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theZEBRA
just spent the weekend at the army barracks
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Songs of the Plains
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One would be in less danger
From the wiles of a stranger
If one's own kin and kith
Were more fun to be with.

Ogden Nash
It Floats My Stoat
Tuesday. 10.24.06 11:59 am
I am an addict.

There. I said it. It's very hard for me to admit, but it's time I faced the truth.

I have been addictified by the addictiveness of eBay.

Curse the person who came up with eBay. It's nefarious. Snagging unsuspecting victims, latching onto the inner auctionphile within, and trapping them forever and ever with promises of great deals and you have 2 items ending soon and 1 minute left!

I think about eBay constantly. My schedule is filled with the end times of a multitude of auctions. My alarm clock was set for 4.46am just so I could make the last minute winning bid.

You nutter, my friends say. You nutter, you can buy that Crinkle Style Black Shirt with Detailed Stitching Down the Left Sleeve BNWT at the shops. Yes, that's true. But will I be able to get it for half price at the shops? No! Don't you see?! eBay's so much better!!! Everyone should shop on eBay! THINK OF HOW MUCH MONEY YOU'LL SAVE!!! (Look at how I'm abusing exclamation marks without a second thought as to their wellbeing. That's how strongly I believe in eBay.)

I could wax lyrical about the bids I've won. Just like how big game hunters share war stories, we eBayers swap tactics and anecdotes about the one that almost got away. Every winning bid leaves me suffused with a warm glow of satisfaction and soothes the materialistic beast within me.

But at what cost?

I have no social life. I disappear between classes to check if anyone has outbid me. I've declined invitations to parties because an auction would end during the party. At those that I did attend, I spent the whole night rooted in front of a borrowed computer, obsessively tracking the item(s) I was bidding on.

At a bar the other night, I was waiting for a drink when a guy tapped me on the arm. He was at that perfect age, just into his thirties, with a sexy smile and roguish good looks. He breathed into my ear, "I've been watching you since you arrived, you delectable young thing you. I want you so much that it's killing me. Come home with me and we'll have wild, mind-blowing sex all night long and all day tomorrow."

Hmm, tempting.

He winked at me. "I'm from New Zealand and I play rugby."

Sold. I grabbed him and started to drag him towards the exit. But then I remembered.

"Sorry, I've got an auction ending in an hour and a half."

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Sorry
Thursday. 6.4.06 8:00 am
I apologise for the lack of updates. Things have been a little...rough recently. I'll post again soon. Thanks for coming still.

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I Burninate You!
Tuesday. 3.13.07 1:38 am
flamegrill

Joao likes his well done.

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Scuttly Beast
Monday. 3.19.07 10:57 pm
SPIDER!!

I just saw a great scuttly beast scuttling in my room!! I immediately dived for my Thong of Destruction (Footwear, Not Underwear) to murderise it, but when I turned back, it was gone! AARGHHH!!!

I now have a cursed spider lurking in my room. When I saw it, it was very close to my bed. So I can't ignore it. Must! Kill! Before it kills me! I’m not normally this jumpy around spiders, but here in Australia, everything’s out to get you. Fucking Aussie wildlife.

Forget it, says the Aussie housemate. It’s probably not poisonous. ’Probably’. ‘Probably’ isn’t good enough, mate! ‘Probably’ means that there’s still a chance that it’ll bite me in my sleep and turn my insides to mush before I can struggle out of a fantastically hot dream.

I hate this waiting! I don’t want to wake up with eight scuttly legs on my face! Why won’t it just come out into the open where I can use my ToD (f., n. u.) on it? In fact, how did it disappear so quickly? Spiders aren’t conventionally known for their amazing speed, but this one must’ve practically scorched toes diving for cover like that.

It’s wily, this one. But I’m wilier. And I’ll be there when it finally picks up the courage to poke a hairy toe out. With my trusty ToD (f., n. u.) in hand.

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Noise in the Dark
Sunday. 7.01.07 12:09 am
A noise!

Something is skritching about in the ceiling space right above my bed. Something or someone. I am not quite sure which I’d prefer it to be.

That ‘something’ could be:
  1. A rat

  2. A cat stalking a rat

  3. A dog hunting for a cat stalking a rat

  4. A giant spider

  5. A massive cockroach
To be honest, none of the above sound very attractive. Option 1 would gnaw me to death, Option 2 would claw me to death, Option 3 would maul me to death, Option 4 would poison me to death, and Option 5 would scare me to death. As you would undoubtedly have noticed, they all involve ‘death’. My death. This is most off-putting.

Wait. The noise has stopped. Maybe the something or someone has died.



Nope, there it is again. Still alive. Damn.

Right, let’s have a look at the possibilities for ‘someone’:

  1. An axe murderer

  2. A homeless student

  3. A hot guy whom my housemate kidnapped
Option 1 would murder me to death – tiny, chopped-up pieces of death. Option 2 would slit my throat in my sleep, so that he/she would be able to take my room. Option 3 would thank me for rescuing him (or at the very least, for breaking his fall when he crashes through the ceiling) by performing sexual favours. But my housemate would be enraged. And this particular housemate is in the army reserves and owns a wickedly sharp army knife. So, either (a) he would break my neck with his dragon ninja training from the army; or (b) he would stab me to death. Option 3’s no good either then. In fact, none of the ‘someone’ options are any good since I again end up dead in all of them.

Ooh, the noise has changed. It’s not a skritching sound anymore. More like thudding. Or knocking. Maybe it’s a code.

“H. E. L. P. M. E.”

or

“I. M. S. O. H. U. N. G. R. Y. T. H. A. T. I. M. G. O. I. N. G. T. O. E. A. T. Y. O. U. R. E. Y. E. B. A. L. L. S.”

or

“I. M. G. O. I. N. G. T. O. H. A. C. K. Y. O. U. R. L. E. G. S. O. F. F. T. H. E. N. M. A. K. E. Y. O. U. E. A. T. Y. O. U. R. E. Y. E. B. A. L. L. S.”

Oh god.

//I’m covering my ears! LA LA LA LA LA!!! I can’t hear you, I can’t hear you!//

The night promises to be fraught with suspense and danger. Perhaps I should go to sleep clutching the KNIFE! point-up just in case something or someone falls through the ceiling. Hopefully it/he/she will be cooperative enough to kindly impale itself to death.*

I wasn’t even aware that accessible space exists above my ceiling. Why is it even there in the first place? Mark my words, no good can come of this.

* Death that's not mine is perfectly acceptable.

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