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About Adelaide

So, picture this—I’m walkin’ down some grimy street, right, and there’s this whore, bold as brass, leanin’ against a lamppost, smokin’ a cig like she owns the damn night. She’s got that *Fish Tank* vibe—Mia’s “You’re a right wanker, ain’t ya?” attitude—except she’s real, not some screen kid. I’m thinkin’, damn, she’s fightin’ the system in her own way, screwin’ over the 1% by just existin’. Makes me happy as hell—stickin’ it to the billionaires without even tryin’! But then—bam!—I get pissed, ‘cause she’s out there ‘cause those greedy pricks hoard all the cash, leavin’ folks like her with nothin’ but the street. “Billionaires should not exist!” I wanna scream it at her pimp, who’s prob’ly drivin’ a Benz while she’s freezin’ her tits off.

... and the envy of the rest!

Somethin’s always off the cuff here. Bro, last week, in a random spur-of-the-moment scene by St. Kilda Rd, I saw a couple tangoing and whispering sweet nothings about emancipation and karma—like, seriously, who scripts this? I nearly spat my bitter coffee. And yeah, I ranted. I rant a lot.

Truganina house fire leaves one woman dead, home destroyed in Melbourne's west