Brett MaverixAllow me to introduce myself...
My name's Brendan and I'm awesome. I like drinking beer and offending people. Adrian has been kind enough to allow me to take over this blog for a while and post tales of my own intoxicated debauchery whilst he takes off in pursuit of something apparently known as "career" and "life purpose" or some such nonsense.
I probrably won't be able to post quite as often as you're used to, but if you don't like it you can lick my nuts. I'm a tattooist by trade and totally wail at guitar and other instruments. As such, I hang out in hugely different social circles to Adrian, which I think will add a nice contrast and slightly different angle to this site.
My stories might start out a little confusing because you may not know the people involved, but that's OK. You can deal with it.
Without further adieu, here's the story that got me the job:
The tale of Saturday March 10...
Had one of the most fun nights ever last night. Dray came out drinking with me for the first time in aboot two or three years, it absolutely ruled. He's my best mate but I don't get to hang out with him properly much anymore. So much fun, it was like old times.
So last night I finished work and caned it home for a few minutes and then went to see Dray and Kali because they couldn't make it out to my birthday thing last week. When I got over there it was a massive shock because the house is so much different now. It's pretty crazy, The Grates are living in my old room now, which is funny, and they've changed the house so much. It actually looks nice and isn't falling apart and there's artwork on the walls. Bookshelves and stuff too, and the kitchen isn't covered in stains and mould and the toilet is actually white now. It doesn't look like the slum of depravity that I turned it into.
Anyway, spoke shit to John for a while before he went out to catch the end of the Laneway thing. He's a wierd guy, really nice and stuff, but I'm not sure how to behave around him. Like I feel as if I have to tone my stories down around him for some reason, not exactly sure what it is. But anyway, then Dray gave me a bottle of really expensive Effen Vanilla-Berry vodka. We laughed for ages aboot the fact that it's called Effen. Go grab me some Effen Vodka! Hahahahaha.
So sat around talking shit for a while and then put on Miami Ink, which was really awesome to watch, I hadn't actually seen it before, and my clients always talk aboot it. Damn good to see how other artists do stuff. I've read a lot of bitching on forums and stuff aboot Miami Ink. Having seen the show myself now, I think that most of the bitching is down to jealousy. Get over it dudes.
So we watched a few episodes of that and suddenly all the vodka was gone. Ooops. I mumbled something aboot needing to go to the valley to fuck bitches and Dray said that he'd be keen to come out drinking with me. I was fucking stoked, so we looked up bus times and stuff and got into the Galliano and also opened a bottle of Absolut. Then we decided we needed a mixer, so we opened a bottle of Schmirnoff. It seemed like a flawless plan at the time.
Here's where my memory goes into patchy mode. We got on the bus, and I think I was talking to randoms for a bit. Walked down the mall. and spoke shit to a few people outside 299. Talked to the dip and crackers security dude (I refer to him as this because one night he pulled me aside and offered me crackers with french onion dip for no apparent reason. I didn't question it, I was hungry) for a bit and bitched aboot having to work in the middle of buttfuck-nowhere. So then Dray and I walked into 299 and the front desk girl looked at me and said 'Oh, my friend knows you! You don't have to pay.. ' and let me straight through. Didn't question it in case it was a mistake. Dray had to pay though, heh.
The precise second I got upstairs was when the Vanilla-Berry vodka kicked in. It all went a bit wrong after that, haha. I didn't care, I was having a great time hanging out with Dray, so I just went into my party mode. You know the loud arrogant asshole who keeps talking aboot himself, yells whatever he feels like at you no matter how inappropriate? The one who keeps buying drinks for people he doesn't even know? The one who says sorry and buys you a beer directly after getting your girlfriend's phone number right in front of you? That's what I'm like on a good night. Unfortunately, that Effen vodka is some strong shit. I think we ended up a little too sloppy to do anything amazingly interesting.
All I could really do was sit at a table with Dray and yell at whatever random girls were unfortunate enough to come close. A few stopped to chat because they thought I was funny, but they inevitably left disgusted. I ran into Haydn and Emil and Dr. Bob and Max. I remember having a massive conversation with Haydn aboot a few things that are bothering me at the moment. He has good advice on these kinds of things, I will listen to him. Then I think they left, I don't know when though.
The funny thing aboot the night was that I didn't even feel like going to 299. The only reason I went there is because I'd organised to meet two random myspace girls who I've been tuning for the last week or so. I imagined it would be a pretty funny situation. You see, the girls didn't know each other so I figured that if I organise to meet two girls who want to fuck me, there are three possible outcomes.
1. I end up fucking both of them.
2. If one doesn't work out, I can fuck the other one.
3. They fight.
In my mind, there was no possible way it could end badly.
So anyway, I planned to meet up with them fairly early in the evening and be liquored to just the point where I be funny-cocky flawlessly. I figured that would be the best plan of attack, judging by the conversations I'd exchanged with them. Funny-cocky is a fairly neutral approach and I can shift it to a number of different routines depending on how the conversation is progressing.
What I didn't count on was the fact that I got into the valley much later than I anticipated. Also I didn't count on two bottles of vodka and one of Galliano. I rang one girl and she'd already moved on to another bar and didn't feel like coming back to 299. Something about it being dank and horrible. I can understand that. So I didn't bother ringing the other one because she was the less-hot one of the two. And besides, I was way too pissed to fuck anyway.
Dray had to go home around this point, so I said ahoy to him and saw him outside. So then I sat around dribbling absolute shit to a couple of clients of mine and they kept buying me beers (I love my job/life). Was busy telling one of them how I want to tattoo his whole body to look like Venom from Spiderman, when myspace girl#2 comes up and starts bitching at me because I hadn't called her. Offered to buy her a drink and that made her happy again. Threw some cash at her and she came back with some stripper drink for herself and another beer for me. Awesome. I think I tried to run some lines on her but I was that gone that I had NO game whatsoever. That was when I decided to go home. I remember standing at the cab rank wondering why I was by myself. Then I woke up and it was 1pm. Dang.
Now forgive me while I go off on a tangent. Waking up after a big night is always an interesting experience.
My first few minutes are usually spent wandering around trying to find water in a sort of bewildered haze. Once I've got water I can start working out where the hell I am. Depending on the situation, I find the best way to work out where you are is to find some mail. Which means finding the kitchen, because people usually stick bills to the fridge. Once you work out what suburb you're in, it's easy to work out how you're getting home. Although this sometimes brings unexpected surprises, as I found out when I went to Canberra. Reading the address on the mail and remembering that you're in a different state to the one you started drinking in can be a bit of a shock. But that is a story for another time.
Once you've established where you need to go and you're safely on the train/bus/whatever, it hits you. The feeling. A massive unrelenting wave of shame/guilt that you can't explain. I was talking to Marcus aboot it over new year's. I think he summed it up best, saying something along the lines of "You feel like the absolute worst person in the world. As if you spent the entire night raping women and you just don't remember it".
That feeling. I think it's the after effects of massive amounts of alcohol entering your system and causing certain chemicals to be released in your brain. Huge amounts of chemicals. Guilt chemicals. It's an unmistakable feeling, and I don't dig it at all. It makes me uncomfortable. I'm not used to feeling guilty aboot stuff. I mean, I do some horrible things and can still get a good night's sleep, but I feel like shit after drinking even if I haven't done anything wrong (only thought aboot doing it).
I think this is the worst part of being hung over. Worse than the splitting headache, worse than the dry mouth. Worse than vomiting, shaking, not being able to focus/sit still. The guilts man, that's what gets me. And it's not even over anything. Like if I do something bad and get guilty over it, that particular event will keep replaying in my mind and I can't stop thinking aboot it. When you're hung over you don't even know why you feel like that! It ain't cool!
So anyway, the reason I bring this up is because when I woke up today (at 1pm or so) the feeling hit me straight away. Like before my eyes were fully open I felt like the worst person in the world. Normally it takes an hour or so before it kicks in for me, so I was quite shocked and worried that I'd actually done something REALLY bad (rather than just the usual of blatantly mocking/using people for my own enjoyment). So I pieced together the night's events and came to the conclusion that no, I didn't do anything particularly heinous, I'm just REALLY FUCKEN HUNG OVER. Thank christ for that. Now let's get hydrated!!
That's it for my first story. Thanks again to Adrian for letting me leave my horrible stains on this place. Stay tuned for another update later this week...
I probrably won't be able to post quite as often as you're used to, but if you don't like it you can lick my nuts. I'm a tattooist by trade and totally wail at guitar and other instruments. As such, I hang out in hugely different social circles to Adrian, which I think will add a nice contrast and slightly different angle to this site.
Without further adieu, here's the story that got me the job:
The tale of Saturday March 10...
Had one of the most fun nights ever last night. Dray came out drinking with me for the first time in aboot two or three years, it absolutely ruled. He's my best mate but I don't get to hang out with him properly much anymore. So much fun, it was like old times.
So last night I finished work and caned it home for a few minutes and then went to see Dray and Kali because they couldn't make it out to my birthday thing last week. When I got over there it was a massive shock because the house is so much different now. It's pretty crazy, The Grates are living in my old room now, which is funny, and they've changed the house so much. It actually looks nice and isn't falling apart and there's artwork on the walls. Bookshelves and stuff too, and the kitchen isn't covered in stains and mould and the toilet is actually white now. It doesn't look like the slum of depravity that I turned it into.
Anyway, spoke shit to John for a while before he went out to catch the end of the Laneway thing. He's a wierd guy, really nice and stuff, but I'm not sure how to behave around him. Like I feel as if I have to tone my stories down around him for some reason, not exactly sure what it is. But anyway, then Dray gave me a bottle of really expensive Effen Vanilla-Berry vodka. We laughed for ages aboot the fact that it's called Effen. Go grab me some Effen Vodka! Hahahahaha.
So sat around talking shit for a while and then put on Miami Ink, which was really awesome to watch, I hadn't actually seen it before, and my clients always talk aboot it. Damn good to see how other artists do stuff. I've read a lot of bitching on forums and stuff aboot Miami Ink. Having seen the show myself now, I think that most of the bitching is down to jealousy. Get over it dudes.
So we watched a few episodes of that and suddenly all the vodka was gone. Ooops. I mumbled something aboot needing to go to the valley to fuck bitches and Dray said that he'd be keen to come out drinking with me. I was fucking stoked, so we looked up bus times and stuff and got into the Galliano and also opened a bottle of Absolut. Then we decided we needed a mixer, so we opened a bottle of Schmirnoff. It seemed like a flawless plan at the time.
Here's where my memory goes into patchy mode. We got on the bus, and I think I was talking to randoms for a bit. Walked down the mall. and spoke shit to a few people outside 299. Talked to the dip and crackers security dude (I refer to him as this because one night he pulled me aside and offered me crackers with french onion dip for no apparent reason. I didn't question it, I was hungry) for a bit and bitched aboot having to work in the middle of buttfuck-nowhere. So then Dray and I walked into 299 and the front desk girl looked at me and said 'Oh, my friend knows you! You don't have to pay.. ' and let me straight through. Didn't question it in case it was a mistake. Dray had to pay though, heh.
The precise second I got upstairs was when the Vanilla-Berry vodka kicked in. It all went a bit wrong after that, haha. I didn't care, I was having a great time hanging out with Dray, so I just went into my party mode. You know the loud arrogant asshole who keeps talking aboot himself, yells whatever he feels like at you no matter how inappropriate? The one who keeps buying drinks for people he doesn't even know? The one who says sorry and buys you a beer directly after getting your girlfriend's phone number right in front of you? That's what I'm like on a good night. Unfortunately, that Effen vodka is some strong shit. I think we ended up a little too sloppy to do anything amazingly interesting.
All I could really do was sit at a table with Dray and yell at whatever random girls were unfortunate enough to come close. A few stopped to chat because they thought I was funny, but they inevitably left disgusted. I ran into Haydn and Emil and Dr. Bob and Max. I remember having a massive conversation with Haydn aboot a few things that are bothering me at the moment. He has good advice on these kinds of things, I will listen to him. Then I think they left, I don't know when though.
The funny thing aboot the night was that I didn't even feel like going to 299. The only reason I went there is because I'd organised to meet two random myspace girls who I've been tuning for the last week or so. I imagined it would be a pretty funny situation. You see, the girls didn't know each other so I figured that if I organise to meet two girls who want to fuck me, there are three possible outcomes.
1. I end up fucking both of them.
2. If one doesn't work out, I can fuck the other one.
3. They fight.
In my mind, there was no possible way it could end badly.
So anyway, I planned to meet up with them fairly early in the evening and be liquored to just the point where I be funny-cocky flawlessly. I figured that would be the best plan of attack, judging by the conversations I'd exchanged with them. Funny-cocky is a fairly neutral approach and I can shift it to a number of different routines depending on how the conversation is progressing.
What I didn't count on was the fact that I got into the valley much later than I anticipated. Also I didn't count on two bottles of vodka and one of Galliano. I rang one girl and she'd already moved on to another bar and didn't feel like coming back to 299. Something about it being dank and horrible. I can understand that. So I didn't bother ringing the other one because she was the less-hot one of the two. And besides, I was way too pissed to fuck anyway.
Dray had to go home around this point, so I said ahoy to him and saw him outside. So then I sat around dribbling absolute shit to a couple of clients of mine and they kept buying me beers (I love my job/life). Was busy telling one of them how I want to tattoo his whole body to look like Venom from Spiderman, when myspace girl#2 comes up and starts bitching at me because I hadn't called her. Offered to buy her a drink and that made her happy again. Threw some cash at her and she came back with some stripper drink for herself and another beer for me. Awesome. I think I tried to run some lines on her but I was that gone that I had NO game whatsoever. That was when I decided to go home. I remember standing at the cab rank wondering why I was by myself. Then I woke up and it was 1pm. Dang.
Now forgive me while I go off on a tangent. Waking up after a big night is always an interesting experience.
My first few minutes are usually spent wandering around trying to find water in a sort of bewildered haze. Once I've got water I can start working out where the hell I am. Depending on the situation, I find the best way to work out where you are is to find some mail. Which means finding the kitchen, because people usually stick bills to the fridge. Once you work out what suburb you're in, it's easy to work out how you're getting home. Although this sometimes brings unexpected surprises, as I found out when I went to Canberra. Reading the address on the mail and remembering that you're in a different state to the one you started drinking in can be a bit of a shock. But that is a story for another time.
Once you've established where you need to go and you're safely on the train/bus/whatever, it hits you. The feeling. A massive unrelenting wave of shame/guilt that you can't explain. I was talking to Marcus aboot it over new year's. I think he summed it up best, saying something along the lines of "You feel like the absolute worst person in the world. As if you spent the entire night raping women and you just don't remember it".
That feeling. I think it's the after effects of massive amounts of alcohol entering your system and causing certain chemicals to be released in your brain. Huge amounts of chemicals. Guilt chemicals. It's an unmistakable feeling, and I don't dig it at all. It makes me uncomfortable. I'm not used to feeling guilty aboot stuff. I mean, I do some horrible things and can still get a good night's sleep, but I feel like shit after drinking even if I haven't done anything wrong (only thought aboot doing it).
I think this is the worst part of being hung over. Worse than the splitting headache, worse than the dry mouth. Worse than vomiting, shaking, not being able to focus/sit still. The guilts man, that's what gets me. And it's not even over anything. Like if I do something bad and get guilty over it, that particular event will keep replaying in my mind and I can't stop thinking aboot it. When you're hung over you don't even know why you feel like that! It ain't cool!
So anyway, the reason I bring this up is because when I woke up today (at 1pm or so) the feeling hit me straight away. Like before my eyes were fully open I felt like the worst person in the world. Normally it takes an hour or so before it kicks in for me, so I was quite shocked and worried that I'd actually done something REALLY bad (rather than just the usual of blatantly mocking/using people for my own enjoyment). So I pieced together the night's events and came to the conclusion that no, I didn't do anything particularly heinous, I'm just REALLY FUCKEN HUNG OVER. Thank christ for that. Now let's get hydrated!!
That's it for my first story. Thanks again to Adrian for letting me leave my horrible stains on this place. Stay tuned for another update later this week...
Adrian isn't going to like this, but fuck him ... If he wants to pursue some pansy career? Well he made his bed, he can lie in the fucking thing ... spew, spilt-drinks, his own spoof, and all ...
I enjoyed his posts ... The guy can write ... But yours leave his for dead ...
That book ... He Died with a Falafel in His Hand? ... The one that captured the literary and film world's attention? ...
Your writing leaves that shit for dead ...
Apart from an undisclosed private source, I haven't read anything this real, raw, primal and savage for ages ...
You live up to your name ... I'll be reading all of your posts ... (And I'll drag a few of my sicko friends along ... I know one guy in particular who will just get off on this ...
This is Awesome writing, Captain ...
Simply AWESOME!!!
David ...
You are one fickle bastard. Brendan, take a gander at some of the borderline homosexual compliments David's left for my stories, and see how quickly he changed his tone to e-fellate you.
Eh...like I give a shit.
I fucking told you guys his stuff is good. I look forward to reading more of it (mostly because I don't have to write it.)
Adrian