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.
 

I live with two boys. They can be quite offensive.

Him: You smell nice.
Me: Thanks!
Him: Yeah… you smell like.. what’s that stuff that you can spray in the toilet after you take a shit?
Me: This is my favourite perfume.
Him: Yeah, like toilet cleaner.

Him: You don’t want there to be any sexual tension amongst housemates. You just don’t want that drama. You should live with people you’re not at all attracted to.
Me: Yeah, totally.
Him: Well that’s the main reason I moved in with you, anyway.

Him: Oh sorry, I should have told you I’d be having friends over.
Me: Why do I need to know that?
Him: Because then you could have put on nicer clothes.

“Hey are you going to Big Day Out next year? I wouldn’t miss it for anything. I wouldn’t miss it if my own mother died. You should come, we’re all going. You probably don’t want to hang around me too much though because I’m kind of embarrassing. You know how at every festival, there’s that one dude who’s taken acid and dingoes and smoked a spliff, and he’s lurching around the dance floor, leaning on strangers, and everyone’s all DUDE, ARE YOU OKAY? because he’s turned completely grey and can’t speak and looks like he died three days ago? That’s me. I’m that guy. Pass me the ashtray?”

You can read more about Andre at ilivewithcrazypeople

Me: Jules, man, can we make a quick stop before we get on the motorway?

Julia: Why?

Me: I need to get four beers.

Julia: No.

Me: Just a couple of roadies.

Julia: Absolutely not.

Me: I think there’s a bottle shop before the bridge. Just pull over and I’ll run inside.

Julia: I’m not stopping.

Me: Come on, I just need four more beers. That’s all. In the scheme of your life, this is probably the smallest request you will ever receive.

Julia: No.

Me: Fuck, why do you always have to be such an uptight bitch? It must be so depressing to be you. I’m depressed just by being in the same car as you. I’m depressed by proxy, like osmosis.

Julia: You’re going to fall asleep before we get to the Hills anyway.

Me: No I won’t, you goddamn fun-wrecker.

Julia: Whatever.

Me: I can’t believe you’re not stopping.

Julia: Uh huh.

Me: Can you turn the music down? I’m tired.

Sometimes when I’m having trouble expressing something, I write a song. This means that often when I have something I want to tell somebody, rather than simply talking to them, I’ll wait until they’re drunk and perform an impromptu acoustic gig for them. It’s not the most direct approach, but it usually works after seven beers.

I recently wrote a song about my friend Julia who, for some reason, continues to help me clean up every time I make a mess of my life. I waited until I felt confident/drunk enough, and then I played the song for her at a BBQ, while some mutual friends sat and listened quietly.

When I finished, there was a moment of silence and a few of the girls looked misty-eyed.

“What did you think?” I finally asked Julia.

“Can you play My Friends by the Chili Peppers?” she replied.

Julia: Annik? Is that you in there?

Me: Yes.

Julia: I knew it!

Me: How did you know? Did you look at my shoes?

Julia: No, I just recognise the sound of the way you remove toilet paper from the dispenser.

Me: I think we should spend time with other people.

This is Heather; she was rejected from Masterchef.

This is Paul; he’s fabulous and he speaks to blind people.

This is Joel; he’s just had his hair cut.

This is Zoe; she works at…wait, where do you work? I just realised I don’t know anything about you.

This is Julia; she’s Greek.

This is Leo; he surfs and he writes a great blog and he loves his wife. What? No, your WIFE.

This is Lynette; her hair smells amazing and she is taking me to lunch next week. Smell her hair. Go on.

This is Mick; he likes metal, as in the music.

This is Ben; he’s a writer, or a journalist, or something.

This is Peter; he’s an arsehole.

This is Scott; he’s from Scotland and he has a silly accent.

This is Cathy; she’s awesome as shit.

This is…hang on, I have no idea who that is, walk away, just go.

This is Jess; HR.

This is Mandi; I just met her and she told me something about drawers. I think I like her. I think I like her a lot. Hey, can you get me a beer? I ran out of money.

I once shared a house with an older guy who had gross friends. At least four nights every week, our backyard was full of drunk tradies telling boring stories. However, the following one did interest me.

Damo’s tale:

For my twenty-first birthday, my old man gave me a small box wrapped in blue paper. I unwrapped it and found an old pair of stubbies inside. I was a bit pissed off at getting such a shit birthday present, but then Dad said “Son, these are the shorts I was wearing when you were conceived. I was pretty drunk at the time, but I’ve remembered ever since, and I want you to have these.”

So now I wear them whenever I’m feeling sad, and the Conception Shorts remind me that I’m loved.

I also write down whatever I’m wearing after I shag a chick, just in case I ever have a son, so I can give him his own pair of Conception Shorts.

What follows is a list of direct quotes from somebody who will be known as Mark, because that is his name. I have not edited these in any way, I simply sit next to him at the pub and write down everything he says.

• “That hill was so fucking steep. It was like Columbine, but instead of murders, it was geography.”
• “I put it on Facebook, a.k.a. internet.”
• “Damn right, I’m awesome as shit. Do you want to see a stunt?” *inserts whole schooner inside his mouth*
• “Hi, I’m Mark. I’m a mad cunt.”
• “It is completely normal and natural for a woman to secrete approximately one teaspoon of fluid from her vagina per day. What? Yeah, get me a beer.”
• “You know what? If I’ve got shoes on, and I’m inside, I’ll walk outside to piss in the garden. It’s not like I’m saving water or being lazy or some shit, I just like pissing in the garden. It just feels natural.”
• “I don’t do drugs, drugs do me.”
• “You know when you take shit drugs and you’re like, Last night was awesome as shit… but last night is also today?”
• “I took acid once. I got lost in this fucking underground carpark for four hours.”
• “I took acid once at Fred Caterson Reserve. I ate heaps of chili because I thought I was hungry, then my mouth was burning, so I went for a walk. Then I was staring at the moon, yelling COME AND GET ME, FREDDO PEDDO. But nothing happened.“
• “Fuck, we’re awesome. I just ate raw chicken and then I tried to purge behind the Mobil service station. I tried hard, fingers down my windpipe. Here, I’ll show you.”
• “I would give head like a motherfucker, trust me. I’m not gay. I don’t want to suck cock, but fuck I’d be good at it.”
• “When I sue you, I’m gonna make some money. Write that down. Damn right, I’m gonna make some money.”
• “The bartender can suck my dick for all I care. Full gag on it.”
• “Men only want three things from a woman. You want someone who does the sexy times, someone who cooks, and someone who cleans. I don’t want to be rude, but I’m pretty sure all you’re going to do is the sexy times. Now that’s important, but it’s not everything.”
• “I just hate it when people talk about dead people. It makes me feel awkward. Is this going on your blog?”

As you can see, Neekersneakers has had something of a face lift, and now includes a bit of colour and an attempt at conveying some personality. This is so you guys can stop saying “the text hurts my eyes… it’s boring… you’ve gone too minimalist… I’m a massive vagina… etc etc blah.”

The new design comes courtesy of my rather talented and fiery-haired friend Mitch (pictured above), whose other work can be viewed here. Mitch designed this working with only a very loose brief (“just make me something cool, with pink bits”) and then changed the twenty-seven things I complained about, then changed them back, then changed some more again. I paid him in snaps.

I would also like to thank the ever-lovely and always helpful Zac for his keen eyes and expert advice, as well as Darwin’s best-dressed lady, Kahlee Rose, for agreeing with me when I already knew what I wanted but required confirmation.

Yall can leave feedback if you like, but let’s be honest, I can’t really be bothered changing anything and I have annoyed Mitch plenty enough. I do hope this one is easier on your beautiful eyes though, and if you spot a major fuck-up bug, please send an email to support [at] annikskelton.com