Yo Girl

Gelato, yo

A bit about the toilets down here (under)...

the toilets around here are nothing to sneeze at. you are given two flush options: a button for #1 and a button for #2 and #3. when the second button is struck its like a dam breaking right in your bathroom. There is no circular direction with the flush, just a wall of water. poo doesn't stand a chance. 

as far as wiping technique goes, ill have to start asking around. see i just sit on the loo as i flush it and ride the wave... bidet to you sir. 

as for the trains in this mo' fucker... i got something to say.

everyday i have to commute, like the big-boy i am, to and from work on a train. them problem the developers totally missed when creating these rail-

turds was that there was going to be an absurd amount of people riding on them every day. the rush hour here seems to last all day long. then people will always ask me: " but v-money, i thought the aussie people were of an ultra-friendly breed, cant you pass the time on a crowded train with a little conversation with a stranger?"  this is the moment where i respond to such a question with a firm kick to their goodies. sure the people down here are nice, but i don't give a shit where you're from, if you are put in this situation its hard to hold yourself back from turning that train car in to a mosh pit. i cant imagine what the express to auschwitz was like, but this seems pretty damn close. 

oh, and one more thing...

sure it seems reasonable to need a ticket to get through the station gates. thats fair. what is fucked is that you need to use that ticket to get back out of the station. if you may have some how misplaced your ticket during your ride,

 you must buy another ticket to get out. if the place was on fire you would have to find your ticket to  escape and keep your life. if you lost your ticket because you sustained massive burns as your pants burned on your body and your ticket is now grafted to your skin, you're screwed. the station security would not be there to cover you in a fire blanket, they would just simply shake their heads and point at the nearest ticket counter. 

until tomorrow...

R.I.P. George...