From December 1st until December 24th, Scum writers will be building onto this growing story. Check in every day to watch it unfold! Continue reading
Hey all you Scumbags! Welcome to the beginning to the end of 2014!
So, some news: basically, when we started the ol’ Scum Machine, we didn’t really know…anything…about websites. Like…anything. At all. So, eventually we realised we’d need to one day change providers, and since our hosting is up, that time is now! No big deal, and you shouldn’t experience any severe Lack of Scum, but things might look a little funny for a while around here. Think of it as an adventure! Like Lord of the Rings! If on your travels around the site something looks really wrong to you, shoot us an email and we’ll check it out, but we’re already aware of most of the bugs and we’re in the process of sorting it
But, hey, to make it up to you all, we’re bringing you the SCUM MAG ADVENTURE CALENDAR EXPERIENCE™ – meaning that we’ve harassed a bunch of our Scum writers and we’re forcing them to write for you/us! Every day of December from now until the 24th, one writer will add to a building story. Where will it take us? Mordor? Who knows!
Oh, and if you’re in Melbourne, we’re having a little Scum Christmas party on Thursday night. Come on over!
xoxo, Peter Jackson (JUST KIDDING IT’S ACTUALLY THE SCUM TEAM)
I brought you flowers but
they were from the supermarket, unlabeled,
and I couldn’t tell you what they were.
My life has not been extraordinary. I have not suffered outside the realms of the normal human experience. I have only been confronted by grief and loss as we all have or will, and I do not carry heartache with me. Instead, I keep it in a box on my bookshelf, and sometimes late at night when the window is open and the world has stopped its noises I open it. In the moonlight it shines. I cry and this is precious. Continue reading
As the daughter of a police sergeant, going to my first Blue Light Disco was less about unwinding from a long week at my public primary school with a rousing round of line-dancing to Cotton-Eyed Joe, and more about seeing my dad’s friends and colleagues kitted out in their crisp, blue uniforms, adorned with badges, holsters and scowls. These men and women taught me to swim, dressed up as Santa Claus to give me presents at Christmas time and joined my family on the one camping trip we ever took together. But inside the walls of the Gympie Civic Centre, they were terrifying and in charge. Continue reading
Hey men! Have you suddenly discovered a good friend, someone you might even love, has said something awful about women? As a beneficiary of the problem, and despite your innate cowardice, are you obligated to challenge your friend’s attitude (hint: yes)?
More importantly, are you also an inarticulate idiot? If so, wonderful! Come with me as we argue that women are indeed people while navigating the terrifying world that is friendship. And all in the internet-approved format of a chose-your-own-adventure! Continue reading
Oh hey there Scummerinos! If you’ve been keeping up with the Scumdashians on facey, you’ll know that we’ve recently pushed our blue light disco zine out of the birth canal that is Officeworks, and into the world. Continue reading
The underfed fled home on summer break. Invitations leaked out on Facebook. Boosters used words like shindig and soirée. This was a less obvious way of saying party. We were trained to overstate the hint and underestimate the open gesture. Obscurity was in vogue. The truth was yesterday’s newspaper.
I realised I was probably in love with you. It was that day we were all building things at my rambling junk-strewn house, hammering and sanding and painting the chassis of the old trailer that we wanted to fill with tools and use as a mobile bike workshop. Do you remember trying to pry up the splintered lino with a chisel while the sun beat down outside? Later we retired to the porch, cracked tinnies, and watched the chickens mow the front lawn while the gums across the street pinkened in fading light. Continue reading
The thirty of us were sitting in a private dining room at Friday’s Riverside, emptying flutes of Moet et Chandon and licking our plates clean of medium-rare Wagyu steak jus. Floor-to-ceiling glass doors led out to a tiled balcony and mini-bar that overlooked the Brisbane river. It was an early afternoon at the end of semester, a very large tab was poised ready to open at 5:00pm, and we had reached the awards part of the party.