I have about a gram of coke in my sock draw. I didn't buy it. I'm not even a fan of the stuff. It's leftover from last year when Mr. Brick was here. “If you're going to party you have to do it right Mal!” the phrase seemed to excrete from him.

I don't even know how he organized the stuff. Sure in South Africa I could do it, I knew enough people - through connections. But here I don't know anyone who does the shit. Here I don't know anyone.

He came in one day with a big enough bag to get us arrested for dealing. Mr. Brick likes to throw his money around. A big bag of coke can bring you friends, however temporary they may be. It was a crazy week especially for Mr. Brick but that is another story.

There is nothing more pretentious than a bunch of people gathering round to snort a line out of a rolled up R10 note. The only time toilet stalls get crowded with out some form of penetration. People jammed in there like a market in Calcutta. Someone always grabs the left over packaging and licks it with the lust of fetish fulfilment. Hell sometimes they lick the note.

Then it's a matter of standing around, sniffing like a six year old with a bad cold. This and the fact that you are picking blood and residue out of your nose for days afterwards is why I don't sniff it if I can help it. People always laugh or comment when they see me mixing it in a little water and hitting it like a shot. But hey it does the same thing and you don't look like a coke head to the rest of the world.

I've never loved the high it gives you. I don't even know why I ever did that shit with such persistence. The first time was out of curiosity. I didn't love it. I didn't become some confident guy. Nothing spectacular happened. For someone like me who has a low tolerance for caffeine it had about the same impact as doing two Red Bulls in a row. One thing that changes – you drink and smoke like a 19^th century playwright. If I ever had a life or death drinking contest I'd do some coke first. Also it seems to magically sober you up. I have no idea if it improves your motor skills but if you've had one of those nights where you are passing out and can barely say, “I'm going to vomit.” Some coke will sort you out.

The second time I tried it was pretty much the same. As was the third and so on. The next day I would always think, “What the fuck was the point of that? Paying over R200 for something that doesn't do much other than potentially make you spend more money.”

But for some reason there is a select group of guys - get us together, put five beers in each of us and it seems like the best idea in the world. We'd even meet up and before the first beer make half-empty promises like, “Hey – No coke tonight!” Then one of us would get that look in his eyes and the wall would fall. If I'm drunk with anyone else the thought doesn't even cross my mind. I guess it's a good thing we don't get together that much.

I have about a gram of coke in my sock draw. I don't want to use it. I don't want to throw it away. That just seems like a waste of money.

I wish I had a better excuse for not blogging for so long, but I don't. I wasn't off somewhere across the globe saving the world from terrorists or lead toys. I wasn't out and about fornicating with ridiculously beautiful women who don't wear underwear because they find it more sensual. I wasn't falling in love with the chubby coffee girl with the amazing personality at Starbucks.

I was at home (when I wasn't at work) jacking off to Internet porn or watching scheduled programming on TV. I didn't even have the energy to rent a DVD. My list of films to see and books to read is exactly the same - I've crossed nothing off.

It was snowing today. There is nothing quite like snow to make you realize that you are wasting your life. Hopefully I am fully motivated now to keep this thing up to date - because I sure as hell don't have anything better to do.

It’s Halloween and children will be marching the streets dressed like a bunch of fools pleading for candy. I never give the little fuckers any. I am yet to see one brilliant trick. It is safe to say that of all the useless inventions God made children are the George W. Bush of the presidents list.

Why do some people waste so much time being fascinated by the little terrors? I can only assume it is because it gives weaker people a chance to seem more powerful. Kids are dependent that must be the appeal.

I will never understand why people think it is hilarious when a child at a restaurant runs around like an idiot? Nor when said child runs head first into a table and begins to cry, why people stare at me like a freak when I break out into hysterics? Sure it’s funny when some black guy does it on TV, but heaven forbid you laugh at a child.

Children should be forbidden from socializing in society until they are able to pass a test that declares them fit to become part of it. Think how many freaks we wouldn’t have to deal with if this was in place? It sounds like a winner to me.

Anyway what I really want for Halloween are women to stop dressing up as angels, devils or nurses and put on some of these sexy superhero outfits. It just makes more sense.

Fuel my blog are having a competition where you can win $500 from snorgTees. To win this you have to be the most voted for blog. Good luck winning - it ends today. You have a chance if you have 600 friends who will vote for you by the end of the day.

The next 99 blogs get a free t-shirt. Turns out I'm on the list but I only get my shirt if I make this post. It doesn't say anything about posting on the last day... So send it to me.

I stand in front of the mirror. Naked. That is with the exception of the towel wrapped around my waist. I have just emerged from the shower. The room is layered in steam. My reflection is blurred beyond any form of recognition. Before I begin my daily grooming I need to see myself. Because that’s just the way we do it here on Earth.

I grad a facecloth and wipe down the mirror. There I am. Pale. Skinny. Flabby. Before I begin to floss I notice a hair on my chest. It is thick and wire like. Different from the rest of the hairs on my chest, which are thin and blonde. It is about an inch above my left nipple and I cannot stand it.

The only problem is it is very close to a mole. My mother always told me not to pluck hair growing from moles. I have never checked this with a professional (my mother is far from a doctor), however, I think I have heard this from several other sources: “If you pluck hair growing out of a mole it can cause the mole to become cancerous.”

I do not call a doctor to find out how valid this statement is. I simply convince myself, without thorough investigation, that the hair is growing next to the mole and is not part of it. With that I pluck it.

What was I hoping to achieve? That by convincing myself that it was not in the mole, God would take pity on me. “Well, Malcolm did pluck a hair from a mole but he thought it was growing next to it. Poor boy I guess under these circumstances I won’t give him cancer.”

Why would I potentially risk my life on such a foolish thing? It was a little hair. I could have looked properly at it. Maybe it was safe to pluck. I could have consulted someone first. The info I need is probably on Wikipeida. But instead I ignored everything and blindly decided to hope for the best. That is retarded.