Forms of Punishment

This morning I was woken with the news that I was needed (like a superhero was needed) out in Prahran at some Media/Design place mere meters away from my old publishing drone home. Sweet, I thought, no humourless accountants, no uptight receptionists. Plus, I actually knew people who had freelanced at this company back in the day and if they were considered employable there then I would seem like an awesome thing of awesomeness. Or something. Oh, did I mention that I'd had about four hours sleep?



So initially everything was fine - with the youngfellermelad with the obligatory mo and tattoo on reception and with the i.t. dude calling sydney cracking jokes about gay porn infestations and dildos needed down in melbourne urgently. All good. Until Fellermelad goes casually, oh, I'll just put that on for you (no, NOT LIKE THAT you sickos) and suddenly I am sitting next to a flatscreen screening Channel V.



Non Stop.

It just doesn't stop. Ever. Even when I go to the kitchen to hide get a glass of water. Rogue Traders, some dude being a factory frotting clone from Detroit (twice), the Prodigy looking old and sad and releasing a remix of Voodoo People, Justin Timberlake valsettoing like he'd sent his balls to michael jackson in the post. Fucken hell. Now I am facing down Dave "Looks like Gilette Razor" vs The Egg. If this is the price of being cool the price is Too High. Ow.