Melbourne, home of the fibrous, tannin stained nightmares we call guts. It takes guts to stand up for yourself and be counted. Its a weak-kneed future - many-a-penis tried and failed, but the unionist socialist within shall prevail. Walk hard, walk into em and walk through 'em, oh Keith - dock-worker extrordinaire, corrupt arse-hole licker and perenium stroker, our urethral eclipse like a lolly-drop lap-dog pony ride unto our glorious space-place.
Hold! Halt - siren flares, Middleton is blogging again, a non-hero, a nobody, a blight. Oh Melbourne, city of fakers, head-shakers, barbeque quakers and Lutheran collaborators. Bismillah! Georgian cold-callers and the void - that special void that sits between our ears, our green-gray sewerage, nastier than an angry protozoan.
Needles - pointy things, they break the skin even. Most folk shudder. Some dribble unctuous and pre-pubescent. Its a special culture of nothingness, life like a page loading up on old-school resource strained ADSL. Ignore warning, go ahead. Do do do. Flannel shirted and a fanny-like beard is our twenty-something
competitor, hasn't quite had it hard enough, hasnt quite had the living shit beaten out of him by his dad, hasnt quite suckled enough nipple. The chord he strums is dead. It is tawdry precice, is our future cuppa.
Black. Black, the real-deal.
So toot on, my son. We be familial and it is what makes us great. Somethings not quite right in the head of our writer but at the end of the day neither you nor eye give a fuck. Does it impress on your unconcious? Doubtfull. Its an angelic orgy of sound-fire. The final stand off between Muslim and christian. The final stand off between Muslim and all non-Muslims. The final battle. Hindu, Jain, Zoroastrian, Druze, oh loyalist loyalist royalist make me make you make me make you gurgle. Behead them all!