Two Front Teeth
It's a hot and horrible day. I'm sipping a warm can of Coke in an internet cafe/ laundromat on Victoria street, North Melbourne trying to think of something festive or ,at the very least, topical for the Season of Screaming Last Minute Shoppers. Darren has decided to take his laptop over to Perth with him for three weeks which means that it's either the internet cafe or Meg's poxy computer (see below for why I'm not using it) This is how I always used to write, a one hour deadline to put down all my thoughts in email form, but I've had the luxury of using housemate Darren's computer in the recent years (when he isn't using it) which means that I spend hours on the couch in my boxer shorts instead of typing. I've become slack. Unhurried. Meanwhile the clock is ticking down.....
Meg has a replacement computer at home but it is a sick, unhealthy creature. I have no idea if it is just being a hypochondriac or if indeed it does have more viruses than a Portuguese sailor but every two or three minutes it coughs up the phrase 'Message from SYSTEM to ALERT (a bunch of numbers). TOP! WINDOWS REQUIRES IMMEDIATE ATTENTION. WINDOWS has found 47 CRITICAL SYSTEMS ERROR (then a bunch of things we have to do i.e. Re-install something, get an exorcist, make a will)' It varies the message only slightly, by increasing the number of critical systems error. Whatever the Hell that is.
Wait! I've got a Christmas story. It's going to render the title of the blog meaningless but since I've already spent fifteen minutes prattling on about nothing I'll just pray that no-one notices. So be a pal and ignore the last sentence okay?
We used to have a large Fijian fella named Lenny who used to work as a bussy at the bar. A kind, generous soul who used to tolerate Yours Truly since; a) I was technically his boss and b) we'd share some beers and laughs outside of work- a good thing since he could probably rip the throat of a Tyrannosaurus with his bare hands should the occasion called for it. He asked me some Christmases ago if I would like to join him and his friends for a Fijian feast. 'It'll be great. There'll be beer, a lovely roast. Strippers.'
Strippers?
Apparently these guys had an annual event in which they'd invite girls to remove their clothing while they celebrated the birth of our Lord. 'How does your girlfriend feel about that?' I asked him. 'She's okay with it,' he replied ,' she says "You can look at the moon Lenny....you just can't land on it."'
When Santa says 'Ho ho ho' he's not being a jolly fat guy, just a dirty old letch.
Naked girls- Isn't that what Christmas is truly about?
Fatman
Meg has a replacement computer at home but it is a sick, unhealthy creature. I have no idea if it is just being a hypochondriac or if indeed it does have more viruses than a Portuguese sailor but every two or three minutes it coughs up the phrase 'Message from SYSTEM to ALERT (a bunch of numbers). TOP! WINDOWS REQUIRES IMMEDIATE ATTENTION. WINDOWS has found 47 CRITICAL SYSTEMS ERROR (then a bunch of things we have to do i.e. Re-install something, get an exorcist, make a will)' It varies the message only slightly, by increasing the number of critical systems error. Whatever the Hell that is.
Wait! I've got a Christmas story. It's going to render the title of the blog meaningless but since I've already spent fifteen minutes prattling on about nothing I'll just pray that no-one notices. So be a pal and ignore the last sentence okay?
We used to have a large Fijian fella named Lenny who used to work as a bussy at the bar. A kind, generous soul who used to tolerate Yours Truly since; a) I was technically his boss and b) we'd share some beers and laughs outside of work- a good thing since he could probably rip the throat of a Tyrannosaurus with his bare hands should the occasion called for it. He asked me some Christmases ago if I would like to join him and his friends for a Fijian feast. 'It'll be great. There'll be beer, a lovely roast. Strippers.'
Strippers?
Apparently these guys had an annual event in which they'd invite girls to remove their clothing while they celebrated the birth of our Lord. 'How does your girlfriend feel about that?' I asked him. 'She's okay with it,' he replied ,' she says "You can look at the moon Lenny....you just can't land on it."'
When Santa says 'Ho ho ho' he's not being a jolly fat guy, just a dirty old letch.
Naked girls- Isn't that what Christmas is truly about?
Fatman
posted by Fatman | 2:38 pm
3 Comments:
I know how hard it is living without a computer. I have to make do with mine at work whilst everyone is walking past and peering over my shoulder at what I am writing. Can't wait to get one at home.
Yay, you're embracing the whole posting pics thing. What's a young, dapper, single man's blog without a girlie photo? Your work is now complete.
"young" and "dapper", not exactly how i'd describe you fatman. but then nor is "fatman" so hey.
ok relvant link made, now for random and irrelevant communications:
i am moving to melb. my postcode will actually be 3000. this has two implications for you fatman; 1) PE is likely to see me spew for the first time ever as i will be there both more frequently and more intoxicated thanks to my nearer domecile; and 2) i expect to see you beyond the PE realms. i demand at least the event of a shared drink at a different establishment, or possibly even a home visit from the good dr. fatman. (hmm, i didn't mean that sound as porno as it does. meh.)
merry merriment.
Gaijin Girl- Well, all the cool kids were into the posting picture on their blogsite thing for about a decade so I figured it's about time I learnt. Baby steps, baby steps.
Anonymous- Home visit from Dr.Fatman: Check! And feel free to vomit in our fine establishment as we pay people (Anto) to mop up for us.
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