Barrometer

Hot:
*Facial Fuzzzzz. I can buy beers without the younger cash machine worker asking me for ID. "Here's my ID bitch, facial fuzzz!"
Not:
*Facial Fuzzzzz. I have dole rash.

Hospital drugs, the terrible two and the vaseline conjunctivitis

I've just got out of Hospital. I had my tonsils removed. I said to my boss 'I hope they take out my tonsils'. He said 'They'll pull out your tonsils and your balls will come out with them- they're connected.'

The Hospital I went to was small and old. I don't have private health insurance no more. In the waiting room, I leant on a table. The table had dried blood on it.

My operation went pretty well. I remember lying on the operating table waiting for the anethetist to shoot me high. like always he said ' a sharp scratch' and you feel a little pinch. But this time it was a little different, about five seconds after my shot of sleepmaker I felt the strongest pain in my left arm. It felt like my veins had been hit with electrified piss. It burnt bad, I said 'my arms really hurting' he said 'that's quite normal' and the dugite venom hit my heart and the oxygen took my mind.

I woke up in a parking lot of hospital beds with Vaseline all over my eyes.

It was in hospital, four days ago, that I became a drug addict. My throat hurt like I had a herring bone bridge where my tonsils used to be. The nurse or someone gave me a shot in my thigh. I was still feeling the anesthetic and it didn't really seem to make much difference. But hours later that night after having lame duck- no street cred-panadeine, I was hanging out for some good shit.

The bed next to me was taken by a fat troll from Rivervale. I listened as he got prepped for surge ( I have a phd). When asked if he had any problems he said ' yeah, I stop breathing.' He also said he had sleep apnea (spellink?). The nurse said that he was actually too overweight with the operation and was surprised that the doctor hadn't suggested he shed a few kilos of butter before he carved him up.

Anyway, this guy grunted, farted, sighed, mumbled, mouth farted, snored, and generally pissed me off all night. I kind of hoped he did stop breathing during his operation. (only for a short time, only for a short time.) He lied there all night in these little green undies with his bush escaping from all sides. I might seek compensation.

Anyway (x2) , i got my first real hit of peth. Man, as soon as the Samoan nurse shot that morpheate (spellink?) into my glutes I was ok. I sunk right down into that bed and let waves of darkness take my head. I was Hunter S., I was Hendrix and Cobain.

In the morning I wanted another but apparently the doctor only allocated me two hits. The fat man next to me got four, and he only had surgery on his foot, he had local anesthetic and he got four!

If I had private health insurance I could of got some to take home(probably not), Jim McGinty hates the working man. Shame Carps, shame.

I'm going to break into a hospital.

I ate

I said I was back but my testimony was whack,
but now i'm back like Downer's clap
Whoah Man!

The modern world has been riding me hard and I think it's damaged my back- it's been weighing down on me so hard. Hard, hard, hard.

Every morning I catch the 160 and every morning I see the same characters. There's buggly Mc Eyes. He is porridge with a deep south beard. He listens to ZZ Top and Led Zep on his Ipod. (I presume)He's probably a nice guy. They all probably are if we gave them a chance.

Then there is Colin. He wears the same yellow shirt every day and he can't sit down on a bus seat like a normal West Orstraylian. After putting his multi rider in his breast pocket he has to turn round one full rotation while taking his bag off. I always try and take up to seats with a little bit of slouchy-slouch leg colonisation so he doesn't sit down and breathe my air.

There is also the Mage. He's big and bald and old and smells like damp boardshorts. It's because he lives in a cave and listens to 12" old time rock in rell records in the dank. His head is big and pink and his ears are serious.

Every morning I pass the same church on St.George's Terrace. You know how some churches try and attract new meat with funny (ha ha ha god is cool- I was so wrong. Let's write letters to the local paper about how Muslims might rape girls in bikinis) billboards out the front? ie. .... actually I don't have a good example but it goes something along the lines of witty word play+pop culture reference+ new testament reference= come in suckers.

Anyway, this church has billboards but kind of misses the point.
Church" There is no such thing as a small act of kindness" Whoah heavy. Did they steal that from the quotes near the "all in the family" cartoon in the Reader's Digest? Man I'm gonna repent. One of the messages- they change it every now and again because fashion changes every day and they have got to tap into today's market- really missed the mark.

"Everyone thinks about changing the world but no one thinks about changing themselves" What? I think people living in the thousands (kill me) think more about changing themselves than changing the world. Screw my brother man, I'm gonna pump weights all day, get a fake tan and have a few extra centimeters added to my John Howard.

I'm Back, Rabies

I've just got back from Melbourne. For work. Here is a story.
We were sitting at a conference dinner and the night's 'entertainment' was announced. "SWe have a special treat for you tonight, Susan (Elaine/Judy/Jill/Offal) will be running a musical session. It's a little different to what you might be expecting- I'll give you a clue; she won't be singing."

"She's going to strip!" yelled my boss.

No one laughed.

"The last time I was in StKilda I was in this bar and there was this woman that I was drinking with and she got up on the bar and took off all her clothes and then she wanted me to pay her and I said I didn't tell her to do it," My Boss, Melbourne 2006
(The entertainment was a musical quiz featuring music that appealed to the crowd. They'd heard the tunes as they sat in car parks, on televsion ads or on the shitty 'hits for the lowest com denom' FM radio played at their doctor while they waited to to ask questions about constipation.)

Alot of people have asked me how to make pate'. see above recipe. I also included Jelly as a freebee.(picture wouldn't upload- imaging a pig in a blender and a goose in similar blender. ha ha excellent huh?)
Things that i have noticed lately : Most people are a waste of time (tm)
The Worldcup is good because Yugoslavian dudes finally get some respect.
A kitchen hand on the bus tried to convince a 15 year old bricky's labourer that he was paying off a $3 million apartment. "yeah 2 million to go mate". then he asked how much the kid got payed and asked if he could hook him up with a job because he needed a steady income to pay off his pad which has a ten grand sound system that he made himself.
He also burns porno movies on cd's then stamps them with a Playstation stamp so his girlfriend doesn't know. He is really really good at playstation. Got all the cars in Grand Turismo.





jerk

Classical Economics and the Peanut Butter Love Glove

Back in the days when I used to smoke weed I ate a big bag of Cheetos a couple of times. Man, those two go hand in hand. I ate a pack again the other day and felt like I sucked more MSG than two kilos worth of instant Mi Goreng. For the unacquainted, Cheetos are these super orange cheez(it’s a powder) and bacon balls. They make your fingers go fluoro orange like you’ve been giving Ernie and Bert proctology exams. I reckon they’d give anaphylactic and asthmatic kids wheeze attacks. “Mum uh uh uh Mum!!! Uh uhwhheeeso wheeeeeessssy”

The best thing about Cheetos is their mascot Chester. The back of the bag is entirely dedicated to listing Chesters Rad facts.
Favourite apparel: Sleek pair of shades (sleek pair of shades!! Awesome Radical Surfboarding!)
Favourite Snack: Cheetos (Well duh! Me too Chester, me too. I cry until my mum buys them for me every day and I eat them at school in the toilets. Awesome!)
Favourite pattern: Spots (I have spots but they aren’t my favourites. I hate tinea but I love you Chester!!!)
Occupation: Amateur Skater and Surfer (I go to school. I liked year 6 so much I’m doing it again)
Fave pastime: Catching radical air on half pipes and hanging gnarly on great waves (Hey Chester I don’t like swimming or roller skating. I do like rubbing back and forth on my belly on the soft mats in the gym at school)

Ethnography

Do you ever wonder if the women behind the cosmetic counters at Myer cry into their Lean Cuisine at night? That section is harsh- the lights are turned up so high that you start feeling dehydrated after 30 seconds. Light bounces off all the surfaces and everything doubles as a mirror. The employees have bee-hive hair, turtlenecks and are called Jan. Jan’s wear too much makeup and perfume. Jan’s get married to barrel chested Barry’s who eat too much meat and womanise. If Jan didn’t work at Myer she would be nicer. Her desperate turkey wrinkles and white pumps would fade. Ethnography.

Karren spends too much time with her mother-in-law. They shop together every weekend. Karren collects watches “if they are on special I gotta get them. My boyfriend says ‘don’t you bring back another stuffin watch”. Karren laughs at dick jokes. She probably needs to eat more raw vegies and get some roughage. I’m not sure why she shaves off her eyebrows and draws them back on with caramel coloured pencils. They’re either on or off lady. Ethnography.

Ken is a social climber. “It’s funny you should mention Robert” even if the mention was brief “He and I both love fishin’. We’re getting to know each other real well.” Ken bluffs his way, feels he has nack for that kinda thing. His nose looks like it has been chewed by a rat. He talks too much about himself. He talks too much about himself. Ethnography.

wick-wick-wicka-work

The first thought that goes through my head when I begin a new job is "It's going to feel really good when I quit this job." Every single job I've ever had. What will I say when I leave? Should I wear short shorts and a gortex jacket? I bet you Nas doesn't have to sit at a desk and talk to boring people. I bet you Nas says " Awwww hell" and goes out and buys ten pairs of Basketball shoes. I bet you Nas eats fried chicken whenever he feels like it and washes it down with a chocolate protein shake. I bet Nas has super tough dogs and a black car.
"To see me on the street without a pound of reefer would be like Malcom X catching the jungle fever" Ain't gonna happen is it Nas?
"Damn straight fool."

Hip Hop has been ruling my life lately.

WANTED

I'm looking for anyone that wants to start a graff gang. I saw the most ghetto scene ever on late night SBS-Run down, trashed, outer limits Philly. Against the wall of crack basement someone had written "Boys in the hood" in the dodgiest writing. It's probably the coolest graff I've seen all year. Anyone that wants to buy flanno overcoats, baggy jeans, and Nike Air Zooms and get 'boys in the hood' mad with me just let me know.

I also want to start a skate gang. We'll rip the sleeves off our shirts so we go faster. We'll rock wide boards, no less than 8's, and bomb car parks. We gotta grow our hair long and give each other crocodile tattoos.

Does anyone want to start a hipster art band? Not the crap you hear on JJJ but a real art band. take the dissonance of a stoned out Youth solo and mix it with grind. We'll be called Goliath. We'll wear eye patches and smash our 50 buck guitars (two guitars no bass) against the drums. We'll never wash and play samples through old casio clock radios.

I'm gonna start a Beagle wrestling club. I'm training Louie up for a battle. Kid knows how to roll- that's gonna come in bloody handy. Beagles are mad tough. Louie has spent the arvo pruning my bonsais. He's a perfectionist. What Louie didn't dig was ripped straight off. He said really bonsais are meant to look gnarled and chewed. He told me to stop being such a whiny yank and learn to let stress roll off my shores like the winds of San Diego. He's obviously brain damaged.

achoo achoo achoo

Brrrrrrrrrrrm brrrrrrrrrrrrrrm!!! skweeeeeeeeeeeeeeeelly!!

Have you noticed how the construction workers hang the union flag on top of buildings through out the construction process? I like it. Where the old Raffles hotel used to stand, huge luxury apartments are being built, I think each floor sells for more than a million. Any way, it’s this large shiny building, all glass and hard, and on the top hangs the union flag. The workers are claiming territory.

A girl at work asked if I had any hobbies, if I played any sports. I said “ hell yeah, I love sniffing glue and fruit-booting”. (I actually might have said that I enjoyed surfing) I was then obliged to also ask if she had any hobbies.
“I like makeup and stuff.”
“Have you ever thought of becoming a beautician?”
“Yeah I have.” As you can see our conversation was zipping along, full of wit and mutual interest. But then she dropped a bomb for which I am forever grateful, it made my day.
“Oh, and I love burnouts. Really love burnouts. I guess that’s kinda a sport. My boyfriend has a Torana, I love it when we take it out.”
Man, I’ve never met anyone who counted burnouts as a hobby- and I used to live in Bunbury which is next to Australind!
I was blown away and probably a little in shock.
“I hate burnouts,” I said. And that’s where our conversation ended.

Later I heard her talking to her boyfriend on the phone, “Mister when you get back you owe me a burnout…….yeah a burnout and a doughnut….. No, I’ll be real pissed off if you drink ten beers and try and drive to my house hahahaha.”

I shit you not, this is true. Man………..

I have nothing.

No time to eat.sleep

Whoah! Gainfully employed- I didn’t see that happening. Yep, I gots me a job. I whish someone warned me before I even applied. How did I not know full-time work was worse than full-time unemployment?

I’m catching the bus every day. I’ve made a friend (see artist’s impression). He’s teaching me about life. He’s seen it all. I’m not actually sure what his name is. Anyway the dudes really wired into what’s really going on in Booragoon, scratch the middle class soapy exterior and you’ll find some super dark (think triple espresso) scandals, hoo yeah.

Firstly, our bus stop is across the road from a small set of apartments- you know the type: one up, one down, 1970’s ‘villa’, washed out dreams and ambi-pur air freshners. Well my friend and I are waiting for our bus and he’s teaching me about “what’s really going on”.
An ordinary woman walks from the apartments towards the bus stop.

“Don’t talk to this woman”, my friend says. “She’s a real like loser, real scum of the earth type of character.”
Hmmm, me thinks. She looks like an ordinary, every day, run of the mill, average, normal human female with aspirations and morals not unlike my own.
“Her boyfriend’s really bad news, a real measly character”, says my friend. “You get all types round here. They love it in there, rent is sixty dollars a week, yeah there’s a lot of measly characters around here. They’re making speed in there, you know what speed is?”
I nod. I know and I ain’t talking about the velocity encountered from riding down the biggest (well nearly the biggest) hill in Boora on the back of my girlfriend’s Malvern Star.
“Yeah, they’ve got a pump from a swimming pool. They pump chemicals over the fence into their friends house. Look there’s an undercover cop car, and look there’s another one.”
Ok, so first car is white sedan. It is possible that this could be an under cover poh lice vehicle but the other one is a blue Barina with dents. Either the police force is using Barinas for their low fuel consumption or the police are trying to pose as seventeen year old girls that work at Chicken Treat, drink Breezers, and go out with boiler maker apprentices called Fitzy.

“And look there’s a man hiding behind that tree.” The tree was about 1/2 a metre tall and skinny. Obviously the man was a shape shifter. There’s a lot of them. One of them pee’s on the floor at my house and makes my girlfriend yell at me.

My friend then told me that another woman at the bus stop used to be real fat but then she went to the fat fighters down the road. “I really need to lose some weight” he said. I’d agree. His belly hung over his belt and he seemed to sweat quite a bit. “You could do with losing a few kilo’s as well” he said to me. That’s when I worked out the guy was a liar.

On the trip he pointed to some pine trees and told me they were marijuana plants. Someone once put weed in his beer. He knows people that make some beautiful smelling soaps, he washes himself with them. He asked a girl to sniff him but she declined.
Last night I graduated. I wore the worst colour maroon you’ve ever seen. I looked like a pasty monk, spent the night before and that day chucking. I think I ate some dodgy chicken. Nice.

Has Pure Blonde taken the title of 'best beer for fascists' from Coopers Pale Ale?

death sentence for weasel words wicky wah wah

Has anyone else noticed that kids around the greasy age of 19 and younger are saying and writing ‘ass’. It’s a sad day when globalisation takes our swear words away. Oh yeah, I know all about globalisation, a completed a globalisation degree. “Globalisation is like this big thing that like makes everything American and stuff and it’s like McDonaldisation, but like it goes both ways, like America isn’t that bad because other cultures are everywhere as well, like a good example would be that I eat Chinese food and Domino’s Pizza while reading an Ikea catalogue, but yeah I can like totally agree that America is trying to control everyone and stuff because like they want all the money and George Bush is really stupid and things, I saw that on like South Park and stuff.”

‘Ass’ should always be spelt ‘Arse’. Phonetically the ‘r’ gives it so much more grunt. ‘Ass’ in comparison sounds like a limp wrist whine. In no way am I patriotic, but I really feel arse is a word we need to protect. Ass sounds disgusting, it goes in the pile of American words that I could never bring myself to say: panties, fanny, ketchup. If arse dies, becomes a fossil like ‘cobber’ and ‘democratic Australia’, then we can kiss all our favourite Australianisms away. Like drinking long necks and wearing footy shorts so high and tight than when you bend over to pick up 5 cents off the sidewalk one of your man eggs hangs out the leg or hanging upside down on the monkey bars at your local park until your nose starts bleeding and you puke up a tartan rug of ‘little boys’ and cask wine. When those traditions go, and they will unless we keep the ‘r’, then I won’t have anything to do on the weekends except throw rocks at cars and smell neighbours bins to work out who’s rich and might have a pool that I could practice freestyle in.

Some Australian traditions I reckon we could get rid of: Cricket, sunburn, the saying “I’m not racist BUT…”, polony sandwiches, and ‘icei beers. Yeah.

Man it’s been hot. But I can’t complain as Bruno the god-drunk German says “It may be hot but it’s a lot hotter in hell.” I gave him the finger but he just did some kind of Wu-Tang hand signal back.

Peace.

Tree Ollie

This Trolley story is hot!!! I opened a copy of the Melville City Herald to find a letter from a concerned resident titled 'Trolley Talk'. Ms. Neale warns all Melville residents that wayward trollies in the local shopping centre are dangerous. Trollies are known to be blown by the wind into automobiles causing damagae.

Garden city used to disallow trollies in the car park. Ms. Neale rues the day when K-mart was allowed to begin trading in the Garden City centre and actively pushed for customers to have the fancy American option of taking trollies to their cars. Disgusting! " Which to me really downgraded the centre not to mention the carpark and surrounding suburbs." Ms Neale I couldn't agree more. The moment shopping trollies move into a suburb you can bet that house prices will fall, oh yeah, they'll tell you change is good, that the trollies will make life easier, but the moment you turn your back they're taking all the good parking spots and pushing their foul smelling trolley aganda at council meetings. The next thing you know your only daughter will come home with one- how are you supposed to explain that to the Jones's? We need to make a stand.

Also, at the church down the road there was an abandoned trolley on the front lawn. I suspect the priest had stocked up on tins of soup for a bath and forgot to return it.

Moving on. The Melville Herald ran with a great front page "Bruno bears his billboard for God." A crazy German man stands in the median strip of South street with a billboard hoping to remind drivers that Jesus loves. But a billboard usually only elicits two responces. A)" I didn't actually know that people wore billboards. I thought they were just part of a hollywood cliche" or B) "I better remember to pee when i get home. Bladder is getting kinda full. I should have said no to that third cup of coffee."

Anyway Bruno wants his 'fellow drivers' to know that "Christians in Iraq are persecuted because their skin is a little bit lighter than the other locals.' Thanks Bruno. I've been waiting for someone to point out how to spot a Christian for a long time. I usually look for grey leather shoes or bowl cut hair styles. I've been wrong all along. Christians have lighter skin apparently. Although i'm not so sure how well his theory stacks up. I've got a very close friend with red hair. The kid sins. Almost as much as i do in the shower.

Anyway, Bruno's interview does have some gold. "Some people stop and congratulate me , and want to know more." (Yeah I could really see that happening."Excuse me sir, that's an interesting billboard. I have just stopped on this very busy street to find out more") "Others give me the sign of the finger. I don't know what that means... I give them the sign of the cross." If Bruno doesn't know what the 'sign of the finger' means, he should probably go have a proctology exam. All men his age should, and he'll definitely learn the true meaning of the signal.

* The settings have been changed to allow anyone to make a comment. Enlighten me

Christmas in March

I met up with an old uni associate today. Unlike me, he decided to try his luck at honours. Which basically means avoiding looking for a job for at least another year. He told me his friend was getting married. Why would a twenty one year old get married?

The kid’s a Christian. Has to become an honest man. Turns out he’s been opening his presents before Christmas day. (ooh err)

Another local paper has run with shopping trolley theft. I feel pretty chuffed that I was able to ride the crest of this fast breaking story before my competitor the Fremantle Herald. The same paper that granted me an interview for a cadetship but cut the love before I was able to get a leg over ( the rungs of the ladder). Ha! I’ll bet they’re sorry now. I have a news barometer. Shopping trolleys= biggest bloody story of the year! And I managed to make comment before the Herald (or the too late to compete with eat.sleep paper) had even collected the views of pensioners and derelicts. Apparently trolley thieves will be facing fines. Joe Bloggs said he didn’t care because “he didn’t steal trolleys”. Jeez, nice work.

I would have suggested a little undercover reporting. You know a little field work. I would assume one of the two appearances of trolley thieves. A) Smacky. You know faded tracksuit pants, two litres of milk, thongs, Wrestling T shirt, thin straight hair. Or B) Forgetful pensioner. Two litres of long-life milk, dog food, trackies, cardi.

Then I’d go and talk to the smackies and forgetful pensioners.
Me: “Hey, you know of any hot trolleys. I’m talking the type that drive straight and would make an excellent mode of transport for my heavily pregnant girlfriend.”
Smacky/Pensioner: “I remember when you used to be able to buy a pack of smokes for 30 cents.”
Me: “Yes and we were allowed to use our sprinklers all day long. Now my garden is blasted deaded.”
Smack/Pensioner: “ Hey, your alright. Guys, he’s one of us”

I’d buy their trust with a knob of polony and some Fanta. Then I’d have the story. Simple. Journalism award? Make mine a double.

I'm broke. I'm wondering if I should use my shed as a meth lab or as a DIY tattoo studio. Which one would make more dough?
I don't know anything about manufacturing drugs but it can't be any harder than mixing crushed No Doze with some Napi San. Maybe i could make counterfeit sporting goods. Mad Magazine said home tattoos are only a matter of a sewing needle, steel guitar strings and some ink. I have all that. Does anyone want some flaming dice?

recycling

The recycling bin collection guy asked me for a band-aid today. His right hand was bleeding. I noticed that his other hand was missing a thumb. He’s probably had the job for two years, probably loses a digit annually. Why bother putting a band-aid on? Temporary solution to a permanent problem. I had a pair of secateurs on me. I could’ve got it over and done with there and then. I also have some whisky. I reckon he seemed to be the kinda guy who’d go for a little drinky drink cut cut.

Anyway I gave him the band-aid and he went and bled in the next door neighbours recycling bin. Maybe they make black pudding at the recycling depot. It’s funny, technically bins don’t belong to an individual, they belong to the council or the rubbish service provider. We just use them on loan basis. (note: this may not be true) But people get super pissed off when other people put crap in their bin. “That’s my fucking bin! Geez. It’s mine, I’m saving room for condom wrappers. I’m very sexually active, yeah I’m a real ladies man. Whoo the stories I could tell you.”

People have ownership issues. The white hairs that lived down the road from grandparents got extremely upset when people came and took the old chairs they put out for council collection. The old dude ran out and told collectors to bugger off. He then went and put his unwanted belongings in his shed. I couldn’t back this guy up more he was thinking globally acting locally. Old crap is meant to go in holes in the ground, we’d live in an extremely warped world if old gear was used again by poor people. How sick would it make you feel if you knew your old bike with no brakes or seat was being ridden around at all hours of the night by some sexually corrupt drama student. It’s enough to make a guy choke on his liver breakfast!

Bikes are pretty much 1989, everyone knows all the cool kids roll in shopping trolleys. Yeah, number one thing for care free teenagers with white shoes and a gut full of UDL’s is to get a lift home in a trolley. It’s totally awesome, and totally funny! “I’m gonna get a real spinny tattoo of like an alien smoking a joint on me chest.”

The local newspaper ran a amazing story on trolley theft. Did you know trolleys got stolen from supermarkets? It’s true, they find them in parks and swamps. I think the paper was onto something. I’m surprised a story that big got page three instead of the cover. No news sense!

The same paper had a story about residents signing a petition to try and close a local skate park down. Apparently there’s too much graffiti and skateboarding is too loud.
Rap music tells me ‘Graffiti won’t die.” Thrasher magazine tells me to “skate or die”.
No residents can come up against this. If you mix graff and skate your basically achieving immortality.

soy you want to be woman?

Apparently soy products are full of oestrogen. Not actual oestrogen, more like plant based hormones. (Phyto-oestrogen?)A guy that drinks soy milk, eats tofu, and wears sandals is less likely to develop prostate cancer than a guy who eats red meat, drinks cream and wears tracksuits and Avon talcum powder to weddings. I heard this on the news.

I thought to myself ‘excellent, that’s one thing that won’t be killing me’ (Obviously I’m probably going to die from police brutality. Life is cheap in Booragoon.) I’ve been sucking back the beany white since ’89.

Actually, hold on. If soy products are full of oestrogen, does that mean I could grow breasts like that bus driver that ate nothing but chicken, chicken full of hormones? Note; Also on the news.

I’ve been on to this for a while. I asked my doctor when I was 13. He said “no” in a South African accent, so more like ‘no’. Ok, then tell me why I can’t grow a beard? I’m twenty two and I can only cultivate the kinda fluff you see on trolley boys. I have to use mascara on my top lip to get into bottle shops.

I think I’m turning into a woman. A very handsome woman.

On a side note, have you noticed how coffee likes to beat the living crap out of soy milk. It’s true, you make some coffee, pour some soy milk in and the bastard curdles. It looks like Nescafe miso.

Peace