That’s more like it

‘It’s been delayed a week’ she said to me on the phone.

And with those words, profound and powerful, yet unfortunately true. I was left with nothing else to do, but attempt to do something profound and powerful, and hopefully true, but not necessarily, because truth is so fucking overrated. I mean consider this:

Hitler? - TRUE
Globes made of helium that tastes like victory? - NOT TRUE
Erectile Dysfunction? - TRUE
Donkey wizards that visit children with boo boos and give them bottomless coasters? - NOT TRUE
Deadly spiders that sometimes live under toilet seats in Australia? - TRUE
True Love? - NOT TRUE

See! ‘NOT TRUE’ can be better than ‘TRUE’, or worse, depending on your relationship status and how that affects your need for coasters.

I for one am guessing that if you’re in a loving long term relationship you need MORE coasters than if you’re sad and alone. Because there are two of you to use coasters. And because you’re probably trying to impress each other with your coaster skills.

Yet kids with boo boos are never in loving long term relationships because for some reason that is creepy (the ‘some reason’ is that it is ‘really creepy’, and ‘immoral’, or both, up to you). And kids are the very ones in possession of bottomless piles of coasters in this scenario, which is PROOF once and for all that ‘TRUE’ love is not just a myth but a genuine impossibility.

But this is not a story about my flawless ability to prove things once and for all in profound and powerful, and unfortunately true yet undebatable ways, no this is a story about something being delayed for a week. Yes, A WEEK!

A week when I could have used this thing, or even ignored it finding myself too lazy to cut the box open after it became clear after two seconds of looking that once again I could not find my goddamn scissors! That’s how profound and powerful and unfortunately true this story is.

When that sentence was said to me ‘it’s been delayed a week’ I was like ‘awww man’ and then I was off like a rocket! By which I mean my feat were on fire because the room had been flooded with lighter fluid and someone had just dropped a match that had been lit on FIRE!

I guess in hindsight this made the delay of the package a blessing in disguise because had my thing been delivered it would have burned in the fire that burned my house down that some bastard did to me merely because I convinced his wife there was no such thing as true love causing her to divorce him and bang his brother and father and uncle and son, which frankly says more about her than me if you ask me.

The point is my box of coasters didn’t show up this week and I was going to put a glass of beer on one of those and without them I had to go to a bar to put a glass of beer on a square of sponsored cardboard, and a bar is the most likely place a person will meet the person they will fall in true love with.

Not fuck that, it’s the ONLY place you can fall in TRUE love, from what I have been told, and yet this did not happen to me. Goddam it.

My plan is to go out and comfort myself by going out and purchasing a globe filled with helium that smells like victory. They better not fucking be ‘sold out’ or even worse ‘not exist’ or I’m going to really fuck up some marriages.

And now in really simple riddles

What is the gender of the author of the following quote?

'Reece Witherspoon has only gotten more beautiful since having children'

a. A man
b. A woman
c. You are a sexist douche-bag for writing this blog
d. She never was beautiful, let alone now MORE beautiful
e. Chocolate and peanut butter should never make love
f. A transgender
g. I'm too busy masturbating at pictures of her from that time she went topless before she was famous to answer this question
h. I think she is gorgeous, and I'm a man, and my boyfriend agrees
i. With a spoon, more like with my penis, am I right?
j. Isn't a multiple choice supposed to have four answers at most?
k. A multiple choice can have as many answers as you want you asshole
l. Maybe I'll keep adding more just to fuck with you people
m. I just realized that I was completely messing up the alphabet here
n. That's pretty pathetic, even if you have fixed it
o. If you fixed it then why are you still mentioning it
p. An alien that looks like a woman
q. If 'Q' is always followed by 'U' then why doesn't the alphabet reflect that
r. I hope he doesn't try and drag this out to 'Z'
s. Hermaphrodite


If you chose A, K, Q, or U you are correct.

If you have noticed there was no U then you are also correct

If you think chocolate and peanut butter shouldn't be friends then I agree

If you can hook me up with her please do so

If you can't then who can you hook me up with, I am horny and lonely, please help!

Lesbians are beautiful

I had long hair for about six long years.

HAD long hair.

In the middle of the night, around a ten days ago, I was feeling inspired by a beautiful two month long insomnia bout, mixed together with watching lots of Californication while thinking 'I'm a writer too, if I had that haircut would I get all those women throwing themselves at me?' It was a perfect storm.

It was around 4am when I thought to myself ‘why not try a little trim, and see if I like it?’ then I could just keep trimming a bit more every day or two until I'm no longer inspired to continue. Just see how short may suit me. It was a perfect plan.

It took about two or three nights of dawn trimming before I realized that I had made a big mistake. I have cut my own hair maybe a hundred times in my life. On at least a hundred of those occasions I have thought to myself after ‘I really, really should never ever do that again’. I am the perfect example of stupidity.

The first couple of nights I thought it was looking alright, and so I was motivated to continue. Yet the shorter it became the more obvious it was that I had left huge imbalances of length and texture, almost as if I was both not an expert at this, can’t look at my own head from above, and was cutting with blurry insomnia eyes. So I kept trimming away hoping to even it out, always thinking ‘evening out wont make it seem shorter, it’s just evening it out, right?’

For the next ten nights my insomnia continued, now fueled by what was becoming a clear obsession. I have a huge mirror next to my bed and I kept studying my hair and then running back to the bathroom and trimming more…….. and more and more and more. And it wasn’t looking good, no matter how many people told me it was, so I thought simply 'this looks AWFUL, maybe if I trim more I can fix it'.

With my hair mania reaching the point of pure paranoia to the point that every laugh I heard anywhere near me was a group of people pointing at me saying 'look at that guys stupid hair' I knew it was time to let a professional have a look. I figured the professionals eventually fixed that BP oil leak, so there is an outside chance they could do something with the even worse disaster that is my head.

Now, I have a love hate relationship with hairdressers.

I love the massage chair while my hair is being washed, and the feel of another humans hands in my hair.

I hate hate the small talk, and I am always petrified that I'll raise all the cliché topics they're sick of talking about all day everyday, so I sit there half mute with a weird ‘thinking’ look on my face’.

I love love love watching people work creativity with their hands; it gives me shivers down my back with a feeling of pleasure that surpasses any sexual encounter I've ever had.

I hate hate fucking hate making small talk, especially when I'm having orgasm like shivers and I'm talking to the one male hairdresser after all the cute girls got allocated to the heads around me.

I love that there are cute girls who often have unique and funky look.s

I hate that no matter where I go or what I ask them to do to my hair they only hear one thing

‘Lesbian’

'just a trim and tidy up please' I say
'No worries’ they reply ‘hey this is my mind talking it’s so nice to find a client I can communicate with telepathically! So just so were clear, you just told me with your voice for a trim but with your mind you said to do everything humanly possible to make you look like a lesbian right? If so look straight ahead with a weird ‘thinking’ look on your face’ they think.

So I went along. And I asked for ‘not too much length off, just tidy up the mess I made of this head o’ mine please’ and you know what? She cut almost all my hair off. It turns out ‘not too much length off’ means ‘all of it off please’ I really need to work on my accidental telepathy.

Anyway I think it looks pretty good, because people keep saying to me ‘it looks pretty good’. Actually people keep telling me ‘wow, that’s so much better, so glad you got rid of that long hair, all this time you looked so awful but I never wanted to tell you, even though, in my opinion, you basically looked like a homeless bum with that messy shit and I am surprised I let myself be seen in public with you’. It turns out I was not the perfect friend.

Oh also I was walking around the other day and I heard a lady turn to another lady and say ‘that’s a really cute beard on that lesbian’.

Now for some sleep.

The Man and the Clown

Dear Expert

I'm glad I don't write a 'Dear Abby' advice column because then even the birthday song becomes a request for advice:

'Happy birthday to you, happy birthday to you, happy birthday Dear Abby'
'Wait wait wait, seriously you’re going to throw one of those at me now? Give me a break for fucks sake, how dare you try to make me work in the middle of my birthday song!''
'No no, it’s nothing, it's just the song'
‘Oh it’s just the song, it’s just the song, now help me, right?
‘No, not at all’
'So why do you have to include ‘Dear Abby’? It's supposed to be my day off!'
'That’s just how it goes, I swear, everyone gets 'dear' and then their name’
‘So you're saying everyone is trying to take my job now, ‘Dear Steve’, ‘Dear Phillip’, ‘Dear Dramquilla’ and you're telling me this on my birthday, very classy, thank you, and I'll remember this every year too, because you told me during my birthday song, thanks a lot you cunt'
'Um Abby? Are you sure you're qualified to give 'advice' to people?'

No sir, not for me one little bit. I guess what I am really asking is this - is your name really ‘Expert’?

Some very good advice

On how to….. Wait for the excitement….. Fix a fridge!

Cricket, for those who don't know, is an awesome game. In its best variety, known as ‘test cricket’, a match lasts for five days. Some of the awesome elements included in this sport during these five days are:
- Long periods where seemingly nothing happens
- Heavy drama that to many looks like people just standing around
- The daily tea break
- Ducks (seriously)
- A player position known as ‘silly mid off’ (also ‘silly mid on’!)
- Another known as ‘the night watchman’ (that sounds like a superhero!)

Don’t you just love it? Ha ha, I put a question mark as if you may not!

One way to put it is that if sex is a super fast-paced game that lasts for 90 odd minutes, then test cricket is like spending five days in bed with a beautiful new lover mixing up long periods of cuddling and staring into each others eyes with regular unplanned moments of passion. Plus cool helmets.

A less erotic (and therefore less awesome) way to describe cricket is that it’s just like baseball only with way different rules and tactics and with way cooler helmets (cricket ones have face masks!)

So you can imagine my frustration, anger and desire to rip heads off little girls dollies when yesterday I was lying in bed, alone, watching the cricket, smack bang during one of the mesmerizing long period of seemingly nothing happening, when abruptly my electricity went out! NOOOOOOOOOOOOO.

First thing first - locate the problem (some of you may have already guessed that it will end up being the fridge). I made a quick guess that it was probably the fridge, but only after I had made sure that no power points were overloaded, that nothing was on fire, that I had scratched my head until I had blood under my fingernails, and had looked around. Looking around of course being a euphemism for fifty times looking past your houseguest's chest who is wearing a see-through singlet and no bra, all the while pretending to be checking all the lights and appliances that are located behind her. And eventually making the discovery that her breasts are lovely and your other houseguest has actually checked the appliances, and god bless braless boobs in see-through singlets. That may in fact be the best sentence in the English language.

Note to self: write a book named ‘god bless braless boobs in see-though singlets’.

Having played around with the fuse box (note to self: next time don’t use a wet coat hanger) I came to the expert opinion that the problem was either the fridge or some other unknown problem. I had to pull the fridge out of its cupboard to confirm; horribly this required finding screwdriver.

If you're like me you have several tools in your house, consisting of a tool set given as a gift ten years ago that is always missing the exact parts you need for whatever you need to fix, and a screw driver you've had since stealing it from your dad 22 years ago to fix a skateboard.

I have a special 'tool draw' where I personally put the tools after every use, so my tool draw was full of plastic bags, light bulbs for lights I no longer own, and indistinguishable bits of moldy food scraps that I’ve been promising to clean out for years and will eventually do so the day I ultimately decide to sell the place, upon when I’ll think 'that's much better, I should have cleaned that 17 years ago'.

I found the toolbox in the spice cupboard and went to grab the screwdriver set. Last time I needed tools the much-needed wrench was missing from my toolbox but it was back today, laying uncomfortably in the spot the much needed screwdriver should have been. The other screwdriver was discovered after literally a five-hour search, conveniently in the cutlery draw under 12 forks.

It was finally time to unplug the fridge and it turns out (and this may surprise some of you) but it WAS the fridge that was the problem. It is now sitting on my balcony and I am hoping that it drying out may stop what ever was shorting out the electricity. It’s the best repair idea I can come up with.

The lessons are:
- I probably need a new fridge
- This cricket game is going along awesomely but
- I would actually prefer five days in bed with a new lover

For need

I'm feeling perfect
Like a horrible concoction of lies
My glass full of past mistakes
The tambourine in rhythm
Yet not my hand clapping
Where has all my effort gone
A deception of my long planned undoing
I need nourishment for my truth
A positivity revolution
Just jam
Sing in my alcohol taunting voice
Any distraction from reality please
And listen to the ruthless crunch of insanity
At least I'm not a hypocrite
Just another thing I hate myself for
As always
Forever
My own regrettable choice

Sleep tight your filthy motherfuckers

‘Sleep tight’ I said to her ‘unless you’re cool like me, in which case sleep loose mo-fo’
‘What are you calling me a slut?’ She angrily responded
‘At what point did I say slut?’
‘You called me loose?’
‘No I didn’t, I was making a joke, and also the word loose does not necessarily connote the vagina’
‘Oh now calling girls a slut is a joke to you?’
‘Yes that’s exactly what I said, and it is a joke, and it can be a funny joke in the right circumstances, but that was not the joke at all, the joke was that most people say sleep tight and I wanted to say the opposite, hence the wonderful joke sleep loose…. Mo-fo, which, you know, is short for motherfucker, but more…. Hip’
‘So I am a slutty motherfucker now?’
‘Yes, yes, ok I will allow it, you are a slutty motherfucker’
‘Well thanks for fucking being honest’
‘You’re welcome’

It was the best hang gliding trip ever. Fucking hang gliding.

How sickening!

Oh my god people, OH MY GOD, I don’t want to alarm you, but…….




I’ve got the flu!!!!

Well, or a cold, or you know a pandemic of phlegm emergent bacteria having epic orgies in my nostrils. I can never tell the difference between those three.

Of course this is actually no reason to be glum because being sick is fun! Most people think that having the flu is all bad and reason for tearful concern, but that’s not true, there are in fact lots of positives. Such as:

- Microscopic bacteria are breeding rapidly using my nose hair as a filthy swingerclub cum stained bed, which makes up for any of my own sexual inefficiencies.
- There are still idiots who think you get the flu from being cold so it's fun to pump the heat and ask if you can breathe on their face? 'Sure - I'm not cold', ‘really, ha ha, bloooooooowwwww’
- Coughed up phlegm has an awesome way of oozing towards the sinkhole that is always fascinating and wildly satisfying to observe. And
- You can have epic masturbation marathons, throwing the used tissues about the room with gay abandon, and far from being disgusted your roommates will merely feel sympathy for your endless discomfort.

Hooray!

It's not all fun though. Awww, I know just after I proved it was. Fuck I am a disappointment.

I know this is going to bring up some bad memories, because it happens to all of you all the time too, but there is the annoyance that the good medicines are now kept behind the counter at the pharmacy because scum bags buy them to make meth to sell to school children, and if as a guy with long hair you even attempt to purchase these you will be treated like a child killer. Yep malelonghairism, one of the most roaring forms of prejudice plaguing the world at the moment. With the well known hate group slogan of ‘I don’t hate men, I just think if they have long hair they kill children, and probably are a little greasy and therefore don’t deserve the good cold medicine’. HEY HATE GROUP – that’s not a catchy slogan, so suck on that for an insult.

I've tried everything to convince them that I am sick enough to warrant the pills I used to be able to buy when I was twelve with no questions asked. I’ve tried telling the truth, I have tried making up symptoms so my cold seems worse, I have tried taking used tissues into the pharmacy to prove I'm sick but all three of those ideas gets the same response - 'get your disgusting seamen away from me'. And for some weird reason I get the same response when I make up symptoms at the sperm bank. Another obvious flaw with having the flu is that you find yourself talking too much about your bodily fluids. Stupid disease.

But I'm not complaining instead I'm hopped up on an overdose of crappy over the counter meds and using my extra time in bed to study bacteria mating habits, and writing better malelonghairism slogans:
- Not as neat as it could be
- Gel wasters
- Now how can I tell if my wife cheated on me with a dude or a girl just by the foreign hairs I find in our bed?
- Ha ha wind hates you

Hell yeah if I ever go bald and turn on my own kind I am SET!

335am I must be glowing

I haven't blogged much recently. I have been traveling, I have been writing a novel again for the first time in a few years and being reminded that I am not happy unless I am writing a novel, even if no one will ever read them.

It is the middle of the night and I am an epic age from sleeping, and I dont care that, that makes no sense.

I feel like it is time for me to start getting back to being honest, writing what's on my mind, and not caring so much if what I write is funny, or original, or so weird that it counts as art in my strange mind.

I have started fantasizing about being in a relationship again. This despite those being a rare find for me, a desperately painful and frustrating thing to maintain and a guaranteed angrily broken heart at the end. As usual the stories my friends share with me about relationships they are in and those they hear about are 100% stories of things that I can't help but feel would make me want to murder someone, most likely myself, yet I am finding myself thinking 'I could put up with that'. I am nothing but a hopeless romantic.

'I miss having someone to be pathetically sweet too' I thought moments ago.

'She's already had a proper sex life, I could never be with someone who has had that when I haven't' I thought moments ago.

I want to be more honest in my writing.

I spend way too much time on internet dating sights these days.

I am going to publish my book 'the embarrassing memory murderer' about my endless life of humiliation some way or another in the next few months and oh my god is that going to open eyes to a life like mine. Yet do I really want people to know the truth?

I have thirteen minutes of battery on this laptop left, I need to publish post soon or get mad at myself for constantly telling myself what I want to do more of yet never do.

Yes I do want people to know the truth, but is it going to be cathartic or an exercise in narcissism?

I am moving to Canada, is this right?

Perhaps, but perhaps not. I want the odd 'yes' in my life please.

I have just renovated my apartment and it is brilliant, but it is not leaving me with the desire to stay. I think this is good. I want to chase dreams fearless again.

I am now on reserve battery power. I can't be fucked to get my charger. I can't sleep. I can't be fucked to hook up the DVD player on my new TV so I have something to watch. I want to read but it makes me want to write and I can't write if my computer is out of battery.

I want to have a girlfriend asleep next o me to watch breathing and cuddle for warmth and affection. If I have a girlfriend I can't move to Canada unless I take her with me. If she can come she is probably not pursuing her own passions. I could never date someone like that. If I stay for a girl then I am someone like that.

Now it's six minutes. This blog may not cure all my doubts and fears after all. Maybe I should have worked on my new novel instead of writing this. No one will ever read those anyway and that is too horrific to imagine. I wish I had time to edit this, I know there will be something I regret.

Hey maybe I will end up with a humiliating story I can write about in a future non-fiction book. Humiliation is awesome for a writer. .

Three minutes left.


I want to get more honest in my blogging.

I hope I can find a girl to start my proper sex life with.

If she is anything like the girlfriends I hear about we're all fucked.

I dont like this as an ending but now time.

This is one of THOSE blogs - Asia

You know the ones, where your blogger blogs about stuff he or she is up and he or she happens to be out on one of his or her regular adventures and instead of telling you about all the awesome stuff he or she is up to he or she instead is all about weird shit? We all know THOSE blogs.

Here is some weird stuff I saw on just one single day in a small Taiwanese fishing village.


- They had skin care products named after the horrifically plastic surgery deformed Australian minor celebrity for a long ago reality show and banging a rock star – Sophie Monk. Are you kidding me? Tag line – ‘you too could look deformed’.
- They had KKK brand white fungus drink – tag line ‘Sophie Monk is white so we won’t bash her, but man she looks deformed’.
- I saw a dog wearing a diaper/ nappy. Tag line – ‘For the owner who wants to show their love with cruel selfishness’. That would make some mean deformed dog poo
- They have a condom design named ‘hard shell’ – tag line ‘for when you really, really don’t want to feel it’ but if your banging Sophie Monk I recommend shoving them in your eyes.

Wow, Taiwan is full of awesome and amazingly friendly people, but they sure are mean about that Sophie Monk. Although I don't blame them, she is pretty deformed.

So very generous

Sashimi is a dish, or meal, or pet food that is served, as far as I know, in many Asian countries. Essentially what sashimi is, is an attempt by a restaurant or chef to warn his diners that he is in fact suffering from a severe form of Alzheimers rendering him to mentally think he’s living in the year 4386 BC, which of course is a good few years before some teenagers invented fire so they could light their farts. As YOU know a couple of centuries later someone once put a sausage on a stick and held it in front of the fiery fart and proclaimed ‘if you remove the smell of Zorgs ass, this would actually taste better than raw flesh’ and cooking was invented.

Sashimi chefs have never heard of such a wonderful thing. So instead they serve people a plate of raw fish flesh. Incidentally I once wrote a novel called ‘raw fish flesh’ it was about a man deserted on a tropical island who died because he wouldn’t eat raw fish flesh ‘That’s freaking disgusting’ he bellowed as mermaid tried to force some into his mouth as he descended towards death from malnutrition. This man was based on my idea of what I would do if I were deserted on an island and the only thing to eat was raw fish flesh. Yes I would rather die than eat raw fish flesh – even if living meant I could bang a mermaid.

My point is - ‘Hey chefs, cooking exists, I know – we have a goddamn toaster oven in our hotel room, its cost us twenty bucks at the store just up the road. Also don’t cook fish, that stuff is freaking gross and stinks as bad as anything on earth, I’d rather eat a Zorg firey fart hotdog’.

The things is that as rare Westerners that visit the small fishing town of Chenggong our contact in town organised a special feast for us, and people from all over town came to meet us. And I was able to do something that every traveller dreams of, rudely rejecting a locals generous gift.

Actually it wasn’t as bad as that. They served us all sorts of things, and the rice and chicken were great, and the duck really needed more time in the oven, but was ok, and they kept making us drink. They made us drink a lot. They have a strange yet wonderful way of drinking here, they all take a small cup and you are not allowed to have a sip unless you toast it to someone else who has to drink. And when you are the strangers everyone wants to toast you, and when you are gullible you let them make you believe that you are never allowed not to finish the cup (which they always immediately refill for you – back to the top) and that the first time you toast with a new person you must drink three whole cup fulls.

We all got really, really drunk. With no language familiarity I tried to seduce the girls with my eyes, taking the opposite approach Goshie took the opportunity to straight out ask for dirty sex acts, enjoying the freedom of knowing they knew not a thing he was saying, and thirty painful hours later Epi was in hospital with severe food poisoning.

Blood tests confirmed that the cause was, drum roll please, Sashimi! It’s freaking disgusting stuff, but I was willing to let him feel that way, I cannot not say thankyou to generosity and free beer. I just wish these generous types would introduce the chef to fire.

Where have I bloody well been?

Catch up part one

As some of you may know I am in Taiwan at the moment. My plan was to write a blog everyday as a travel journal of sorts, well actually my plan was to write a blog informing you all that I was morphing this blog into a daily travel journal and then start writing a daily travel blog, but not only did I not get around to writing that blog I have yet to get around to writing a single one of my daily blogs. And I’ve been gone ten or eleven days already, that’s almost a full week.

You know the story, I missed the first couple of days while acclimatising to strange surroundings, then I put off starting because I didn’t have the time to get it all done, and then the longer I put it off the longer I needed to pull it off, and so on and so on. Yep that’s how much fun this trip has been already!

Well I still want to write this journal thing damn it, and I just can’t catch up, so here is a catch up on what’s been happening so far.

I hate fishing, it’s a cruel and boring sport, so when my best mate Goshie, the famed fishing journalist, invited me to go on a fishing exploration trip I said ‘well if I don’t have anything else much happening then I’ll come'. Of course I thought I WOULD have lots going on then and it would never happen.

Then it turned out I didn’t have much on, as I have no real job and my latest book is taking longer than I thought to get to the bookstores, so the trip was booked. Plus there barely are bookstores anymore, what did I think was going to happen taking on this career? I should have stuck with something safe, and guaranteed to stay a relevant part of everyone’s lives, like being a newspaper journalist, or radio announcer.

Then Goshie got a bad ankle injury and the trip was at least mentally canceled.

Goshie decided an hour later that his ankle was ok and it was back on.

Two hours later Goshie decided that not only was his ankle fucked but so was his elbow from walking on crutches and it was back off.

I watched a little TV while he changed his mind four or five more times. I think the Big Bang Theory was on during part of this time, and this is a show I like but don’t love, so it was a satisfactory wait, but not exhilarating. Man I need a freaking holiday from all this mild satisfaction damn it.

Tension is built to unprecedented levels but in a shock conclusion to anyone who didn’t read above that I am in fact in Taiwan, the unthinkable happened, truly unthinkable, and if you think about it just about anything is ‘thinkable’ so this thing must be insanely hard to think, wait for it - the trip was called on and we left.

We meet Goshie’s fishing mate, Epi, at the airport and fly off, and 25 hours or so later we arrive in Taipei, a huge metropolitan city full of everything anyone could desire, but because we’re on a fishing trip we choose not to get a comphy hotel and instead get a bus, then a train, then hire a car working south, with stunning coast on one side and towering mountains on the other. It is really gorgeous.

We finally reach our destination, Chenggong – a tiny fishing village where we’ve come to fish. I hate fishing, but I love traveling. This is going to be interesting.

Also I should point out that the universe is trying to tell me something at the moment, I don’t know what, but it keeps showing me little clues. Maybe it’s telling me that the trip might get canceled, hmmm, hmmm, wait no, we’ve satisfied that cliff hanger already, wait, check this out for a cliff hanger, in our next installment someone will be in hospital! Really! But who? Oooooohh, cliff-hanger!

It’s Epi!

Damn it, I ruined it again. Wait, but how? Oooooh cliff hanger.