Friday, November 02, 2007

Friday night in Newtown.

You could be the girl at the station who had a Cinderella moment with a transvestite. She's probably busy wondering how her Prince Charming turned out to be so heavily bosomed. She's probably tanked and tottering and will eventually break her ankle getting out of a cab. Bet she's thinking of you and the fact that for a brief and mortifying moment her cock was in your face.

You could be the girl who walked down King Street past the dope smoking boys and wondered if they thought they we cool (they did) and if smoking pot on King Street was some kind of modern day right of passage. You could be the girl who shook her head like a nana at this modern generation before remembering times when she'd done just the same thing, only more discreetly, of course.

You could be the girl laughing at Visy. There's a name for the enjoyment of the pratfalls of others. I think it's Visy.

You could be the girl sitting at home and wondering why she's turned all high school over her infant boy crush - not a real crush just a small hormonal matter, yeah. Honestly, other people are starting to notice. It's getting a bit embarrassing. Really embarrassing. Oh christ this is so embarrassing.


Dale Slamma said...

Or you could be the girl still too sick to go out sitting at home inside her own head wondering if King St still exists and grateful to hear that it does.

nailpolishblues said...

It still exists, Dale. And it's damp and full of people who're beautiful for the moment and who are finding the moments beautiful. Tomorrow there will be little puddles of vomit everywhere and if you wake up early enough you'll hear the partygoers heading home at sunrise.

TimT said...


Maybe their slogan should be 'If you want to engage in Pratfalls, don't act like a Dick'.

Ah, Newtown vomit.

nailpolishblues said...

If I fully explained my enjoyment of the Visy thing to you I'd sound even weirder and more stalkerish than usual. I'm not sure that that doesn't sound worse...

Nostalgic for vomit?

TimT said...

The best part of it is that Dick Pratt, mega-multi-billionaire, made his fortune by selling - boxes. That's right, he's a BOX-TYRANT!

nailpolishblues said...

Dick made his fortune in boxes...?

TimT said...


Incidentally, if you rearrange the letters of the sentence


You get the sentence:


nailpolishblues said...

By curious conincidence that is precisely what I'm trying not to do right now.

TimT said...

You have one handy?

nailpolishblues said...

It's just about to leave the room. It will be back in 50 minutes.

I'm almost certain that I'm not allowed though.

Caz said...

You need to find a boyfriend.

Perhaps you could be embarrassed together, thus halving the sense of mortification.

And he could admire your eyebrows.

nailpolishblues said...

Oh yeah, Caz, I really want another person in my life laughing over my lust for a rather unattractive teenager.

Still, you know, being trapped in a small room with him is doing wonders for my libido.

Yes, too much information. I thought so too.

Dan said...


nailpolishblues said...

You gotta ask yourself, Dan, how much do you need to know about the libidinal needs of a random Australian lass..?

Caz said...

An unattractive teenager?

Oh dear.

Oh deary me.

You can do better Nails.

You must do better!

At least work your way up to a 20 year old.

There has to be a random - attractive - 20 year old about the place.

nailpolishblues said...

Actually, Caz, by the standards of the place he's quite passable. Pathology attract very unattractive men/boys.