If you are from Melbourne, y’all might remember a little thing called SUPERDISCO. SD was Prince of Wales on a Saturday night and was lots of fun when it was kicking around circa 2010-2011 until it got closed down.

Mums are the best ever, am I right?

Yes, I am. Mums are the ones who sit with you when you are sick and gross and make you tea.

I don’t know if anybody will care about this nor am I particularly confident that sharing this information on an international platform will not result in me never being eligible for legitimate employment, but it’s a risk I’m willing to take. After reading this guy’s column on Vice, I’m questioning my life choices.

I write to you from the confines of my bed where a whole month of party weekends has caught up with me and I am forced to be the sick friend this weekend. It’s not a great gig. I’m chewing vitamins and cold and flu tablets like potato chips so I can drive all my friends to the city tonight. I don’t even have a sexy husky sore throat voice.

Deja vu anyone? Feel like we’ve been here before?

Poor Nas, he had such high hopes and great ambitions to revive the maybe cursed maybe just dodgy because it involves rebellious/dramatic hip hop artists music festival we all longed so deeply for.

Selfies are big business right now and anyone who says they are vain/immature/lame/atrocious is living in some sort of deluded version of reality. They are so great. Selfies are a liberating and decisive mode of personal photography and anything liberating and decisive in this day and age is valuable and should be cherished.

I always wanna “HA-HA” a la Nelson Muntz from The Simpsons when people that ask questions like this. Like those people who go out and spend $8.50 on Cosmo to read the advice columns and not to get the free shitty mascara or whatever they’re giving away and read the sealed section, which is really the only tenable reason to be spending that much money on tabloid shit.

Is anybody having the same issue as me? I go to a club all like, “Hey yeah, cool, ready for a good time, had some pre-drinks, ready for a bit of a party.” Get inside, look around and think, “Hold up. Why did the bouncers let me in, I’m so wasted, I think I am in the ’90s.” And then I’m not wasted because I realise any self respecting, educated, sober person would easily mistake many a Melbourne club for the ’90s.

Proving Australians are not kangaroo riding bogans who put beer on their breakfast cereal to members of the international community is a constant battle. But it is. Especially when we have people like T-Rex Abbott in Parliament and when this guy is a YouTube sensation.

Kissing is a big deal. Who demoted it to the same level of significance as a hand shake or a high five? Kissing someone is giving them initiation rites into a secret club, two people who have kissed the same person have something in common they would have not had before. They can mutually brag about you as a conquest/compare notes.