It’s Amazing how your Life Changes


One day you are involved in doing one thing – and the next you are doing something completely different. You have changed your life’s endeavors; you have adapted and evolved to life’s unexpected twist and turns; you have lost someone close to you, whether it be a broken friendship or a break up and so are forced to alter your plans for the future. So many occurrences each year alter that which we are eventually going to become.

I remember when I was thirteen and fourteen I wanted to hang out with what some might have referred to as the ‘cool crowd.’ And they accepted me – which was pretty awesome in itself. There is always a catch though. If you feel something is too good to be true it probably is. There was no way the ‘cool’ kids would accept someone that probably wasn’t quite as ‘cool’, or who wasn’t ‘cool’ at all, and yet here they were, giving me a bone. Well, the catch in this case was that it turned out they all hated my rotten guts and would sooner step on my head if they saw me drowning rather than give me a hand up, so I quickly left their little club. Instead, I found a new group of friends that actually shared the same traits and mannerisms, views and values as I. It was a perfect fit, and still to this day is – when we have the time to communicate.

Again, when I was in primary school, due to my insatiable hunger for video games, I really wanted to become involved in graphic design and the orchestration of such entertainment. Of course, this proved to be an ineffective idea because I did not have the credentials to ever become involved in such a field. I’m no good at the terrible algebra based equations and other such ridiculous mathematical ideologies; I’m not very good at graphical design, and I’m not very good at computer programs that are ridiculously difficult to utilise.
Then in high school when I was in a band, I think all of us wanted to continue to perform on a more professional level than that which we currently resided at. However, when our band broke up for reasons that up until that very moment were completely unforeseen and unfortunately unpredictable, that dream of ours came to an immediate end.

Additionally, I was interested in pursuing a career in acting, but to become involved in a course that revolves around this career at university, one needs to acquire the highest of high grades. I did acquire a few A’s and an A+, but on average I was predominantly a B student. In 2009, according to the statistics, a good few thousand people applied for the acting course at Melbourne University (apparently one of the top ten university’s in Australia) – only two were accepted. Yes, you read that right; two out of a few thousand candidates were accepted into the course. I knew that I would never be one of them and so decided to pursue my other passion; writing.

Now, with my three year undergraduate course nearly complete, I need to decide whether I will continue on with my postgraduate course, and if so, at which institution and what variant? Or will I go out and find a place in the workforce?

Another part of life that changes exponentially are the responsibilities that are placed upon your shoulders as you grow older. When young, everything is so simple, and I really envy the children of today. You can just tell that behind those innocent (?) young eyes, not one of them has a clue for the surprise they are in for when they eventually grow up. Or maybe they will grow up too fast? Sometimes I feel that happened to me – as though I did not have enough time to be young and enjoy what life hath been given to me. What are the repercussions of failing to enjoy youth to its full? When young, you run around the house and the world outside having a gay old time. You watch TV to your heart’s content and play with random plastic figurines. As you grow up, the time that you have for fun becomes minimised as the expectations of life, including giving back to society with money, hard work and effort begin to become dominating factors in influencing the choices that one develops.

Like I said – it is amazing how your life changes. On one hand, that makes the ride that is life quite interesting. On the other hand it can be disappointing and blatantly annoying.

What do others think about what I have conjured up on this subject matter? Agree, disagree? By all means, please, your opinions are welcome!

Naughty Nefarious, signing off!

The rat bastard playing loud music down the road from me must be silenced!


If I can hear the sound of the bass, the drums, the guitar, the lyrics and everything else several houses down, what is it like for the occupants of the residence where the music is playing?

I for one have never truly understood where playing music as loud as friggin’ possible ever managed to be described as ‘enjoyable’.

Having your eardrums blown in by music that is been performed by a band playing some brute European deranged rock song is not my idea of a good time, but who am I to judge the deluded, deranged lunatics down the road from me who get off on it? Whatever rocks your boat I say, I would just rather prefer not to hear it over where I am.

The second issue, apart from the noise, which is bad enough, is the time. The music starts at approximately 9:30 at night, and then proceeds to continue until 2 in the damn morning.

Now, calling the cops about this is like calling the man who runs the ice cream van and telling him the exact same thing; some arsehole’s idea of a good time is playing music louder than any sound that has ever been recorded. On top of this, calling the local council about this is as productive as calling the cops, which already illustrated, is pretty friggin’ useless.

Of course, you could always try communicating with the guy playing the music, who takes your attempt to calmly deescalate the situation as an act of war because not only is he a few tiles short of a roof, but he can’t even speak a word of English so you might as well go beat your head up against a wall cuz if you stand there any longer your head will certainly look just about as terrible.

Of course, this leads me back to the title of this post; the rat bastard must be silenced. First off, why rat bastard? Well, because he is a rat. No, he didn’t inform on anyone to the cops – remember, he’s no good with speaking the Eng, so he’s informing skills will be about as useful as his ability to play music at regular room volume. By rat, I mean, he really is a rat. He has tiny black rat eyes, a little nose with whiskers protruding out from the sides, has a pink tail sticking out from the arse end of his body and is additionally covered in a gargantuan layer of hair. Okay, maybe it ain’t such an in-depth comparison, but there certainly is a similarity.

Now, let’s access that word ‘silenced’. I’m not saying that something untoward needs to happen to him – I’m saying that something untoward absolutely must happen to his sound system – it has to be silenced; muted; permanently.

The question would ultimately be how to successfully do so – hypothetically speaking of course.

As previously mentioned, any legal means would ultimately be unsuccessful, which would perhaps leave the illegal, or as some may call it, the desperate means. Basically, I would need to gain entry to the residence, temporarily gain access to the sound system – then grab hold of it and run out of there faster that Road Runner been pursued by Coyote.

I guess it would come down to how many people were at the ‘event’ in question, and, on top of that, how many people were inclined to have the music system there.  Surrounded by a bunch of angry, drunken music loving freaks who came for the songs would be somewhat unimpressed in my view by a certain handsome, intelligent, amazing, quick witted, humorous, fun loving individual stealing their reason for been there.

I could additionally take a sledge hammer to the sound system – that would put both it and me out of our misery, for I cannot imagine that it enjoys having terrible music pumping out from its mouth. The question would be how to get there – a person walking about a party scene with a weapon of mass construction would stand out like legs on a rattlesnake at an event of this proportion – unless there a builder theme to the occasion – then nobody will question me.

Or I could take a pair of scissors and chop the cable – but this issue can be easily amended to some extent or another – unless the cable is fed into the sound system rather than been an attachment which can be connected to the arse end of the device.

Decisions, decisions. Oh, maybe it’s all too hard. How many parties can these people have in a week? Quite a few it would seem. This would make me wonder what the hell they are celebrating? The fact that they are alive? Come on! What happened to the days when a party was just that – an occasion to celebrate the birthday of an individual. Now…well, wish me luck, in any event. Desperation makes people do crazy things and I fear I may be on the verge of doing something really out there. Now, where did I put that sledgehammer?

The time I popped my nightclub cherry


Contains some coarse language, sexual and adult references

After my last post ‘do women dig nightclubs’, I thought it might be best to continue the tradition of that post by talking about the time I went to my first nightclub. So, here goes…

It’s 2008. It’s November. The year is almost up. Nick, a friend of mine at the time and I decide to go to a nightclub. No, we did not go together-together. Did you see what I just did? Now, I ain’t homophobic, but at the very inkling of the idea that someone is going to interpret two blokes going somewhere as anything but two blokes going somewhere, even the most un-homophobic individual can suddenly become the most defensive in less than half a millisecond. Of course, this goes for more than just the written word or communication in general. I have heard that some blokes don’t like travelling in cars with other blokes, because if the bloke behind the wheel is driving too fast and the car is pulled over, the cops might think there was a little more than driving going on inside the vehicle. I have also heard that some guys don’t like having their prostate checked because although the experience is meant to be quite awkward, daunting even, especially if something untoward is found, it has been suggested by some that if there is really nothing wrong going on in there, the whole experience doesn’t actually feel all that bad – which is what blokes are most afraid of. I guess on one hand a person could argue that if a bloke liked having a hand shoved up there, he might like having something else shoved up there too…

…But, back on topic. The both of us were good friends at the time, and we have not spoken since, and judging by what happened, it probably ain’t all that hard to understand. Brother from another mother is the term Nick used to describe me. Anyway, at the time, and to this day, I did not own me self a pair of wheels, and so Nick had to do the driving.

Now, don’t ask me the name of the night club. I have forgotten…at least that is my story. No, we didn’t burn the place down – but we probably did tarnish the good reputation of the establishment, along with our own by being there that night.

At the time the both of us, well, let’s just say we were not looking good in the romance department. The both of us were looking at a life in which it seemed almost impossible that we would ever have sex. I mean, being a heterosexual man, you can’t have sex without a woman being involved, right? And that was the problem. There were no women involved in our lives period. So, the year was coming to its conclusion and the end was nigh. Why not go to a nightclub to see what could be seen. To experience what could be experienced.

I learnt a couple things when I arrived. One, the queue that was outside – it went for miles, totally. Plus, it was moving incredibly slowly. You could have reserved your place in the line, gone and done your grocery shopping (had the stores being open) come back, and your place in line would still be there like a legless dog – right where you left it.

Two, how to describe door bitches and blokes? (Is that what they’re even called, you know, the guys who stand at the doors to a club as security to keep the invalids from entering). Well, how to describe ‘em? 100% muscle, 0% brain. At least that is how they look – in reality, not much gets past ‘em. Probably because they’re all so huge, but it did not simply mean in the physical sense. You really can’t trick ‘em. I guess in the advertisements sections they asked for the smartest, biggest, scariest most bad ass people imaginable – who look incredibly dumb. That way, people just generally assume their lack of intellect and do not plan to be apprehended by a smart guard.

Three, the stamp they apply to your wrist? For one, they shove it down so hard onto your flesh, it is almost as though they are intentionally trying to break your hand. I guess those guys who stamp your wrist know that if the nightclub business ever goes under they can always get themselves a job at Madame Estefan’s House of Pain. Second, they specify how it is waterproof, sweat proof, but at the same time washable? Yeah, well, let’s just say that I scrubbed at it a couple occasions after this night, and two weeks later it still looked to be permanently etched into my body, kind of like that tattoo of an ex-girlfriend that seems like a really good idea at the time. Let’s say, I know how Lady Macbeth felt, and the next time I read such a piece of literature I really felt for the old gal.

Four, the word ‘loud’, even with the word ‘very’, or ‘excruciatingly’ placed before it – does not even begin to describe how ‘loud’ a nightclub is. The music is like a billion decibels. The people screaming and jumping around make it even louder, and I suddenly realised – all those times I thought I felt an earthquake – it was probably a cool couple hundred people combined jumping up and down in a club together. So next time you feel the earth move – check your nearest night club before you assume it’s anything but a stampede.

Five, there really isn’t much space. It’s a ‘balls to the wall’ experience, literally. You find yourself pressed up against the walls of the club with very little oxygen, and everyone is trying to steal yours right out from your lungs in a vain effort to survive the night.

Six, the lighting no doubt has the capability to cause seizures and/or embolisms and/or schizoid episodes and/or psychopathic behavior. So, if you’re ever at a club and a deranged psychopath comes at you with a knife – it ain’t their fault – it’s the lighting!

So, there we were – Nick and I – finally inside the labyrinth that was totally beyond the beyond. Whatever we had expected – it was anything but. We made our way to the bar, ordered ourselves a couple drinks and spun around on the stools to get a look for the place.

I will say this. When you walk around your neighborhood, you see some foxy ladies who you think are out of your league. At high school, you see some even foxier ladies who you believe are completely out of your league. At a night club – you will see ladies so fuckin’ foxy that to even call them ‘fuckin’ foxy’ will not begin to describe just how ‘fuckin’ foxy’ they really are!

I never realised women could come in so many different shapes and sizes. Big ones, fat ones, skinny ones, short ones, straight ones, diagonal ones, irregular ones, triumphant ones, ones that resemble the Bermuda triangle (people walk around ‘em and never come back), ones that resemble super models, ones that have the runs (I mean they are puking up shit from their mouths). There are so many that eventually, you come across some that defy all manner of description.

So, what did Nick and I do exactly? Well, we simply sat there for a few minutes. Never had we seen so many foxy women. As for dancing – well, that was the last thing on our minds at that point. On the other hand, neither of us were really good dancers. I mean, the best I could do at the time was the ‘shake my head in disbelief’. What? You haven’t heard of this one? It’s simple really. You turn your head to the left. Then you turn your head to the right. And then you proceed in continuing this over and over again.

Simply put – Nick and I were not at the nightclub long. We came to the conclusion, quite quickly actually when I come to think about it, that we had as much chance as hooking up (is this the right lingo ‘ere?) with one of the ladies there as we did of staring in our own reality sitcom. So, with that in mind, we left – and basically pretended this never happened and swore a vow to never speak of this again!

The End!

Naughty Nefarious, signing off – and feeling a little embarrassed after sharing such a moment with you as he does so.