--> Sad birthday indeed! I turned 54 the other day and spent it alone (by choice). I hate my birthday. I hate having to be nice to people who speak to me once a year especially when they hang about after saying the words ‘happy birthday’ and spew forth riveting questions like, ‘So whatta ewe dewing for ya birfday?’ and ‘Are you being spoilt?’ Nothing. No. Fuck off. Really…fuck off.
Repeat all day long.
Then every cunt in the accounts department crawls out of the dark hole they’re kept in all year and demolish the cake I'm forced to buy (stupid company policy…they should buy the cake!) I’ve solved this part...
Bring out the quality cake and let the boss and a few key people responsible for my continued employment know on the sly. Once they're all done, I insert into the hellhole known as the communal kitchen the SPAR abominations of cheap-arse milk tarts and things covered in coconut for everyone else and then alert them by group office internal mail. It’s devoured in seconds.
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The same amount of seconds it took me to realize that the new Black Keys is basically Rod Stewart’s ‘Blondes have more fun’ or KISS's 'Dynasty'. Hairdressing salons all over the northern suburbs now have something ‘rocky’ to play that won't alienate the clientele who are normally subjected to ‘uplifting vocal house’ or Café Del Mar 5.
MELVIN (hates everything)
