So it's midday and I'm pissed off. I decided I needed to go on a spending spree to cheer myself up. I went and got a big-arse coffee from Starbucks and caught the tram to Prahan. The whole idea was to blow a bunch of money on comics. That's one thing Glenferrie Road doesn't have: comics. I got to the place with the stuff and pick up two trade paperbacks. One is the third Hellboy book. The other is the third Invisibles book. The fuckwit behind the desk tried to tell me it was symbolic and when I denied it he stumbled through a few sentences of explaining synchonicity. I sorta rolled my eyes. I felt like telling him the real synchronicity was him mentioning it while he had the Invisibles in his hands, but he started bitching at me about how Grant Morrison had fucked up the X men by doing something different with it. Fuck I hate comic book nerds. I got the fuck out of there then. I wish I'd been feeling really brave. They have some Frank Miller prints from Sin City in there, worth a good seventy bucks each. Not framed, though. I'm not spending that much on something I'm gunna stick to the wall with blu-tac.