Whenever I see a guy from my high school wearing a suit in a Facebook photo, they’re never just wearing a suit. They’re never just going to work or at work or after work. It’s always a guy about to go to a horse race and they’re always making a face that says “Woah-ho, look at me. I’m wearing a suit! Me!? In a suit! Ooh la la”.
You’re 25 and white! You’re supposed to wear suits now. Some 25 year olds wear suits every day. Why is this still funny to you? I defended my public school education for years and you’re ruining it.
Dressing as ‘an adult’ is not an option for a costume party anymore.
I too only ever wear suits to weddings and funerals, but come on, for the sake of Kenmore High, just pretend it’s not the only suit you own.
Diagram A (Src: A Little Princess)
I just had slight mental breakdown over something I saw at the ‘cool’ cafe up the road.
Fitzroy, Melbourne is the type of town that messes with your moral conscience. There are a lot of homeless guys around and a lot of hipsters around. More than once I’ve envied someone’s sweet 80s jacket and only moments later had the same guy ask me for two dollars. Worse than that I’ve felt sympathy for a scruffy bearded guy, before noticing he was wearing my same $200 ‘going out shoes’ IN THE DAY TIME.
It doesn’t help that each group chooses to congregate only 100m away from each other. Homeless on the corner of Smith and Stanley St - Hipsters at The Grace Darling Hotel on Smith and Peel St. It’s an identical scenario except the homeless prefer a classier drink.
Read More
In spite of everything you’ve heard on The Biggest Loser, I’ve actually found a way to hate myself more by becoming healthier.
I’m playing myself in this TV show ‘Please Like Me’. I’m supposed to look like me. I, myself, have a funny body. It’s thin on top with a belly that makes me look like a snake with a half digested pile of Snack Pack inside it.
The show is a comedy. Next to my attractive lady co-star, the shittier my body, the funnier the scene. Every step I jog is making the show 0.1 percent less funny.
I know all this, but I can’t do it. I can’t handle people seeing it. Somewhere inside I have some sense of dignity or possibly even some type of ego that wants to fool the public into thinking I don’t fucking love salt, fat and sugar inside my mouth heaps. It’s pathetic.
What’s especially sad is that I have a girlfriend. I’ve had one for over two years. I’ve never done this for her. I won’t even do light exercise to make to it easier for her to love me, but with the slightlest risk of shirtlessness on the ABC and I’m out the door 9am everyday with every other Melbourne housewives doing squats in the park and lunges on the benches.
Snack Pack
Last night my girlfriend and I dressed as John Lennon and Yoko Ono for a Beatles party.
It was fun, but just a word of warning, if you ever think to yourself “I’m going to have a themed party” remember what you’re actually saying is “I’m going to make everybody have a shitty Saturday searching for a costume, hating me more and more every minute”.
I nailed the costume in the end. My frail figure and pointy nose really came in handy with the Lennon costume. My girlfriend, Elise, was really impressed. Too impressed.
When she saw me she said “Oh my god. You are so getting sex tonight” *
That would be SO good if it wasn’t for the fact I was basically dressed as a nineties beat poet. I was donning John’s later look. All black, turtle neck skivvy and circle sunglasses.
Is that what MY girlfriend finds attractive? Because yes I looked like John Lennon, but I also looked exactly like Steve fucking Jobs.
She denies it, but I’m convinced the real reason she found me so attractive in the costume was simply because I DIDN’T LOOK LIKE ME. She was transfixed by my transformation, not into a better looking man, just another man.
To get her back, this morning I April Foolsed her by convincing her I had testicular cancer.
Spin-off story:
The Beatles party was fun, but Elise drank too much gin and ended up crying because there were other Yoko Onos there who were, and I quote, “Actually Asian”.
*I didn’t.
"If I were a drag queen I’d create a Glee cover band called Nude Erections."
— Me
Mt Cootha lookout.
Nothing cheers me up more than imagining how my friends would react if I died:
- All my friends gather and weep. The things they once scoffed at me for are now sweet memories. Like the time I went to Mt Cootha lookout by myself hoping a girl would think I was mysterious or the time I made a matchbox model scene of my ex-girlfriend and I on a bridge. In reflection my friends recognise the misunderstood visionary I was.
- Secret facets of my personality emerge. Those who always considered me shallow discover a series of letters between me and my Nicaraguan pen pal Marcus. I’ve sent him $10 a week since he was 6, but more than that, I’ve sent hope.
- Everyone who ever disagreed with me finally takes a moment to look at things from my point of view. They realise they were wrong. All of them. Every time.
- Nick Patterson from year 10 HPE sees my funeral across every TV channel. He realises how loved the person he hit with his hockey stick really was. Unable to live with his old identity, he gets a sex change, but he’s never happy again.
- My brother, sister, mother, dad, step mum and mum’s boyfriend Gerard all get decorative ‘T’ neck tattoos.
- Elise, my widow, makes her new boyfriend wear the same cologne as me, and recite my classic stand-up bits in bed, and shave all of his chest hair bar a strange oblong shape directly under his neck.
Sometimes when people say that something is an acquired taste, I feel what they actually mean is “eventually you’ll associate this taste with the feeling of being white”.
I don’t think that your taste buds can literally change to start enjoying something you’ve always hated. I think what is actually happening is after 10 gagging experiences with wine you think “hmm, every time this taste has been in my mouth I’ve been wearing nice clothes around upper middle class people. I like that. I like wine”
Couple that with being drunk - you get to feel superior while at the same time upping your chances of mushing someone’s genitals. That’s why wine is amazing.
Read More
First week filming ‘Please Like Me’. Josh Thomas screams at someone if ‘his chair’ isn’t on set at all times.
Last week, production started on Josh Thomas’ kind-of-autobiographical sitcom ‘Please Like Me’. It’s a little bit about sad things happening and a lot about people who make-out with each other and then stop making-out with each other and then start making-out with some other people.
It’s really good.
I am in the show. I play Tom - Josh Thomas’ best friend. It’s a gritty role, but I feel like I’m doing the character justice.
Even though the character is me and I helped write the script, I still had to audition. Apparently being able to act is a prerequisite for being paid to act.
I got the part and now I’m in this weird position where I can see the world of professional acting through the eyes of someone who has never done it before. It’s like when Harry Potter first met other wizards and they were all nonchalantly doing magic and he’s all like “wtf is going on? is this? are you? oh this is normal? Ok. Yeah. Wands. I’m cool”
Here are some of my observations about film acting, having done it professionally for 3 1/2 days:
Read More
