Fruit and Vag. (Not the good kind)

I recently took up a job at a local fresh produce store called Scutti. Fruit and Veg isn't just a job, it's a passion, it's my life. But lately, my colleagues and employers have almost succeeded in destroying my love for organic sustenance. Lifes hard when your a check out chick, on a day to day basis i'm confronted with serious serious questions like:

1. Do you do cash out?
2. How many varieties of gherkin do you sell?
3. I swear there were artichokes last time i was in here, do you know where they are?
4. I'm good thanks how are you?
5. Thom can you please re-arrange the cheese fridge?
6. What tastes better, Yellow flesh nectarines or White flesh nectarines?

The job pays well, 8 fucking dollars an hour...thats enough to pay for a bus fare home, which is a kilometre away. My bosses are two obese italian brothers who, despite there short stature manage to cross from one side of the shop to the other in 5 seconds to tell me off if I take one minute to think of something other than customers. A few weeks into the job and I'm already tempted to quit. It was two incidences that led me to make this decision.

The first occured during the early days of my employment. The shop had just been closed and i'd finished cleaning up my section so i was sent to the cheese fridge to rearrange the wide variety of cheeses we have in stock. Anyway when i got to the fridge 3 other people were already at work on the important job, including one total bitch who thinks she owns the joint. I picked up a wedge of vintage cheddar and put it on top of a wedge of Danish Port-Salut, just for shits and giggles. Within a millisecond the chick was on my back.

"What the fuck do you think your doing?"

"Re-arranging the cheese fridge"

"Your putting that in the wrong spot"

"Oh yeah because re-arranging the cheese fridge is essential to the success of this business. I mean fuck imagine if this Animaletti di Provola accidentally got picked up by someone who wanted nothing more but to purchase a nice slice of Romadur, what would happen then? Fucking chaos thats what, it'd be apocolyptic, god would be cheated and the foundations of this very earth would come crashing down wouldn't they?"

"Well it helps them sell, and if you have a problem with that maybe you should go and talk to Nick."

I then ran to the other end of the fridge and put a Hi-Lo milk right in the middle of the Full Creams, just to piss her off.

The second incident occured just the other day. Some fat bitch who works there aswell had just knocked off and was buying some groceries (mainly chocolate) to take home and eat her sorrows away while watching Friends and wishing she had some. You always get nervous when you serve someone who has been doing the same job for way longer than you so i took extra special care. After i'd put all her chocolate through she said to me "Um can i please just tell you something? You are really shit at packing bags". It was like a scene from a movie, everyone at the tills gasped and in a split second I'd already thought of my retort.

"Yes sure you can tell me that, as long as i can tell you that your fat and your going to die a lonely old widow. No one else has ever complained about my packing, so why don't you pack the fucking bag?"

She looked infuriated at me and immediately informed my boss who spent the rest of my shift giving me an enormous lecture. I'll probably get fired from that shithole before i get the chance to quit.

R.I.P Uncle Flava.

My great uncle died the other day. But when he died hidden truths were revealed. Turns out this guy was a total pimp. After the funeral mum came home and told me stories about him that i wish I'd known before.
Apparently, when he came home from work, his four daughters (One of them named Quits because he'd quit trying for a boy) all had to be showered and dressed in there nighties and brunch coats waiting at the front door in a line. When he walked into the house they would all have to curtsy and say "Men are supreme", to which he would respond with only a smirk.
I asked mum if he carried a cane and drank from a jewel studded goblet, but sensing i was enjoying the sexism she left the room and made my dinner.

Breakdancing is for Bitches.

Da Streetz

Gang warfare has plagued Perth City for countless decades. Ever since i remember, my mother has told me to "Be home before dark" or "Don't walk the streets alone". Being a naive and curious youth i never quite understood what she meant. It was only when i hit my early teens i began to undersand. The evening news finally made sense, but a fragile being, i was still completely unready for the world of chaos i had been cast into so suddenly.

Many families have been torn apart, many properties have been destroyed and, most importantly, many "homies" have been "slayed". Perth isn't safe, and despite the police contributing they're best efforts, turf wars have still failed to subside. People are still beating, raping, stabbing and threatening eachother, some, so i've read have even progressed to the level of passing eachother mean notes during class...

Period 4:

The air was bitter and foul, the wind was crisp upon my face, and the stench of dried blood hung heavy in the air above us. I got up and closed the window, Sat down in my seat next to my supposed friends Whiteman and Yates. They were yet to find out about the menacing street gang I'd just started. I didn't think i'd tell them, didn't want to put their lives at risk, so they stared on, oblivious. I looked down at the worksheet i was about to fill out, when a small slip of paper in the top left hand corner of my desk caught my eye. My gang had countless enemies, so i glanced around cautiously before reading the note.

The first threat was simplistic, issued by the most primitive of the gangs.

"419 is watching you"

My gut wrenched in horror, as my eyes darted around the room, in search of the person who dared to threaten my awesome gang. More horror hit me when i realised who'd left the note. I stared into Whiteman's eyes, perplexed that my best friend, the one i trusted with my life, had just threatened to end it. I attempted to write a witty reply back to him, but turned in disbelief back to my desk, only to find another note lying upon it.

I reeled around to my right, to see Yates glaring at me menacingly. How could two of my best friends have started gangs behind my back? more importantly why were they threatening mine? I had no chance but to use my superior linguistic skills and unique knowledge of crime to fight back.

As the rest of the period progressed, more notes were passed between the desks that sat side by side in the back row. I must warn you, some of these images are quite distressing so it is advised you close your eyes

Yates = VPBZ

Stewman = Mad Kuntz/Hard Kuntz

Whiteman = 419

I'll leave it up to you to decide who is the hardest out of Perth's 3 most vicious gangs.

(It's MADKUNTZ)

Renaissance Art

I've been in Europe almost 3 weeks now and i can definately tell you what has been the highlight of my trip. The Louvre. Not only is the quality of this particular artwork notable but the subject of it is miraculously entertaining. *


*As you can see, the woman shown is lactating, with the "comforting" hand of an angel (who seems to be enjoying the whole situation a little too much) on her shoulder, while some seedy fuck surveys the scene from behind a curtain.

Real Surveys

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Boosh Bash

A few nights ago, Whiteman, Tithe and I attended a Mighty Boosh themed party. I really can't be fucked writing about it at the moment so here are some photographs of the night's festivities.