Editorial

I don’t know where to start this week. Two rather large seshes graced me with their presence over the long weekend, I hit my liver for six two times in a row, I put a hole in a wall. Putting a hole in a wall brings joy, I mean I’d only do it if the host gave me permission. But it just gives me that short rush that I search far and wide for nowadays. Just breaking shit is fun, it makes me feel like a child again, the howls of sesh gremlins can be heard throughout the neighbourhood when this occurs. With exams coming up, it’s time to get those final sends out of the way, hit pause on those dusty Sundays with your Beezy, knuckle down and do the hard yards before writing yourself off not even 45 minutes after your last assessment.

Drink Of The Week: Quite Literally Petrol Itself (satire, don’t actually drink this)

We thought that with fuel prices being at an all time low, the luxury that is 95 Premium from BP  is finally affordable in recreational circumstances. No, we’re not talking about huffing it under a bridge, but sending it through that bad boy rooftop funnel that you and several other dropkicks made in O’week. The fumes from this liquid will probably make you feel like you’re a living organism in the Gulf of Mexico in 2010. We’re not really sure what the dollar to standard ratio is, but given how much the main ingredient fucked up every animal in the Gulf we think it’s probably pretty strong. Can be consumed by huffing, injecting, or drinking. Hits best when shelved or smoked.

Red Card Idea: The Other Coronavirus

These themed red cards are fucking good, maybe next week you’ll see an election themed red card. Anyway, you and all the boys must acquire a very expensive 12 box of Coronas each, a few limes or lemons, your choice. Assemble in the backyard of the chosen home with a funnel. The next step is to start necking the beers through the funnel, you must keep going until someone can’t hold it down anymore and vomits. The person who vomited is now a patient and must socially distance, anyone who talks or even so much as looks at the cunt who is socially distanced also becomes a patient. If they fall victim, they must undergo the same treatment. The only way to get out of being socially distanced as a patient is to eat an entire fucking lime, skin and everything. This keeps going until all the beers are finished and you may set out punishments as you wish, like forcing people to do a pelican, that’s always funny.

Sesh Wars: All The Gear No Idea

This story harks back to a cold winter sesh back in June last year. I had a few mates come up from Dunedin, it was my first time seeing them in some 6 months. What better way to catch up than to drink in excess of 15 beers at a flat on Greensboro street? Things kicked off mildly, sipping away at the nectar that is flames, we get a few drinks in us, the chat is flowing, all is going well until someone murmurs the dreaded words “should we get a bag?”. Yeah alright fine, twist my arm. I send a few messages and we end up getting enough gear to keep a Rhino awake until New Year’s. This is where we just get weird. Fucking weird. I’m blackout drunk at this point and start racking up, my tolerance for MDMA is next to nothing and I stupidly put back more than I should have. All the boys are on the same level, the molly yarns, the “I love you bro” chat is in large supply. I even did my first nang that night. We made it to town and headed straight to Static as it was a DnB night there, my god the boys were on. I just remember pestering the DJ and eventually getting kicked out because I was jumping off the block at the back, one of the boys vomited on the dance floor and made it back in, I tried to get back in but couldn’t, had a good kick ons. A few days later the photos from that night got posted on Facebook, I’ve got a gallery of about 30 different photos which captured the faces of the boys gurning and just all around out of their depth on the gear. What a memory, or lack thereof, that night was.