It’s great to be here. I have bounced off pages and screens looking for a place to land that felt like home. I slipped quite badly in the cum left on the Thoughtleader by self-aggrandising hysterics who firmly believe 702 is a true moral compass, and funny enough, I have found truth among the fuzzy logic of one or two self-published talent-crashes. Namely that narcissism knows no fear, nor taste. So here we are – a republic of like minds, on a suitably skewed axis – where the youth is welcome to be pointless, the elderly are expected to prove they have learned something, and Hofmeyr’s walking dead can never enter… Higgs bless you, Tilt Republic.
As for the big 40 – there are only people over forty who refer to it as “the naughty forties” – because nobody under forty would ever want to get naughty with you – genetically, it would be admitting defeat – your DNA would be the retard at the party who wandered too close to the uncle with the bar tan and visible gold. More on this soon.
I’ll be back. Just wanted to sign in and swear my allegiance to our questionable flag. I did think it was ironic that, just before I turned forty, I broke my hip – good thing I broke it before I hit mid-life and brought my “hip” out – screaming for all to see, over lattes at a Parkhurst cafe, where bread baked by refugees now commands obscene amounts of dough.
Fuck you, Parkhurst – in the words of Bill Hicks “Your arguments are beneath you, and thanks to hallucinogenic drugs, I see through you.”
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