Diary of a Hume.
Yesterday I somewhat sadly left the state of New South Wales and headed towards the arctic drizzletown of Melbourne. Accompanying me was the charming and handsome Hamish, who had somewhat foolishly made drunken plans with me two nights previous for a rock n roll one way road trip to
05:00 - You can just fuck in the direction of off, mister alarm clock.
06:00 - Polite SMS from Hamish wondering where the fuck I am.
06:15 - Collect Hamish from stoop of Foveaux street where he is perched like a brooding poet with his guitar. Purchase second coffee and an inconveniently large piece of toast.
06:41 - The open road! Freedom fighters on the edge of destiny! ALL YOUR BASE ARE BELONG TO US!
06:45 - Petrol stop. Purchase NW. Kate Hudson skin and bones, eh? Tsch.
07:15 - Ms Fits: How good is this mix tape?
Hamish: Rather.
Ms Fits: Hey, if you're making a mix tape and a song runs out part-way through, what do you do?
Hamish: I try not to let that happen. Probably put a really short song at the end so it didn't cut out.
Ms Fits: And what about using two songs by the same artist on one mix tape?
Hamish: Personally I'm against it.
Ms Fits: You may stay in the car.
08:00 - Ms Fits: Have you ever fucked a prostitute?
Hamish: Erm...no.
09:30 - Historic Yass. Petrol. Kick a bit of plastic around for the dog. Driver swap. Observe Hamish drinking V energy drink number one. Feel stirrings of energy drink-related jealousy. Plot to kill.
10:00 - Ms Fits: How weird are relationships?
Hamish: Yeah, I guess. Sometimes.
Ms Fits: Have you really never fucked a prostitute?
Hamish: (sideways glance) No.
10:40 - Stop for a wee. Purchase six cans of energy drinks .
11:00 - Sprite Recharge, I salute you!
11:10 - Stop for another wee.
11:30 - And another.
11:45 - Sorry, could we just pull over here for a wee?
11:50 - Hamish: What is the fucking matter with you?
Ms Fits: *wees*
12:00 - Sprite Recharge number two, I MOTHERCHUCKING SALUTE YOU IN A LOUD VOICE!
12:05 - Hey, can we just pull over here for a disco dance? My body has ants.
12:20 - Woah, if you pump your fist at truck drivers they'll sound their horn! LET'S PUMP OUR FISTS FURIOUSLY AT EVERY PASSING CAR! AHAHAHAHAAAAA!
12:25 - Let's not do that anymore.
12:35 - Hamish: Maybe we should start a folk band.
Ms Fits: Okay.
Hamish: We can travel around in this van playing songs that heal people.
Ms Fits: I'll play my lute.
Hamish: I'll grow a beard.
Thoughtful silence.
Ms Fits: Can we call ourselves 'Sex Poo 3000'?
Hamish: No.
12:40 - Energy drink-fuelled drumming workshop on dashboard. Fuck. Percussion is cool.
12:45 - Care for another red bull? Why thank-you, don't mind if I do.
12:48 - Did I say that out loud to Hamish or just to myself in my head?
12:50 - Who cares. Just drink the fucking red bull while he's not looking. Then you can kill him.
13:00 - Ms Fits: So have you ever been a prostitute?
Hamish: brooding silence.
14:00 - Ms Fits: Can we call our folk band 'Trees On Lake'?
Hamish: What folk band?
Ms Fits: *cries*
14:20 - Note to self: Never purchase bangers, mash and gravy in a stop-gap town like Albury-Wodonga. Particularly when the waiter refers to them as 'bankers'.
15:05 - Oh fuck! I just had an idea for a book!
15:10 - Ms Fits: HAMISH, WAKE UP! I JUST HAD AN IDEA FOR A BOOK!
Hamish: What? What is it? What?
Ms Fits: Never mind.
15:30 - Hamish: Can you open my can of V? My hands are shaking.
16:00 - Ms Fits: Has anyone ever called you 'Amish' as a nickname?
Hamish: No-one still alive.
Ms Fits: What does that mean?
Hamish: It means I killed them.
Ms Fits: Oh. But I was going to call you 'Amish'.
Hamish: (narrowing eyes murderously) Just don't.
Ms Fits: Oh.
16:30 - Ms Fits: What about 'Mamish'?
Hamish: What?
Ms Fits: Can I call you 'Mamish'?
Hamish: No.
Ms Fits: Why?
Hamish: Because it sounds like baby talk.
Ms Fits: Fuck up.
Hamish: It does .
Ms Fits: What does your girlfriend call you, then?
Hamish: She sometimes calls me 'puppy'.
Ms Fits: Oh, so 'Mamish' is too twee but you're all cool being called 'puppy'? I AM FURIOUS RIGHT NOW.
Hamish: SHUT. THE. FUCK. UP.
17:08 - Tears.
17:30 - Petrol stop. Wallan. What the fuck is Wallan? Why is it? I don't wanna get naked on radio tonight. I want to go home and eat Twix in the bath.
17:44 - Look! Tram tracks! Let's hold hands and think sentimental thoughts.
17:59 - Drop Hamish at his handsome Brunswick apartment. Embrace tightly. Call him 'Mamish'. Run.
24:00 - Naked on radio. Hey look! Clem Bastow's vagina!
777 days til the next election.
Comments
fucking mamish.
what a joy-killer.
*wishes she had been there*
*strums banjo*
*crying with laughter at energy drink shenanigans*
*joins le nadine in hatred/jealousy of amish*
Eating Twix in the bath...? Hmmm, I can feel an Eddie Murphy joke coming along.
Could you just mention to the men on your radio show that I have a vagina and I am not a MAN!
ta.
i laughed & laughed.. roadtrips.
embrace the energy drink & shit food.
Ew, that Twix comment stank. Pull up a stool and I'll tell you about weird relationships - far too much dumping and not enough good looking bottoms. Those dire rears are all to blame.
Which reminds me of a friend who decided to be Native American for a day, before giving it up. I never did understand what that ex-Cree meant.
What a joyous journey you had, Ms Fits.
Even if it did all seem to end rather abruptly.
All the best with starting your Folk Band. I look forward to seeing you feature in the sequel to A Mighty Wind.
As the singer from Sex Poo 3000 I'd really rather you went with "Trees On Lake".
Thanks.
*screams at sight of rival excrement pun*
yeah - he has been with numerous prostitues - it is sooooo obvious - and judging by his responses he prefers transexual prostitutes
That post made me LOL all over my vadge, ms fits. Pure gold.
You are already in a rock band, missy. A little something called "The Riot In Your Anus". Huh? Huh? There can be no folk crossover.
Tops blog. as.
And thus every single other blogger's road trip posts ever were rendered embarrasingly dull and try-hard. God. That was wonderful.
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