Upon a recent afternoon at work, I had a group of three middle-aged ladies enter the store and begin pawing through some of the quant gadgets and objets d’art that we have littered across the shelve. After a short while, one of the ladies happened upon a jigsaw puzzle that we sell that, when assembled, […]


I hate people constantly over-describing themselves as ‘sarcastic’, as if it’s one of their main character traits. ‘Hi, I’m Felix. I’m 6’2″, dark-haired, sarcastic.’ You can’t just be sarcastic. Are you being sarcastic when you call yourself sarcastic, because you can’t identify your entire being as ‘sarcastic’ if what you mean is ‘I often, but […]

I know, right? Sounds weird? It’s true. I think it’s the hair and the necklaces or whatever, but at least once a shift when I’m working on the bar, someone will say ‘Hey, man! Are you in a band? You look like you’re in band! I bet you’re in a band!’, and I have to […]


If brief radio flickers and supermarket PA systems have taught me anything about modern music, it’s that kids like to party; the shards of Kesha and One Direction that aggressively force their way into my unwilling ear drums from time to time have certainly shown me that much. However, they never really say ‘drinking’ or ‘dancing’ or ‘hanging out with strangers in awkwardly forced social interactions’, they simply say ‘partying’. Now, I’m not entirely sure when the noun ‘party’, as in an assembly of people meeting with a common goal, be it political, social or celebratory, transformed into this awkwardly misapplied verb that I, for one, feel totally ill-equipped to define. All I know about ‘partying’ is that the significance placed upon it makes it fraudulently seem like some sort of animalistic ritual of transcendental meditation that culminates in an out-of-body experience, or an ascension to a new state of being (which I suppose is true, if you consider ‘hungover’ and ‘brimming with shame’ to be a state of being).

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So there I was in the swimming pool locker room…

(Great start to a story)

I had just about finished getting showered and dressed and was just drying my hair, when in walked Cock Out Man. As you can guess from his name, Cock Out Man had his cock out, proudly dangling away as he swung his hips and gayly (old meaning) strolled past me with a skip in his step. Now, this doesn’t bother me. I’m fine about my physical appearance, but at the same time, I have the modesty to make sure that the amount of locker room penile exposure is kept to a minimum on my part, mainly as a courtesy for the other men there who would inevitably start to feel insecure in my presence (ladies?). Cock Out Man, on the other hand, had no such reservations. Not only was he comfortable with cock exposure, but he stood in the corner of the room, facing outward, flicking around on his phone for a few minutes, without a hint of concealment.

Now, you know how when you already think someone is weird, so you keep an eye (not directly in this case) on them, and suddenly they do something even weirder, and it’s so much funnier because you were already watching them? Well, I had my eye (again, not directly) on Cock Out Man, waiting to see how long he was going to live up to his name. Then something really bizarre happened… Continue reading

Obviously my own feelings of the legitimacy of the matter aren’t hard to guess. However, for the sake of this article, I will try not to simply summarise this practice with one of the many vulgar four letter words that are currently piling up on the tip of my tongue, gently rapping on my teeth, begging to be freed from their oral captivity.

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Internet people are fun. I don’t usually bother replying to this kind of tedious antagonism, but this guy was pretty insistent. I actually had a look at his twitter history, and he’s the kind of asshole who tweets “hey sexi, wanna fuck?” to every female he can find. Idiot.