Where do I begin? I suppose everything starts when you wake up in the morning and go 'I'm still alive? ...bugger' but that's a bit harsh. Everyone's got a perfect morning, their ideal way to wake up and start the day. Some one somewhere has awoken on silk sheets, slid out into their fluffy slippers and lay back on the couch with a hot cup of coffee and the morning paper saying 'this is the life'.
In a log cabin on a mountain somewhere some couple got out of bed to a fresh fall of snow to drink hot cocoa by the fireplace and snuggle while they plan which slopes to ski down first.
In the slums of Woodridge Queensland some junkie has woken up to find he still has a couple of shots left, ten dollars for food and still doesn't have aids.
My perfect morning? Well my perfect morning would be to wake up as the sunrise beams through my bedroom window at the crack of dawn, the golden haze would reflect of the sweet dew still clinging to the kind of green grass only gets during the early spring. Birds of every size and colour would be singing, there wouldn't be a cloud in the sky to be caught on the cool southern breeze and I'd get that wonderful feeling that it was going to be a great day.
At this point I would draw my curtains, lock my door, pick up my half empty bottle of vodka, play something by Rob Zombie and masturbate for fourteen hours before falling back asleep.
Life however is not as convenient as to offer such a day, I have no curtains only blinds which only keep half of that damn sunlight out, my door has no lock, I have nothing to mix my vodka with, I've heard all my music before and I want some of my skin to grow back before I try to break my fourteen hour personal record again.
Don't you just hate that? No matter how far in advance you plan your Saturday morning snooze it never goes well, a baby will start crying, a dog will bark, you'll find out about food poisoning or your cat will finally chew through that electric cable and don't even get me started on those damnable alarm clocks. I hate alarm clocks, there is a mad scientist in a castle laboratory going 'yes, mwa ha ha ha ha. It's working, my infamy will live on forever in this device. For now no man may wake up without an ear splitting droning noise designed specifically to annoy and cause discomfort. None shall be able to arrive late to work and say 'sorry I overslept', and none will remember to turn the alarm off on the weekend and sleep past seven o'clock!'. Once in my working life just one I would have liked that damn clock to not work, just once I would have been able to not wake up, I could have stayed in bed and not gone to work without the stress of being dishonest.
One day I snapped, the thing beeped and I just smashed the thing, I tore it's little innards out and bathed in the gore. I still got to work on time but just knowing the clock was dead brought me such joy.

Sad to say after this grand hallucination or whatever you people call it I was definately awake, sober and bored. These are the times when (similar to being drunk) you have a great idea, "I'm going to brush my hair and clean my teeth! Then I will go to the shops and buy sugarfree carbonated beverages to mix with my ethyl ethylene!" Fun fact kids, ethyl ethylene is the good alcohol you get in spirits like rum and vodka that don't make you feel like your eyeballs are inflating in the morning. Oh and if you're trying to commit suicide you need to cut down your arm not across your wrists, if you cut your wrists you'll wake up in a hospital and people will think you're either too stupid to kill yourself or you're just trying to get some attention.
"To the shops!" Said Tony, "Ever onward to sweet inebriation and the erasion of my childhood nightmares mush!" at this point Sentry will say something like "Mummy doesn't love you...". The appropriate response to ones alternate personalities is not always as simple as giggling or shrugging it off, I named this cute fuzzy rabbit after Sentry once... he gave me wet dreams about my mother in return. You ever have one of those dreams you can't tell if it's a dream or reality, well imagine that but waking up wet with your mother in the next room... I don't dream anymore, I think I must have developed an immunity to dreaming as some kind of desparate defense mechanism.
The shops here are kind of boring, woolworths, butchers, nick knacks, fabric store okay I could name every god damned shop in that place but it's not like I care. I'm here for two things, food, and the satiation of my addictions. A few bottles of coke and some tinned food later and I'm on my way home, a ways up the street a guy asked me if I smoke cones. I can have a lucid conversation with myself and myself without myself under the influence of drugs, that's why I never took any of those things the doctor prescribed, I don't need them.

Now at this point you're probably thinking 'gee this guy's crazy' or 'ha, nutjob' or 'I wonder why I'm reading this instead of watching porn'. The truth is I don't know why you're reading this, to be honest I don't actually care... hope you didn't pay for it, I'm sure I'll have posted it online somewhere you can download it for free. There comes a blissful sense of solace with insanity, I have no desire to be with people (women or otherwise), I don't work, I don't need money, but fuck man there is nothing more boring then hospital wards. Especially high security mental wards, they take your shoe laces man. Take my balls for fucks sake, I don't need my balls but please don't take my belt, I need it to hold my pants up. The idea being that somewhere is this ward is a forescant light that can support a hundred kilograms (200 pounds) of me when I tie my belt to it and hang myself... as if I'd kill myself before killing the entire nursing staff and having my way with their bodies, the fools. I made sure to tell the psychiatrist next time I saw him.

Other then annoying the nurses there really isn't much to do, you can watch a blurry nickolodeon channel through impact resistant plastic run Spongebob Squarepants six hours a day and when you get really adventurous you can see some of the finest action films from 1932. I swear to fuck if I ever see NCIS or Law and Order again I will start copying the homocides, I hate that channel.
You don't even get to come out with the experience of a straight jacket and a spongey room to brag to people about... just more Law and Order then anyone could possibly bear. That's why no one ever gets out you know, they go in normal and sane then have to watch Law and Order, then Law and Oder SVU then Law and Order UK then Law and Order again. Food's good though, better than the tinned stuff I got from the shops anyway.
Tinned Ravioli Bolognese and Lebonese bread... tasty but bland, thank god for this booze.

That pretty much sums up what my days are like now, eat, sleep, play violent video games. People say violent games make people violent, it's so not true, I've played every type of violent game imaginable, even table tennis and I'm not violent at all. On a completely unrelated subject, I found a new form of pornography the other week that includes ripping women apart and having sex with their various organs. I like it.

Someone once asked me 'What the fuck are you on and where can I get some?' to which I replied 'You mean what am I off that I should be on?', It was good for a laugh. I also remember doing Churchill's defiance speech in a high pitched squeeky voice, there was also something about Sam finding Frodo's ring at long last but I'm kinda deviating from the plot here.

What plot you may ask? I'm kinda hoping one will come up if I rabble for long enough, in any case I'm mildly amused at myself and the alternative method of breaking the boredom is to fold my washing and make a cup of tea... I am not folding my washing and I have drunk enough caffiene to shit myself twice in the past hour so I'm kinda stuck writing.
As the day wears on I check my emails, sometimes I check them without the spam filter just to trick myself into thinking one of the eleven hundred emails is actually someone writing to me, 700 advertisements for penis enlargements... oh yay, I can be so big women will look at me and go 'wow he's got such a big dick I don't care if he looks like he's going to harvest my organs' or even better go 'Jesus christ what the fuck is that thing don't come near me or I'll mace you'.
399 emails from African prince/king/queen that needs my bank account to transfer $120,000,000 US dollars or a fuckload of diamonds into, first off if you're in Africa how come you're using United States dollars... I'm in Australia, convert them to AU dollars idiot. Second, aren't blood diamonds illegal to export from Africa due to the carnage and slavery involved in mining them? You can't just transfer them over by email you'll have to smuggle them to me like everyone else. 1 email from 'mum', it's definately spam, don't even bother reading it.

Well that killed hmm, 10 minutes. What's going on I have a perception of time!? Oh dear lord I'm out of vodka, I'm remembering thoughts from my childhood... no mummy don't touch me there... I need more alcohol. Wait no I've got a better idea, I have this pink slip to get my fingerprints taken and it's only two train stations away. Oh this has got to be the best idea ever, go to the police station drunk to it's not such a bad experience... excellent.
Okay first we walk to the train station, good it's going well so far. Now we get a ticket, yeah fucking got that bastard down pat. Now we get on the train and...

Where am I? I remember walking off the train after it stopped and making my way to the end of the platform, I looked out beyond the track and all I could see was car park... I don't remember this much carpark at the station before.
"Excuse me, what station are we at?"
"Which one are you heading for?"
"...Woodridge."
"Mate you're at the Airport."
"...fuck."
I wouldn't have minded if I could have slept the two hours home as well as the two hours there, but at least I didn't make the mistake of going to a police station drunk. I remember the story of a man who bought two tablets of ecstacy, he took one and went to a police station to complain about being sold fake tablets. The cops tested the last pill, turns out they were real.

After another trip to the shops to buy more vodka to drink with the large amounts of coke I now had I remember feeling dissatisfied with my existance, like somehow no matter what I did I was always going to die eventually anyway. Then I remembered mummy didn't love me, and I felt much better.

So it's another normal day, it's getting dark, I'm drunk and I've got food... I try to think of normal people things to do on nights like this. Dark, drunk, fed, I must watch a zombie film. Something classical like Resident evil or Dawn of the dead, so I sit down with another Vodka and Coke and a box of rice crackers (one of the few snacky things I can find with as little fat/sugar/salt as possible) and start watching this movie about dead things eating things that turn into dead things and start eating things again. It all starts out nice and wellm everyone's happy, the sun is shining then wham! Shit starts exploding and things start eating peoples brains and someone somewhere picks up a shovel and starts mowing down hundreds of dead people before his best friend gets bitten and it gets all dramatic because his friend is gonna die and he's gotta turn the shovel on the man that's been with him all his life but he'll leave with some hot nymphomaniac to live happily ever after... I get the whole 'undead plague with the basic desire to eat whatever they can' thing, I accept the whole 'destroying the brain is the only way to stop a creature with full body necrosis' and I understand why there's always going to be a black man that makes a heroic sacrifice to save everyone in an American film. However, for some retarded reason, somewhere, some sad lonely person sat down and went 'you know, the first thing a human reduced to their most basic survival instincts is going to do? They're going to eat brains and set cars on fire...' No. I don't know what you think you know about biology but let me fill you in, an immortal man with a permanent erection is not going to lust after brains. You're going to wake up in a zombie apocalypse look out the window and see a pile of vibrating dead bodies having the time of their life!
Well you know what they say, 'one mans zombie apocalypse is a necrophiliac's wet dream'.
Man I'd see that pile of dead girls and just dive on in, granted I might put on a condom, there is a slight possibility of sexually transmitted diseases. On a slightly related note, what do necrophiliacs do with ashes? The things one asks during his first aid course, I scored second highest in my class.

Okay, so the zombie flick was okay I admit... but I was still bored. I found a box set under the tv, Brokeback Mountain and Memoirs of a Geisha. 'Hey I remember Brokeback Mountain, everyone was saying it's a gay movie but that's just because it's one of those really dramatic movies. Hell I'm bored, lets watch it.' It started off good, okay a pair of guys looking for work... going to watch cattle... they're watching the cattl... okay they're having sex in a tent. Why are they having sex in a tent and why would you film that without showing me their junk? ...okay well that's over, I guess there's going to be a bit more story now. Yeah see they've both gone and gotten married, see they've got a house and picket fence and now they've met up again an... aww fuck they're having sex again? Fuck they're still not showing me anything!? Jesus I get better gay porn in higher definition when I don't ask for it... fuck it if all this film is going to be about is gay sex with no nudity I'm out, I'm watching the Geisha movie... and it actually was a pretty good movie, very dramatic and moving.

I can't say I haven't made bad choices in my life, like on the subject of miscarriage the best choice of words isn't "well he didn't want to come out anyway". I mean laughter is the best medicine right? I was hoping that if I laughed at it hard enough the baby would come back to life and burst out of the girls chest like in Aliens, and who doesn't secretly want to hit an undead fetus in the face with an axe to save the fair maiden who would then fall desparately in love with you for saving her life? We've all had that fantasy, which didn't seem to help when I explained it to her.
Call me a harsh disgusting monster, I like it. Yes I laugh at dead babies, so what? Just because I'm a pedophile doesn't mean I molest children and just because I laugh at dead babies doesn't mean I make dead babies... I can't make babies I'm a man silly. I don't have the parts.
Children scare the hell out of me to be honest, it's not so much the toddlers, I reckon I could take them in a fight if it came down to it. It's the parents that freak me out, in a world where it is socially acceptable yo lie to your back teeth to kids I have the overwhelming desire to tell the truth. Frogs don't go lar de dar de dar like that stupid childrens show says they do, they croak. Bears are not soft and cuddly nor will they offer you a pot of honey and a cup of tea when you find them and they sure as hell aren't going to just get mad if you eat their porridge... that little golden haired girl got the mauling of her life.
There is no proof God exists, mummy and daddy just think he does... God is like your imaginary friend Rebecca only God gives people herpes and holy war. "Uncle Tony... what's herpes?" "It's a type of infection usually acquired by overly sexually active people." "Uncle Tony, what's sexually active." "Oh, when people are having sex they're called sexually active." "Uncle Tony... what's sex?" "Well you see..." "What the hell are you telling my daughter!?"
...and the paranoia goes on, I mean what if you suddenly get a baby dumped in your lap and you drop it? They don't bounce like in the cartoons. Where is the fucking hallmark card saying 'Sorry I dropped your kid' or 'Whoops I caused your infant long term brain damage'?
Next time you're at one of those aweful parents meetings and you're all 'Oh look how cute my baby is, don't you want to hold him?' try to think about the pressure you're putting on other people... Your four month old son is going to cause someone nightmares for the rest of their life, and it's likely to be you.
Babies are scary... please don't make me hold them.

A brand new day, it's five in the morning and I woke up a couple of hours ago. I finished watching the second batman movie and I vaguely remember vomiting, it seems that once you start on your second bottle of rum it becomes quite difficult to watch a film without taking several breaks for both urination and regurgitation. With persistance and patience I finished the last half an hour, that was the third time I'd sat down to watch that movie.Call me stubborn, but when I sit down to watch a movie I will wake up and finish watching that movie. On the subject of alcohol, I remember once a long time ago I had drunk a significant ammount of sweet cidar and decided "You know what, I'm going to get a sandwich.". I walked down to the Subway by my little shopping centre and I purchased for myself two Subway footlong roast chicken sandwiches, I remember eating the first sandwich, it was a good sandwich... it had pickles and carrot with the perfect amount of south west sauce on a lightly toasted herb and garlic roll. Then I woke up, do you think I could find that second sandwich? Nope.
I searched every fucking place I could think of for that sandwich, in the bin, under the bed, behind the fridge, in the glovebox and under the bed again just to be sure. Alas, I never found my sandwich. Men talk of the pain when a woman leaves him, women speak of the agony of childbirth. No one mentions the heartbreak of a boy and his sandwich. Two years later and still I search in vein for my missing sandwich, yeah I've been back to Subway and ordered the exact same thing several times since then but it's just not the same.
You can't bring back my sandwich.

I suppose you may have guessed this by now but I had a rough childhood, divorce, psychological trauma, child molestation but I wont go bragging about my hobbies and early achievements in life. No I'm here to tell you about a great piece of bread I once knew, his name was Orville and he was the best piece of bread a man could have. Orville was named by my friend Alex, I sat down one evening to eat some baked beans and bread, for whatever reason I couldn't bring myself to eat that last piece. I left it out on my desk and when I woke up it was still there, I couldn't believe my eyes! Damn piece of bread never left that spot for over a year, I could never bring myself to harm it. Eventually our relationship bloomed and I had to give him a name, I also subconsciously supplied him with a gender. I'm not sure if I'll ever be charged with sexual harrassment but if I ever am it will have something to do with trying to locate a set of genitals on a slice of white bread.
Orville was one of those people you could count on, he was always there to listen to you no matter how badly slurred your speach was, he would never raise his voice or hit you and he never even once tried to have his way with me. Eventually I had to move house and leave Orville behind, god I miss him. I know our relationship was destined to end eventually, what with me about to die in another sixty years or so and him slowly mutating into a pile of mould but at least we had some good times together. Bread slices make great pets if you're ever thinking of adopting one, they don't give you wierd looks while you masturbate. Damn parrot, don't judge me.

I've moved house twice since I had Orville, I like where I am now and it doesn't look like I'm going to have to leave any time soon. The people around here are strange though, some of them say hello and are quite friendly and other yell out 'freak' when I walk down the road. I know I look different but someday I swear I'm going to disembowel those pricks, have sex with their organs and paint pictures of sheep with their bodily fluids. When they're laying there with their kidneys hanging out and covered in semenal fluid and spermatazoa swimming in cute pictures of lambchop we'll see who the real freak is wont we? I realize after thinking about those kind of things I should at least try to do normal people stuff. With said realization instead of eating some strangers sexually abused liver I decided that writing a list is a normal people thing to do, so I went home and wrote down all the things I think of with the title 'things I shouldn't tell people'. Coincidentally, this was on it.

Appart from the people that shout at me I think I get on fairly well with the guys I know, sometimes they ask me 'Dude, what are you on and where can I get some?' to which I reply 'You mean what am I off that I should be on?'. In one of those classic cases of thinking up a good comeback after you needing it what I should have said was 'I dunno, I didn't read the label'.
Now I'm all alone, I live in my own little world and my entire life has been one long missery after another. Then I remember mummy didn't love me, and I feel much better.