Dear Diary

Greetings sexually violent droogs and welcome to this intimate look at the real Marvel.  I have decided this week to just post a few pages of my award winning diary, to give you all a no holds barred look at the man Rolling Stone Magazine dubbed “Irrelevant”.  Enjoy.

Dear Diary-

Day started off like any other.  Violent self gratification in the shower whilst weeping and applying lipstick.  All while the sweet sounds of Jessica Origliasso and that twin sister bitch of hers serenade me from my radio.  I made my way to the Dan O’Connell for my usual morning pint of crème de menthe and moved swiftly onwards to Scienceworks for my weekly visit.  I like to regularly visit Scienceworks to remind myself how shit it is and how I should never go there.  It’s a great place to view the wonders of Science with state of the art, brilliant displays filled with fun filled activities like...rolling dice to prove the laws of probability and cutting bits of paper to prove the laws of...papery cutting.  Or you could see if you can outrun Cathy Freeman...just like you could when I visited it in Grade 5.  And I still can’t... and it’s still shit.  The best part was the Hot Chips in a Bag exhibit...and when I realised that this was not a display but instead was the canteen, I resumed my previous level of disappointment (Although the chips were nice).  Of course this particular visit was different as it contained the Star Wars, Where Science meets Imagination, exhibit and like everyone else that was there, I proceeded to skip over all the educational content and head straight towards the Millennium Falcon models.  And Diary...it was fucking ace.  I would have queued for days and gone through infinite poxy, string based displays, just to see the binoculars Han used on Hoth.  It also really reminded how much I don’t give a shit about the prequels as I skipped past anything with the word Naboo on it.  Obviously the organisers felt somewhat the same, as Padme’s outfit was tucked far far away in a dark corner gathering dust and resentful remarks.  I was almost able to convince myself one weekend that I enjoyed Revenge Of The Sith...but then I realised it was because I was out of my brains on Meth and I was convinced it was an alternate reality where Mr. Lucas wasn’t an insane, deluded twat.  In the extremely overpriced Star Wars souvenir store, we came across an Obi Wan doll that resembled Mr. Lucas more than Mr. Guinness.  I then realised that I had inadvertently stumbled across George’s master plan.  To digitally insert himself into the film as Old Ben.  He must be stopped diary!  And as we have previously discussed many, many times , I’m the man to do it.

After I was all Star Wars-ed out and had finished seeing the glorious sights of sunny Spotswood, I made my way to a roller derby rink to watch...CHICKS BEATING THE FUCK OUT OF EACH OTHER IN SHORT SHORTS!!!  Now as you well know diary, I like to present myself in a pretentious, dignified manner... But no one can resist the allure of chicks...on skates...beating the fuck outta each other.  I decided to support the Reservoir Dolls over The Dead Ringer Rosies.  Not only because of the Tarantino reference, but because I enjoyed the leashed antics of a certain player by the name of Foxy Terrier.   It was actually a pretty entertaining game when I figured out the rules and the atmosphere and theatrics were perfectly complimented by the fact that it had a bar.  The Dolls won apparently, but by the end I was so plastered my interest could only be held by a hot dog fused with bacon bits.  It was also a great place to meet women...but not those kinds of women. 
http://www.myspace.com/melbournegrindgirls

Also, great bands think alike, as the band I enjoy sucking up to the most at the moment (Kill The Matador) were there.  Diary, you should check these guys out as they are fucking amazing live and obviously they are not adverse to chicks beating the fuck out of each other on skates.
http://www.myspace.com/letskillthematador

After that diary...I went and got merry at the Dan again and was surprised to find out that I was another year older.  Shit eh.

And as usual diary...Jessica still hasn’t replied to my emails.  She just doesn’t seem to care that I have been sending her two emails everyday for four years.  How could she hurt someone who loves her so much?  All I have ever wanted is a tiny sample of her hair and I think the fact that I sent her a package filled with every single hair on my body, more than makes it fair trade.  I’m sure she has now realised by the pictures I have sent, that I have taken to carving her name into my flesh for every day I receive no reply.  I am starting to run out of space seeing as Origliasso is not the friendliest, length wise surname and for a dedicated carver to resort to just cutting in her initials seems, well...just plain silly.  But still, I long for her touch and I will love her until the day I die.  I bet she hasn’t even bothered to pass these messages onto her sister like I asked. 

Well, I must go Diary as I have to go meet uncle McDermott for a birthday dinner.  I still haven’t forgiven him for what he did to me and I can’t even look at an umbrella handle without gagging.

So until next time diary,

Goodnight.

P.s:  I also met my favourite newsreader Mal Walden the other week.  I told him that he was, in fact, my fave, whilst I was in a rather drunken stupor.  He didn’t seem overly impressed.  Didn’t get to ask him whether he thinks he would win in an oiled wrestle between him and Peter Hitchener.  Next time diary...next time.