I am in Amed (the place, not the bloke)

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If going from Legian to Ubud was like travelling to a different world, going from Ubud to Amed was like going back in time. This place is right over the other side of Bali and is as quiet as a pervert in a toilet block. There’s no nightclubs or shops full of Bintang singlets, and it’s even lacking in long-haired hippies who are probably the offspring of rich bankers, and who will go on to become rich banker themselves when their little Asian adventure is over.

Well, either bankers or something that rhymes with it.

And I’m out here on the quietest beach in Amed, 10km from where my minibus dropped everyone else. And you know what? I wouldn’t have it any other way. As I write this I’m lying on a bed on a balcony, with a 180-degree over the ocean, which laps at the shore about five metres from where I lay. The moon’s shining down and there’s no noise from traffic (because there is none) and no noise from other guests (because there aren’t any). There’s not even an internet connection at this place. If this entry even goes through, it’s because I got talking to a lovely bloke up the road named Putu, who invited me to use his wifi connection. He also served me beer in a wine glass – choice!

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I spent the afternoon reading and napping and snorkelling, and plan to spend tomorrow doing much the same (as well as trekking six kilometres to get some money, because fuckhead here forgot to grab any before coming out here to the edge of the world).

But the most gob-smacking part of the day came during the trip out here. No, I wasn’t wanked off by a midget, I was bored and so started playing a very strange Mega Drive game named Combat Cars on my phone.

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It’s a Micro Machines clone set during the apocalypse, and the characters… well, fuck me, check them out.

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I’m pretty sure this is the first game to allow you to play as a retarded person. Seriously, with an IQ of 21, ol’ Mekmac would struggle to not shit in his own shoe, never mind compete in some rocket-powered futuristic grand prix.

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As if the green hair, pointy ears and stern, other-worldy stare don’t give it away, Andrew’s actual last name is Alien. That’s like Josh Thomas being known as Josh Fuckwit, or Bill Shorten being known as Bill Never Going To Be Prime Minister Because He’s A Cunt. And no wonder old Andy’s got a frown – the poor bastard doesn’t even have a dick!

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I can just imagine the makers of Combat Cars sitting around deciding what characters should be in the game. “Y’know what our target market of teenage boys like?” one ponytailed fuckstick probably said. “Cyborgs, aliens, bloodthirsty werewolf-like creatures and fat bitches with afroswho have spent the majority of their lives eating Doritos while watching Family Feud and dreaming of getting boned by Denzel Washington.”

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I’m pretty sure that’s meant to say that she’s an expert at blowing men.

So, yeah. Amed, fucking top place. Combat Cars, fucking shit game made of AIDS.

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