I know. I’m sorry. It was late. I woke up at 2 a.m. I’d been sleeping off altitude sickness. I was starving. There was nothing else open. It was either that or a bunch of cigarettes and Chupa-Chups from a roadside stall manned by what was either a very small well-wrapped person or an animate pile of socks. I’m sorry. I am.
Geoff edits Going Down Swinging
- When there’s nothing left to burn, you have to set yourself on fire
- Hey, Kat
- Meet Australia, the traitor who turns you in
- Now’s a really good time to re-think voting Abbott
- Strung out like jungle flowers
- Best text message exchange ever
- Campbell of the Overflow
- Want to write new work with Elefant Traks?
- They arrested my high-school guitarist
- Better than chicken
- Where the hell did that Heathen Scripture guy go?
- Just because it’s free… (the worst CDs from the storeroom of doom)
- Bondi Junction fitness gangsters are not Julia Guillard
- Hey Yumi, stop being so goddamn Japanese
- As a poet, Rinehart makes a great billionaire
- Christmas, or How I learned to stop wishing a violent death on reindeer
- Talking on the internet
- The life and death of Peter Roebuck: a good man, a bad man, or something in between
- Tie the Kangaroo down, Joyce