Those kids ALWAYS drag their Ls.

Apologies for not writing anything in a while, but sometimes there is not anything to write. Sometimes the only thing to do is watch the same eight youtube videos over and over again. Sometimes the stimulus pool runs dry, particularly when you have a limited repertoire and you are sick of the things that you normally plagiarise.

This is why I am going back to university - to become a better blogger. Apparently some of my teachers are going to be real-life bloggers, like the ones on TV. I am going to learn how to think up a new blog entry every single day, an entry that will invoke comments, an entry that will inspire opinion and independent thought in those otherwise incapable of this. Sam Brett and Sam de Brito are to smh.com.au/blogs what the Mirage and the Lancer are to Mitsubishi, respectively. I will be the Pajero, bigger, prouder.

The best way to get on smh.com.au is to digitally penetrate a fellow member of the NSW Labor Party (more of a combination-style example rather than a specific reference). The next best way is to blog about social situations, like the two Sams. This is not the only approach - if you are Dom Knight, you simply refer to yourself as a "Chaser writer" in the byline, then write something not controversial. If you are Peter Fitzsimons then you write in rhetorical phrases including "how good is that?" and then refer to one of your two favourite things: GPS schoolboy rugby, the ANZAC spirit. If you are Miranda Devine, you write whatever you feel like and then get all flustered and scream, "there, I said it! You aren't going to like it but I said it!" at the end of every piece. The sub-editors remove this from the end of every piece (apparently Miranda still has the gall to invoice them the extra $13 for every column she submits. She earns a dollar per word, you see.)

--- ALSO,

I was lucky enough to get a visit last Tuesday afternoon from my mate, Chuckos. He is the head cocktail chef at the Harold Park Hotel in Glebe. The conversation was a bit strange, as I wasn't sure why he had dropped over. Our conversation:

Me: (opening the door) Chuckos! What it do?
Chuckos: (goes in for complicated handshake followed by hug) Jimmy-Jay! I'm all good little brother, had the whole day to myself so I thought I'd check in with some of my local boys.

Me: Yeah nice! You want a cup of tea or something?

Chuckos: (makes funny face, and makes throat cutting gesture) Nah bro, I'm detoxin' over February hey. No alcohol, caffeine, or bizzo 'til the first of March.

Me: What bought that on, you're always chemically enhanced!

Chuckos: (looks around suspiciously and shuts the door, whispering) Is anyone else home?

Me: Nah just me, what's going on?

Chuckos: (brightening) I'm just playing with you little man! Nah, it's all good, I'm just looking after myself. I took out some of my younger crewmembers a few weeks ago and it got a bit loose (whenever Chuckos says 'loose', he points his head to the sky and sings it in a stiff falsetto, dragging the L in the style of a kid from Adelaide who really likes Aussie hip-hop.)
Me: Yeah? What happened?
Chuckos: (gets defensive suddenly) Nothing, why?
Me: Um, don't worry - want something to eat? I might go get a muffin or something from down the road.
Chuckos: (a little bit disgusted) Muffin? Nah man, I just got my special pistachios I ordered from the Blue Mountains yesterday. I'll just rip into them before I get to my shift. Actually, I better go now - I need to talk to the big man about one of the glassies I'm not happy about. That kid is gonna get his ass kicked if he ever leaves my back bar that sticky again.
Me: Righto, I might pop in for a beer later on then.
Chuckos: Alright Mr Jimmy-Jayenstein, I'll see you later brother boss man (hugs me again before leaving).
Me: (shuts door.)