How's that chicken fried sand coming along?

"I've just realised the absurdity of shaking hands when we've slept together for the last two nights." - Choco via SMS.

Choco just happened to be in town, "on business", on Wed and Thursday night. On Wed, we headed into the valley, and were forced to smuggle Bundy Rum about the place, much to our chagrin. The only other notable thing that occured is that Chris happened to have what he claimed to be THE GREATEST KEBAB EVER IN THE HISTORY OF THE WORLD. We then shared a bed at his hotel, or to be more hilariously ambiguous, we slept together. I had the common courtesy of sleeping fully clothed, socks and all, whereas Chris felt sufficiently comfortable to be mostly naked. Yet the homoeroticism had barely even begun. After meeting up at the UQ gym the following evening, we had the rare honour of showering together, having a romantic dinner together (including a BYO 1125ml bottle of Jimmy Beam), lounging around in the frigid cold pool, polishing of said bottle, and sharing a bed once more.

I'm not in bloody Kansas anymore, if I ever was at all. The subtle differences between our two fair cities seem mild at first, but slowly the facts accumulate, and I realize that I'm surrounded by beasts more akin to titan space fog than to gentle souls as you and I, dear succulent reader. For example, the common pronunciation of the suburb of Indooroopilly is as nonsensical as the name itself. More terrifying by far is the bus service. If you should be so bold as to attempt to hand the bus driver money when buying a ticket, he will shrink away in sheer revulsion while your fellow passengers wail and writhe around on the floor. Instead, you need to put your money on this bland little tray next to the ticket machine. This is not written anywhere.

Last weekend Wen was up, and we hired a car on Sunday and drove up the Sunshine coast. We got marginally funburned but otherwise had a good time. Wen took me out to dinner at a swanky place in the city, but on the way there we were sharing a bus shelter in the rain with a bunch of homeless kids who were sniffing paint and calling us yuppies, which had the hair on the back of my neck at attention...

Two things to peruse when you get a chance. Flying spaghetti monsterism, and mrhands. Mrhands is really, really nasty, and I feel bad about it exposing your gentle eyes and curious minds to it already. It involves a large stallion, and the guy apparently died a few days later. Needless to say, not at all work safe.