Introduction: The literary work you are about to read has been widely described as "...ahead of it's time...". Granted, this was by me. And, mainly due to the fact that it hadn't been written yet. It was penned in the future and I went there, exactly to the future, to get it for you. So here it is. Ahead of it's time.
Have I ever told you about the time when I travelled back in
time?
As the post-Christmas/New-Year-Holiday-depression roots itself into my work scenario and, as I'm cussing myself (quite loudly and, if I do say, unnecessarily crudely too) at having wasted my holiday not coming up with a brilliant idea on how not to have to go back to work again, the Australia Day holiday approaches. Here to save the day of every hard-working Aussie with the simple dream of never having to work a day in their life again. At least for a day. You bloody beauty.
I don't know why there is all this backlash about this Julien Blanc guy in the media? I've never heard of him before, and haven't viewed any of his works, but it sounds like he's being given a rough time.
I fancy myself as a bit of a pickup artist, myself. Not that I think I am good enough to make a career out of it, but I do like to try my hand on the weekends. Here is my latest attempt:
