The Next Big Thing – Drinking Apparatus

If you’re old and lame like I am, unable to keep up with the doo-dads and whizz-bangs of today’s youth culture and can’t understand why anyone would listen to Ariana Grande by choice then please be upstanding for the first in a multi-part series to help you keep on top of all of these vital things so that you can communicate with your surly adolescent children and their haircuts. Join me in a round up of current cool shit, lame shit and other shit as we explore how far we can push a bad idea.

To accurately predict the next fad, I will input data from weekend brunch menus and hip hop lyrics into my state of the art supercomputer (my brain) and wait for it to fart out the next logical curiosity in:

The Next Big Thing Continue reading The Next Big Thing – Drinking Apparatus

Sympathy for the Lazy

I’d consider myself a pretty average Johnny, but like any other (relatively) young person looking for a job in the current market, I assume that I’m worth far more than I really am. So it’s no surprise that I am having trouble finding one because I’m not willing to settle for anything that I consider beneath me. I have decided by process of elimination that this excludes every job that ever existed except African dictator, extremely famous pop musician or lesbian porn film director. Continue reading Sympathy for the Lazy

Memoirs of a Failed Financier or The Justin Bieber Bank Diaries Part IV

A four part retelling of a three month saga.

Part four: I’m a Bielieber, baby

It may have been an equal combination of my own belligerence and their bullshit that led to the breakdowns in my previous articles, but the final blow for my career in banking came from that Canadian songstress Justin Bieber. See, while we were sitting row upon row in our quasi-communist processing factory, side by side with business and economics students and single mums, we weren’t allowed to talk. Continue reading Memoirs of a Failed Financier or The Justin Bieber Bank Diaries Part IV

Memoirs of a Failed Financier or The Justin Bieber Bank Diaries Part III

A four part retelling of a three month saga.

Part Three: Philosophise this

Resisting indoctrination is one of my favourite pastimes. The feeling of freeing yourself from mob mentality is like a hit of sugar to a diabetes patient, only you get to keep your legs. But ok, we live in a world where there’s a lot of talking and meetings but not always a lot of doing. So called ‘menial’ work has been replaced with what I’ve been told are called ‘new service professionals’ although I know for sure that I’d pay someone a hundred times more to take away my garbage than to manage my company Snapchat account. Continue reading Memoirs of a Failed Financier or The Justin Bieber Bank Diaries Part III

Single Women: A Menagerie of Shitty Dads

It is the fault of men that today’s women is so, so single. It is not only the fault of single men (on which I have a lot to say about at another time) but it the fault of shitty dads all over the world who don’t actively ‘dad’ as the kids might verbanise. What we have are women who are afraid of men, women who don’t understand men and women who hate men. Continue reading Single Women: A Menagerie of Shitty Dads

Memoirs of a Failed Financier or The Justin Bieber Bank Diaries Part II

A four part retelling of a three month saga.

Part Two: The nonymous anonymous company satisfaction survey

A great brouhaha went down while I worked at the bank – and I like to take partial credit for its inception. This particular corporate behemoth was consistently rated among the top three for their customer service, and they wanted to be rated as highly in their staff satisfaction as well. Not too complicated – if the staff are happy, the customers are happy and everyone’s just an rollicking orgy of sweat glistened satisfaction. But this bank would not rest until their staff were the happiest fucking chorus of Oompa Loompas in Loompaland and they were going to beat it into us, whether we were satisfied or not. Continue reading Memoirs of a Failed Financier or The Justin Bieber Bank Diaries Part II

Memoirs of a Failed Financier or The Justin Bieber Bank Diaries Part I

A four part retelling of a three month saga.

Part One: Meetings – why do they exist?

Everyone has a bad job story. Everyone knows someone with a bad job story. Some are horrific and serve as both a warning and a gratification for your own nine to five. My bad job story isn’t that bad in the scope of things, it’s just bad – contextually – in my own employment history. I’ve been felt up, puked on, made to clean urinals, told that my opinion “wasn’t worth shit”, been dobbed in to the cops, cleaned rotten fish water, been screamed at over fax toner and called every name under the sun and I can cope with all of that, because my worst job ever was counting money. Continue reading Memoirs of a Failed Financier or The Justin Bieber Bank Diaries Part I

Aeronautical Engineer Required to Build Paper Aeroplane

Going to university after prematurely leaving high school with no qualifications and working for a decade was the best thing I ever did. And while I have a hundred opinions about the validity of a degree and the uselessness of a feminist-Marxist education in postmodern literature, I felt empowered by my education and the opportunities it might afford me. Which, I now know in hindsight, were not afforded at all. Continue reading Aeronautical Engineer Required to Build Paper Aeroplane

I lived with a girl who wanted to wear my skin and three other stories about my flatmates

Tupperware Mary

I moved into my first flat when I was twenty with an affable, nerdy and completely unattractive British accountant who had just sensibly invested his money into a house in the burbs of Auckland. It was me, him and an overweight girl called Cindy who would say things to me like, “You’re welcome to borrow my clothes, we look around the same size” and, “It’s Friday night, aren’t you going out?” as she left with her boyfriend. There was also the memorable time that she woke me up by smooshing her face right into mine and yelling, “Is this pink eye?” Continue reading I lived with a girl who wanted to wear my skin and three other stories about my flatmates