The idea was to get intoxicated, not poisoned.

Oh what a night! Is what I’d say if we hadn’t all spent it writhing around with stomach pain. Our day was fantastic, the night was an exhibition in food poisoning 101. Our delicious streetside burgers from the suspiciously sparsely named “Burger Bar” got the better of us. Pity, ’cause they were both cheap and abundantly tasty. I guess the greater cost was unseen. Our reactions ranged from repeated vomiting, to sweating and cradling our bellies. I either spent the night sleeping or hallucinating. I’m not sure. In any case, I feel oddly refreshed this morning. Maybe it’s steadfast determination made manifest. Today we’ll bounce back. Today is Barbecue Day and by God I’m more hungry for ribs than Eve.

Yesterday was Day Drunk Day, a theme we Krushed, Killed ‘n’ Destroyed like a nice 90s video game. Starting in the Rainey Street district, everything looked oddly deserted. Another bar hop area, it was all patios and lawn games, The sky was overcast and grey, dampening the atmosphere. Still, drinking was our prerogative and we were gonna make it happen. As we walked further down the street, we noticed more people. We heard music, a jazzy ensemble playing popular covers. The place, Bangers, was pumping. The line stretched down the street. We joined, until a staff member told the line there was a three hour wait for brunch. Holy shit. Maybe we’d grab something quick elsewhere, then come back for the atmos. We picked up food truck barbecue sandwiches (mine was stacked with buttery fall-apart brisket and thick spicy sausage) then headed in.

Here’s the thing about Bangers, it was go big or go home. Their trademark was colossal brunch and Manmosas. A 1 litre mimosa containing an entire bottle of champagne. It was so potent that they refused to sell it to anyone who hadn’t ordered a full plate of food. They also had a tap wall of beer with a selection of around 60 or so beers. Crazy, creative beer catalogued into sections like “light and refreshing”, “dark and malty”, “Belgian and farmhouse” and “Nitro”. My friend grabbed a sake/pizza flavoured beer, which was oddly accurate though too savoury for my palate. Anything under 5.5% alcohol volume they’d also serve in a litre jug. Good times guaranteed. The band played and they were fucking fantastic. Lively and talented, neat twists on songs we all knew. There were bridal parties everywhere with themed shirts (which, I dunno, seems to be a Very Austin Thing). So many friendly dogs (I met a wonderfully docile and soft Great Dane called Nico). The sun came out and we had a blast dancing along. The Buzz was true and our moments felt full of love. After things quietened down, our stomachs full of beer, and hearts filled with joy, we headed out to see what the rest of day would bring.

We had a couple of impromptu photo shoots along the way, goofing about as was our way. I had my heart set on Easy Tiger Bakery, ’cause I love bakeries. I was hoping to find a cute little store with nice chocolate chip cookies or something. We wandered along to our map’s instructions and found the place. It was nothing we expected and everything we didn’t know we’d wanted. A big canal ran alongside an outdoor courtyard filled with ping pong tables. The bakery also had a full beer hall, and here I was just wanting a cookie. I ordered a chocolate chunk cookie and lost my mind. So, back home in New Zealand we have this cookie brand called Cookie Time. They’re large cookies with a crispy exterior, soft interior and big chunks of chocolate. They’re one of my all time top favourite things, and utterly remarkable for a mass produced product. This Chocolate Chunk cookie was a near perfect recreation of a Cookie Time, but also freshly baked. I found my bliss. There was no way the day could get better from there on out. I’d reached peak holiday.

Then we found our new plateau. We dithered around trying to figure out what to do, while overly accommodating one another. The result was us getting a little pissy and nothing getting done. One of us wanted to see the Capitol, but also get goofy tourist shirts. I wanted to find cheap drinks. My friend was saying we should get the drinks I wanted, while I wanted her to have her shirts and Capitol building experience. Canadian politeness, eh? We’d passed a bar earlier where everyone inside shouted at us to come inside. “TWO DOLLAR DRINKS” they’d yell. “COME ON IN”. We’d learned in school not to bow to peer pressure, so we told them maybe we’d come back later and walked on by. After my friend and I argued about why it was better to accommodate the other, our fellow friend took executive decision and walked back to the peer pressure bar. It was settled.

Turns out peer pressure was the best thing that could’ve happened to us. The $2.25 drinks were decided by big Wheel of Fortune style wheels above the bar. It cost money to spin the wheel, which would change the drink affected by the wheel. One wheel for beer, one for shots and one for cocktails. The cocktail on offer was a $2.25 Bacardi Mai Tai, so we figured there wasn’t a lot to lose. EXCEPT OUR MINDS, it turns out. The drinks were delicious and the bartender was a great bloke. He was this super down to earth guy and we all had a rad time chatting to him. One drink stretched into seven or eight as others flooded into the bar. The crowd were good hearted locals and it was interesting hearing their perspectives. The kind of people whose political views were so different to our own, but what was interesting was how little that got in the way of communication.

We really noticed that while people in America hold steadfastly different views, they steadfastly defend the right of everyone to have their own views. It’s such a staunchly individualist society where people care about their right to live or die by their own ability to take care of themselves. People loathe the concept of paying into a system of healthcare where your money goes to other people. It’s anethma to them because the belief is that if you can’t support yourself, you don’t deserve to be helped. The American Dream says that everyone is entitled to reach heaven if they can get themselves there. It’s embodied in tipping, for instance, which is predicated on the notion that the better you are at making people feel welcome, the more you deserve. The satisfaction isn’t in doing a job well, but in immediate gratification for your work.

To be clear, I couldn’t disagree more. The three of us listened to these views respectfully, then told them precisely how and why our more “socialist” society worked for us. How we felt okay about paying more in taxes so that everyone could access the system. That we earnestly believed that people’s lives shouldn’t be ruined or ended because of broken structures. The concept of someone needing to choose between going to the doctor or not leaving their family in debt was inhumane. I hope some of the message got through to them, but who knows. In any case, we were drunk as skunks when we followed one of our new friends to the fateful Bad End of Burger Bar. We all know how that turned out. Or at least, I did this morning.

Oh, and The Curse of Cookie Monster has finally worn off. I’m back to brown town. Barbecue Day is truly Hashtag Blessed.


Wait, was EVERYONE hitting on me?

At the airport. Everyone seems to be super stressed or argumentative. I’ve heard yelling erupt from all around me since I’ve walked i the building. Some American dude grumbling about why he had to wait in line if he had a US passport, a bearded ponytail dude raising his voice at his adult bearded ponytail son, telling him never to ask him for money again. Some guy whining at his wife for bringing him the wrong sandwich. Man, people’s lives are tough.
Mine? Mine’s great. I have zero cares in the world. I’m characteristically too early for my flight. It’s farcical to the point where the flight before ours is still waiting to leave, yet here I sit in the gate. The seats are wide and comfy, what’s not to like? I think for many people travel’s a stressful experience. I guess I can understand why, but it rarely presents that way for me. I love travel. I love travel in the way I did as a child. When I used to be too excited to sleep the night before a flight. Let’s be clear, I’m still too excited to sleep the night before a flight, but the drugs have gotten better since I was a kid. I couldn’t just knock myself out with melatonin. I find it hard to be upset if I’m hours away to being in the air. There’s so much promise in my future that dampening it with a dour outlook seems absurd. Even if things aren’t 100% perfect, by the very nature of being in an abnormal series of events they may as well be.
I think perception colours more than we give it credit for. Here I am, having the time of my life. Maybe others in my position wouldn’t be. There were lines at customs. I waited. They abated. The lady in front of me used four plastic containers and I only had one. The rest were held up. It was fine. I put my bag on and waited for more to arrive for my electronics. The clerk took my boarding pass and I chilled. Things would happen when they needed to. How odd that most people’s stress central is my zen. I got stopped and patted down. It got frisky. tapped down all over, dude lifted my shirt and everything. The funny part was that I forgot to take off my belt before walking through the scanner. I walked through the scanner and it beeped. I asked the dude if I’d need to take off my belt. He nodded. I took it off and halfway through he was all “wait, not yet”. I figured I’d mostly taken it off by then, I may as well finish. Then he made me hold it in my hand while he continued the proceedings. I had to lift one foot at a time and turn around, all while holding this belt in my outstretched hand. It was all kinds of goofy. The dude who checked my bags was friendly and chatty. It went a long way. He noticed a condom on the floor and asked “yo dude, did you drop that?” I looked at it, looked back at him and quirked an eyebrow “nope. It’s not a magnum.” Good, honest, silly fun.
When I got into the declaration section, I got pulled aside for declaring nuts, meat, animal by-products, etc. All because I was declaring a chicken sandwich. Frankly after keto I’m excited enough about eating bread again that I’d declare “CHICKEEEEEN SAAAAANDWIIIIICH” from the rooftops if I had the chance. In line I met an Aussie dude who introduced himself. I don’t know how he knew, but to be honest I’m enough of a chatterbox that he probably heard me asking someone a question in another line. It took all of 20 seconds for us to discover a mutual friend. He was going to LA for a job interview. Then some dude up front asked if anyone was travelling on a US or Canadian passport and I put my hand up. I got pulled ahead of line and wished my brief friend good luck on his job interview.
My friends are on their way to the airport. The only reason I’m here so early is I got bored at work. I decided to just walk out the door without saying goodbye. Instantly I was on holiday. You know, I might be here early enough to have an airport beer. Yeah, that sounds nice.
It was swell chatting folks, I’m gonna grab a beer.

Oh to be a carb-on based life form once more.

I’m out of town tomorrow, I’m so checked out already. I’d say I might as well be gone by now, but I haven’t packed a thing. I’m heading straight to the airport after work, so I guess packing is tonight’s business. I’m going for five days, it’s hard to mess that up.

Work lately has been both difficult and simple. It’s been difficult to put any intentionality or mindfulness into my work. It’s frankly not that kind of job. It’s been simple in that the work isn’t difficult, so I’ve been carving through it in an attempt to clear up potential covering that my coworkers would need to do. With little to no extra effort, I’m about a week ahead at this point. It’s alarming how much more I could be doing in more ways than one. I’ve been under no illusion for the past few years that I’m wasting time at this job, but clearly nobody could accuse me of wasting effort. In some ways it’s made me realise how badly I want to be the kind of person who invests their identity into the way they pay the bills. In other ways it’s brought home how severely I can’t with this job. My therapist told me two years ago I needed to get out. I listened, I tried, I failed. I guess like Aaliyah I’ll need to Try Again.

In preparation for my brief Texan sojourn, I’ve dumped keto. It’s been an incremental process over the last two days. By tomorrow I feel like I will have transitioned. It was the kind of exciting shit that’s a) not actually exciting and b) actually exciting to me. Yesterday I had oatmeal for breakfast for the first time in months. It wasn’t my usual concoction (I used coconut milk instead of soy and had no banana). As a hybrid it wasn’t perfect, but non-perfect was considerably better than non-existent. This morning I tried it with a banana. The banana wasn’t ripe and thus not sweet, but the consistency was closer than normal. My body also felt buzzed indulging in real sugar, even if it was just a banana’s worth. I haven’t done a full 180, but I’m trying to up my carbs, lower my fats and increase protein in an attempt to ease the transition. I had milk this afternoon. Tomorrow I might even try bread. What a brave new old world. On Friday I’m going to ingest every single carb based food in existence. Food truck tacos, pizza, burgers, chips, lattes, cookies, cakes, beer, happy hour cocktails. I’m going to return as a blimp to save on airfare.

I have one work day left. That’s it. I’m likely gonna do about an hour’s worth of work then spend the rest of my time twiddling my thumbs until it’s early enough to ditch. Speaking of which, it’s about time to check out here.

One more day! One more day!

Everyone’s always so quick to blame the scotchka.

I feel rough as guts, that’s how going back to drinking went. It’s 8pm and I may still be hungover. This hangover has been remarkable. Not in a pleasant fashion, but in its length and depth. Fluid movement has been off the table since this morning. I’m a shambling mass trying to navigate the minefield of Getting Shit Done. Fortunately I’ve got nowhere to be for several days. I was hoping to get out and see Black Panther today though.

I was sick. Let’s get that out of the way. I chundered spectacularly just as we were ready to get into bed. It was awful and covered the sheets. My girlfriend sighed and took charge, grabbing spare sheets and we set to making the bed for a second time. When we’d finally finished, my body took that as a sign to unleash hell. I upchucked on the bed again. Demoralising and disgusting in one package. My girlfriend handed me an old pair of spare sheets and told me I was on my own. Fair call. She slept in the spare bedroom and I somehow managed to mostly keep my little chunks inside my body. At some point I awoke and continually began throwing up bile into a mixing bowl she’d left for me. I checked in the morning, it was a sickly blackish green. Nasty as fuck. My girlfriend went to work at 10am, leaving me with pain meds and water by my bed. I don’t know what I did to deserve her.

I lay in bed all day, drifting between sleep and gentle dosing. I felt incapable of moving. At some point my downstairs neighbour began strumming his guitar and singing along. It was actually really lovely to listen to. I felt broken, but relaxed. My body wanted to pee, but my head wanted me to stay in bed. My head won. That was me for most of the day. It’s sad that being irreparably hungover was what it took for me to relax for once, but aside from feeling ratchet, it was kinda pleasant. After some time I figured it was getting late. It’s probably after 3pm by now I thought. I looked at my phone, it was 3:30pm. I’d spent the entire day being hungover. I guess I paid for my revelry tenfold.

Thing is, I had such a fantastic night. The party was amazing. They’d recreated a bunch of The Room’s sets. There were framed pictures of spoons everywhere. Everyone seemed to come in costume and there were some awesome left field ones. A guy just came as The Cancer Doctor, carrying Claudette’s diagnosis with him continually (“You definitely have breast cancer” was all it said). It felt like half the people attending were keto, so there were a bunch of keto friendly snacks. I got to catch up with some good friends I hadn’t seen in something like six months. Drinking again was predictably fun. Even taking today into consideration, I regret nothing.

Come to think of it, this whole exercise was invaluable. After several months on the wagon, I’d forgotten how to handle myself. My resistance had plummeted. The rum went straight to my head. I was having the time of my life, but I’d clearly forgotten that drinking doesn’t make you invincible. Considering I’m heading to Austin in four days, I needed to remember this. Can you imagine how shitty it’d be getting ruined in Austin and wasting my vacation on a hangover? This harsh lesson hopefully saved me from making a dick of myself with the abundant and cheap booze that’s sure to be on hand. I mean, of course I’m still gonna drink. Maybe I’ll do a better job of managing just how much I do.

The silver lining of being hungover at the moment is that keto cuisine is hellishly hangover friendly. I’ve practically just been eating mayo on everything today. Cheese, avocado, mayo. It’s all right there for the taking. Plus in precisely five minutes I’m about to tuck into some meaty chicken bones I’ve roasted while watching a big dumb superhero flick. I guess this day’s turning around after all.

What am I? I’m just a chicken. Chip-chip-chip-chip-cheep-cheep.

I’d say that I don’t know where to start, but there’s really only one place to start: At the beginning. It all began at the leftmost side of the page, right up the top. You weren’t there when it happened, but it’s where you joined in. Like, a line or two above this very one you’re reading now. At this point, you probably realised that this wasn’t going anywhere narratively. In a more literal sense it’s heading to the right in a downwards direction. Metaphorically, it’s spiralling in a downwards direction.

I was gonna make some glib comment about how my life’s following suit, but really that’s not so much the case. If anything’s following suit it’s this entry, which follows yesterday’s entry in which I talked about my newly acquired suit. Cue the groans and strap yourselves in, folks. I’m in one of those kind of moods. It’s not a bad mood per se. Also I should refrain from using the word “bad”, I’m better than that, right? Dreadful? Ghastly? Dour? Contentious? Erroneous? Double-plus un-good? Aside from padding for time, I’m not sure why I went on that tear. I’d already said I wasn’t in a “bad” mood. I had a really relaxing night last night. I’ve got no important plans for the next two days and I’m whimsically sailing through time powered by the lightness of being. Also I’ve decided I’m going to drink tonight.


Haven’t I been going on about keto for the past bloody forever? Now I’m casually introducing the imbibing of libations? I never said I couldn’t drink on keto, I merely said I wasn’t. I haven’t been. It makes it easier to lose weight and seeing as that was the goal, I didn’t. However at this stage the finish line is in sight. I’ve lost as much weight as I’m realistically gonna lose and I figure it’s time to prime my body once more for eating like a normal trashy human. I’ve stopped trying as hard. Simple as that. My old phone bit the dust and this new one doesn’t have My Fitness Pal installed. I haven’t bothered. I’ve stopped logging food meticulously and instead I’m just eating within the nutritional boundaries I learned from the diet. By now I kind of know how many calories/carbs/fats/proteins most of my regular foods have, so I figure I don’t need to make such an effort to harvest the data if it’s causing me such stress. Instead of aiming for specific macros, I’m keeping my carb intake low, eating moderate protein (and more on days where I lift) and having as much fat as I want when I’m hungry. Coincidentally I’m feeling a lot better about it and myself. I’m still in ketosis and the funny part is that according to the ketogenic [urine -ed] strip I just urined, I’m incidentally producing more ketones than I was when I was trying really hard. Overall I’m not sure that’ll affect anything. I’ve hit a weight where I’m comfortable. I’m happy as I’ll ever be looking in the mirror and that’s good enough for me.

Alcohol has no carbs. Diet sodas have no carbs. On the other hand, alcohol is the first thing your body processes (with it being a poison and all). Like a theme park queue jumper, it’ll push that whole ketogenic body devouring fat process to second in line. The food you eat will stay as a backlog and stick around waiting for its turn. Plus while diet drinks don’t have carbs, they can cause blood sugar spikes similar to insulin responses. These won’t knock you out of ketosis, but it’s kind of like when you’re waiting in line for a roller coaster and the person in front asks if you mind if their partner can join them. No biggie, you say. But then it turns out they’re part of a massive polycule and suddenly half of The Bay Area is pushing in line and your five minute wait became five hours. To be entirely honest, I’ve got nowhere I need to be in a hurry. If I’m gonna have a blast getting nostalgic watching the 90s promotional videos they’re screening on overhead CRT screens. Why yes, I do want to buy into the elaborate backstory of a fucking Godzilla themed rollercoaster. That sounds just like my kind of zoning out.

Plus tonight’s party is themed after The Room and I was obsessed with that film ten years ago.

It’s two weeks of mayo, boys.

I have two weeks left until vacation and I’m getting excited. I’m heading off to Austin with friends for the weekend. Our first obstacle is a fuck of a layover. I sure hope Charlotte has some wondrous amenities (or somewhere worth sleeping), cause we have ten hours there. We’re getting in at 9.30pm and leaving at 7.30am. All so we can better harness our time in Austin. A bumpy start should surely give us a karmic bump, right? That’s how these things work, I’m quite sure.

Of course I’m looking forward to discovering new exciting things with friends. Going on excursions and taking in all the weirdness that Austin has to offer. In no small terms, however, the thing I’m most looking forward to is dropping keto. Hands down. It’s been a slice, but it’s also cramped my style in a big way. Keto is the kind of diet that’s perfect for preppers. It’s amazing for Food Is Fuel folks. If you get a kick out of tailoring your portions and obsessing over data, keto is right up your alley. Keto takes the utmost of conscious thought about your intake. It also works really bloody well for weight loss. After the first week and a half I dropped around 4kg. That’s insane. A lot of it was water weight, but not all. I noticed a difference in my face as I looked in the mirror. I’d get on the scales every day or two knowing in my heart that the same kind of rapid weight loss was not sustainable. It wasn’t. After that first drop (and one subsequent drop that quickly came back up), I plateaued. At least according to the numbers. It was discouraging, but I told myself to keep it up, watch my intake and hope for the best. If there were no bumps on the road, how could I expect that karmic bump I mentioned in the intro?

Here’s one thing about keto, at least from a first timer. You’re constantly worried about what you’re eating and the effect it’ll have on the diet. You’re jumping at shadows, freaking out about hidden carbs, etc. Even with more experienced friends sharing their knowledge, I still expected enemies around every corner. As I counted my macros on My Fitness Pal and noticed carbs creeping in over the afternoon, I worried about what I’d eat for dinner. How could I fit 50g of protein and 60g of fat into 200 calories, for instance? Would I have to shelve cheese, mayo and straight coconut oil or something? When the scales jumped by a couple of lbs I’d freak out, wondering if I’d taken a wrong step. After a party one night I drank a bunch of Zevia, then got scared I fucked up. Had I fallen out of keto? Or plateaued?

Weeks went by and I hadn’t dropped a single pound. I got frustrated. Why was I going through all of this stress if I wasn’t getting anywhere. At the same time, I was happy looking in the mirror. I noticed my belt, which started out just past three notches was now reaching four comfortably. Then five. Now it goes past five and I still haven’t dropped weight since that first big drop. Obviously I’m losing, but it’s not factoring into the numbers. So all is right with the world, right?

Not so. I’ve got under two weeks until I leave and the diet feels oppressive. That might sound silly, but it’s dominating my social decisions. It’s made me realise that virtually all of my interactions with friends revolve around food or drink. Whether it’s going out for brunch/lunch or grabbing drinks. If I’m hitting up some evening event, chances are I’m getting a bite on the go. Keto makes all of that much harder. So I’ve been shirking off social contact because I don’t want to have to make hard decisions about what to eat. It’s really frustrating being out at a party where everyone’s drinking and eating if you’re not. What’s a birthday without cake?

We’ll see if I learn lessons from my journey into keto. Will I finally learn that I don’t need to eat if I’m not hungry? Will I get better at taking my caloric intake into consideration? Will I develop a greater understanding of my dietary requirements?

Or am I just gonna have my cake and eat another two?

Skeletons of memories.

I’m starting this by saying that this entry won’t be me at my top of my game. It’s been a long day. I went maybe 6 hours without drinking water and now my brain is all backed up. My phone is stuck on some booting loop and the suggested solutions from the internet aren’t working. It’s 10.30pm and I’ve just eaten dinner. You know what that means, right? LIST TIME.

While I was prepping dinner, the phrase (or combination of two words. Not 100% sure it’s a “phrase”) “Remember When” popped into my head. That’s enough of a writing prompt for me to go go gadget bulletpoint:

  • Remember when buying candy was super exciting? When you’d go to the corner store and they’d have something like pop rocks that came in a little plastic toilet? You’d lose your mind at the novelty of it all, even when it was just sugar at the end of the day. Or that tongue colour changing technology? You’d walk up to some adult and they’d be all “what’s going on you young whipper snappin’ youngin’?” and you’d be all “BLARGH. LOOK AT MY TONGUE” and it’d be blue and you thought they’d be like “WOAH, THIS KID MUST BE PART GIRAFFE” but instead they were like “have you been hitting the jenkum too hard again? I had a storied childhood.
  • Remember when it was totally acceptable for someone’s gender identity to be the butt of a joke? When TV execs thought it’d be hilarious to make a dating show like The Bachelorette then be all whoopsie, she’s trans like that was some hilarious switcheroo instead of reducing someone’s very being into a joke? Then the contestants had the gall to try and sue for psychological damages? Is there a better illustration of gay panic lying around?
  • Remember when you were a kid and your friend’s parents would have one of those rotary telephones sitting in the corner of a room and you’d play with it as if it never had a tacit practical use? Then the parent would be like “well in my day” and you’d be all “your day is past. Hurry up and expire you sack of dry bones so we can inherit the earth.” Then we did inherit the earth and phones hardly have physical buttons let alone some rotating finger trap, yet we still have the audacity to use the word “dial” when we talk about calling someone.
  • Remember when Robbie Williams tore off his skin and we found out he was actually a skeleton in disguise the whole time? That was pretty trippy.
  • Remember when Pokémon hospitalised a bunch of kids in Japan and you were all “holy shit, a cartoon killed people?” but also those monster things look kind of cool. I wonder when this show will make it over to New Zealand?
  • Remember when coffee, alcohol and avocado were gross and now they’re the only things that sustain your boney old bones?
  • Remember when Bone Thugs N Harmony hung out at public transit buildings with Phil Collins and he looked into the camera all staunch? Then he’d loosen up when the chorus came around?
  • Remember when people would use the word “bones” in lieu of a currency? Like “How much for a night in your fine inn?” “three bones, goodsir and I’ll toss in a bowl of soup with a heel of crusty bread”? Me niether, but I’d like to live in that world.
  • Remember when you got your first bra and you were a 30 year old male? Then you went to a drunken art party on a train wearing said bra and drunken people were like “I guess it’s fine to shove fake money into your bra and that bit will never get old” and you sorta adopted a grin and bear it approach and you weren’t so much offended by people’s ownership of your body autonomy as you were that they failed to realise how hack and uninspiring the joke was. Then an all female Van Halen cover band played and that was kinda cool.
  • Remember when your parents got you a subscription to the Delta Airlines kids travel magazine and it had stories/comics with the characters? Plus it’d showcase the kids meals which looked super exciting? Then you got to fly with Delta Air and were super pumped, but it was a mediocre airline and the kids meals fucking sucked and your dreams died with your mortal shell soon to follow?
  • Remember when petrol broke $1/L back in the 90s? Then by the time you had a car you were paying $2.20/L and it cost over $120 to fill your tank?

I had a time. No bones about it.