1. Exercise.
   There’s nothing better than getting in touch with your body when you’re feeling low. I enjoy going for a run. For that extra resistance, I knock out my ex with some rohypnol, take off his clothes, and drag him along behind me.
2. Remember that drugs and porn don’t work.
   They have, however, earned me enough money to get a good therapist.
3. Kick a puppy.
4. Don’t slut it out of your system.
   That’s just offensive to sluts and takes the fun out of being a slut for its own sake.
5. Hug a friend.
   Some of my friends have massive knockers. I can convince them I’m depressed enough, and gay enough, that they let me cry into their cleavage. A real good sob leads to that wet and warm feeling.
6. Write a list of all the things you can do now that you’re single.
   For example: Lee, Michael, Sarah, Ramon, Jeremy, Stuart and Michelle, and then on Monday, Alexis, Hoa, Pedro and that guy who sells coffee outside Melbourne Central station.
7. Remind yourself of your own worth.
   $150 in-calls, $250 out-calls.
8. Consider it an opportunity for growth.
   Tell the story of your broken heart to your children every night. Add a moral to the story, so that your experiences will help them grow as people. The moral I like to use is, “Don’t have kids.”
   

I’m over the Church crying that it’s out to seek those lost in the darkness and bring them to the light.
I want to be with people who appreciate their own lives have dark times, and seek those who may shine a light on it for them.

I’m sick and tired of the Church lamenting that people have not yet found the Gospel.
I want to be with people who hear the good news that is found in all walks of life, even if it’s not their own personal brand.

I’m bored with the Church that desires to bring people closer to God.
I want to be with those who yearn for God by being closer to people.

I’m done with the Church that promises salvation to whoever comes to it.
I want to be with people who find their own salvation by going out into the world.

I’m breaking up with the Church that demands your heart belongs to Jesus.
I want to be with those who know we are all in his heart.

I’m leaving the Church that asks me to defend why I don’t try to convert the Hindus, Muslims, pregnant teenagers, single dads, drug queens and drag kings.
I’m sticking with those who talk about how Jesus died for the Jews, the Muslims, the preggies, druggies and draggies, the Hindus and who-don’ts.

And I demand that the Church defends why it doesn’t embrace those people unconditionally. It’s time now. Church, read your bibles again. I think you missed something.

Found this in Maryborough this morning…

Errr, so not just frames then?

Well, stuff you. Here they are.

I really like that guy’s hat.

And here’s another one.

So yesterday morning my very good friend Vick picks me up from Mumbai airport and we head downtown. We take the train, which, like in many other places I’ve been – Tokyo, London, Melbourne on Grand Final day – is as much a game of rugby as it is a daily commute. The entire compartment stares at me with bemusement: such a tall white fat bastard … a sure winner in this game of push-me-pull-you-trainy-survivey.

An old man, whose glare I couldn’t take anymore and attempt to break with a smile and polite greeting, asks me if I’m from the UK. This is what ensues…

Old man: Are you from the UK?

Me: No, I’m from Australia.

Old man: Ah, so do you like our pretty country?

Me: Ah, yes Australia is pineapple country. And banana country.

Vick: (cheerful grin) Dude, he said do you like our country.

Me: Ah so sorry. Yes I love it. It’s the most beautiful place.

Old man: What part of Australia are you from.

Me: Oh yes, everyone I’ve met has been so lovely.

Vick: (chuckling) Hang on, he asked you what part of Australia are you from.

Me: Oh I’m so sorry. I thought you asked if I have found people here compatible, like simpatico. I am having so much trouble. Sorry. I’m from Melbourne.

Vick: (snorting) Open up man.

Another passenger: (with an accusatory glare) Well many of us are in a lot of danger in Melbourne.

Me: Well I know for sure it ain’t me what did that. ‘Cause, hey, I’m all the way over here, ain’t I? (with a half-jovial, half-scared-shitless-why-do-I-have-to-be-such-clown-all-the-time grin)

Half the compartment: (gasp!)

Vick: (laughing uncontrollably, in Hindi) I don’t know this foreigner!

Me:(to the passenger) I’m sorry. Actually you can rest assured that nearly all Australians are appalled by what’s happening in Melbourne. We love Indians. And we hate what’s happening as much as you do.

A third passenger: Yes that’s true you know. My cousin lives there and has made many Australian friends.

Me: No I don’t have any cousins here, but I do have one living in Scotland.

Vick: You should really stop talking right now.