3.
“Do you want to come in the ambulance with your partner?”
“Fuck no! He’s not my partner. He’s my housemate.” Continue reading
3.
“Do you want to come in the ambulance with your partner?”
“Fuck no! He’s not my partner. He’s my housemate.” Continue reading
I have come late to the Lingerie Football League. Like most things of this nature, it appeared on my Facebook feed courtesy of my good friend and arbiter of all things that ride the cutting edge of bad taste, Matt Samartzis. Continue reading
42
“Patrick. Good afternoon.” Pat’s psychiatrist stood in the doorway wearing a white shirt, a black skirt and black, patent-leather pumps. The doorknob she rested her hand on was the same colour as the gold bracelet on her wrist. “Would you like to come through?” Continue reading
43
“The things you’re talking about, your weight and your body hair, they’re superficial things,” said Dr Helen.
“You sound like somebody’s mum,” said Pat. “Maybe they don’t ‘really’ matter,” He supplied quotation marks with his fore-and index fingers, “But they’d sure as hell matter to a tight, blonde, fat-chested English backpacker-come-barmaid like that.” Continue reading
2.
“It’s hopeless!” he said, and when he lifted his face, he was crying.
“What’s hopeless?” I asked.
“I feel so empty!” he said. “I just want it all to end!” Continue reading
Ahmer Rahman wrote a deeply provocative essay for ‘Vice Magazine’ on the anniversary of the Cronulla riots, attributing them to the inherent racism of the Howard Government. Continue reading
1.
“Hi mate, what’s up?” I said as I answered my mobile, tracing a finger along the fresh dust that sat upon the dashboard.
“You know exactly what’s going on,” Minh hissed down the line.
He was correct; I knew exactly what was wrong. And he couldn’t have chosen a worse day for it. Continue reading
41
Pat began to replay Wally’s speech in his head. He lingered over the nuances of Wally’s performance, slowly shaping and altering them to the kind of performance he would have given. Continue reading