Gary has been extolling my zen-master googling skills (as in, being able to use more than one finger on a keyboard while simultaneously finding things on the internet that you are actually looking for, without being sidetracked by YouTube clips of drunk Texans setting fire to their rectal gases) and now the Meeka blokes are twigging on.
"Can yer get me a shirt with them whatsername epoolets whatsits on the shoulder things? In a large." "Yep." "Can yer get CDs an shit?" "It's called iTunes. CD's are like, so last century." "Naw, CD's, none a them i-shit fuckin things." "Yes." "Yer don't ave to go into a shop? How dyer pick em up?" "They arrive in the mail." "Naw." "Yer. I mean yes." "What else can yer get?" "Anything. You can literally get anything you want on the internet. Music, movies, furniture, women. A small African child. Boats. Old Russian cosmonaut uniforms." Beery silence. "Crikey."
If Gary or any passing blokes see me using my laptop, they're hovering over my shoulder in seconds. "Google Kwaka 900 clutch kits. Google that ship, whatsisname, that I was on once. Google those Imax Kinect thingo's or whatever it was I was talking about last week." I have tried to teach Gary how to Google successfully but it's tragic. He puts in something like "navel ships" and is then disappointed when, surprisingly, a detailed high res photo of him on the HMAS Leeuwin Base doesn't instantly appear in front of his eyes. "You have to be more specific, but not too specific." "What?" "Also try spelling correctly." "This is too hard! You do it." "Ha ha ha! No."
So far I've sourced a clutch kit, white short sleeved shirts, a stereo system, a prostate specialist, rare weird Australian vinyl records, how to identify skin cancers, and the Carnarvon coast fish chart. I'll never have to buy my own drinks in Meeka ever again.
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