venerdì, dicembre 24, 2010

"It's not the Second Coming"

You know I complain, I could complain professionally, but I also enjoy a healthy capacity for schadenfreude (sp?), there-but-for-the-grace-of-Jeebus-go-I-ism, and sympathy for the Mistress La Spliffe and F-word in a parallel universe who opted to spend an extra school semester in Belgium before attempting to fly out to this incredibly-fucking-white-but-at-least-it-fucking-works Winterless Wonderland here below.

Poor George Gegechkori, you've got a way with words. I hope you got to Atlanta, buddy, though Jeebus knows why you'd want to.

Merry Christmas to everyone, especially you poor fucks stuck in European aeroports; though I laugh in relief that I am not you I feel your pain. I was one of you last year on our way to Madrid, which should really just rub salt in the wound, since the stupid fucking cunts administering the aeroports should have figured out at this point that Winter Sometimes Involves Inclement Weather and Christmas Is In Winter. Sometimes "dherrrrrr" is just not strong enough a mocking sound.

giovedì, dicembre 23, 2010


Noun, for a group of people so fucking white that they make Canadian mangiacakes look like the United Fucking Nations. The F-word warned me before we came here, warned me repeatedly, to expect this massive fucking cultural ignorance, this wall of fucking fishbelly incomprehension of anything even vaguely non-white, and when I say non-white I mean WHITE, that milky fucking blankness of the Anglo-Saxon skin that you get glimpses of here when people's shorts ride up and you get glimpses beyond the tanline . . .

(Speaking of which, you may have noticed in the commission of your daily business that Australians have a certain look, ergo est a funny little aspect around the eyes that is particularly and peculiarily Australian, which is odd in a mixed population that hasn't been around long enough to inbreed to the point of sharing that sort of quirk. Russell Crowe has it, Guy Pearce has it, that weirdo mongoloid Mel Gibson has it. It's from squinting. Lamarckian, not Darwinian, to bullshit a bit. Mystery solved.)

Anyways the F-word warned me and the F-word warned me right, and I'd thought I was prepared, but I fucking wasn't. This is the whitest fucking place on the planet. No, correction. Right now we're in Shepparton, a fruit-picking town in Victoria, which is pretty fucking white but which is leavened with some Sikh farmers and restaurants, and a bunch of African and Iraqi refugees, and even enough Orientals to broaden the cuisine a bit. L---, where we live, is the whitest fucking place on Earth. The fucking whitest fucking place.

We went to see a fucking funk band that didn't have a fucking bassist, that's how fucking peaches'n'cream that fucking place is. It's so fucking white that the nice lady whose house we were staying in returned some of our post to sender, because our last names, which are just about the most guinea-ish last names that can exist without actively and magically smelling of garlic, looked African to her. I have never. EVER. Felt exotic before. I do now. HOLY SHIT. Because I am white.