I'm 21, and so are you? What? You're 16? Ah fuck.

I know I haven’t updated this page for a while now, but it’s not because I haven’t written anything new. My browser fucking craps out on me a week ago, thus stopping me from uploading all these awesome blog entries that I’ve written at work. And I’ve written, like, shitloads. It’s so fucking awesome that I’m getting paid to absolutely do nothing here except to write shitty blog entries and upload it to a webpage that serves no function but to dislay piss-poor rant about the universe and its inhabitants, i.e. this page. So sweet.

And oh, I turned 21 last week. Which means I can now get smashed anywhere in the world. I can get smashed, drunk-hitch-hike, wake up in another country and not get caught for underage drinking under that country’s laws. And oh, you know those websites that says in their front page: DO NOT ENTER IF YOU ARE NOT 21 RUSSIAN GIRLS INSIDE. Well, guess what? I’m 21 now, so I can traverse the invisible wiredom of the internets, guilt-free, baby. It’s almost as if the Goddess of Awesomeness popped out of my birthday cake and say: “YOU’RE ENTITLED TO INFINITE AWESOMENESS NOW THAT YOU’RE 21”. Now I can say: “I’M 21, BITCH!” to that bouncer at Cha Gao (a bouncer at Cha Gao once thought I don’t look 18 enough, me and my friends were like WTF, we 20s, yo! But he was like, nah nigga. I went WTF again. Then we went to Max Brenner. Then I went WTF am I doing here with all this chocolate, coffees, waffles and shit. True story). Of course, he’d say: “Fuck off mate, you look fucking 15 to me”. I’ll show him my passport, I’d point to the front page, and say: “YEAH BIATCH, I’M 21 WHATUP!”.

I know the drinking age in Oz-land is 18, but whatever.

But it’s not all awesome. I just realised that next year, I’ll be turning 22. And 23 the year after. And before I know it, I’ll be 25 and I’ll be like OMGWTF. And now that I’m a 20-something-guy, I can’t get away that easily with being such an immature, whinging little dickhead that I’ve been for the last, oh I don’t know, 21 years. I gotta grow up, man. It’s harder than it sounds. Especially when I can’t stop being, oh, I don’t know.. hint, it starts with an a and ends with a weeeeesome.

Peace out.