KITSCH OR KILL: Live Below The Line

OK, delayed reaction. I spent most of the weekend in a slurring sugar coma and my brain is only just shaking its way out of a hallucinogenic sickly sweet fog. And this week I have been suffering a continuation of the brain fade that began when I stopped consuming protein. Major brain fade. I'm talking driving-the-wrong-way-down-a-one-way-street brain fade. Cutting-random-chunks-out-of-my-hair brain fade. Making-stupid-cute-avatars-of-myself-on-stupid-iphone-app-games brain fade.

Oooh, look, she stupid cute!

With the help of over 40 amazing people, I raised a total of just over $1900, with a grand total of over 1.2 million bucks raised across the Land of Oz. And I discovered that bullying, whining and a whole lotta guilt moves folks to give you their cash. My final threat on the last day of sponsorship was telling my co-workers that they wouldn't get into heaven during the impending Rapture unless they sponsored me. And it worked a charm; I pulled in around 600 bucks that day! See? Guilt, particularly religious guilt, moves folks.

Oh and I discovered I am totally down with cannibalism now. I'd been telling people how I was gonna BBQ their tasty tasty flesh during this week, as human meat has no market value and is therefore exempt from the $2 per day rule (you can tell I've thought about this campaign from many angles). Everyone laughed it off, oh hahaha, eat our flesh, haha, you kidder!

Then...I was watching Frontiere(s), an awesome gory French horror film involving a dash of eating thine own species. They hacked off this dude's arm and served it up to his girlfriend like a Sunday roast. And I'm watching them prepare the arm, thinking mmmmm. Like mmmmm, goddamn that arm looks tasty. And they is carvin' it so nice and thin, and there's gravy....ohhh mmmmm, I could go me some tasty tasty arm flesh.

Lesson to be learned: don't fuck with me in the wilderness because I am already prone to cannibalism and I will take the first opportunity to spit roast your ass and nom on your arm like a chicken wing.

Hello Kitty approves of Arm Nom

Second lesson to be learned: If you google "frontieres cannibal arm" you get a link to my blog. Even before I wrote this! I got reader-acquiring skillllz.

Luckily for all, on the Saturday after the drought broke, Ash brought me the promised donuts. DONUTS. Thanks Ash! I heart your donutty love.

Hellllooooo, sweet sweet sugar. I've missed you so.

Honeycomb n chocolate cream n sprinkles n shit. We ate until we felt thoroughly sick. And I realised I'd survived my five days of madness, only to quite likely die from instant diabetes. I think I yelled, "MY DIABETES!" several times in a bad Southern accent, a la Bret Michaels. I definitely yelled, "DONUT SHOVEL!" while shovelling donuts with a Tupperware device that will heretofore be known as, you guessed it, The Donut Shovel.

In conclusion, it was so good and so rewarding to be a part of the Live Below The Line campaign. I'm now trying to carry forward what I have learned about starvation and want, to be more conscious of being wasteful, and not spending too much on food. I'd definitely like to do this again, as I was astounded at the generosity from my sponsors, particularly donations from some who I thought wouldn't piss on me if I was on fire. But next time, I will get a team together. And next time I'm binging on Weet Bix. Cos they only cost like 8 cents per Bix....Bik? What the hell is the singular of Weet Bix anyway?

Live Below The Line, I thank you for restoring my faith in humanity. And for allowing me to lose 3 kgs without even trying (a diet of almost pure carbs is not as fat-inducing as you think, kids). But the moral of the story is, I SURVIVED. And did a shitload of good for humanity, which makes you feel great.

PS The criminal downside to all this is I actually accidentally stole brunch on Sunday. Myself and The Boy each thought the other paid, and didn't realise until hours later that we'd done a runner. Like dirty street urchins.

Here's the free goodness I scored. Accidentally.