hakopais my name in Maori.

My Friday night houseguests brought with them a wee gift they thought might cheer me up and you had to colour me quite expectant as this cute wee bag was handed to me before they shot into the kitchen to commence with the drinking.

I’m not sure many of you would approve of its contents but it was really quite a touching gesture. Completely unsolicited, totally unexpected and the absolutely perfect gift for the moment.

We enjoy presents here at the whorehouse.

And with that it is 3:30 in the morning and I should probably consider getting some sleep. Nunighs everyone!

I had guests on Friday night and after a fair few gins on my part and god knows how many coke-laden voddies (sp?) on their part, we thought it would be genius to take down all of my flatmate’s arguably questionable artwork and replace it with hand-drawn replicas and suggested alternatives. Now before you start thinking we were pissing all over his creative aspirations, I should perhaps clarify that by “artwork” I mean prints and things he had no hand in creating.

Anywho, hurriedly tracking down sheets of paper while the boys got to it with pen and what paper I could find, I think we ended up with something that looked pretty good. Post-tantrum examples include this (because it was), this (because it generally is) and this (their taste in music, NOT mine). I don’t know about my houseguests but I was quite happy with what we came up with. Quite happy indeed.

So you’ll have to colour me perplexed when the flatmate comes home from what I can only assume was a night on the town and flies into rage that saw my room reverberate to the sounds of paper being torn off the walls and prints hurriedly being put back up on the walls elsewhere in the flat. I was kinda expecting him to react this way but it sucked all the same that he did get as angry as he did. I would have been nothing but flattered and joyous if someone took the time to replace all my vinyl art toys with cheap and nasty hand-drawn replicas. Well I’d be homocidally pissed off if they had sold off or thrown out the toys to make room for the replicas.

Now before you think this a moment of utter TMI, and generally outside the bounds of opaqueness that surrounds much of my chronicled life, it is all context for something that was sent my way this weekend.

It seems the Swedes had similar ideas for the apartment of a friend of theirs and the Pink Prank Project is the brilliant end-result. Talk about hard out. The denizens of Wellington should be grateful I don’t have the patience for a project this involving, because damn if it doesn’t look like a brilliant prank to pull on someone.

A less-intense alternative could be the clandestine giftwrapping of randomly-selected major items of office furniture at your place of work. Think of it as a celebration of the imaginary birthdays of individual filing cabinets, computer screens, desk chairs, desks, etc. Think big fuck-off bows and thick chunky ribbon and expensive wrapping paper (the kind you don’t get from Te Warewhare or your nearest supermarket).

I’m in a people-hating mood.

Back soon.

Ish.

I think.

Well maybe.

I don’t know.

Bye.