Oh shit. I forget to say what happened with Carol the other night.

Ok, so often when we criticise other people....it's sheer projection. We hate something about them because it's something we hate about ourselves.

Of course that's not to say it's not in them as well. But sometimes the lines blurr.

AND THAT"S WHAT STARTS

THE FRIENDSHIP FILES - person 1 - Oh Carol, fucking bullshit u fucking stripper bitch

Carol is fucking nuts. U would kind of guess it when u met her straight away. Actually maybe not the extent to which she is crazy. Perhaps desperate slut might be the first impression you would get.

I first met Carol in a PR class at RMIT. She was one of the first people I noticed. She wore heavy make-up and boots up to her knees. Her fashion struck me as outdated and overdone for a tafe class. She said she was a door-bitch at a nightclub. Trash-bag, now I get it. Mutton dressed as lamb, she was....she was trying to dress prettier than she really was. Fuck man, she could really be a dirty old poof if she tried. ha. When I finally spoke to her. Not because I particuluarly liked her, but hated her less than the 18 year old girls in the class. She told me she lied about being a door-bitch and was in-fact a stripper. She then went on to tell me about a fat, ugly girl she met in the class named Tess. I went to her house. I met her boyfriend who was a radio jock and reasonably obese. He walked into the house eating KFC and then made a smart-arse comment about Tess, who Carol had brought back to the house 3 days before. Carol told her boyfriend that I was only 22 and had already been paid to write for a couple of different magazines. I didn't think it was a big deal, neither did he. She farted really offly and loudly. Then told me I pick my nose in public, so I had no right to complain.

The more we hung out together at RMIT, the more we became the token class misfits. A manic gay guy with mental health problems and a 32 year old stripper neither of whom dressed very well. I'm sure in some edgy town somewhere, we would b PR whiz-kids...but not here. At the time, long and dangling ear-rings were in fashion. All the 18 year old girls were wearing them. We concocted a theory one-day that the dangly ear-wear was code for "i have a secret penis". There was one goody little too shoes who was such a moisty bitch, I drew a picture of her naked with dangling earings and a penis. When the girl sat down behind us, Carol tapped her on the shoulder and said "Luke has drawn a picture of you". I couldn't fucking believe it. The girl smiled and said "show me". When I did show it to her, her faced dropped and asked the fairly logical question "how does having dangling earrings mean I have a penis". I left the class soon after that, it felt like high school all over again. A bunch of prissy little conservative air-heads thinking I was some kind of sexual pervert. Which I am. Ha. Deal with it.