MPS lost his job.
Found redundant on the cusp of another GFC… you can suck my flaccid male organ Mr Cocksucking Baillieu
Fucking Greeks better do the right thing.
Yes there will be a payout, enough to buy the car I have always coveted – albeit secondhand – but it is to be paid the day before the end of the financial year and just enough to tip us over the next tax bracket and we shall lose the lot in tax but still be expected to live on it.
Good thing I have fucked up my Achilles on Newman cause we can’t afford luxuries like FOOD any more.
I have a bottle of Moet in the fridge.*
Crazy isn’t it?
I spent one hundred dollars on cake decorating shit.
Pure sugar is energy, right?
It hasn’t hit me yet of how completely and utterly fucked we are.
More money going out than coming in and that is before the negotiables.
Like heating and water…
MPS turns 50 next week.
I was supposed to go back to work LAST WEEK.
I can feel my brain shutting down.
My heart is racing but in my minds eye I can see the doors closing and a darkness enveloping me.
No time for such folly now though, I have birthdays to celebrate and ‘IOU a present’s to write.
And cakes to bake.
And smiles to fake.
And try to find a reason to not curl up into a ball and hide from the next fucked up thing someone is going to do to us.
I need some medicinal macarons and hot salty fries…
P.S. He ran into the manager of his old station and he has a meeting with them Monday, he has also put out some feelers to some IT places in Melbourne. Send all your good wishes, vibes and prayers to your chosen deity to:
Please give us a motherfucking break
Attn: We need some good shit in our lives
C/O The Rocking Corner
Bum Fuck Nowhere
*the Moet was an Easter gift from my sister in love.