AB negative, you represent love.

Whew! Just took off my parachute harness, I've been base jumping off the roof of the Physics building, and, ah, wrestling electric eels. Well, that's a mild exaggeration, I've been working a lot. I had to make some updates on a paper, and since I can't (or wont) do that at UQ, I spent all of last weekend on that, hanging out in my pimp pad.

Mind you, there are some characters here. I'm in a visitor's room, with a bunch of others, two from Oxford, one from Cambridge, and one from Russia. The Russian bloke is a crackup. He's a heavyset, funny looking, balding guy in his early 30's, who strolls around in a tight pair of jeans and a white t-shirt (or if you're lucky, a singlet, considering he has a habit of putting his hands on his head and aerating his pits), and talks at the top of his voice in a heavy accent. Every time he speaks, I keep imagining having the sentence prefixed with "IN MOTHER RUSSIA...". And although I can vaguely understand his mangled, shouting approximation to English, he can't understand a thing I say. Dear lord. There's also a guy who talks in a really, really, high pitched squeaky voice and everyone pretends not to notice. I could go on, as it's like a being at a quirks convention.

I happened to catch an epsisode of Back of the Y on the box last night, once which I've seen before and is a pisser. In particular, a skit called 'Vaseline Warriors IV'. It's a post-apocalyptic scenario, where at some point, in order to stop men from being dickheads by trying to impress women, all the women were shot. The world collapses into chaos, where the remaining men fight over all the remaining reserves of porno mags and vaseline. The protagonist is walking in the desert, and his right arm is HUGE (from whacking off). He spots something fluttering in the mud, it's a porno mag which he excitedly grabs and flicks through. It's a trap though, and he gets surrounded by a motorbike gang who beat him up. Anyway, he is lying in the hot sun in a pool of his blood, and is woken by a stream of water on his face. He wakes up to find someone pissing on his head, a guy wearing flying goggles, a jacket, no pants, and flys flying around his arse. He tells the guy pissing on him to fuck off, and gets up. The guy with no pants just goes, "Oh, sorry mate. (pause) You want to go to the pub?", and the other guy, brushing himself off, just goes "Yeh, alright". (This is hilarious, by the way). At the pub, the barman makes beer by drinking metho, and has a yeast infection. The only porn the guys have at the pub is a picture of Lucy Lawless' head stuck onto a bit of ripped cardboard with a crude body drawn on in texta. Hilarious! Also, there is a skit called 'Bottleshop Galactica', which involves... ah, anyway.

That's all from the newsroom. This is really just a guilt-appeasing post, the belligerent god of the internet must be appeased with regular sacrifices.