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And male depression sorted...

“What the fuck is even going on in this sink?”


“I have no idea. I can’t see from here.”


“Did you have a four-bowl event last night?”


“I truly have no idea what you’re talking about. I very much want to. I need you to understand that. But I don’t. Has something happened to the sink?”


“You happened to the fucking sink. Why do you need to use so many bowls when you’re foraging for late-night snacks? Why can’t you use one fucken bowl?”


“Different food groups, obviously. You can’t put grapes in a bowl that’s held chips, can you?”


“You can if you wash the cunt.”


“Yeah, but then its wet, and everyone knows you can’t put chips into a wet bowl.”


“Do the tea-towels not work anymore?”


“Last time I looked they were working fine.”


“And when was that? 1991?”


“I cannot recall. But there was a lot of stuff going on last night. Shit was going down.”


“What shit? Apart from you loading the sink with dishes and yelling at the TV each time some Korean gangster went flying off a building, shit seemed husband-normal.”


“I was conducting a counseling session with a mate. It was pretty intense.”


“Was that that phone call when you were yelling at someone to ‘Shut the fuck up, cunt, and listen!’”


“That’s the one.”


“So what happened?”


“He’s a work in progress.”


“For fuck’s sake, you and your Dear Abbey advice bullfuckery. All you men need to be told the same fucken thing if and when you want your lives to change.”


“And what would that be?”


“Easy. You want to change shit in your life, go to the airport, get the fuck on a plane, fly to LA, hire a bike, ride fucken east. Shit will happen and shit will change. What? Why are staring at me like that?”


“Mother of God! You have just solved male depression.”


“What’s so hard to solve? All you bastards think you’re glorious vagabonds enslaved by us bitches and living lives of quiet desperation and shit, when you could be doing heaps more interesting crap, right?”


“Well, not me.”


“No, not you, dickhead. You’re fucked up in other ways. But lots of blokes are just what I said. And if they’re not trapped in some horseshit relationship with some slut they hate, then they’re lonely and want a relationship, right?”


“Um…yeah, pretty much.”


“You think we don’t know that? Keep thinking we’re stupid and see where it gets you. But like I said, you want a life-change, go to the airport, get on a plane…”


“Fly to LA, get a bike, and ride east. Yeah, I heard.”


“And wash the fucken dishes before you go to bed. I wake up to this multi-bowl shit again and I’ll fucken drive you to the airport myself.”


God, I love her…


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Boris Mihailovic

Boris is a writer who has contributed to many magazines and websites over the years, edited a couple of those things as well, and written a few books. But his most important contribution is pissing people off. He feels this is his calling in life and something he takes seriously. He also enjoys whiskey, whisky and the way girls dance on tables. And riding motorcycles. He's pretty keen on that, too.

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