Tattoos are Gay!

<HR><h1>Tattoos are Gay!</h1>

  Never in my wildest dreams did I ever think that neck and hand tattoos would be synonymous with hipster wimps. These moustachioed parasites co-opt all the sub-culture signifiers of past generations without any of the passion or energy that spawned them. Unlike previous generations who were propelled by feelings of outrage and rebellion, the hipster is the final vapid chapter in youth counter-culture and a sign that Western civilization has stuffed its head up its asshole. Over the decades I have been pissed off when the mainstream spewed out their interpretations of punk etc,...

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Neighbour from Hell

<HR><h1>Neighbour from Hell</h1>

  (This article appeared in Unbelievably Bad  Magazine) Being a broke-ass-honky-starving-artist isn't that bad in western society. It's not like you are actually going to starve to death. If worse comes to worse you may have to eat at soup kitchens - which are great for new material. Finding new accommodation can be a real pain in the cunt however, especially when the vacancy rates are less than one percent as they were in the late 90s in Toronto. So when my syruplovin’ buddy told me he had room to rent for next to nothing, I jumped at the chance. My mate’s place was at 66 Lansdowne...

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The Sickest Fight I Have Ever Seen

<HR><h1>The Sickest Fight I Have Ever Seen</h1>

It was an unfortunate series of events that led me to living in Perth, Western Australia in 1988. I was used to living in big cities and at the time, Perth was a big old country town. I didn’t really ‘fit in’ and was constantly winding up in fights with gangs of bogans or the Nazi skinheads who hung out downtown. Actually, they weren’t ‘fights’ so much as me getting my head kicked in by a pack of cunts. I have since come to realise that taking a beating is an important part of growing up and adds character to any well rounded young chap. I ended up living in a cheap room above...

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Cactus Soup

<HR><h1>Cactus Soup</h1>

  All I need to be happy is four walls, a desk to write on and a thick door with a good lock. Then it is lights out, blinds drawn, laptop on and with a bit of good luck, the words flow - a party of one. The room however, must be small and in the shitty part of town. There is absolutely no point in having a large room in the nice part of town, what the fuck are you going to write about there? Just more of the same tired shit that dribbles out of academic bungholes the world over. But it isn't like I search out this type of criteria - its more that I wind up in the shitty part of town...

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Let’s Break!

<HR><h1>Let’s Break!</h1>

  When I was going through my ‘awkward’ teenage stage, I fancied myself quite the break dancer. This phase was sandwiched between  my 3rd Reich/David Bowie obsession and my discovery of punk rock. So as you can see I was quite an odd child. Anyways, I couldn’t break dance for shit. All I did was dress up in all the clothes which weren’t even the proper ones. For example, I couldn’t buy a real pair of Nikes with my allowance so what I did was buy a pair of shoes from the China Products store and paint Nike swooshes on their sides. Not only that, but I had just sprouted...

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Fluffy Browneye Spice

<HR><h1>Fluffy Browneye Spice</h1>

    Believe it or not, this article has nothing to do with browneyes or the chucking thereof. A pommy bastard once enquired of me what the cultural difference between Australia and Britain was. I responded by telling him this: In merry old England one ‘throws a moony’ – it is rather polite in the way that it is thrown almost as if a spiffy chap is going to catch it. Technically, the pasty white Britisher buttocks are exposed and resemble a moon, hence the term ‘moony’. In Australia, we ‘chuck a browneye’ – no more throwing here you understand, it is chucked...

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The Devil Dog of Varanasi

<HR><h1>The Devil Dog of Varanasi</h1>

After several years living ‘clean and sober’ I relapsed in a spectacular fashion whilst on a holiday in India in 1994. Me and my girlfriend were on a year long trip through Thailand, Hong Kong, Nepal and India. In no time I was pretty much insanely high from the moment I woke up until the moment I went to sleep. Our holiday was suddenly characterised by extreme levels of paranoia and strange, unpredictable behaviour on my part. We needed to have a holiday from our holiday, and so we found ourselves in Varanasi, the most holy city in India. The reason it is considered the most holy,...

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Kids of the 80s

<HR><h1>Kids of the 80s</h1>

Luckily for me, I started heroin when I was 15 so I missed out on all that lovey dovey shit that so many kids waste their teenage years on. I hadn’t even ‘done it’ before I got into the smack, I was pretty much only at the fingering stage which was alright but I didn’t want anything to do with the whole ‘fucking’ thing because of its implications: babies, love and AIDS just seemed like part of the adult world. The funny thing is, after getting into smack, me and my mates all thought guys that hung around girls were gay. We couldn’t understand why any young upstart would want to hang...

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Vid Games and Choge Boys

<HR><h1>Vid Games and Choge Boys</h1>

Being a child of 80s, a disproportionate amount of my time was spent in video game arcades and they have a special place in my memory. I am not talking about the later, sanitised franchises like Timezone. The arcades of the 80s were menacing electronic caverns inhabited by degenerates and drug dealers with skinheads out front picking fights. The closest things these days to the old arcades are net-gaming arcades although this is only because gaming is involved. The best ones in any town are the Asian run cafes which are usually open 24hrs a day – handy to know if you ever find yourself...

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