving those creepy decorated orange things around and letting religious men get way too close to your infant relatives. But the fire-hazard factor of fairy lights, the absurd amount of calories you are expected to consume in one sitting and the godforsaken racket of Christmas carols is enough to make you want to sedate yourselves for a 4 day period; from the 23rd of December to the 27th.

Do we really need the dreaded x once yearly?

The number of family arguments that could be averted if Christmas was not a regular feature on the calendar is phenomenal. If say, Christmas was every 3 or 5 years surely we would look forward to it much more? Indeed, different contingents of the family could bid for the hosting of the event, kind of like the Olympics or something. That way you could make sure you had an epic day with a point of difference, rather than the routine, ‘let’s just go here because they always do it and we’re kind of used to the dry turkey and lumpy gravy’.

The sporadic celebration of Christmas is definitely a concept we are considering imposing on our spawn, if we ever have any …

Pill popping, furniture shopping.

There is nothing more frustrating than a fruitless shopping trip.

Fabulous people, like ourselves, tend to distract from the general w-bees who browse item by item, store by store and street by street. We are impatient trendsetters with desperately important fashion agendas. We need instant gratification. If I catch a pair of Vintage 1461 Doc Martens on display, the US size 7's will be mine faster than 'one Mississipi'. But knowing my luck, there'd probably be some random frigid consumer hor with size 7 feet (and bad teeth) trying to steal them from their rightful owner - me.

Wardrobe wise: I get what I want, when I want. No 'coitus'-ing about.

There are a few things that can wreck a successful shopping trip.

_Smokers. My disdain (that borders on a hatred) of smokers has nothing to do with my desire for a nanny state or for social controls to stop smokers from smoking. I really don't give an eff if people wish to smoke and harm themselves, but the problem is that the smoke is in my face. I really don't want to develop lung cancer while releasing endorphins in the shape of hund dollar bills, you thoughtless piece of cancer.

_Screaming, biting children.

_Parents of these screaming, biting children. Next time you and your dropkick partner get busy in the bedroom, use a 'dom. Honestly. If I ever reproduce, my offspring will be like one of those Ralph Lauren child models, tamed and mysterious.

_People that carry their little ratdogs around. Not only is it w-bee, but brainless. For chrissakes, leave your merde-dropping dogs in a cage, at home, where they belong

_Bringing friends that don't share your taste in vogue. It's already enough work dodging the lower end, vanilla version of the Vivienne Westwood carrot pants, let alone trying to satisfy someone who's only fashion aspiration is to look like a black rapper.

One final tip - When you feel you may have gone overboard, have 5 plus bags from various different shops and are struggling to carry all your purchases think about the actual weight you’re carrying – this is toning your arms. The more you shop the less likely you are to have butter wings. Remember there is always a way to justify unnecessary and exorbitant purchases.

*** A note to the wise. You're not as original as you deem to be and you know it. The thing you call your blog is what I use to wipe my ass.


Yoko and Yoko. I mean, John and Yoko.

Without war, there would be no peace; nor would these delusional hippies exist.

This Is England

Skinheads, Doc Martens, Ben Sherman... Click here to view the trailer. There's a reason why it was 2007's Best British Film (British Academy Film Awards).

On an unrelated note. I've overlooked my sack of shrapnel and after taking some time from my busy, busy life to count up all the coins, it sums up to a bit more than $500. Fully intend to buy whatever I want.

Don't you hate it when people disregard your opinions, and just assume? It's like, "Hey, do you want a Nikon D5000 for your birthday?" Um... Let me think - no. "Well, too late, I already bought it". What's the point of asking then?!

Another thing that irritates me is when I'm asked to do a favour, except it's not really my choice because I'm forced to do it eventually.

I want slim purple Vans, brown leather boots, maybe a new pair of black leather dress shoes while I'm at it, at least a few new pairs of skinny's, some dress shirts, a woollen jumper AND THE NEXT ISSUE OF MAN ABOUT TOWN. I waited 6 months for the Autumn/Winter issue, and it was only 200 pages. It left me devastated and craving for more. It's terrible how they only issue their magazine biannually.

Wedding vows and insensitive cows

I was flicking through Brisbane News and I just have one suggestion to make. In those recent marriages, they should put their occupation next to their names, or maybe how much they earn, 'cause all the dudes are chubby and the women are prettay. It confuses me. D=

I cut my pale blue skinnies into shorts and they're coo'. I hated those skinnies but nao, I wear them a lot a lot a lot. They go down a bit higher than my knobbly knees so that's aiight ey.

There was something I was going to say.. But, it was lolathetic, so *mumbles*. Oh, apparently Hitler's Nikon D7000 is arriving mid-November. What an ordeal, those Nikon managers ought to be gassed.

Exams are over, and I'm mindlessly traipsing about my house, playing with the neighbour's dogs and waiting for my 18th to arrive so I can finally trash my liver - legally. Doing some last minute cleaning before our flight tonight.

London+Austria. Here we come.

Island In The Sun

LOL, I sometimes read my blog when I’m super duper bored, but that rarely happens, because I’m so busy *shifty eyes*. You know, going out, clubbing, gracing at exclusive events… Oh, the lies I tell. Colon-open bracket.

After this week, we’ll be able to party and do whatever the Netherworld we want. Chyeaa. But for those that failed, make sure you don’t fail your supplementary exams. My heart goes out to you. I’m probably not kidding when I say that, ‘cause I might need to take a supp for anatomy. For now, let’s play the blame game and pin it all on the Muslim that set the neuro component of the exam. Damn, I really do like neuroanatomy and I’d consider becoming a neurologist, but you ruined it all! I remember in the exam, I was like, uhhh… the answer is… C. *Next question* The answer is… C. *Sigh* Too late now, all I can do is just study and hope I don’t need to take a supp.

I don’t want to be kept down a year. Cos aww, I love my physio’s. Especially those two kids: the Christian and the Muslim. Opposites do attract, ey. Hurhurhur… I’m going to break someone’s camera by the end of this week, though.

Pray and study hard for the coming exams. 4 more days. *Thumbs up*

Prayer list: Francis and her kids, my great-aunt - who fractured her femoral neck, my mum - who was diagnosed with an osteoma and, thankfully, not a benign brain tumour and Joanne – who’s recovering from bowel cancer surgery.

Lastly, forgiveness is the key to happiness.

Live long and prosper.


It was never my intention to blog about my personal life on here… After posting approximately 100 posts on my personal blog and having only 10 responses, I got the point. But the main reason I had to temporarily discontinue my private blog was because although it contained details of my inner and mellifluously put thoughts, it did contain some carnal linguistics which weren’t appropriate for my stalker parents-of-friends’ eyes. It’s fitting as now I can commence my classy and sophisticated lifestyle.

That said, it will be hard to deal with these people who delight in my annihilation by spreading nasty rumours, but I have faith that God will serve justice to those that try.

Turns out, I’m not as draconian as my friends regard me to be. I actually have a soul! I’ll play nice now.

What was I saying… AH, yes, classy and sophisticated lifestyle…

LeGarçon: A gentleman who's alter ego is a bespectacled adolescent who refuses to succumb to society's perception of class (by being an all-round loon)

Currently listening to "Good Stuff" by CLOR.

Chuck and Blair

Wait, did I just see Blair and Chuck kiss again? Yes, I did!
My life has officially started again.

Chuck: I wanted to let you know, the treaty is over.
Blair: Fine with me, this pretense of civility was exhausting.
Chuck: Being amicable isn't in our blood, I've realized we're not friends, friends have to like each other and after what happened tonight, I could never like you.
Blair: I could never like you either. In fact, I hate you.
Chuck: I've never hated anyone more.
Blair: Every nerve ending is electrified by hatred.
Chuck: There's a fiery pit of hate burning inside me and it's ready to explode.
Blair: So it's settled then.
Chuck: We're settled. *Rips legal agreement* Pauses *Grabs Blair around the neck*

These weapons may be deadly. Ex Oh.
Ooh la la.

ELLE Magazine: Leighton Meester & Ed Westwick

Will disappear for a while due to finals. Wish me luck!

Le Garçon
Currently listening to Robyn: Dancing On My Own

I don't love New York.

Why do I say the things I say? Why do I act like a Richard? I want to engage myself into the lives of people I want to know, but I choose simply to ignore them. How does one insert oneself into another person’s life? Hrm... *Zip* (Colon-capital-dee) I think you would need to spark the person’s curiosity. And that would require a decent looking face, which I think I might have when the sun ain’t shining, or when I’m wearing a balaclava or something that covers my face. Or, preferably something that covers me from head to toe, that way, no one can see anything!

So now, having lost a lot of irreplaceable people and objects, I think I might know the feeling of helplessness. I’m not talking about the odd hard drive failure (especially when you’ve forgotten to back up), but more substantial and important things. When you feel like there’s no one to turn to when the world’s about to crush you and suicide is not even an option because even death wouldn’t calm your shattered soul. The way you feel when you’re so angry with yourself for choosing to do something, like taking a chance on that one relationship you thought would be meaningful, but instead left you more broken than before.

I leave you with a toast, compatriots!
To life! For many more million years of much more merriment more to come! MOAR.
Lady GaGa: Changing Skies

Memory Bank

I has a secret. Photo by Miss Annikinz and her new Canon 60D DSLR.

To be honest, I think a rape whistle is an incredibly noteworthy idea.

Once I’ve finished this stupid degree, I’m out of here. When I say that I’m sick of Brisbane, I think what I mean to say is that I’m sick to death of people that badger me like there’s no tomorrow. They’re stuck in this irrational mindset that makes them so neurotic they should be shipped to Iraq and forced to jihad. I make jihad sound like Polish dancing. ARGHH

Having some ABBA song stuck in my head really doesn’t help when I’m trying to vent. Thanks a lot, Björn.

This predicament in which I’m securely wedged in allows me no room to breathe and no space to move. I’m stuck and there’s no way out. I wish fairy tales were real and a knight in shining armor would come to my rescue. Since it’s the 21st Century, it’d be preferable if my savior emerged in the form of a machine gun or a time bomb. Something ‘Mission Impossible’ or Dubble-oh-seven, like an invisible Audi. The people I would very much like to destroy, live in the city, have 3 children around my age, and are big big BIG brown-nosers.

I wish my rents were more allowing. But I guess as offspring, we do have obligations to uphold, mothers, girlfriends, boyfriends, and clergy to placate. The notion of running away and beginning a whole new chapter is rather titillating, except in reality I’d have nowhere to go and nowhere to stay. I wouldn’t even be able to afford a train ticket. But still, I’d have my Nigerian cab driver shoes to walk in, which of course, would make the whole experience more compelling.

Bless my little cotton socks, I’m feeling much better now. *Tilts head and smiles*

"After I graduate, I hope to travel to some faraway land to experience something new. I want to learn a new language – discover a different culture. Wherever I may be, I will still do what I love – studying history and philosophy, writing and making music, and riding my bicycle. I embrace the idea of living with both a sense of curiosity and spontaneity in the future years of my life."

*Slaps self* I used to sound naïve...

The Piña Colada Song

Alice Dellal

Sidecuts: A fleeting sensation
Alice Dellal: An instant magnetism & my hairy inspiration

I’m just that ray of sunlight that shines directly off a shiny surface and pierces straight into your eye.

It’s a pivotal moment for this blogging sensation that’s gripping the nation.

If I go out in the evening, I'm not going to wear a diamanté-studded jacket. What I'd wear is a dinner jacket with a black T-shirt. And doesn't that make perfect sense? Who would you rather look like: James Dean or Liberace?

I am my own self-proclaimed muse.

Dear my devout Lemmings. I bring you joy, peace, and happiness. My creativity is currently going through a phase only experienced by middle aged couples, where they don’t engage in coitus and generally try to steer well clear of one another. I know, this is absolutely mind boggling because one, creativity doesn't fuck anything (the only thing it fucks with is my brain), and two, I’m only 17. Oh very well done, l'enfant. This analogy (speaking of analogy, search up “Substitute teacher – Mad TV” on Youtube, you won’t regret it) pertains to the left side of my brain, or whichever cerebral hemisphere that induces creativity, because I’m all out of innovation and artistry. I don’t want to admit it, but I think the little genius in me has gone for a holiday (no idea when he’s coming back, sorry). I desperately need a vacation of some sort, or to get away from my daily routine.

Apparently I was a difficult child. I had very precise ideas about what I wanted to wear. And what did I do with the clothes my parents bought me? I didn't wear them. I'm still an oddball and I cultivate being different. I'm not a drug fiend though. I remember popping an ecstasy once and waiting expectantly for something to happen... but nothing ever did. It was such a let-down that I never tried again.

Sorry about all these random thoughts jumbled together...

Anyway, Live long and prosper. Until our next encounter.

Agyness Deyn

Buenosdías mi limón,

So what makes a French man French? Is it their Dior handbags? Or, the fact that their penchant for dressing down is inversely proportional to their propensity for acting up? Their poor hygiene? No, that would be targeting the whole population of France, and that would be racist, and we all know that racists don’t get much action, beyotch. But then again, during summer ’08, I do remember ads lining the walls of the Métro for products that would kill body lice. And then there was the friend I phoned one Sunday, who told me he couldn’t meet me because Parisians stayed in on Sunday to bathe and wash their hair... Back to the point, I guess it would have to be their flagrant disregard for any other nationalities bar their own. The way that they can chat to their bosses like old chums, but when a stereotypical tourist asks for directions, they turn their heads away in disgust. That is a French man, but what makes me lemon, lime and bitter?

The bizarre dichotomy in my schizophrenic nature, well… more like, my two-faced, backstabbing, double-crossing temperament, is wrong and I need to re-evaluate myself. Schizophrenia, or any mental illness that I illegitimately diagnose myself with is just an excuse to pardon my sociopathic tendencies.

What I do with new people I meet, like any new toy of mine, is to love them, cherish them for no more than a week, and then dump them for some newer, trashier piece of fascination. I’ve said this before, and I’ll say it again, I get bored easily. I crave for new sensations, not always ensuring that I keep my old fascinations around long enough to remember them. Lately, nothing and no one has caught my attention. Let me rephrase that, lately, nothing and no one is worthy of my attention. Like, apart from the tedious habitual courses in life, like eating, blah blah blah, there is nothing else to entertain myself with. Three months ago, it was meeting a bunch of new people at university, but then, as predicted, they turned out to be -null-.

Agyness Deyn (Right): My first commitment.

You'll never let me down, Aggy.


I used to hate what Lady GaGa represented, but after watching her interviews on talk shows, She's AIIGHT.

A legacy of the 70's

Interlocking shag bands: You break them, you do them.

I know I fall short when it comes to ranting about attention seeking terrestrials, but I must, I must or I will implode. Before I forget, I just saw someone’s description of themselves as “I’m awesome, that is all”. Can anyone be that conceited? I looked through his photos and I had to close the window before my screen cracked. No wonder women find men vulgar, even I, a MAN (feel my stubble) of such accomplishment and capability find men egotistical, selfish and crass.

Ok, back to ugly attention seeking mushrooms -- They take so many pictures of themselves, and broadcast it for the world to see. Like, “Look at me, that’s where I had dinner, I had a glass of water here, and I went to school, and OH! EXCITING! I boiled some water! And here’s me at an extremely exclusive and classy event where people dress to “impress” (I-think-I'm-gonna-chuck) and get drunk.”

Wake up call! Let me tell you, they have no class, they have no style, they’re not remotely attractive, they take their shoes off at house parties, they get drunk and take a million photos JUST so the whole world can see that they’re not like the rest of them, frigid and studious. Did I mention they were ugly?

If you get drunk, no one cares. If you want to prove a point, we still don't care.

And yes, I’m an angry, bitter, problem child and I can’t stand to see others having a good time. But I am a trend-setter, if I may say so myself. Blush.

Oh hush. Not all of us can afford to be romantic. I’ve been offered a comfortable home, and protection: a lot to be thankful for. I’m 27 years old, I’ve no money and no prospects, I’m already a burden to my parents, and I’m frightened. So don’t you judge me, Lizzie, don’t you dare judge me.
-Pride and Prejudice (2005)-

Contemplating my mere existance.

After I graduate, I hope to travel to some faraway land to experience something new. I want to learn a new language – discover a different culture. Wherever I may be, I will still do what I love – studying history and philosophy, writing and making music, and riding my bicycle. I embrace the idea of living with both a sense of curiosity and spontaneity in the future years of my life.

Right now, I’m sitting here, with my chocolate cake and my glass of milk, and I feel more love towards this insentient object, than I do for anyone I’ve ever met. Call me skeptical, but they’ve all let me down, one-way or another. I think for now, I’ll stick to one-nighters. A blow and go. A call to boot. A kiss and ditch. A conceive and leave. (w.e)

Honny, here's a fonny fact: Love doesn't exist. It's called infatuation.


I called mother dearest and apologized for being so rude. We're all good now. Semicolon capital dee.

Burberry: George Craig, Matt Gilmour, Max Hurd, Alex & Emma Watson

The navy peacoat is mine. It's in my wardrobe and it was worth the arm and leg I paid.

The World Should Revolve Around Me

I fail at relationships; I hope I'm not alone. But it's so fun being by myself! I was reading my friend's blog and he was complaining that his high school friends that he practically grew up with didn't invite him to their birthday parties. If I were in that position (and if I could fabricate emotions), I would say that would make me sad, but to be honest, it's not that big a deal to be left out and rejected. I've been rejected many times, and after say the third time, you don't feel anything. Just take it out on a deliciously dangerous concoction of dark rum and ginger ale.

There there, *pats shoulders and takes a swig out of a suspicious brown paper bag*


I renounce my title as class nerd, concert headmaster and all-round hippy.

To those budding teenagers hesitant about the many pathways and opportunities that Grade 12 will bring: don't be. It's all an amazing journey with your friends and when I look back, the hard work (or lack thereof) was worth it.

She decided to sock me and Sammy. A week later Sammy died. It was a pivotal moment in my life. I decided not to invest too much emotion in one thing. It was a set up to the pain of losing them.
-Domino (2005)-