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I'Ll Go Home Then, It's Warm and Has Chairs. The Unpublished Emails. -, page 1


I'Ll Go Home Then, It's Warm and Has Chairs. The Unpublished Emails. -

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I'Ll Go Home Then, It's Warm and Has Chairs. The Unpublished Emails. -

  I’ll Go Home Then, It’s Warm & Has Chairs. The Unpublished Emails.

  Copyright © David Thorne 2012

  All rights reserved.

  Ebook ISBN: 978-1-105-60199-6

  Book Title: I'll Go Home Then, It's Warm and Has Chairs.

  The Unpublished Emails.

  Contact: [email protected]

  This book is sold subject to the condition that it shall not, by way of trade or otherwise, be lent, re-sold, hired out, re-produced on the internet or otherwise circulated without the author’s prior consent in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition including this condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser. Activities and vehicle modifications appearing or described in this book may be potentially dangerous.

  For Seb, Holly and Further


  Hello. Thank you for buying this book. Or at least the e-book. I laid this out myself and I have never done an e-book layout before so I apologise in advance if it isn’t very good. I probably should have put in more effort but you know how it is. With round the clock episodes of Property Virgins on HGTV and sleeping to do, there never seems enough hours in the day. Also, rather than go to any real effort, I thought it would be easier to simply collect all the material I have written that didn’t make it into the first book, either due to timing, space, legal issues, or not being very good, and put them in this one.

  Hosting fees are expensive. As public interest in what I write has a limited shelflife and it is only a matter of time before people become bored of it and rediscover fun family activities like slip'n'slide and Jenga, I figured I should probably try to make as much cash as possible while I can. I assumed when Penguin picked up the first book, I would shortly be spending my days shopping for Range Rovers or relaxing on solid gold deckchairs by my swimming pool but this was not the case. There is less money in writing than there is working in the design industry and I am not clever enough to come up with a way of making money with less effort.

  I saw a movie once called Lock, Stock and Two Smoking Barrells in which one of the guys had an idea to make money by placing an ad in specialist magazines for a super orgasm inducing vibrator for thirty dollars - cheques made payable to TSF ltd. After the money is collected, a reply is sent saying there has been a problem with deliveries and they receive a refund cheque from another company called Butt Tickler Dildos Ltd or something. Less than half the people will hand that cheque into their bank to be cashed.

  I was watching the movie with my friend Mark and he said, “I would put the cheque in the bank” so I asked, “Does that mean you would buy a super orgasm inducing vibrator from a magazine?” and he replied, “No, I would just drive to a shop and buy one. Or buy an electric toothbrush from the supermarket and take the bristle bit off and put a carrot on it instead.” Which is kind of weird and shows he had thought about this previously.

  I stopped hanging around Mark a few years later when he went on a health kick, gave up drugs, and, after discovering yoga, felt it was important to dicuss yoga at every opportunity. It didn't matter what the conversation was about, yoga was the answer. I once asked him his opinion regarding a Pantone colour swatch and although the answer wasn't yoga, I could tell he was thinking about yoga at the time.

  A lot has happened since the last book was published, I have changed jobs, moved countries, and, while I realise it is cliché when people say they married their best friend, it does occasionally happen.

  I do not have the best track record in regards to previous relationships and despite readily admitting to exceeding others tolerances, up until recently my choices could be construed as anything but wise. My last girlfriend turned out to be a bar fighter, the one before that tried to shoot me with a scuba gun and the one prior to that joined an amateur acting group and expected me to attend her opening of The Importance of Being Earnest. As I felt it was appropriately important to be earnest, when she asked me what I thought of the performance I told her the truth and had to make the fifteen kilometre journey home on foot.

  I met Holly while we were both attending a NASA space camp for adults. Helping her to the infirmary, after dropping an auxiliary detonation pipe on her foot, we struck up a friendship in the waiting room and spent the next few weeks partnered for EVA simulations and multi-axis training.

  When I asked Holly to marry me two years later, her first reaction was “Why, because I am the only person who puts up with your bullshit?” but thankfully followed this with a yes.

  We were in the bathroom at the time, as she was blow drying her hair after taking a bath, and I felt it was as good a romantic moment as any. Placing the engagement ring on her finger, her other hand still holding the hair-dryer, I then gave her a tight hug - sandwiching the hair-dryer between us.

  Unfortunately, as she had been using the hair-dryer only seconds before, the front metal grill was almost red from heat and seared into her stomach, branding it with what looked like a target, just above her navel.

  Screaming, Holly leapt backwards, tripped over the toilet behind her, and fell. Attempting to stop her descent, she grabbed the shower curtain. While the curtain fabric and hooks held, the bolts securing the rail to the wall did not and the curtain, rail, several wall tiles, Holly, and the hair-dryer she was still holding, fell into the bath.

  Really, it was her fault for not emptying the bath when she got out. I have seen in movies where someone drops a toaster in the bathtub and they are electrocuted but it must be houses that don’t have a flip-switch fuse system. The instant the hair-dryer touched the water, the fuses flipped and the bathroom was plunged into darkness.

  Asking “Are you ok?” was met with a crash as the hair-dryer struck the wall near to where Holly had thought my voice had come from, and the reply, “I fucking hate you.”

  Even a year later, the target shaped scar, which I quite like and view as a permanent reminder of the day she said yes, is constantly used against me. Last week when we were out at dinner with people from her work, I mentioned that she had eaten the last bread roll and she replied “At least I didn’t burn and try to electrocute you.”

  People love watching an argument though so I’m sure everyone had a great time. Once, while I was being interviewed via phone live for some abscure American radio station called NPR, the journalist asked if Holly found me annoying or amusing. Answering that it was the latter, Holly yelled from the living room, clearly audible to the presenter and listeners, “Don’t fucking lie.” The presenter asked me “Was that Holly?” to which I replied, “No, it was the television” and Holly yelled out again “No it wasn’t.”

  Apparently she was cross because I had just ordered an expensive watch for myself from Amazon. It wasn’t the fact that I bought the watch, the one I had worn for the last fifteen years was on its last legs, it was the fact that I hadn’t ordered her something of equal value. At least that is my analysis. She said it was because we were meant to be saving for a house but I have found since that if I say “I ordered something on Amazon today and ordered something for you too,” she doesn’t get anywhere near as cross.

  Before meeting Holly, I never had a problem with saving as I simply didn’t bother with it. I like things. Not lots of things, just certain nice things that I can look at now and then and comment on how nice they are. There wasn’t really anything I wanted that required saving for. Living by myself, I only needed a chair so I bought a Herman Miller Eames lounge. The pricetag meant I couldn’t afford any other furniture, like a bed, but the foot-stool allowed me to use the c
hair to sleep in and provided a second seat for guests just in case anyone said “I might go and visit David even though he hasn’t got any furniture. Or a fridge.” When I did buy a fridge, I bought a Smeg because it looked nice but I couldn’t afford food after buying a Smeg so I left it unplugged it and used it to stack books in.

  Now that I am married, and have things like bar stools, milk and a dog, priorities have changed and saving for a house has taken precedence. It doesn’t have to be an expensive house, just something ‘open concept’ with a large living area that opens out onto a deck that ovelooks woods and perhaps a pond or river with ducks. With steps going down to a pool. And a tennis court. And a dirtbike track. Design-wise, something like Frank Lloyd Wright’s Fallingwater but with less mold and anywhere other than West Virginia.

  I’m estimating our monthly repayments will be more than I make in a year so I have been looking for a second job for Holly. If you are hiring, send me an email. She complains less than 20% of any given hour, can lift medium sized objects, and can follow a simple set of instructions unless they are for assembly of Ikea products.

  Speaking of houses, Ikea products, and New York Times bestselling books, did I mention that the first book made the New York Times Bestseller list? Many lulz were had. It was as much a shock to my publisher as it was to me and a source of crossface for those featured in the book; I received letters from three seperate lawyers and a letter from Simon Edhouse pretending to be a lawyer. Around the same time, a relative named Christopher developed an obsessive hatred towards me stemming from, I assume, not having written a New York Times Bestselling book himself. As his online crusade to bring me down consisted mainly of changing my Wikipedia page to say “David is gay” he was given the same amount of attention as the lawyers and ignored completely.

  I have been accused of pointless irresponsibility when publishing content, in particular the emails, but I have never claimed either responsibility or pointyness. I have had people angry, demanding that I remove an article, but it is the internet - articles generally have a two week lifespan and then everyone forgets. It is not necessary to attempt a resolution when it is self-resolving.

  I get called a 'troll' a lot but a troll is technically someone who posts inflammatory, extraneous, or off-topic messages with the primary intent of provoking others into a desired emotional response. Which I will admit to on occasion, but like to think my efforts are without ill intent and constructed to amuse rather than disrupt. Whether you write or bake a cake, there will be some that hate it, some that love it and others that will have a piece because there is nothing else in the fridge to eat and they missed out on lunch.

  Providing content that encourages argument, discussion and factions structured around humour, rather than simply offending, has always been my goal. The majority of the "I am offended" emails I receive are in regards to my "disgraceful and cruel attitude towards cats" but these emails are obviously from cat owners and cat owners are insane. While it may seem that the majority of emails I receive are negative, this is not the case and most are actually well natured and occasionally quite touching. The only emails I ignore are those sent from New Zealand. The narrow emotional ledge on which New Zealanders squat may have a grand view but nothing good can come from communicating with these people.

  Regardless, I accept that irresponsibility can sometimes have repercussions. After posting a fake internal memo from McDonald's outlining the implementation of short-changing customers as a procedure, I was arrested, questioned and had my laptop taken for evidence under e-crime legislation. I was hoping Ronald McDonald would appear in court but it was just an old guy in a bad suit who called me "an irresponsible idiot attempting to make some vague point" and dropped the charges.

  Up until recently, the concept that someone might take their anger out on me beyond the virtual world didn't concern me at all. I lived by myself on the eighth floor of a concrete fortress and promises of retaliation were scoffed at. Having moved into a 'normal' house, I have become more wary. After I tried exchanging defective snowboard gloves and was rudely denied, I created a newspaper ad stating that the store was giving away 4,600 snowboard packages. Apparently, they received over 5000 calls that weekend which resulted in the owner turning up at my premises yelling, so I bought a gun. It’s a Nerf gun, but if you stick pins into the ends of the foam darts, they can do some serious damage.

  I met a guy named Nick recently who showed me his large collection of guns. He also showed me his bunker and food cache “for when society collapses due to a huge solar flare hitting the Earth and knocking out the grid” so having the gun will probably come in quite handy if Rick is right and I need to take his stuff.

  Also, just so this foreword has some form of relative and informative point rather than being simply a rambling collection of vagely related paragraphs, the title of this book is from a statement my offspring made while we were at the park playing football after I used the term “Go hard or go home.”

  Regards, David.

  Dear customer, I hope you fall and break your neck

  As an Australian currently in the United States, I have been lucky enough to experience many things previously unavailable to me. Although I still flick the switches the wrong way, think the electrical outlets look upset and cringe whenever the word aluminium is pronounced, I have fallen in love with many of the things I assume most Americans take for granted - like snow and having four actual seasons.

  The four seasons in Australia consist of "fuck it's hot," "Can you believe how fucking hot it is?", "I won't be in today because it is too fucking hot" and "Yes, the dinner plate size spiders come inside to escape from the heat. That is a fucking whopper though."

  I hate spiders. If I am reincarnated as a spider, I will bite myself and not seek medical assistance. I have actually only seen one in the entire time I have been in the US and it was the size of a well sucked on m&m. I flicked it into the sink. In Australia, the presence of a spider involves combat gear and improvised weapons.

  I do miss aspects of Australia though. Not many but aspects nonetheless. I would kill for a packet of Arnott's Pizza shapes and I saw an episode of Oprah recently where she flew the entire audience to Australia to listen to Russell Crowe sing which brought a tear to my eye. It was that bad.

  My favourite aspect of the United States is the snow. While those around me complain of sliding off the road and having to shovel paths, I quietly hope ten thousand inches are dumped overnight forcing everyone to dig tunnels to Waffle House and snowboard to Wal-Mart.


  From: [email protected]

  Date: Thursday 20 January 2011 11.14am

  To: David Thorne

  Subject: Advertisement

  I received a snowboard advertisement from a friend who follows you on twitter or something. If this was some kind of joke I fail to see the humor. We had over 5000 calls asking for free snowboards and I know you are responsible.


  From: David Thorne

  Date: Thursday 20 January 2011 12.26pm

  To: [email protected]

  Subject: Re: Advertisement

  Dear Anton,

  Thank you for your email. I have been called many things while staying in the US, including 'foggot' and 'youreonthewrongsideoftheroadmoron', but having recently seen my first snowfall and immediately heading out to spend several hundred dollars on snowsurfing equipment, I hardly think the label 'responsible' is justified.

  Contrary to popular belief, there is not a lot of snow in Australia and I recently discovered two facts; 1. Snow is cold and; 2. Coming from a climate where the coldest winter demands only complaining slightly less about how hot it is, I am ill-equipped for fact 1.

  Unfortunately, these discoveries were made half way up a ski-lift while dressed in jeans, a long sleeved t-shirt and soaking wet rental boots in minus twelve degree weather. Reaching the s
ummit and finding myself unable to feel my extremities or bend back into a standing position, I rolled off the lift chair and slid down the embankment on my side before coming to a stop helped by a small group of children.

  After assuring the parents that kids get nose bleeds all the time and it was probably more to do with the altitude than my left elbow, I decided to forego that morning's activities, walk down the hill, and sit in my vehicle with the heater on while researching local snow-apparel shops on my iPhone.

  Arriving at your store a short time later, I explained to a salesperson that I required warm clothing and "a pair of waterproof gloves for use in the snow." Based on his brand recommendation and assurance that they would perform in the manner required, I purchased a pair of 180s snow gloves, along with several other items of snow related clothing, and ventured back to the slopes. Assuming the gloves would be waterproof for use in the snow (possibly due to being told "these are waterproof gloves for use in the snow") I was surprised to find they became soaked within seconds and bled black ink down my sleeves and all over the front of my jacket.

  Returning to the store immediately, brandishing both the result and receipt, I politely stated that I was not seeking compensation for the ruined jacket, just simply wished to exchange the gloves for a pair not designed to destroy everything they come into contact with.

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