Punk-arse

I captioned an entire episode of you-know-what Street. It took me about 18 hours to do one commercial half hour. I’m told it gets quicker. Much, much quicker.

I saw the WBC at the King’s Arse tonight. They hadn’t played in a couple of months and had a new drummer, so it would cool to see them live again. The Arse had to close at midnight because it’s now Anzac Day, and therefore the only time we are allowed to hear a trumpet is playing taps at a dawn ceremony, not in a ska band. But the w00da snuck an extra song in, so much love for them.

The spacebar on my iBook had broken. I can still use it, but it’s lost its spring so I tap a hard, flat bar. I fear getting it fixed, because knowing Apple I’d have to get a new keyboard, which would probably cost about a million dollars.

Oh, and my computer is old and slow. Technology has caught up with and passed it, so every time I use it I spend minutes waiting, waiting, waiting for it to do basic tasks. A new iBook = two million.

Urgh, if only I was a bogan, then I could buy a lotto ticket, win first division and spend my days with a brand new iBook and one of those giant leather couches that nouveau riche bogans are into.

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