Deniable Plausibility

A survival technique inspired by crap films I was overseas and living alone when A.I. Artificial Intelligence (2001) popped up on TV one night. I had a hunch it wasn’t my kind of flick almost straight away, but I persevered because: a) I didn't have anything better to do b) a lot of people had said the movie was great. I wish I’d followed my gut instinct and skipped it. I immediately hated the kid playing the lead. He had the most punchable face, and his dippy haircut and dopey expression made me want to pull him through the TV screen and break his spine over my knee. I know it’s wrong and unfair to judge anyone by their appearance, but I don't care. He looked like a fucking muppet. A.I. seemed to go on for a very, very long time - much longer than seemed necessary. There’s a scene, for example, where the kid gets stuck in a little submersible on the bottom of the ocean. I actually thought that was the end of the movie. And let me just say that although I wasn't happy abo

When I was a kid, school assemblies invariably began with a recitation of The Lord’s Prayer . It was always a very solemn and serious affair. By the time I got to high school, however, for some unknown reason  The Lord’s Prayer was set to music. For me this stripped away its gravitas and imbued it with a distinctly comedic flavour. I went to a private high school for boys. It was a non-denominational school, but for some reason our weekly assemblies carried a heavy Christian vibe and a lot of our guest speakers were disturbingly evangelical. For instance, every year this withered old missionary used to come and hand out tiny red bibles and regale us with a song about the Holy Land. It was a horrible dirge and this guy used to belt it out like he was bent on destroying our PA system. The refrain was a jarring “JERRRUUU-SALEM! JERRRRRRRRUUUUUUUUUUUU-SALEM!” and the entire school used to sit through it, cringing in collective embarrassment. There was always an awful stunned silence at th

Or: How to dodge bullets It's late March, 2018. I’m interviewing for a job at a private ESL college in the Melbourne CBD. To get here I’ve taken a 3-hour bus trip and trekked some 30 minutes from Southern Cross. Great city, a nice place to visit, but there’s a lot of traffic and way too much going on. I'm not a fan of the Big Smoke. I’m about 20 minutes early for my interview, but I’m happy enough in the waiting area with my e-reader. My new leather shoes have been torturing my feet, though, especially that long ligament thingy which connects the shin to the upper foot. That bit really hurts. I haven’t worn trousers or a tie in ages, either, and I’m not exactly relishing the experience. On top of all this, the couch in the waiting area isn’t very comfortable and I’m trying to extract my underpants from my arse without the receptionist noticing. But, I've got stuff to read! Things could be worse. Eventually, INTERVIEWER emerges from the bowels of the college to greet me. He’

Until a few years ago, I taught English abroad. If you've ever worked overseas, you'd know that you can't get a work visa without a HIV screening. It is possible to get one before leaving home, but there's generally no expectation of that from employers, and anyway in Australia it's fiddly, time-consuming and expensive (like everything else). 99.99% of the time you'll be tested after arrival in your host country, and it's better that way. Well, sometimes... Anyway, I’d been in Country X for some months. A few days after my HIV test at the local hospital, my boss called me into his office. He dropped a bombshell: the hospital had phoned to say I was HIV positive. HIV positive. Fuck! It was one of the most chilling experiences I've ever had, and I was utterly devastated. I didn't get much sleep. I spent days in my own personal hell, agonising over stuff like WHO? and WHEN? Eventually I decided that there was no way I could live with HIV. It might sound

Alternative title: reason 8,758,568 why I fucking hate religion. It's the dawn of the 90s and I'm a fresh face at uni. I meet an overseas student called Edmund. He's in one of my English tutorial groups and seems pretty friendly. When he invites me to a party on a Friday night at something called the Celtic Club in the city centre, I say yes. Yes! My first uni bash! I'm stoked because I've heard university parties really go off - I'm ready to get amongst it! Party! Friday night comes around. Woohoo! I get on the bus and go to the city. I find the Celtic Club. I'm ready to rock, baby! But wait... how come there's no bouncer at the door? That's weird. There's a decent crowd inside, so surely that's a good sign? Everyone's playing limbo, though, which seems a little bit strange. And there's not a drop of booze in sight. I'm a little bit wary. I mean, it's Australia... and we've got uni undergrads... at a dry Irish club... pla

NB I co-wrote this essay with a friend years ago. In mid-2020 I submitted it to a certain fantasy writers' website for publication. They rejected it because it wasn't politically correct. Fuck that  noise  shit. So here it is. Enjoy! Introduction We’ve been enamoured by the fantasy genre since we were adolescents. If fantasy didn’t exist, we probably wouldn't have been interested in reading. That doesn’t mean we love all works of fantasy, though, nor do we love everything about our favourites. Maybe it's because too many fantasy authors rely on tropes that have been sitting like thick tomes on a dusty shelf in some wizard’s lab (next to flasks of colourful liquids, bubbling and fuming) far longer than they probably should. We’re sick of hearing about: 5. Inns and taverns Apparently regarded by authors and readers alike as time honoured - even customary - stops for characters during tours of fantasy worlds, inns and taverns are places where skulduggery is guarant