Bill had been awake since six in the evening the previous day. He had laid on his couch listening to the radio, it was tuned in to gold one-o-four-point-three. As he lay in bed, he thought about different things. One of those things was the fact that he had applied for a job with the military just recently and because of that, he had to get his shit together. He did not know how long it was going to take him to get his shit together, but he would eventually. And he had to do that before his due appointment with the conscription services.

As he listened to the radio it rolled on into the early hours of morning. As he listened in he heard the story of P-Diddy, the famous rapper who was going through a lawsuit from his chef. That chef was going to sue him for the act of eating food during intercourse. It was not that the food eaten was during intercourse, well, it may very well have been. But the chef was the one serving the food and that was why she was suing the P-Diddy. There was some discussion on the radio about the event. This was the late hours, or very early morning, Bill forgot what time it was exactly. They took in callers to see if anyone ate food during the act of intercourse. And although Bill knew someone who personally did, an old friend of his, nobody called in to admit to the act. Instead what they got was some guy reporting that he had just experienced early morning intercourse. Which was all very well for him. Bill thought about the lucky bastard. That lucky bastard had just had sex. That lucky bastard.

Bill continued to listen to the radio. Every so often he would go outside and smoke a cigarette. That coupled with a can of coke or cup of coffee. The tunes kept on rolling through. They had already announced that the song that would be played was going to be a song by Icehouse, but he didn’t know which one. So holding his genitals to keep his hands warm beneath blankets because of the cold that was outside, he listened to the radio attentively. And then the song played. It was ‘Electric Blue’ by Icehouse. It was played at the approximate time of eight twenty in the morning.

He continued to listen to the radio. Various tunes continued to play. Most of which he enjoyed. It was the golden station, all of the hits had been correlated to this one station. Even these little coincidences began to appear with the little coincidences of the golden song hits all being aligned to the same radio station. Ehh… Probably not much of coincidence, considering that whatever’s popular sells. And it was a popular radio station.

Then they played another Icehouse song. It was not the same one. Some lyrics about driving people crazy or something. As most people would be driven crazy with the thoughts that Bill professed. He thought about it… Thought about it… He was like a chalice. A man who desired nothing more than to serve and the compounding of narrative into the written word. Some of his thoughts… They were bizarre as he continued to listen into the radio station. Money, money would probably ruin him. Make him like all of those other corrupt motherfuckers out there. At this point of time he was pure. Or as pure as one can be, he had lost his virginity to a single mother by the same name as his own mother. Which was an abstract fact not taken into account considering the likelihood of his innocence. But yes, money would probably ruin him for all of his charms. But god damn it, he needed this money to pay back his university hecs fees!

After a while. At about twelve thirty in the afternoon they played the song ‘Electric Blue’ by Icehouse for the second time. Bill had listened to the song previously so that he could time his call into the ending of the song. What he didn’t know was that he was calling the reception of the radio station and not the call line. But luckily enough for him the phone system of the radio station exploded. He frantically tried to call the reception of the radio station over and over again. Simultaneously other people were calling phones. Everyone throughout Melbourne wanted to win the ten grand.

That is when Bill went outside. There was a painter painting the apartment. The painter asked him if he could paint the back door of his apartment. To which Bill said, “Not yet.” That is when he recognized that a synchronicity might be occurring within the universal equation. If he replied to the painter, ‘not yet’, perhaps he was commentating on the fact that he should not call yet. It is then that Bill realized that this poor painter was just the same as the poor chaps in the I.T department of the radio station. Working feverishly on a task. Bill still didn’t realize that he was calling the reception of the radio station. So he began to time his calls with the painter’s work. Recognizing that once the painter had finished painting for the day, that is when the call could be made. Then it happened. The painter had finished painting the ceiling of the apartment just outside Bill’s front door. So Bill called the radio station. This time he got through. Hell yeah! He got through alright, but it was just the reception. Bill was a stupid bastard who had thought he was calling the radio station. The poor stupid bastard.

So he went and commentated to the painter that he had gotten through. Perhaps he was a simple man, this painter, or some reclusive genius who knew what he was talking about. Bill followed the painter auspiciously, tracking his movements. For he knew that when the painter was finished painting the house, the world would go through some sort of internal epiphany. He talked to the painter about his life, his adventures and what-not.

And then they announced on the radio that the competition would be discontinued. Then Bill thought one thing to himself, ‘What the fark was he thinking, what sort of madness possessed him in those moments to think like that?’

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