I'm glad I don't write a 'Dear Abby' advice column because then even the birthday song becomes a request for advice:
'Happy birthday to you, happy birthday to you, happy birthday Dear Abby'
'Wait wait wait, seriously you’re going to throw one of those at me now? Give me a break for fucks sake, how dare you try to make me work in the middle of my birthday song!''
'No no, it’s nothing, it's just the song'
‘Oh it’s just the song, it’s just the song, now help me, right?
‘No, not at all’
'So why do you have to include ‘Dear Abby’? It's supposed to be my day off!'
'That’s just how it goes, I swear, everyone gets 'dear' and then their name’
‘So you're saying everyone is trying to take my job now, ‘Dear Steve’, ‘Dear Phillip’, ‘Dear Dramquilla’ and you're telling me this on my birthday, very classy, thank you, and I'll remember this every year too, because you told me during my birthday song, thanks a lot you cunt'
'Um Abby? Are you sure you're qualified to give 'advice' to people?'
No sir, not for me one little bit. I guess what I am really asking is this - is your name really ‘Expert’?
Thursday, January 19, 2012
Thursday, January 5, 2012
Some very good advice
On how to….. Wait for the excitement….. Fix a fridge!
Cricket, for those who don't know, is an awesome game. In its best variety, known as ‘test cricket’, a match lasts for five days. Some of the awesome elements included in this sport during these five days are:
- Long periods where seemingly nothing happens
- Heavy drama that to many looks like people just standing around
- The daily tea break
- Ducks (seriously)
- A player position known as ‘silly mid off’ (also ‘silly mid on’!)
- Another known as ‘the night watchman’ (that sounds like a superhero!)
Don’t you just love it? Ha ha, I put a question mark as if you may not!
One way to put it is that if sex is a super fast-paced game that lasts for 90 odd minutes, then test cricket is like spending five days in bed with a beautiful new lover mixing up long periods of cuddling and staring into each others eyes with regular unplanned moments of passion. Plus cool helmets.
A less erotic (and therefore less awesome) way to describe cricket is that it’s just like baseball only with way different rules and tactics and with way cooler helmets (cricket ones have face masks!)
So you can imagine my frustration, anger and desire to rip heads off little girls dollies when yesterday I was lying in bed, alone, watching the cricket, smack bang during one of the mesmerizing long period of seemingly nothing happening, when abruptly my electricity went out! NOOOOOOOOOOOOO.
First thing first - locate the problem (some of you may have already guessed that it will end up being the fridge). I made a quick guess that it was probably the fridge, but only after I had made sure that no power points were overloaded, that nothing was on fire, that I had scratched my head until I had blood under my fingernails, and had looked around. Looking around of course being a euphemism for fifty times looking past your houseguest's chest who is wearing a see-through singlet and no bra, all the while pretending to be checking all the lights and appliances that are located behind her. And eventually making the discovery that her breasts are lovely and your other houseguest has actually checked the appliances, and god bless braless boobs in see-through singlets. That may in fact be the best sentence in the English language.
Note to self: write a book named ‘god bless braless boobs in see-though singlets’.
Having played around with the fuse box (note to self: next time don’t use a wet coat hanger) I came to the expert opinion that the problem was either the fridge or some other unknown problem. I had to pull the fridge out of its cupboard to confirm; horribly this required finding screwdriver.
If you're like me you have several tools in your house, consisting of a tool set given as a gift ten years ago that is always missing the exact parts you need for whatever you need to fix, and a screw driver you've had since stealing it from your dad 22 years ago to fix a skateboard.
I have a special 'tool draw' where I personally put the tools after every use, so my tool draw was full of plastic bags, light bulbs for lights I no longer own, and indistinguishable bits of moldy food scraps that I’ve been promising to clean out for years and will eventually do so the day I ultimately decide to sell the place, upon when I’ll think 'that's much better, I should have cleaned that 17 years ago'.
I found the toolbox in the spice cupboard and went to grab the screwdriver set. Last time I needed tools the much-needed wrench was missing from my toolbox but it was back today, laying uncomfortably in the spot the much needed screwdriver should have been. The other screwdriver was discovered after literally a five-hour search, conveniently in the cutlery draw under 12 forks.
It was finally time to unplug the fridge and it turns out (and this may surprise some of you) but it WAS the fridge that was the problem. It is now sitting on my balcony and I am hoping that it drying out may stop what ever was shorting out the electricity. It’s the best repair idea I can come up with.
The lessons are:
- I probably need a new fridge
- This cricket game is going along awesomely but
- I would actually prefer five days in bed with a new lover
Cricket, for those who don't know, is an awesome game. In its best variety, known as ‘test cricket’, a match lasts for five days. Some of the awesome elements included in this sport during these five days are:
- Long periods where seemingly nothing happens
- Heavy drama that to many looks like people just standing around
- The daily tea break
- Ducks (seriously)
- A player position known as ‘silly mid off’ (also ‘silly mid on’!)
- Another known as ‘the night watchman’ (that sounds like a superhero!)
Don’t you just love it? Ha ha, I put a question mark as if you may not!
One way to put it is that if sex is a super fast-paced game that lasts for 90 odd minutes, then test cricket is like spending five days in bed with a beautiful new lover mixing up long periods of cuddling and staring into each others eyes with regular unplanned moments of passion. Plus cool helmets.
A less erotic (and therefore less awesome) way to describe cricket is that it’s just like baseball only with way different rules and tactics and with way cooler helmets (cricket ones have face masks!)
So you can imagine my frustration, anger and desire to rip heads off little girls dollies when yesterday I was lying in bed, alone, watching the cricket, smack bang during one of the mesmerizing long period of seemingly nothing happening, when abruptly my electricity went out! NOOOOOOOOOOOOO.
First thing first - locate the problem (some of you may have already guessed that it will end up being the fridge). I made a quick guess that it was probably the fridge, but only after I had made sure that no power points were overloaded, that nothing was on fire, that I had scratched my head until I had blood under my fingernails, and had looked around. Looking around of course being a euphemism for fifty times looking past your houseguest's chest who is wearing a see-through singlet and no bra, all the while pretending to be checking all the lights and appliances that are located behind her. And eventually making the discovery that her breasts are lovely and your other houseguest has actually checked the appliances, and god bless braless boobs in see-through singlets. That may in fact be the best sentence in the English language.
Note to self: write a book named ‘god bless braless boobs in see-though singlets’.
Having played around with the fuse box (note to self: next time don’t use a wet coat hanger) I came to the expert opinion that the problem was either the fridge or some other unknown problem. I had to pull the fridge out of its cupboard to confirm; horribly this required finding screwdriver.
If you're like me you have several tools in your house, consisting of a tool set given as a gift ten years ago that is always missing the exact parts you need for whatever you need to fix, and a screw driver you've had since stealing it from your dad 22 years ago to fix a skateboard.
I have a special 'tool draw' where I personally put the tools after every use, so my tool draw was full of plastic bags, light bulbs for lights I no longer own, and indistinguishable bits of moldy food scraps that I’ve been promising to clean out for years and will eventually do so the day I ultimately decide to sell the place, upon when I’ll think 'that's much better, I should have cleaned that 17 years ago'.
I found the toolbox in the spice cupboard and went to grab the screwdriver set. Last time I needed tools the much-needed wrench was missing from my toolbox but it was back today, laying uncomfortably in the spot the much needed screwdriver should have been. The other screwdriver was discovered after literally a five-hour search, conveniently in the cutlery draw under 12 forks.
It was finally time to unplug the fridge and it turns out (and this may surprise some of you) but it WAS the fridge that was the problem. It is now sitting on my balcony and I am hoping that it drying out may stop what ever was shorting out the electricity. It’s the best repair idea I can come up with.
The lessons are:
- I probably need a new fridge
- This cricket game is going along awesomely but
- I would actually prefer five days in bed with a new lover
Tuesday, January 3, 2012
For need
I'm feeling perfect
Like a horrible concoction of lies
My glass full of past mistakes
The tambourine in rhythm
Yet not my hand clapping
Where has all my effort gone
A deception of my long planned undoing
I need nourishment for my truth
A positivity revolution
Just jam
Sing in my alcohol taunting voice
Any distraction from reality please
And listen to the ruthless crunch of insanity
At least I'm not a hypocrite
Just another thing I hate myself for
As always
Forever
My own regrettable choice
Like a horrible concoction of lies
My glass full of past mistakes
The tambourine in rhythm
Yet not my hand clapping
Where has all my effort gone
A deception of my long planned undoing
I need nourishment for my truth
A positivity revolution
Just jam
Sing in my alcohol taunting voice
Any distraction from reality please
And listen to the ruthless crunch of insanity
At least I'm not a hypocrite
Just another thing I hate myself for
As always
Forever
My own regrettable choice
Friday, December 16, 2011
Sleep tight your filthy motherfuckers
‘Sleep tight’ I said to her ‘unless you’re cool like me, in which case sleep loose mo-fo’
‘What are you calling me a slut?’ She angrily responded
‘At what point did I say slut?’
‘You called me loose?’
‘No I didn’t, I was making a joke, and also the word loose does not necessarily connote the vagina’
‘Oh now calling girls a slut is a joke to you?’
‘Yes that’s exactly what I said, and it is a joke, and it can be a funny joke in the right circumstances, but that was not the joke at all, the joke was that most people say sleep tight and I wanted to say the opposite, hence the wonderful joke sleep loose…. Mo-fo, which, you know, is short for motherfucker, but more…. Hip’
‘So I am a slutty motherfucker now?’
‘Yes, yes, ok I will allow it, you are a slutty motherfucker’
‘Well thanks for fucking being honest’
‘You’re welcome’
It was the best hang gliding trip ever. Fucking hang gliding.
‘What are you calling me a slut?’ She angrily responded
‘At what point did I say slut?’
‘You called me loose?’
‘No I didn’t, I was making a joke, and also the word loose does not necessarily connote the vagina’
‘Oh now calling girls a slut is a joke to you?’
‘Yes that’s exactly what I said, and it is a joke, and it can be a funny joke in the right circumstances, but that was not the joke at all, the joke was that most people say sleep tight and I wanted to say the opposite, hence the wonderful joke sleep loose…. Mo-fo, which, you know, is short for motherfucker, but more…. Hip’
‘So I am a slutty motherfucker now?’
‘Yes, yes, ok I will allow it, you are a slutty motherfucker’
‘Well thanks for fucking being honest’
‘You’re welcome’
It was the best hang gliding trip ever. Fucking hang gliding.
Thursday, December 8, 2011
How sickening!
Oh my god people, OH MY GOD, I don’t want to alarm you, but…….
I’ve got the flu!!!!
Well, or a cold, or you know a pandemic of phlegm emergent bacteria having epic orgies in my nostrils. I can never tell the difference between those three.
Of course this is actually no reason to be glum because being sick is fun! Most people think that having the flu is all bad and reason for tearful concern, but that’s not true, there are in fact lots of positives. Such as:
- Microscopic bacteria are breeding rapidly using my nose hair as a filthy swingerclub cum stained bed, which makes up for any of my own sexual inefficiencies.
- There are still idiots who think you get the flu from being cold so it's fun to pump the heat and ask if you can breathe on their face? 'Sure - I'm not cold', ‘really, ha ha, bloooooooowwwww’
- Coughed up phlegm has an awesome way of oozing towards the sinkhole that is always fascinating and wildly satisfying to observe. And
- You can have epic masturbation marathons, throwing the used tissues about the room with gay abandon, and far from being disgusted your roommates will merely feel sympathy for your endless discomfort.
Hooray!
It's not all fun though. Awww, I know just after I proved it was. Fuck I am a disappointment.
I know this is going to bring up some bad memories, because it happens to all of you all the time too, but there is the annoyance that the good medicines are now kept behind the counter at the pharmacy because scum bags buy them to make meth to sell to school children, and if as a guy with long hair you even attempt to purchase these you will be treated like a child killer. Yep malelonghairism, one of the most roaring forms of prejudice plaguing the world at the moment. With the well known hate group slogan of ‘I don’t hate men, I just think if they have long hair they kill children, and probably are a little greasy and therefore don’t deserve the good cold medicine’. HEY HATE GROUP – that’s not a catchy slogan, so suck on that for an insult.
I've tried everything to convince them that I am sick enough to warrant the pills I used to be able to buy when I was twelve with no questions asked. I’ve tried telling the truth, I have tried making up symptoms so my cold seems worse, I have tried taking used tissues into the pharmacy to prove I'm sick but all three of those ideas gets the same response - 'get your disgusting seamen away from me'. And for some weird reason I get the same response when I make up symptoms at the sperm bank. Another obvious flaw with having the flu is that you find yourself talking too much about your bodily fluids. Stupid disease.
But I'm not complaining instead I'm hopped up on an overdose of crappy over the counter meds and using my extra time in bed to study bacteria mating habits, and writing better malelonghairism slogans:
- Not as neat as it could be
- Gel wasters
- Now how can I tell if my wife cheated on me with a dude or a girl just by the foreign hairs I find in our bed?
- Ha ha wind hates you
Hell yeah if I ever go bald and turn on my own kind I am SET!
I’ve got the flu!!!!
Well, or a cold, or you know a pandemic of phlegm emergent bacteria having epic orgies in my nostrils. I can never tell the difference between those three.
Of course this is actually no reason to be glum because being sick is fun! Most people think that having the flu is all bad and reason for tearful concern, but that’s not true, there are in fact lots of positives. Such as:
- Microscopic bacteria are breeding rapidly using my nose hair as a filthy swingerclub cum stained bed, which makes up for any of my own sexual inefficiencies.
- There are still idiots who think you get the flu from being cold so it's fun to pump the heat and ask if you can breathe on their face? 'Sure - I'm not cold', ‘really, ha ha, bloooooooowwwww’
- Coughed up phlegm has an awesome way of oozing towards the sinkhole that is always fascinating and wildly satisfying to observe. And
- You can have epic masturbation marathons, throwing the used tissues about the room with gay abandon, and far from being disgusted your roommates will merely feel sympathy for your endless discomfort.
Hooray!
It's not all fun though. Awww, I know just after I proved it was. Fuck I am a disappointment.
I know this is going to bring up some bad memories, because it happens to all of you all the time too, but there is the annoyance that the good medicines are now kept behind the counter at the pharmacy because scum bags buy them to make meth to sell to school children, and if as a guy with long hair you even attempt to purchase these you will be treated like a child killer. Yep malelonghairism, one of the most roaring forms of prejudice plaguing the world at the moment. With the well known hate group slogan of ‘I don’t hate men, I just think if they have long hair they kill children, and probably are a little greasy and therefore don’t deserve the good cold medicine’. HEY HATE GROUP – that’s not a catchy slogan, so suck on that for an insult.
I've tried everything to convince them that I am sick enough to warrant the pills I used to be able to buy when I was twelve with no questions asked. I’ve tried telling the truth, I have tried making up symptoms so my cold seems worse, I have tried taking used tissues into the pharmacy to prove I'm sick but all three of those ideas gets the same response - 'get your disgusting seamen away from me'. And for some weird reason I get the same response when I make up symptoms at the sperm bank. Another obvious flaw with having the flu is that you find yourself talking too much about your bodily fluids. Stupid disease.
But I'm not complaining instead I'm hopped up on an overdose of crappy over the counter meds and using my extra time in bed to study bacteria mating habits, and writing better malelonghairism slogans:
- Not as neat as it could be
- Gel wasters
- Now how can I tell if my wife cheated on me with a dude or a girl just by the foreign hairs I find in our bed?
- Ha ha wind hates you
Hell yeah if I ever go bald and turn on my own kind I am SET!
Tuesday, December 6, 2011
335am I must be glowing
I haven't blogged much recently. I have been traveling, I have been writing a novel again for the first time in a few years and being reminded that I am not happy unless I am writing a novel, even if no one will ever read them.
It is the middle of the night and I am an epic age from sleeping, and I dont care that, that makes no sense.
I feel like it is time for me to start getting back to being honest, writing what's on my mind, and not caring so much if what I write is funny, or original, or so weird that it counts as art in my strange mind.
I have started fantasizing about being in a relationship again. This despite those being a rare find for me, a desperately painful and frustrating thing to maintain and a guaranteed angrily broken heart at the end. As usual the stories my friends share with me about relationships they are in and those they hear about are 100% stories of things that I can't help but feel would make me want to murder someone, most likely myself, yet I am finding myself thinking 'I could put up with that'. I am nothing but a hopeless romantic.
'I miss having someone to be pathetically sweet too' I thought moments ago.
'She's already had a proper sex life, I could never be with someone who has had that when I haven't' I thought moments ago.
I want to be more honest in my writing.
I spend way too much time on internet dating sights these days.
I am going to publish my book 'the embarrassing memory murderer' about my endless life of humiliation some way or another in the next few months and oh my god is that going to open eyes to a life like mine. Yet do I really want people to know the truth?
I have thirteen minutes of battery on this laptop left, I need to publish post soon or get mad at myself for constantly telling myself what I want to do more of yet never do.
Yes I do want people to know the truth, but is it going to be cathartic or an exercise in narcissism?
I am moving to Canada, is this right?
Perhaps, but perhaps not. I want the odd 'yes' in my life please.
I have just renovated my apartment and it is brilliant, but it is not leaving me with the desire to stay. I think this is good. I want to chase dreams fearless again.
I am now on reserve battery power. I can't be fucked to get my charger. I can't sleep. I can't be fucked to hook up the DVD player on my new TV so I have something to watch. I want to read but it makes me want to write and I can't write if my computer is out of battery.
I want to have a girlfriend asleep next o me to watch breathing and cuddle for warmth and affection. If I have a girlfriend I can't move to Canada unless I take her with me. If she can come she is probably not pursuing her own passions. I could never date someone like that. If I stay for a girl then I am someone like that.
Now it's six minutes. This blog may not cure all my doubts and fears after all. Maybe I should have worked on my new novel instead of writing this. No one will ever read those anyway and that is too horrific to imagine. I wish I had time to edit this, I know there will be something I regret.
Hey maybe I will end up with a humiliating story I can write about in a future non-fiction book. Humiliation is awesome for a writer. .
Three minutes left.
I want to get more honest in my blogging.
I hope I can find a girl to start my proper sex life with.
If she is anything like the girlfriends I hear about we're all fucked.
I dont like this as an ending but now time.
It is the middle of the night and I am an epic age from sleeping, and I dont care that, that makes no sense.
I feel like it is time for me to start getting back to being honest, writing what's on my mind, and not caring so much if what I write is funny, or original, or so weird that it counts as art in my strange mind.
I have started fantasizing about being in a relationship again. This despite those being a rare find for me, a desperately painful and frustrating thing to maintain and a guaranteed angrily broken heart at the end. As usual the stories my friends share with me about relationships they are in and those they hear about are 100% stories of things that I can't help but feel would make me want to murder someone, most likely myself, yet I am finding myself thinking 'I could put up with that'. I am nothing but a hopeless romantic.
'I miss having someone to be pathetically sweet too' I thought moments ago.
'She's already had a proper sex life, I could never be with someone who has had that when I haven't' I thought moments ago.
I want to be more honest in my writing.
I spend way too much time on internet dating sights these days.
I am going to publish my book 'the embarrassing memory murderer' about my endless life of humiliation some way or another in the next few months and oh my god is that going to open eyes to a life like mine. Yet do I really want people to know the truth?
I have thirteen minutes of battery on this laptop left, I need to publish post soon or get mad at myself for constantly telling myself what I want to do more of yet never do.
Yes I do want people to know the truth, but is it going to be cathartic or an exercise in narcissism?
I am moving to Canada, is this right?
Perhaps, but perhaps not. I want the odd 'yes' in my life please.
I have just renovated my apartment and it is brilliant, but it is not leaving me with the desire to stay. I think this is good. I want to chase dreams fearless again.
I am now on reserve battery power. I can't be fucked to get my charger. I can't sleep. I can't be fucked to hook up the DVD player on my new TV so I have something to watch. I want to read but it makes me want to write and I can't write if my computer is out of battery.
I want to have a girlfriend asleep next o me to watch breathing and cuddle for warmth and affection. If I have a girlfriend I can't move to Canada unless I take her with me. If she can come she is probably not pursuing her own passions. I could never date someone like that. If I stay for a girl then I am someone like that.
Now it's six minutes. This blog may not cure all my doubts and fears after all. Maybe I should have worked on my new novel instead of writing this. No one will ever read those anyway and that is too horrific to imagine. I wish I had time to edit this, I know there will be something I regret.
Hey maybe I will end up with a humiliating story I can write about in a future non-fiction book. Humiliation is awesome for a writer. .
Three minutes left.
I want to get more honest in my blogging.
I hope I can find a girl to start my proper sex life with.
If she is anything like the girlfriends I hear about we're all fucked.
I dont like this as an ending but now time.
Tuesday, November 15, 2011
This is one of THOSE blogs - Asia
You know the ones, where your blogger blogs about stuff he or she is up and he or she happens to be out on one of his or her regular adventures and instead of telling you about all the awesome stuff he or she is up to he or she instead is all about weird shit? We all know THOSE blogs.
Here is some weird stuff I saw on just one single day in a small Taiwanese fishing village.
- They had skin care products named after the horrifically plastic surgery deformed Australian minor celebrity for a long ago reality show and banging a rock star – Sophie Monk. Are you kidding me? Tag line – ‘you too could look deformed’.
- They had KKK brand white fungus drink – tag line ‘Sophie Monk is white so we won’t bash her, but man she looks deformed’.
- I saw a dog wearing a diaper/ nappy. Tag line – ‘For the owner who wants to show their love with cruel selfishness’. That would make some mean deformed dog poo
- They have a condom design named ‘hard shell’ – tag line ‘for when you really, really don’t want to feel it’ but if your banging Sophie Monk I recommend shoving them in your eyes.
Wow, Taiwan is full of awesome and amazingly friendly people, but they sure are mean about that Sophie Monk. Although I don't blame them, she is pretty deformed.
Here is some weird stuff I saw on just one single day in a small Taiwanese fishing village.
- They had skin care products named after the horrifically plastic surgery deformed Australian minor celebrity for a long ago reality show and banging a rock star – Sophie Monk. Are you kidding me? Tag line – ‘you too could look deformed’.
- They had KKK brand white fungus drink – tag line ‘Sophie Monk is white so we won’t bash her, but man she looks deformed’.
- I saw a dog wearing a diaper/ nappy. Tag line – ‘For the owner who wants to show their love with cruel selfishness’. That would make some mean deformed dog poo
- They have a condom design named ‘hard shell’ – tag line ‘for when you really, really don’t want to feel it’ but if your banging Sophie Monk I recommend shoving them in your eyes.
Wow, Taiwan is full of awesome and amazingly friendly people, but they sure are mean about that Sophie Monk. Although I don't blame them, she is pretty deformed.
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