Festival wristbands

If you went to a festival a month ago I don’t give a fuck. If you hit the hottest nightspot in epicenter of the hottest town on the hottest planet with the hottest llama 2 days ago I DON’T GIVE A FUCK. 

I understand that festival wristbands are often hard to take off with your teeth. I have damn near ruined my perfect smile trying to cleanse my arm of Blues fest but we live in a free market and un less you are about to board a plane than should duck into the corner store and pick up a pair of scissor or better yet just ask anyone if you can borrow a knife.

 Even simpler wash off your club stamp, that shit is gross. I don’t care if you have to scrub for an hour. Club stamps are the tramp stamp of the wrist. I don’t really understand why anyone would want to keep a sweaty wristband reminder of anything. Do you think people that come out of mental hospital walk around with their insane bracelets so other reformed crazies can see where they have been?

“Yo you were Arkham. I couldn’t get in bra, respect”

it’s not jewelry its not even sanitary. Think about these idiots make and serve your food. Chances are they ate 15 caps in the middle of summer whilst screaming at a stage in the middle of a mosh pit with 5000 other people sweating out liters of MDMA and cheap vodka and than they hap hazardly scramble your eggs.

Yummy

Drunken English people are the worst type of people

I don’t think I’m racist. I love pointing out a stereotype like a Greek person that has cemented their whole yard or a black American eating fried chicken or a stupid Australian wearing white sunglasses. However I work nights in a bakery. Not baking but selling pies to all the drunken people when the clubs close. It’s basically as glamorous as life can get. Living in Byron bay there are people from all over the world and I get to meet them all at there worst (Drunk and/or high). Generally they will come in and ask me the same question 5 times ask me what hour the bakery is closed, when were the chocolate éclair’s made bla bla bla.

Drunk people tend to go one of two ways. Either incredibly generous offering the people around them whatever they like at the price of a high five and a smile or they can be angry and frugal. They will try most anything to save themselves thirty cents. 

This is where you might start thinking I’m a bigot. Most of the people that harass me for discounts and free sauce are English. I’m not sure if it’s because things are so much cheaper in London (that’s in England guys) or because they need to save money for their dental bills and sunscreen.

The worst part is these people will argue with me until the people behind them get upset and they will fold and pay the five dollars twenty with a fifty-dollar note. Obviously you are not that broke if you have a pineapple in your pocket friend. Perhaps that is there last fifty dollars and I do have some sympathy for you but I cant even remember the last time I could afford to walk around with fat stacks like that in my pocket. There is a pep in my step when I have gold coins floating around in my pants.

 I wonder if this a common occurrence for the travelling Englishman or if “yall some cheap motherfuckers”

Is this a stereotype? If so how do you get anything done in the U.K. does everybody just stand around telling shopkeepers “That’s a bloody joke mate” imagine the lines to get petrol. What happens in church when the collection gets handed around. I imagine it would be like a Mexican wave of “ya havin a laugh”

There are one more group of people that share this cheapness outlook but not because they think it should be cheaper but because they think they are entitled and that’s Byron locals. They will come in with there felt hats and three hundred dollar tie-dye fake hippy denim vests, cut the line and tell you exactly how long they have lived here and there complete lineage. I’ts fairly similar to the opening credits of game of thrones and equally as boring. They will also tell you how many items they have bought from the bakery in total and will get incredibly agitated when we tell them there is no locals price.

I have lived in a lot of places in a Australia and a few around the world but I’ve never lived anywhere where the locals have been so aggressive about what they think is there’s. I like to mess with them and tell them I am a local too as I have been here for almost seven months. This normally results in them stomping out of the shop as quick as their stovepipes will allow.

 Of course there are acceptations to the rule and I don’t want anyone to think that every English person or Byron local is el cheapo nor do I want anyone to think that I’m racist cause I’ve totally banged like 6 English girls but I cant help but point out a stereotype. I should know I’m a walking stereotype. I’ve been getting called a stoner since before I knew what marijuana was.

Sleeveless T’s

I wish I could wear a singlet. I’ve spent my whole life in t-shirts and have always been secretly jealous of guys with their shoulders out. I wouldn’t consider it a body image issue more of a body issue. The first problem I face with sleeveless t’s is my obvious lack of tan. Whilst my arms are golden brown and delicious my upper shoulder is basically see through on top of that im the only guy on the planet with tuck shop shoulders. Im fairly sure if I tried to tan those bitch’s the sun would get burnt from the reflection.

whistling equals loneliness

george w

Whistling is stupid and unless you are calling your dog or work in construction and see a sexy lady walk past than you have no right to do it. If I want to hear a song ill listen to it. I don’t need your terrible rendition of love shack, I already got that shit on repeat.

People that whistle are in for a lonely life as the only time you catch someone whistling is when they are by themselves which is probably the reason they are by themselves in the first place. Classic chicken, egg situation.

Whisteling doesn’t make you musical either. Its not an instrumeant. If it was an enjoyable sound we wouldn’t use it in sport. You don’t see referees blowing a harmonica when Ronaldo scores a goal or the umpire plucking a violin when the football people kick the football out.

The worst type of whistling person is the bird whistler. Like birds aren’t annoying enough. Nobody cares about how well you can impersonate a blue footed booby you fucking tit. It’s annoying and if nobody’s saying anything to you its because they are fantasizing about ripping your lips off and feeding them to you.

So next time your sitting on a train or flipping a burger and you feel the need to press your lips together and blow. Just think about how you want to spend the rest of your life, alone with your birds or together with friends.

Than again maybe it’s just me that doesn’t like whistling.

But ill still kill you if I hear it
xx

Black guys and me

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I listen to so much hip hop that im thinking bout buying a gun. I don’t want to shoot anyone. I cant even kill bugs when I find them around the house but I feel as though I owe to my playlist to at least pack heat.

Come to think of it I don’t relate to any of the music I listen to. Im sure if Brenda had a baby she would attend la mass class’s with her husband of 2 years and have pre organized maternity leave whilst her husband Richard would work at home half the week to help look after there son Richard smith the second.

I don’t even like bad bitchs. i like it when girls are polite but give me 2 glass’s of chardonnay and ill be screaming from my second story balcony with my homies Robert and Charles during the commercials of the tennis

I don’t even know any black people. I got nervous in America when I passed them.

10 second photo


From the dawn of time humans have tried to put photos on instagram and by photo’s I mean drawings and by instagram I mean cave walls and by dawn I mean at least the 90’s.

I was born in the 80’s and I remember disposable cameras. They were great because u never knew what you had until it was developed. The whole process could take weeks. Film cameras were the same. My mum bought a cannon when I was 9 and it was the size of a brick and by the time you were fully zoomed you could have walked closer to the subject but I loved it. I even loved waiting an hour for the film to be developed. It was like ordering something online. You can’t wait to get it but at the same time once it arrived you have nothing to look forward to anymore.

Half the time I would get the photos back and they would be over exposed cause I sucked at loading the film into the camera.

Nowadays photos are so instantaneous that you’re only expected to look at them for 10 seconds and than they disappear quicker than a drunken memory of your friends friends name.

Everything gets quicker as the world gets older but photos to me seem to embody this metaphor better than anything else. Once upon a time to keep a memory of a place or a person you would pose for hours whilst somebody painted you or it and I would imagine it would be kept as a precious object. Last month my iphone finally died when I got a new phone I was given the opportunity to transfer all my photo’s across but I couldn’t be bothered. There was like a thousand and it could have taken up to 10 minutes.

I don’t want to sound like an old man because im really not. I listen to mp3’s and have skinny jeans. Truth be told I send the occasional snapchat. Im always that guy that puts photo’s of the food he cooks on instagram but I think something can be said about the days of our photography past. Maybe we should all go out and buy a $20 disposable. Take a few snaps maybe take it out on the town and get a little drunk wid it, than be nervous to see the photos whilst they are getting developed. I know I will.

My snapchat name is timyay just in case you were wondering

jesus season

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What if Jesus has already come back and he was hit by a bus or fell down a well as a child. Evangelical Christians tell us that Jesus is going to make his entrance in Israel or the Gaza strip but most of these are born again Christians or Mormons who believe Jesus had his gap year in America.

 

I’m agnostic which makes me the vegetarian that eats fish of the religious world. I do believe in something, I’m just not sure what it is. I can’t help but think that Jesus maybe already came back but he landed in the wrong place like Dubbo. Perhaps he is back now and trying to stop Koni. Jason Russel was speaking in tongues for a while. We say he had a mental breakdown but a thousand years ago that would have been considered a sign.

 

 

What if Jesus came back and decided he would rather be a race car driver than a prophet or perhaps Jesus is a sales rep. I haven’t read the bible (so don’t spoil the ending) but from what I remember he had free choice. He had some responsibilities and his dad gave him some chores but he was a still man whom at least made some decisions. I’m fairly sure god wasn’t telling him whether it was a sandals or no shoes kind of day or whether to have fish or bread.

 

What if Jesus did come back and he was born in Jerusalem. I’ts not exactly the burbs there. It’s dangerous and if he wanted to leave he could go through Jordan, Syria, Iraq, Egypt or Israel. I know he was a big fan of walking but I don’t like anyone’s chances of walking through any of those countries. Even with 12 of his homies.

 

Maybe Jesus realized early on that there was more money in hip hop and changed his name to Yeezus so his dad can’t Google him. I always filter what I put on Facebook so my mum doesn’t see it. I doubt the second coming would be as extraverted as Kanye but the first song on his newest album is called “I am a God” and who are we to know what the Christian god has planned for all of creation maybe he just wanted to drop some hot beats and work with Jay Z.

 

Perhaps I’m Jesus, I’ve never really performed any miracles accept that one time I turned red wine into vinegar. I’ve never walked on water but every time I catch the train no matter where I stand on the platform the train always stops with the door in front me. Divine intervention?