You've got those moves and those eyes, I've got these shakes and bad breath.

A girl I have had sex with is dead.

As far as I know, she is the first to hold this dubious distiction. It was a a very long time ago, and I haven't spoken to her in close to a decade. I found out she was dead through the grapevine, as news of this kind will travel. She was nothing special, one of a tragic many from those days, a victim of my youthful indescretions and phobia of commitment.

The last time we spoke she was fucking my buddy Mikey (a marine who fucked just about every girl in Hallet Hall '96), vainly trying to make me jealous. I met her at a Face to Face show, and our combined love for that band is what led her to my bed, much more than my drunken charms, I think. We both had our lives changed by the same song. Girls in that scene were few and far between in those days, after all. Especially hot ones. She had the most amazing smile, and while I pretended to not not give a fuck about anythnig, I think she really didn't.

She used to write me poems, read them to me after we fucked, and then burn them. My psycho chic radar was on its max setting in those days, and if it wasn't for my constant 18 year old boy erection, I probably would have run sooner than I did. But she was fun, if not a little crazy. And she didn't smoke, I have always liked that in a girl.

She was interested in my writing, and I let her read it. She wrote in the margin of one of my stories (which I still have, oddly enough), "Good writitng is taking truth and recreating it, delicately painting it with a feather on a canvas of tissue paper. You write like the pen is a hammer and truth is a puppy's head."

In my youthful inexperience I may have missed out on someone who really understood me.

Now she is dead. She was in a car "accident." A drunk driver T-boned her at an intersection. She was coming home from the bars, also drunk. Her favorite drink was Gin and tonic, which I always found disgusting.

end transmission.

I think pascifists are weak, and violence is wrong.

Well, here we are again. I feel after all this time, there is a lot of pressure for me to blow you motherfuckers! (There should be an "out of the water" somewhere in that previous sentance, but due to alcohol consumption and budgetary cuts, some things had to go).

A few mouthes ago I came across a drunk man at work. He was in his mid 30's not being intrusive, just wasted, having fun. I had just watched a Russian cocktal waitress trick him into tipping 20 bucks for his drink, and then we began conversing. (Vegas tip #343 Beware Russian waitresses with amazing blue eyes)

Here's how it went.

"So how old are you...25..23?" he asked.
"I'm 28." I said.
"Married, kids?
"No man no wife no kids,"
"Good work! I've been married almost 12 years! Can you believe that!"
"No."
"I don't have any kids. I fucking hate children."
I was thinking on the topic and I decided to press the man for some intel.
"Can I ask you a personal question?" I asked.
"Sure!"
"How have you been married for 12 years, and managed not to have a kid, how did you find a woman who wanted to be with you, seemingly forever, and not want a kid?"
This guy literally grabbed me, pulled me close, and looked over his shoulders and all around. It was as if I had asked him if he knew who really killed JFK, and he was about to reveal the name to me.
"I can tall you it wasn't easy...but, my secret is I didn't."
"Your wife wants kids?, I don't get it." I said.
"Hell yeah she wants kids! I fucking don't, but I love her and...I didn't wanna lose her over such bullshit. Here look at this!"
He showed me pictures of his wife, pictures from the wedding, all kinds of sappy cheek to cheek photos, etc...and then he told me;
"Se she's hot, right? I wasn't about to let a thing like children get rid of her...so I uh...well...one weekend while she was away on a business trip...I got a vasectomy and never told her."

end transmission.

Oi! Soft Cocks! You're a fucking disgrace!

I'm back! Feet solidly entrenched on the terra firma of the good old US of A! It sure feels good to smell freedom in the air once again!

Unfortunately, I returned to find the freedom of internet access I usually enjoy has been stricken from me. I have pictures to post and stories to tell, but for now, due to technical difficulties, you'll have to settle for a quick summery and your imagination.

First, thanks to Heidi, Scott, and Dusty (Melbourne's #4 top bloke!) for having me in their home, none of them read this, but I say thanks nonetheless. I'm sorry for Kelly's behavior....I don't like to travel alone and she was the only person i could find on such short notice.

Swimming with sharks. Explaining to foreigners about how embarrassing it is to be an American right now. Fighting the great and terrible Turtlesaurus in the dark depths of the barrier reef. Teaching hot Russian chicks how to use photoshop. making fun of Canadians. Ringing up the biggest beer tab on the boat. Pub crawling throughout Melbourne and magically loosing weight and feeling no hangover. Aussie rules football, meat pies and beer. Learning sweet chili is no substitute for salsa. Everything in Australia comes with fries, even Chicken Parmeasen, Melbourne's fave dish. Creation of about 100 inside jokes that no one else will ever find funny. Aussie cats can apparantly teleport through locked doors. Ausralian Sea Hippies respect a bloke who can make fun of himself. Even non-sea hippies respect a good sense of self deprication. Australia has the world's surliest customer service.

I tried my best, but I could only reach an Aussie Cultural Assimilation factor of 85%.

I'm a Big Girl's Blouse.

Stickin' it in and hoping for the best, Cheers Dude!