A collection of short stories and journalistic commentaries depicting my simple life
and how I fit in with the modern day universe of our times



I begin my day by seriously starting to think my car has it in for me.


She strains to start in the not so early mornings and I think she does it just to try and make a point, and whatever that point is, I've yet to learn. I can't help thinking she needs to get a grip - "come on" I yell at her, I mean her only function in life is to cart me around where ever I want to go and she's here giving me grief about starting? My eyes look skyward as I suck in my breath slowly; stroking the dashboard wondering if that would possibly help.

"Come on baby" I coo.

"Start for daddy... please?” I find just a little supplication helps.

She thrums into action and for the first time this morning, I am truly pleased. A few more strokes and she seems to respond as though her dashboard were her clitoris. That’s kind of amusing really.

Punching my gear lever into place I now zoom out and soon join the thronging army of other work-a-day zombies, half awake and driving automatically towards their work destinations. I push a small button and my radio immediately comes to life. We drive along enjoying ourselves, the radio's liveliness blanking my initial upset with my car. My radio ever the diplomat has brought us together once more. And I now throw the gears into top speed and sit comfortably back having been given the all clear from the traffic news broadcast. My seat now hugs my arse with enjoyment as we fly down the motorway together.

Arriving at work I lock my baby up tighter than a hetero man’s rear end in a gay bar and transfer a kiss from my hand to her luscious bodywork. I can't wait to be back inside her, winging my way home, but for now - I have to go to work.

En route to my office, there's an elevator I should take to the 3rd floor, but hey – it’s only the third floor, it’s not like I'm going to die walking up to it and so I take to the stairs. I'm certain I hear the elevator call out 'snob' to me as I pass it by. I take the stairs two at a time, trying to encourage a little cardio for my bleak morning ahead. My mind numbing job is about to start sucking the very life out of me as soon as I sit down and punch in data so I try to rev myself up for it by attacking those stairs. They really don't mind. They're made of sturdy stuff and seem to get a kick out of the abuse.

Reaching the top I feel a weird sense of achievement. I almost do that Rocky thing and punch the air with both hands. The stairs seem to cheer me on too, but the fire extinguisher mocks me silently from the wall on the first floor (It could have been the second floor but that would have been another storey). I want so much to run back down the stairs and kick the shit out of him and I hear them telling me to go for it, but I know my desk will be watching the ever so slow moving clock on the wall just above it, pretending it’s not really watching as it carefully monitors my every movement. It's an office desk after all, what do you expect? It's so anal.

Pulling heavily on the fire door now, I manage to just squish my body through to my office space where inspirational posters not unlike that in the above picture adorn the walls, before I get jammed in the doorway. Its dirty heckles as I scrape past sound strangely like a squeaky hinge but I'm just happy to have gotten through with my arse still intact. I've had bad dates where my butt hadn't been that lucky but that’s another story too.

Anyway, I finally hedge my way towards my desk and much like getting closer to a black hole, I realise it has already started its pull of life-draining hostile intent and yet I still continue to walk numbly towards it as if hypnotised by the measly contents of my less than overflowing, less than inspiring pay packet, that even after several promotions still somehow struggles to keep up with my living expenses.

Yes, it’s another day at the office I fear... Eight solid hours of the same old same old shit. 


Will somebody please come along and shoot me?





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Its my own fault really, its all about what I see in the world, and how it all translates for me.

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