I recognize this check list, has anyone ever seen me the morning after Mardi Gras?, someone must have unknowingly vaccinated me during the party. 🙂
Good afternoon Wollongong, today’s selection of offensive cabana wear I’ll be parading is my beloved Don Dunstan inspired pink chenille shorts.
Hand made for me by the ‘Haus of Dianne’ (who’s designs and tailoring work for me has been praised by no less than Jean Paul Gautier).
Let’s see some bogan harlot try and cast a critical eye over these today and live to tell the tale.
It’s book week here at Tingle Manor, so fluff a pillow, moisten a finger, and envelop yourself in a favorite page turner.
A woman walks into a bar and asks for a double entendre, so the barman gives her one.
THIS ladies and gentlemen is what you call a ‘Costanza parking spot’.
Newtown was INSANE last night, all the filth, shit rags, low life’s, moperer’s and people quite frankly not worthy of crossing my path, are leeching in from the cross, city and lockout laws. Hopefully a ‘Trump wall’ will be erected soon with armed border guards.
It took AGES to crawl down King st, then right out the front of my beloved restaurant a car pulled out. I done the ‘car door linger’ as I was getting out, you know, where you play with your keys whilst standing by your car.
You should have seen the pleading looks on people’s faces ‘Are you going??’, with my paused, pondering look, ‘Nup’, and then the life force giving rage of the driver screaming, ‘Ya fuckin piece of shit!!’ as they speed away.
Ahhhh, life is good. 🙂
Well, well, well. It seems someone else in my building is also offended by the mysterious person who leaves ALL their pegs on the line.
I came home today to find the lines clean, and the pegs scattered across the ground. Maybe the new Uni guy who’s just moved in to #3 is a little unstable? . .
I wish I had some pearls to clutch.
Donna’s out of jail, and Jim’s back on the liquor. Oh Nitflux, let me count the ways.
I spent glorious yesterday at the beach, the water was warm, the sun was out, and I was bedecked in my patented cabana beach wear, which consists of black, black, black, and also my stunning pink flamingos shorts.
I had the utter misfortune to have to venture into Wollongong central, the worlds greatest failure of a shopping centre. As I was ascending the escalator a young couple were standing ahead of me. I followed their line of site, and they were looking at my much commented on, and beloved shorts.
She leaned into her boyfriend, and I heard her say, ‘Don’t laugh’.
DON’T LAUGH!!??, how dare you, you suburban little TART!!.
I gave her and her piss ant boyfriend, who looked like he’d been strained through a homeless persons threadbare sock, the slow once up and down. What I discovered on her were clothes that wouldn’t have totaled more than ten dollars in cost, as well as legs with spider web veins, and the most gut wrenchingly repugnant, flat, splayed feet in non Haviana thongs!.
The boyfriend was wearing cargo pants, BELOW THE KNEE!!. Before you get excited, no I didn’t throw them over the side of the escalator, I was actually rendered speechless that an urbane couple, bedecked in ‘Cotton On’, would dare give ME shade on fashion!!?? (I’m so Au currant with the lingo).
Don’t get above yourself Wollongong*, just because you have a pop up cafe in a shipping container does not elevate you above the fact, you’re still a grubby little city, in the shittiest state in Australia.
*Of course I don’t mean North Wollongong, which is only filled with stylish people of class, poise and decorum (as long as interlopers from Campbelltown keep going to city beach instead).
How can I have reached fifty one years of age, and only just discovered Madge Allsop’s maiden name was Marjorie Kiri McWhirter. My own hubris terrifies me, I must remember there is always so much more to learn in life.
Don’t worry, it’s only bile, stomach acid and blood, I’m sure it’ll wash out.
You know who shits me these days?, bitter old check out ladies.
I think they know their days are numbered, their time of power is waning. No more will they take a set against you, waiting until they get to an inappropriate item, then foist it aloft yelling, “Price check on Home brand Lube!!”.
Today i was asked,
‘Do you want your Disney collectors cards?’,
Yes please, my little nephews collect them.
‘Here’s three’,
Aren’t I supposed to get one for every twenty dollars spent?,
‘That’s all I have’,
Can you get some more?,
‘No’.
Then came the stare down, my patented ‘Riiiiiiiiiiiiight’, and the delightful discomfort of the people waiting in line behind me.
She was treating me like a dealer wielding power over a junkie. I gathered up my creme fraiche and hissed, ‘Self service!!’.
Your days of crushing loaves of bread will soon be over honey.
A few months ago a guy at Woolies in Wollongong started scanning my stuff,
“How’s your day sir!?”,
With the weight of my reality i responded,
Mate, it’s 7.00pm on a Saturday night, I’m shopping alone, and have soup for one in my trolley, how do you think my fucking night is going??.
His eyes lit up . .
“Thank you, THANK YOU!, I have to ask everyone that question!, the only thing people ever say is, ‘Fine’. THANK YOU for telling me the truth!”.
The gay boy check out chicks love me too. I always present my items for scanning, first in order of cleaning products, then bottled goods, then cold/frozen groceries, and lastly bread, in its own bag, ‘Of course sir’.
I always get a knowing nod from them.
