Duuude!!!!

Finally!!! We made it! At 4:30am on wednesday the 17th of February, sleep deprived and exhausted from pulling an all nighter to get there at 3am, we checked into our flight at Tullamarine International in Melbourne and are now home free! No more avalanches of shit to hold back, we are officially on holidays! Beaches, sunsets, good food & drink, new places, new people and adventure await!

But not before I have to deal with one more fucking idiot. Strangely, in the past week I seem to have encountered the A-league of imbecile dipshits in the Victorian workforce at every turn, and the shining example that we conversed with at the check in desk on this particular morning deserves the Purple Heart medal for total fucking stupidity.

Catalina is Colombian, so to travel through the U.S., as is usually done en route to South America as it is cheaper and quicker, she needs to obtain a visa from the U.S. emabassy. Having travelled there previously, that cost of that particular visa has increased substantiallyto the point where obtaining it would eclipse the savings we would make on an ticket going via the U.S.

So, as it is, our itinerary read: Melbourne-Auckland, Auckland-Santiago, Santiago-Lima, Lima-Bogota. Our travel agent at student flights (onya jamie!) sussed out all the neccessary visa’s for us long ago, and we have written documentation out-lining all of this, but this muthafuckin Stephen Hawking at check-in thought otherwise.

After spending 1o minutes trying to figure out whether Cata needed a visa for our stopover in Auckland, when we had proof she didn’t right in front of her and and another 10 trying to find the luggage code for Bogota, she spent another 15 trying to find out the visa requirements for a country on our itinerary that was “bugging” her. She wasn’t quite sure which country it was, and again ignored all the WRITTEN FUCKING PROOF we had in front of her, but kept searching as the line behind us grew bigger and more impatient, until she exclaimed “Oh! It’s Brazil!”. A country not even on our GOD DAMNED MUTHAFUCKEN ITINERARY!!!

Shiiiiiiiiitt……

Don’t even get me started on the luggage. We were under our total baggage weight limit, but had one bag slightly over the singular limit, so this crazy bitches fucked up mathematics meant we had to fuck around for another 10 minutes plying tetris with all our gear. Any other sane person would have just checked us in, but for this Nazi it was a life or death situation, as if the extra kilogram would sink the plane at take off an plummet us all to a fiery death in the outskirts of Melbourne.

Luckily, once this was finished we got palmed off to another attendent who, slightly less stupid, checked all our gear in without hassle but tried to press us for some over-sized baggage fee. Being completely knackered and mentally exhausted we after dealing for two weeks with an endless lemming parade of fuckwits, we agreed to avoid hassle and pay but, after handing us our boarding passes, the brain surgeon at the desk forgot to charge us!

HAHA!! Fuck you, Qantas!!!

Now, reading all this, you might be beginning to get the impression that all I do is bitch about stuff and never say anything positive about anything. This is a perfectly correct assumption. I get great joy from complaining about all sorts of shit that pisses me off, and I never seem to get tired of insulting the low functioning and just plain stupid members of society, but, I also do have a very active positive side to my pshyche. It’s just at this point in time I was encountering an endless torrent of stupidity and extremely irritating shit, making it difficult for the positive side of me to surface.

It seems as though check-in was the turning point in all this. The last bastion of the fuckwit. After this it was all smooth sailing. We went through security and the weight of the last two weeks simply dissapeared. We were there.

We got on the plane at around 5:30 in the morning bound for Auckland, and even the fact that I was completely fucking sleep deprived and my seat wouldn’t recline because of the emergency exit couldn’t shake the good vibes I was getting from getting out of there.

Even if there were further issues in Oz, it wouldnt matter. We were gone and those fuckers couldn’t touch us. The missus and I even contemplated leaving abusive messages for everyone on our messagebanks, but opted for sleep instead.

We were awoken by the breakfast cart, and then crashed out again, preserving ourselves for the forty hours ahead of us and the possible fornication in aeroplane bathrooms.

It’s been pretty safe to say that the last few days in Melbourne were much similar to holding back a waterfall of shit with an umbrella made of tissue paper. Not that it’s been all bad, but a couple of things in particular have almost pushed me over the edge of my sanity into a black abyss of alcohol and systematic violence.

Not only did a mechanic try and rip me off for about 1000 bucks, when what i needed ended up costing me around 100, but on the same day my rental agent tried to hit me and my housemate up for an extra months rent (about $1300) claiming we had breached a contract we had neither discussed or been informed of via any medium. Fuck you bitch.

Both these instances ended up with me on the phone for several hours negotiating with fucking morons and writing long, convoluted  emails to prevent us from being bent over by the automotive and real estate industries respectively. We did’nt end up paying shit to either of these shylock bastards, but goddammit, my time is precious muthafucka!!

You expect this type of shit  from a mechanic, they actually have an advantage in this type of thing as they have a trade and skills to back them up. I can’t fix a fucken Corolla, so all i can do is try to find the cheapest price and hope they fuck me gently. Real estate agents on the other hand cant go fuck themselves. They don’t know shit except for greed and sneakynes. The whole industry is run by a bunch of bitchy trophy wives and greasy, rat-bastard, effeminate men who will piss on your shoes and try to tell you it’s rain. Fuck’em.

Do you think it’s some sort of reflection on consumer society that rental pricing has gone up 500% in the past ten years? NO! It’s because of these filthy maggots. Bastards. If there are any real estate agents reading this: FUCK YOU!!! Get a real job, you scum!

Anyway, with that off my chest i can tell you that besides all this, my last days have been filled with matrimonial paperwork, carpet cleaning, storage units, shitbox removal ute’s, indian food, drunken poker matches with shark Koreans, 5 billion emails, the post office, packing, chucking HEAPS of shit out and a large quantity of headfucks and goodbyes. A word of advice: If you are moving towns and going on 5 month vacation at the same time DON’T leave everything until the last two weeks! You will instantaneously turn into a pushy pshycopath with the work ethic of a Wall street stock broker.

Ostensibly, you will become Patrick Bateman.

Thankfully, most of this is now behind us, and i am beginning to feel small waves of relief and exitement sweep over my body. Sort of like taking a dump on ecstasy. The idea that I am actually leaving for a 5 month vacation is becoming more and more real as time goes by. Tomorrow is our last full day here in Melbourne before we fly out, and I can’t say that I feel any great sentiment or sadness in leaving. Sure, Melbourne is a sweet city and I’ve had a fuckload of good times here (and shitload of crap ones aswell), but I’m glad to be getting out of here, away from the over priced cafe’s, shitty polluted beaches and self-centred, holier-than-thou, trendy wankers.

What I’m gonna miss the most about Melb’s is the Indian food. Oh, and my mates, but they’ll always be around. Plus, I don’t really like many of them that much anyway.

Tomorrow we’ve got a half busy day of errands, then a farewell dinner/piss up with mates befor we have to head to the airport at 3am for our 4o hour flight. Just thinking of it is making me tired as I write this from our motel room above Fitzroy Street. As I drift off I can hear English and Irish backpackers drunkenly talking shite with one another. I dream of sub-machine guns and atomic bombs.

Its 7:15 in the morning and im on a tram shuffling into the city for a day of errands, appointments and other fun stuff. The chick in front of me in the line for the ticket machine is paying for ... [Continue reading this entry]