So I've got a three-day weekend coming up, and my tax return has just come through...

Bad.

Boredom + Matty + Money = Bad.

Or tequila.

I'm the only person I know who actually likes the taste of tequila.

Dunno why.

Dunno why I call myself 'Matty' on GA, either.

Nobody calls me Matty.

Well, that's not true.

Nobodies call me Matty.

Case in point: Chicks who want me to do something.

Heyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyy Matty, could I ask a favour?

Matty, would you be able to grab that box down for me?

Matty, could you grab me some paper for the copier?

Mattttttttttttttttyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyy...

You get the drift.

Tokyo Drift.

That movie's great... on mute.

Now it's raining outside.

And I'm listening to Yellowcard.

And I think I've got a crush on Sebastian Vettel. He's younger than I am, and he races in Formula 1.

What the f**k.

Since when were professional sportspeople younger than I am?

God, I feel old.

Just got a text from my shooting guard, too. He's like the little brother I never had. Just wanted to let me know that his other team lost, but he nailed two three-pointers in a row at the end of the game. Sounds inconsequential, but I'm so proud of the kid. Barely had the confidence to even put a shot up at the start of the season. Now he's my best player and the team's 14-0. I think I'll name him MVP at the end of the season. He'll love that.

I think he'll cry when we win the grand final in four weeks, too. I'll probably cry right along with him, to be honest. There'll be hugs. There'll be high-fives.

There'll probably even be McDonalds after the game.

Nothing says 'WINNER' like a 50c cone, no?

I could go one right now, actually...