I just got back from visiting my Uncle. We all went for dinner at the house he bought in Courtenay. Now if you've ever gone to someone's home for the first time after they've bought it, you have to take "the tour". They could have bought it five years ago but if you've never been there before, the minute you step foot in that house, you have to see every fucking room and corner of it. What a crock of shit. "Look at our basement, look at our garage, this door goes outside, now look at all our fucking property." All I hear is "Look what I can afford. Look at my spouse. You must assume I have a great job. Look at what my money can buy, look at what an adult I am." Whatever.

The last time I saw my Uncle was at my cousin's house three months before. He drank my vodka without asking. So when I visited him last night, I drank his entire bottle of Malibu rum. Fuck him.

 I couldn't go to sleep because I was getting the spins when I closed my eyes. I flipped on the tv and it was on a cable news channel from the States. On the screen were bright red letters spelling BREAKING NEWS and in the top right corner was the word LIVE. A proper woman in a taupe-coloured pants suit was interviewing an odd-looking girl and behind the two women, you could see the charred black remnants of what was probably a house. The girl wouldn't have been so strange looking had you seen her in the mall or walking down Granville, but next to the professionally primped, blonde bobbed interviewer, she looked like an escaped asylum inmate. Her choppy, raven-black haircut was probably done by a friend in some basement salon but it wouldn't have surprised me if it was done by a child with safety scissors.  She had more metal rings in her face than I was capable of counting in my state of inebriation. Her dark eye makeup was running down her face on beads of sweat, which was understandably odd since she was being interviewed on a major network. Why didn't someone fix this chick's makeup before putting her on television? I turned up the volume and listened to the woman introduce and question the creature standing next to her.

  "I'm here in Buffalo, New York with a story about a young woman who is being acclaimed as a hero for saving her neighbour Gloria Steban from a devastating house fire just one hour ago. That young woman is Camilla..." The interviewer leaned towards the left ear of the girl and whispered, "What's your last name, dear? It isn't showing up on the teleprompter..."
  "It's just Camilla. I don't want my last name on tv." The girl's lips burst the words out with force. She obviously did not want to be on television whatsoever. The interviewer shifted uncomfortably following the girl's remark, then turned to the camera and continued with her story..
  "Right... Camilla here lived in the basement suite of the property that once stood directly behind me. As you can see, the home is burnt to a rubble, and the cause of the fire is yet to be known. Police are on the scene and have implicated that this fire may be the product of an arsonist who has been ravaging this area, this being the fourth fire in three months. Gloria Steban lived on the ground floor of the home and was trapped in her bedroom as the fire consumed the house. As Camilla rushed out of the house, she fought through flames and debris to save her terrified neighbour from certain death. Now Camilla, America wants to know how you mustered up the courage to march your way through a nightmarish inferno to save a woman's life? I assume you're very good friends with Ms Steban."
  The interviewer faced Camilla in anticipation of her response. She had lit a cigarette and was casually smoking throughout the interviewer's introduction. The woman was visibly unnerved by Camilla's cavalier air.
  "No, I'm not. I'm not courageous either, it was really more out of sheer annoyance that I beat my way onto her floor to get her out and to quit her incessant screaming."
  The interviewer gawked at the girl, with her mouth wide open. She half-expected the girl to giggle and explain it was a joke, but her face didn't crack. Then she wondered if maybe this girl was just as insane as she looked.
  "Interesting. I contend you must indeed have a great deal of bravery for risking your life to save a woman you don't know so well. We need more heros like you in this world."
  Camilla exhaled her drag of smoke into the interviewer's face and answered again.
  "Lady, I ain't a hero. Her shrieking was aggravating me. I got her out of there so she'd shut her goddamn mouth." Camilla pulled in another breath of her cigarette and puffed it out towards the sky. "I really would have let the bitch burn."
  By this point, the interviewer was overflowing with agitation and could barely formulate a proper response to the girl's curt revelation. Who does this little cunt think she is? Is she goddamn retarded? The woman wanted to grab Camilla by the throat and scream "Listen, you ungrateful bitch, I'm here at 1am to do this bloody story so the least you could do is not swear on my live newscast."
  But the camera was still rolling and as I watched the wheels turn in the woman's head she said "I'm sorry Camilla, that's all the time we had for this story. Thank you for fulfilling your duty as a member of the humankind. Good night America." Camilla had turned on her heel and started walking away before the interviewer had even finished closing her bewildering segment. A sullen exclamation of "Fuck off" was the last thing heard from Camilla before the view went dark and a coloured test pattern appeared on the screen.

  I didn't even bother checking what else might have been on tv. I shut it off and closed my eyes to see that the spins had gone away. I kept them closed and before I drifted off to sleep I decided that if I were ever caught in a house fire, I would not save anyone but myself.