Vomitous

Dear Arj Barker, when I read capital letters THE VOICE IN MY HEAD SOUNDS LIKE YOU

The next person who says, "You come from the north coast? Why aren't you more tanned?", I hope Kanye West pops out from a nearby bush and says "Yo Sydney kid imma let you finish in a second but Jessica from Twilight had the best pale person shut-down of all time. OF. ALL. TIME". And then he eats their nose.

Dear Diana Ferarri, your shoes suck and they fucked my freaky-looking feet up. They hurt worse than if my feet had been ravaged by sharks with burning hot coals in their mouths and tiny people shooting razors out of their eyes. YOU FAIL DIANA FERARRI.

In my head, my life is like a video game. Make the train? Ten points. Buy awesome shoes? 45 points. When I get upset, I think to myself: don't be an Adam Hills. Be a Shaun Micallef. Then I award myself points for my general fabulousness.

Dear idiots on the shuttle bus: there are about 12 seats on that ridiculous tiny vehicle. Approximately 400 people need to get to main campus for the Monday lecture. I know you're art students and you pretend not to know math but GET YOUR FUCKING BAGS OFF THE SEATS BEFORE I VOMIT AT YOU OUT OF PURE RAGE AND AWESOMENESS

When I meet someone new I try to harness the crazy, you know, dole it out in small amounts so that they gradually become desensitised. Unfortunately lately I seem to have lost the word-filter on my huge mouth and the little monkey in my head starts losing it's shit and shrieking MISTAAAAAKE! It bangs it's little cymbals and jumps up and down, but I never listen.