Moscow, Western Australia.

Today marks my descent back into studentism : poverty and hunger. My job is finished and I pulled the plug (ie. I wasn't fired for excessive Tetris or pirating stickers). My boss cried. I think he'd had a bit too much free booze at a Departmental Christmas party- when it's free he can suck it harder than Amanda Vanstone can an egg through a stocking (she's mad on protein). He was all ruddy and was starting to get a bit clammy around the gills. He's usually red though, he has the unfortunate condition where the collars of his shirts are too tight and a saddle of jowl hangs over the front. It's although his tie is a nylon garrote cleaving up between two plastic bags of mascapone. Anyway this was a whisky red, a 'fuck the kids honey, they can make they're own tea, i'm staying for the last race!' crimson.

I said "I've decided to leave" and he said "Geeez!" and then his eyes got watery. Stategically it was a great move. I immediately felt like a bastard. I had made a habit of talking shit about him for a year, I would do his laugh and say " perhaps you could come to our conference and expose yourselves, I mean.... actually I wouldn't mind if you exposed yourselves!!!HAHAHAHAHAHAHAH". And now he was crying?
fuck.