Rosh is my housemate’s friend’s housemate. He likes to pump.
The second time I met him…
Rosh: Hey, babe. *moves in to kiss*
Me: What are you doing?
Rosh: I thought you wanted to make out?
Me: Do you even remember my name?
Me: It’s Annik.
Rosh: Well that’s just stupid.
One night at the pub…
Rosh: Do you want to make out later tonight?
Rosh: Okay, just checking.
Me: What was the best night of your life?
Rosh: I dunno. It could be tonight!
Another night at the pub…
Rosh: Hey, how are you?
Me: Good, yeah.
Rosh: *moves in to kiss*
Me: Wtf are you doing?
Rosh: Shit, sorry, I thought that was a green light.
As we are getting ready to go out, approx 7pm on a Sunday night…
Ryan: Why are you bringing sunnies, man?
Rosh: Just in case I end up in a day club.
Me: How exactly does your brain work?
Rosh: I don’t know. I just fuck chicks.
As we are walking to the Columbian…
Rosh: If any gay guys hit on me tonight, you have to make out with me.
Me: No, I don’t.
Rosh: Okay, just checking.
When I sent him this blog post for proof-reading…
Rosh: Does this mean you have a crush on me?
Rosh: Okay, just checking.
Me: Sometimes you just find yourself in the men’s room at Q Bar at 6am on a Sunday morning and you think, “What am I doing with my life?”… Know what I mean?
Dr Riley: Not really.
I had a terrible dream last week where my friend Ryan got really sick and started coughing up blood all over the carpet in our house. I was relieved when I woke up and realised it was a dream because we had the carpets cleaned quite recently and I didn’t want to go through all that bother again.
even a burberry cactus weeps for annik skelton
I’m going to get really drunk and break stuff at annik skelton’s house warming
there are manwhores that dig annik skelton and themselves
annik skelton is a terrible child
annik skelton left pitt st and my life is an empty abyss
annik skelton won’t support my baby until I get a paternity test, I’m just not sure it’s hers
i really really really hope annik skelton comes to our xmas party because she owes me one for not showing up to my birthday party when she said she would
who is hedge monkey annik skelton?
“annik skelton” in a bed made of cock
annik skelton (neekerskeakers) is utterly spectacular and sexy like a dalek
annik skelton has pubic hair on her elbow
annik skelton plays with dead children
heh heh annik skelton heh heh
tonguing with annik skelton
what did annik skelton get for xmas
“annik skelton” slept with tim allen
annik skelton ate my hat. it was a nice hat, too
annik skelton has the hair and toes of an angel
annik skelton is a poo god
annik skelton is getting drunk. later she will lick dead mice
annik skelton is like she-ra but betterer and more lovely xx
annik skelton kissed a girl and she liked it
annik skelton puked on my shoes and it was totally endearing
annik skelton queening me.
annik skelton waves farewell to the cunt bus. the cunts don’t notice
annik skelton would make an awesome ikea shopping partner
annik skelton, party with her i would. bone her also.
annik skelton, this is your mother, have you had a smear test recently?
annik skelton, writer
i got annik skelton a latex catsuit for christmas.
i really want to see annik skelton before i go home for christmas
i spoke to annik skelton for 5 seconds at #digicitz and it reminded me that i hadn’t left creepy search terms on her site stats for a while. hi. not actually creepy, just easily amused.
i want annik skelton to finally admit how gay she is
jesus fucking christ annik skelton just shut the fuck up already, nobody cares
the wind was too strong for annik skelton to fly her kite with her congenital defect
why is annik skelton such a whore?
annik skelton ate my dog and didn’t even have the common curtesy to shit out the collar
annik skelton being violated by christians
annik skelton has a perty mouth
annik skelton in latex gives me mad boner time. schwing!
annik skelton is a bum man
annik skelton left me at the altar but then made up for it with kinky pre-marital sex
annik skelton secretly wants to be a pastor at hillsong
annik skelton twiddles my nipples
annik skelton will be the president of the world someday, you mark my words
i knew annik skelton before she was famous and i loved her then
i bet annik skelton is secretly a nice person
i hope annik skelton doesn’t find my secret facebook group about her
i should really be working instead of googling annik skelton
i want to see annik skelton drunk at the white party
if i couldn’t be me, i’d like to be annik skelton
is annik skelton a scam?
life would never be dull with annik skelton around
one day the mouse corpse will lick annik skelton right back
searching for annik skelton also brought up the encyclopedia of serial killers
there is nothing more than annik skelton sitting in this bucket, and i have the measuring tools to prove it
why won’t annik skelton stop being so highly strung so i can finally get the guts to fuck her?
Me: Check out that figure skater!
Him: I could never have sex with her. She’s too graceful. It would be like putting tomato sauce on a really nice steak.
Me: Damnit, my pants shrank.
Him: Are you sure?
Me: Yes, I just got them out of the dryer.
Him: Maybe you’ve put on weight.
Me: I haven’t put on weight. These pants fit perfectly yesterday, now they’re too tight. Clearly, they’ve shrunk.
Him: They look the same to me. That’s all I’m saying.
Him (on the phone): Hey, I’m just at the pub with Annik. Yeah, she’s right next to me. What’s she wearing? Well she’s got what appears to be a curtain wrapped around her waist, tied with a piece of cheap rope; a faded non-descript black singlet; and sunglasses that definitely cost less than $15. In fact, I’m pretty sure she found them on the side of the road.
Him: I literally have nothing to wear. All my clothes are in the wash.
Me: You can borrow one of my shirts, if you want?
Him: It’s okay, all your stuff is too man-ish anyway.
Me: And my UAI is…wow.
Mum: What is it?
Me: Almost ninety-five.
Mum: Well that can’t be right!
Dad: Maybe you should give the Board of Studies a call?
By far, the worst job I ever had was during the summer when I was twenty-one. I’d returned from South Africa early after a failed attempt at voluntary work (I like money) and couldn’t resume my old job for another 4-5 months because there wasn’t yet any work for me to do there. For the first time in seven years, I was unemployed.
I played nintendo for a few weeks, drank a lot of beer, and sunbaked all day in my parents’ backyard before my mother told me I should think about contributing to society.
“I’m an organ donor,” I reminded her.
“No, I mean you should get a job,” Mum said. “Pay some taxes.”
“You don’t,” I argued.
“Not according to your father’s accountant.”
“Fine, I’ll get a job.”
And after a few interviews with recruiters, I eventually landed a temp-to-perm position doing accounts payable in North Sydney….for a funeral home.
“Is the nature of the business going to be a problem for you?” I was asked during the interview.
“Bills is bills,” I said nonchalantly. “Besides, I like the quiet.”
However, unlike an episode of Six Feet Under, this job proved to be less fascinating than you might think. I was primarily trained by a balding middle-aged man who smelled funny and breathed heavily, which meant I could never have any sort of meaningful professional relationship with him. The hours were 7:30am to 4:30pm, which meant I had to drive in because the buses didn’t start until 8am. And so, every day, I parked my car illegally, and every second day, I got a parking ticket. The residents in North Sydney were clearly sick of the parking situation, because they often abused me. One morning, a lady drove out of her driveway, then told me I had parked too close to it.
“You just drove out of it,” I pointed out.
“I hope you get a ticket!” she said.
“Fuck you!” she said and drove off.
At work, I spent my days coding and entering invoices for flowers, catering, burial plots and children’s coffins. I could tell you how much it cost to cremate an adult, an adolescent or a baby; what flowers were most popular; and which funeral celebrants were well-respected. I spent all day looking at names of dead people, and every time I saw a surname I recognised, I had to stop and google them to make sure they weren’t related to somebody I knew.
My co-workers were mostly Asian mothers. Our boss was Cruella de Vil. On my first day, she showed me the depressingly small kitchen. I opened the fridge and noted a complete absence of alcohol.
“You can have a biscuit from the jar, if you like,” she offered. “It’s free.”
“Sure,” I said, knowing that I would eat as many biscuits as possible to compensate myself for working in such a soul-sucking hell hole.
I spent every lunch break chain-smoking in a park around the corner, calling everyone I’d ever met and asking them if they knew of any jobs going. Eventually I found a temporary position doing admin at a friend’s office. I went over for an interview and drank a beer with the CEO, who was wearing board shorts and thongs. We chatted casually for fifteen minutes and he asked me when I could start.
The next day, I quit the funeral home.
“This is awfully short notice,” Cruella protested, “I have no idea how we’ll cope with the workload.”
“Oh I didn’t really do much,” I said, comfortingly.
“This puts us in an awkward position,” she continued.
“Who cares,” I replied. “All your clients are already dead.”
I never got offered anymore work through that particular recruitment agency and I haven’t been to North Sydney since.
Him: You think I’m some sort of golden goose? That I will just offer you a silver platter of men to bone your way through?
Me: I don’t really think that’s how the story went.
Him: Fuck you.
Him: I just don’t understand why anyone would want you.
Him: Do you want to go to the pub?
Me: It’s Monday.
Him: I know, but I get bored in the mornings. Usually I just masturbate on your bed and then get ready for work.
Him: I think we can all agree that the only real use for the internet is looking at pictures of posh furniture. And porn.
Him: We all have the stupidest jobs. We possess no real valuable skills. If we got stranded on an island, we would just sit on the beach and die.
I live with two boys. They can be quite offensive.
Him: I read your blog post about me.
Me: Did you like it?
Him: Yeah, it was kind of like an unfunny version of ilivewithcrazypeople. Like a poor man’s version of that.
Me: Wait, don’t look at those photos, they’re terrible.
Him: Annik, you don’t have to worry about that kind of stuff with me. I see you looking like shit all the time.
Him: Let’s plug in a red light globe in the lounge room and then our house will look really cool from the street!
Me: No it won’t, it will look like a brothel.
Him: Only if you’re standing at the window.