weequizzie

Day 183 of 365, originally uploaded by Andy*Matthews.

Check it, Maff does another goodie. This is an excellent pikker and this kid also has excellent hair. Well done Andy and well done the kid with the hair.

Hey, if you ever feel like you want some delicious crab tempura, a douchebag maître d’ and cunts to serve you at the bar then head to the Great Eastern Dining Room.

If you’re really lucky you’ll order a bottle of the house white at the bar, get charged incorrectly (according to the wine list you order from), ask for a refund and be told by the cokedcockfaced bar manager (I think he was – he looked like he was REALLY important and could count money) you’re ‘lucky’ to be getting such nice wine at that price. Erm, you’re lucky you get to be so thick. If you’re really, really super lucky the incredibly dumb bar woman will throw your voided transaction receipt at you after you ask for your copy because she’s a sterling douche that excels in the service industry. Aww guys, you’re the ones who are lucky. Lucky that your lives are so fulfilled working in such a magnificent establishment. Lucky that you are so good at your jobs. Lucky that the world is so huge, and you are so tiny and insignificant that your failures won’t resonate too hard, and if I want to find some cunty service then thank the sweet lord I know exactly where to go.

Remember friends, head to Great Eastern Dining Cunts for abuse and the best bad service ever.

Time Out says, ‘what’s not to like about a place that serves beautifully presented pan-Asian food in comfortable, cool surroundings’? Er, I’ll tell you – the cunts serving at the bar.

Today I made oat and sunflower seed bread, sticky, spicy spare ribs, and chocolate and banana cupcakes. Now I want to drink a pint of Guinness, watch something beautiful and sleep fitfully. Sunday, you always make me want more.

Hey, originally uploaded by weequizzie*.

One day this is really going to happen.

People, I implore you to ditch your Converse. Throw them high into the sky and pray they don’t sully the eyes of others by resting on power lines or trees, defiling the skyline. Pray. Pray that some kind angel lifts them up and disposes of them quickly and silently. Converse are the kicks of the bored, the tired, the not-connected-to-your-feet-and-where-they-might-take-you. They are unthinking, noncommittal, unassuming and ready for dead. Wake up. Embrace life. Give your feet hope. Shit, they’re not even kicks. They’re half way between Clarks and what you granny wore when her arches went. Deliver us all from this pain. Deliver us.

I apologise to the Converse owners – it’s a personal thing. Forgive me.

Robot in a jar, originally uploaded by weequizzie*.

Seriously.

I need to see you

Lance Pattison skating a monument celebrating the 100th anniversary of women’s right to vote in Victoria, Australia.