So I’m sitting here trying to do the work of four people, working of a report that is 5 days old as the software I am mean to be using is more unreliable than a Microsoft product. I also have external auditors on there way to ask me stuff as well. All I can think about is going home to check the mail to see if my Sandman ‘Preludes and Nocturnes’ and my Judge Dredd/Batman ‘Judgment on Gotham’ graphic novels have turned up. Ahh, the life of a nerd. One consolation about today, they are holding interviews and I must admit, watching these hopefuls slink up the hallways, sitting in reception whispering power words to themselves, hands shaking as they fill paper cups from the water cooler, is something I quite enjoy. I wonder if I was a total mess like this when I went for this job, but somehow I don’t think I was. That inherent feeling of not really caring enough just may have won through I think
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On Saturday I went to a gallery opening, went to Impies and caught up with some people who I have not seen dor many many years. Anyway, it seems that they have turned into exactly the thing that I feared could happen to me upon taking this job working for the man.
They were sitting there, big noting themselves and their post-degree careers, fucking around with their iphones the whole time and after a few drinks I unceremoniously told them that I thought they were a bunch of pratts, and in the end they really hadn’t actually “made it” as they seemed to think and the best thing they could do was to pull their heads out of their arses, take a look around and realise there is more to the world then complaining about how “plebeian” it is to have chips served with steak.
Oh, and having a iphone doesn’t mean your rich and successful. Especially when you drove into town in a bashed up old holden station wagon. Fucking amateurs.
This slice of a little ditty known as “The Parable of Glenn McGrath’s Haircut by TISM” goes out especially to you –
The last time I saw Roger was last year at the Boxing Day test. He'd turned into such a fat, normal, yobbo cunt.
"The wife nearly didn't let me out today" he said, and he did all that chanting yobs do, like "Ooh, Aahh, Glenn McGrath".
"It got you in the end" I thought to myself, as I looked at Roger. "Life got you in the end, pal. You were such a cocky, successful winner when we were 16, but now you're just another sad fat prick sitting in the M.C.G high-fiving in self-congratulation, as if its you that had the skill and determination to play for Australia". Its the cunts with the bad haircuts that you've got to watch out for. There's never been a popular teenager yet who's done rat's with their life. Its the fucking dorks that give it a real go. Glenn McGrath got 5 for 50 that day.