Jazz Master Mellon: Mustard Mountain

I've been untouchable for the last four days. Nothing phases me. I'm in an inpenetrable bubble full of ego gas and love buzz. For on thursday night my friends, I tasted the syrupy amber of success. I, along with four other degenerates, managed to win a quiz night at a local cocktail serving establishment. I know you're thinking that the other teams must have been composed of equal parts seat sniffer and remedial english participants but they weren't. I saw at least two using knives and forks and one guy even had a suit on - if that's not worthy opposition I don't know what is.

There was one guy with a pretentious hat and a laptop who spent the whole night video-chatting with some tool in America. "Haha! Oh yes. There's a question about movies. I love movies. I've got a leather jacket and a pretentious hat. Tell me your sniffing a lot of good seat in Wisconsin." Beating him boosted my already unnaturally large and unwarranted smugness to a level somewhere between spa farter and engineering student.

We won $100 worth of Little Creatures dollars. Each team member got a $20 voucher. I'm never cashing mine. I'm going to keep it in my wallet. I'm sure if I turn up at the airport tomorrow and try and board the next flight to Paris sans ticket and le passporto they'll wave me through to first class on first glance of my winning checque. I'm not going to stop at red lights or zebra crossings either- no bloody way. I'm putting the pedal to the metal and will fly through at 50kms an hour. Cops don't hassle bad mofos with paper qualifications. I'm basically a doctor. A doctor of quizzes.

Man, I am a tosser.


But a wealthy one. That's 20 Australian dollars by the way. Yeah the old green backs, the old Francs. I got them. 20 bucks. What a day, what a day.

Richard Brautigan tickled by explosions of watermellon sugar

You know when you get a smidge drunk? Just when your face starts getting all hot and your heart beats like a battery in a pouch? And someone starts talking about something, some task or service, and they're saying 'I'm thinking of doing this' or 'getting this done' ? And you say 'I can do that! I'll do that!" and they say "really?" and look all happy because you are offering them something excellent for nothing. You're doing it because you're a great fucking guy and solving problems/providing solutions is your gig mannnnnn. And they're all happy and you drink one of their beers from their fridge because, well, you're helping them out and it's one big positive vibe fest.

And you go to do the thing that you said you could do. 'No problemo' you said. And then you try and you can't do it. Like it takes you ten hours instead of that 30 minutes you pictured when your face was hot.

I hate that.

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