Sometimes people tell me my hair looks like a big nug of bud and they wanna smoke that **** but it doesn’t smell like rainforest when it burns and they also burn it when it is on my head so my young Rodger Moore looks turn expressly to exaggerated horror at the physical and emotional pain. When faced with such pain I often laps into an imaginary state where my unreality is built up by a self-supporting paranoid delusion from which there is little escape and often real life awakenings land me in the most extraordinary situations. The most recent of which was when I found myself tied to the under carriage of the Ghan train suspended by gaff tape and with a mankeeny blindfolding me. At the next train stop I ran from the troop of floberjack monsters and made a potion out of emu foot prints to give me magical protection from those monsters. Then I went to sleep in a painted cave and woke up from the gentle tickle of ants between my toes . I can never hear what ants are talking about because I am a bit deaf but I always like to know what they are saying about me behind my back so I poured honey in my ear and they went inside my brain. I realised that ant communicate by chemical smell and not sound so I let them crawl through the canals that go to my nasals and was able to smell their talking. After some weeks of difficulty in translations we were about to create a hybrid form of communication they assured me that they had only good intentions and desired only to consume my flesh from the inside out when survival strictly required and would stop when there was opportunity to collect the teeth from non-indigenous creatures. I found that they breaded a particular hate from the introduction of the cane toad and they intend to irradiate all the population of a very common variety of red rose bush in a 300 square meter area of Melbourne I told them I would take them if they didn’t mind going to the grand prix and this amplified their intents.  I don’t like the grand prix I was just lying and so when I left the cave I did a big sneeze on purpose and flew home on my special magic grass matt that is woven from red rose roots. After that I slept in the shed for around 45 mins and bathed my hands in petrol and told my wife I was just working on the motor bike so as to quell any suspicion she may have of me existing within a self-supporting paranoid delusional state.