Introductions

Hi, my name is Larry and I’m from Somewhere, Wisconsin. I’m a mirage manufacturer and am generally responsible for all those things you thought you saw. Mostly it’s just sand and heat vapor. Can do a lot of things with sand and heat vapor. A lot of lizards.

You can call me Shazza, but my name is Ian. Or was it Shannon? Maybe Horatio-Martin Gomez? No, that’s not right. Um. I think my name is Marianne. But, then, it could be Ophelia. Anyway, as I said, just call me The Truth. I specialise in the procurement and establishment of white lies. We want to make everyone feel better about themselves. You can find me and my office in Frankston. Or was it Salt Lake City?

Hello, I am Arnold. My day-to-day is mostly concerned with being a planet in my hometown, Cambelltown. I like to sit around and slowly orbit. Sometimes, other people just come up to me and, like, walk around me. It’s a grouse gig.

Hi. Paul. I fill in for Atlas when Atlas needs to shrug. When I’m not there he’ll just shrug anyway. When Atlas shrugs there are earthquakes. It’s an important job.

This is That. That this is That is this that is. That then finds this, though this isn’t That but that. This That is also that.

I am Jill from the Riversdale. I am the lady who pretends to be Colonel Sanders at your local and Audrey Hepburn at the international. A white moustache is an excellent tool in the performance trade. Also, I serve as the final warning before the digestion of fried scallops. Chicken? Fucking excellent. Especially when served with the stars seen out a grease misted car window.

Hello, you can call me Gertrude. I’m from Hawthorn. Maybe Vegas? Or Paris? Maybe Paris in Vegas? I am, essentially, everyone’s ex called Stacy or Bruce.

You may refer to me as The Prodigy Arthur. My job is to be the drunken French boat when the bar’s anchor has slipped and we start drifting towards the Peninsulas. I ain’t a great helmsmen, but hell if fun isn’t had by all when I pull out the Genie and no one gets a wish, yet we all feel touched.

G’day, I’m his Coy Mistress. My place of rest is over there. I don’t really have a job—too coy, you see. I do enjoy finding Rubies in the Ganges, though, and I am certainly partial to wishfully thinking about having more time just so you can longingly stare at my breasts for at least 200 years. One day, I think I would like to own an am’rous bird of prey.

Hello, Prendergast. I am a butler to poets. I am from wherever they dwell. I don’t get paid much and no one really understands my value. I mostly clean their toilets. However, I like to think that I am the muse—the flash of inspiration before every word—even though it is more likely that I am only the angel readying the vessel for their duende moment. I am an angel who cleans toilets while singing about the imminent presence of death. Some have called me annoying. Others just fire me.

My name is David. I am a PhD student. I am a Dick, or maybe a dick.