Hello beloved fuckers, my story begins...now
I'm off to Melbourne next week to seek my fortune. Sydney has become the job equivalent of playing Marco Polo by yourself. There's a lot of Marcos but the Polos have left the area, enjoying a macchiato by the pool cafe & laughing at your expense. So with that weird analogy thrown to the wind I shall continue. With the closing and acquisition of so many of Sydneys printers. Print specialists like me have become as welcome as a straight guy at the Sydney Roller Derby League after party. There just isnt the work around there was 3 years ago and hell, I'm proud, smart as fuck and have a short temper. It's only a matter of time before I beat the tar out of a recruitment agent of some knob jockey HR proffesional who hasn't returned my calls. So I'm packing my shit up & moving down south to the place where my family live. The land of bogans & hipsters, Melbourne.
Now I'm a robot when it comes to feelings, but I must admit, it sure brings a lump to my throat to be moving from Newtown, my home since 1995. Lots of memories are stored up. Mostly good. So as a way of saying goodbye to my beloved town I've prepared a few words.
So long Newtown, Heres whatll I miss about you:
Henson Park on Saturday, watching the Jets with sasuage sandwiches in had drinking KB gold & hearing Frenzal Rhombs' version of the Jets anthem when they score a try
Dog shit smeared streets.
Annoying hippy chicks with flowers on their bikes riding on the footpath and pissing everyone off.
The blow-ins from the suburbs swelling the streets on the weekend with their prettiest hair, make up and off the rack punk wear and that brand new band shirt that they have bought for just the occasion.
The dude who whistles like a canary in Wilson St.
The dude who asks me for money all the time on the way to the station.
The Buskers, the street markets.
I wont miss the yuppies, who like a time release fertiliser have bought in to the neighbourhood pushing up housing prices to ridiculous levels because they think its so fucking bohemian to own a $900,000 rat infested, shit hole 2 bedroom cottage. They then decide that its a good idea to do up these pads and paint over street art icons that have been painted on the sides of their houses. I havent forgotten the Marsha Brady coming out of the TV with a 9mm you fucking yuppie vandals! The Louis Armstrong playing the trumpet on Wilson lane & The Cat in the Hat. Classic street art thats been around since they were suckling at their mothers teats in Dover Heights or Pymble. I will miss seeing their walls repainted every second week as outraged bombers make them pay for the sacrilege by tagging the shit out of their walls.
I won't miss yuppie mums pushing prams the size of a small family car down the sidewalk that houses an infant the size of a loaf of bread. No I'm not getting out of your way, you can manouver that baby tank with 47 wheels around me. Sidewalks are for regular people with regular sized prams bitch!
I will miss the 37,563 Thai Restaurants lining King St. (In my drunken rants Ive argued for Newtown to be renamed Thairestuarantown
Ill miss the Sando, The first place where I drank in Newtown back in 1987. The Union and that delightful fox Nicki behind the bar. The Botany View, The Duke & The Warren View. Not the Barley, my drunken shame forever bars me from that establishment.
Ill miss Caketown cakes but not the chick behind the bar she has an attitude I'd like to cure with several stiff backhanders across the face.
I wont miss my neighbours who have been nothing but rude fucks since I moved in last year. Hes a passing comment I will make on Friday. Smile you walking piece of assmonkey tittyfuck
Ill miss Sydney Park, Gin loves that place, I speak for her when I say that shell especially miss the ducks. Not seeing her run around there makes me emotional. Yes me, Mr no feelings.
I'll miss Rowda Yahabibis kebabs at the top of King St. The secret ingredient was love, it was always about the love peoples!
Klems chicken, you fed me when I was intoxicated & all I had was money.
Finally I shall miss Mel, we broke up well over a year ago but I still love her like the stupid fuck I am. Her beautiful red hair, great smile, eternally youthful body, her smartass quips & stinginging 'tell it how it is' attitude.
Anywho if you've read this far give yourself a good star and thanks. Drinks on this Saturday at the Townie!
I'm off to Melbourne next week to seek my fortune. Sydney has become the job equivalent of playing Marco Polo by yourself. There's a lot of Marcos but the Polos have left the area, enjoying a macchiato by the pool cafe & laughing at your expense. So with that weird analogy thrown to the wind I shall continue. With the closing and acquisition of so many of Sydneys printers. Print specialists like me have become as welcome as a straight guy at the Sydney Roller Derby League after party. There just isnt the work around there was 3 years ago and hell, I'm proud, smart as fuck and have a short temper. It's only a matter of time before I beat the tar out of a recruitment agent of some knob jockey HR proffesional who hasn't returned my calls. So I'm packing my shit up & moving down south to the place where my family live. The land of bogans & hipsters, Melbourne.
Now I'm a robot when it comes to feelings, but I must admit, it sure brings a lump to my throat to be moving from Newtown, my home since 1995. Lots of memories are stored up. Mostly good. So as a way of saying goodbye to my beloved town I've prepared a few words.
So long Newtown, Heres whatll I miss about you:
Henson Park on Saturday, watching the Jets with sasuage sandwiches in had drinking KB gold & hearing Frenzal Rhombs' version of the Jets anthem when they score a try
Dog shit smeared streets.
Annoying hippy chicks with flowers on their bikes riding on the footpath and pissing everyone off.
The blow-ins from the suburbs swelling the streets on the weekend with their prettiest hair, make up and off the rack punk wear and that brand new band shirt that they have bought for just the occasion.
The dude who whistles like a canary in Wilson St.
The dude who asks me for money all the time on the way to the station.
The Buskers, the street markets.
I wont miss the yuppies, who like a time release fertiliser have bought in to the neighbourhood pushing up housing prices to ridiculous levels because they think its so fucking bohemian to own a $900,000 rat infested, shit hole 2 bedroom cottage. They then decide that its a good idea to do up these pads and paint over street art icons that have been painted on the sides of their houses. I havent forgotten the Marsha Brady coming out of the TV with a 9mm you fucking yuppie vandals! The Louis Armstrong playing the trumpet on Wilson lane & The Cat in the Hat. Classic street art thats been around since they were suckling at their mothers teats in Dover Heights or Pymble. I will miss seeing their walls repainted every second week as outraged bombers make them pay for the sacrilege by tagging the shit out of their walls.
I won't miss yuppie mums pushing prams the size of a small family car down the sidewalk that houses an infant the size of a loaf of bread. No I'm not getting out of your way, you can manouver that baby tank with 47 wheels around me. Sidewalks are for regular people with regular sized prams bitch!
I will miss the 37,563 Thai Restaurants lining King St. (In my drunken rants Ive argued for Newtown to be renamed Thairestuarantown
Ill miss the Sando, The first place where I drank in Newtown back in 1987. The Union and that delightful fox Nicki behind the bar. The Botany View, The Duke & The Warren View. Not the Barley, my drunken shame forever bars me from that establishment.
Ill miss Caketown cakes but not the chick behind the bar she has an attitude I'd like to cure with several stiff backhanders across the face.
I wont miss my neighbours who have been nothing but rude fucks since I moved in last year. Hes a passing comment I will make on Friday. Smile you walking piece of assmonkey tittyfuck
Ill miss Sydney Park, Gin loves that place, I speak for her when I say that shell especially miss the ducks. Not seeing her run around there makes me emotional. Yes me, Mr no feelings.
I'll miss Rowda Yahabibis kebabs at the top of King St. The secret ingredient was love, it was always about the love peoples!
Klems chicken, you fed me when I was intoxicated & all I had was money.
Finally I shall miss Mel, we broke up well over a year ago but I still love her like the stupid fuck I am. Her beautiful red hair, great smile, eternally youthful body, her smartass quips & stinginging 'tell it how it is' attitude.
Anywho if you've read this far give yourself a good star and thanks. Drinks on this Saturday at the Townie!
VIEW 12 of 12 COMMENTS
Sad you gotta leave a place you've been in for so long, with so many good memories, but good luck to you where you're going, I hope you find success there.