Saturday, February 27, 2010

What do you really want, like really really?

Ahhhh, the question I ask myself four hundred and ninety times a day.

The reality is, that the answer is, to this question is, while the soda does fizz (ok you've lost the rhythm you loser)

I want to use my creativity to do things which have never been done before

To cross over the fine line between cliche and originality

To entertain in the fleeting moment, and ultimately create something which resonates in a way that it will last forever

To be unique

And you know eventually use this to accumulate wealth and sex on demand, or at least have some people say 'ah yeah, that was good en that'

How about you?

Friday, February 26, 2010

Please baby, let me be your elixir

Forgetting, what went on?

In the morning

Don’t let go of me

Flirting with home

Not sure how to make it happen

Can’t be fucked with obstacles anymore

Where is my impulsive possibility?

I know what I don’t want

But I don’t know what I need

There will be happiness

There will be sadness

I will be chasing

But there shall be no elixir for me

Coincidentally on this day that I research the word 'elixir' Kirstie Alley has launched a new weight loss drug which she is calling her 'Elixir' - her perfect cure for fatness.

Ah we can only dream, but I couldn't bring myself to make fun of her for it. I was a fat teenager and still have horribly fluctuating weight, and it's hard.

But in news of more importance, officials have said that recent developments in the war in Afghanistan have caused significant setbacks to both the Taliban and Al-queda

In related news Kirstie Ally's last trip to the buffet officially eradicated an entire breed of pig

Oh damn, what happened? Can I simply not control myself?

By the way, while researching Elixirs I made some surprising and startling discoveries

- Death is now considered the leading cause of chronicle scary no longer living in that alive sense syndrome. If your eight year old daughter is sleeping with a guy named ‘death’ it’s officially time to worry.

- If you have a neighbor with a barky dog, here is what you do. Go to ....Korea...., eat a dog, race home and burp real solidly in the dogs face. It will either stop barking or burp your cat back in your face.

- It turns out in a world where racism is tolerated if you find yourself in a battle to the death with a dragon you MUST have tequila to get it up to pork some slut

- Turns out cuddling a pillow is a poor alternative to the real thing - a sex doll. A girl would be nice too, but you have to be realistic

- Alcoholic snotty tissues doesn’t make them right, unless there are a lot of hard to approach cute girls at the party (this one doesn't even make sense to me, but I trust my research)

- I know its tempting but avoid licking babies burning from artificially created lightening strikes, its dangerous (ahh a return to sanity).

Thursday, February 25, 2010

A TRUE olympic hero!!!!

Now this is what the Olympic spirit is really all about :)

Tuesday, February 23, 2010

Consider the meaning of life – ANSWERED

Find something or someone you love with all your heart and pursue it or them with every fiber of your being.

It doesn’t matter what it is, a hobby, a sport, a girl, a boy (pedophiles have dreams too, boom-tish), and man, a woman, a creative outlet, a desire to find one god damn transsexual willing to sleep with you without then asking for money to put towards her eventual vagina, a game, finally figuring out how solve a rubics cube (you throw it at the head of the tool who bought it, then force them to put it in the trash – solved), figuring out how to un-hook a girls bra (and I don’t mean physically, that’s easy, I mean metaphorically, as in getting into her soul sexually in a way which will have her start inviting other girls into bed with you).

Keep it up till you reach the inevitable point when you discover no matter how hard you try you’ll never manage to have it quite the way you want and need and fantasise about it.

Once you have reached this point it is important to get bitter, and it is key now to form some hate.

It doesn’t matter what you hate, the government, the banks, people who out of all instruments choose to learn the tuba, an ex (in this instance stalking is a must), religion, the colour yellow (especially mustardy yellow), guys who look at their abs in the mirror in public (stabbing is recommended here), hate itself (although this one will send you on a spiral of loathing which will ultimately kill you, so it’s not recommended as a ‘perfect’ meaning of your life, full of adventure? Sure, but perfect no), girls who think having a leathery tan is attractive, people who finish sentences with ‘ya know what I’m sayin’ (stabbing is again recommended, if they are too good a friend to stab then buy them a mustard coloured shirt and guilt trip them into wearing it regularly).

Of course bitterness and hate would be meaningless if they didn’t manifest themselves in some hard core horribly annoying habits. Some that others going through this phase have chosen include – correcting other people’s grammar and spelling, starting dictatorships in third world countries, believing that Julia Roberts is an extremely beautiful and talented actress, faith that its still sensible to wear high heels even while they are making the back of your ankles bleed (although I love to run my hand down a girls sexy shapely leg, sensually slide her heel off her foot, then have a nice chew on that band-aid that’s always back there, before tonguing out the scab like a chocolate chip in ice-cream, mmm sexy), a desire to wake up really early, or a bizarre old lady panty stealing habit.

These are obviously just the most clichĂ© and overused ones. I recommend a more twisted and strange one, like refusing to look at any more bestiality porn, or building a hell yeah good collection of other people’s toe nail clippings (best place to find them is on the bathroom floor behind the toilet).

This is a very important stage, so don’t you even dream of fucking skipping it. This is the meaning of life god damn it, of course some bad bits are required (remember you are using the same body that has you utilising the same parts of your body for sex and urinating, it’s about balance).

After the bitter stage (if your not in jail for stabbing a guy with great abs, or in a secret war with the CIA over the blind eye you turn to drug trafficking in the country you are a dictator of) it’s time now to form a new love or passion, and once again pursue it with every fibre of your being.

Or just start seeing prostitutes regularly.

Both work fine.

Along the way there are two questions you will inevitable ask yourself yet be baffled

by –

1. If I go out wearing no pants and an old man looks at my bits, am I the pervert or is he?
2. Is it really good luck to have a pigeon shit on your head?

The answer to these questions are as follows –

1. Neither, the pervert is a society which has twisted our minds to think that the human body is something to be ashamed of. The only way you can get around this is to walk down the street proudly showing your penis or vagina (depending on which one you have, I recommend having a vagina, its way easier to talk others into playing with those)
2. No, it is however very good luck to have a human randomly shit on your head. Think of the skill it would take, to leap above you in a ninja gymnastic hurdle, while pulling down their pants and projectile shitting with the accuracy to hit you in the head (if they just drop it from a tree it doesn’t count).

Little know facts about the meaning of life –

- Along the way you are going to want to castrate numerous selfish drivers, and your inner monologue will tell you that ultimately this is wrong, ironically in this rare situation it is your inner monologue which is wrong, and castrating them, stabbing them in the face, decapitating them, pouring gasoline on their backs and lighting them on fire, or any combination of these are all fine and well respected.

- Getting a boob job for merely cosmetic reasons is always a bad idea

- If you have either a boob job or if you have not got a boob job, it is your responsibility to try and convince a man named David Tieck that your choice is right, David recommends letting him see and touch them as often as possible so he can form the best possible well informed conclusion

- Clearly sex is very important to the meaning of life, without it the condom industry would collapse, costing dozens of people their jobs, seriously, you want that on your head? That people lost their jobs because you wouldn’t fuck enough? How dare you.

Are you trying to buy my book (thankyou so much)

If you are I appreciate it more than I could possibly express.

However just to make things hard (small time publishing sucks)

Don't buy it on Amazon. Turns out to sell my book on Amazon I have to pay for it to be shipped from Melbourne in me in LA, then I have to ship it to Kentucky, then they have to ship it to you, then they take like 60% of the price, leaving me with about a $25 loss every time I sell one, which I was willing to cop for a while (I really want people to read this thing - plus most people who read it seem to really like it, I've sold about a thousand and gotten mail from probably 150 people telling me how much they loved it, which is by far my favorite 150 letters and emails ever!!!! and I was hoping for that word of mouth dealy) but for now its just too much.

However, in November last year I instructed book sellers to drop the recommended retail price in half, down to 15.99 (Aussie dollars - cheap!) and already, only four months later I have finally found a company who have taken this on board! Yay, how good are book sellers!!!

Below is their link (not sure if they ship world wide, I think they do, but they don't make it obvious on the site, I mean seriously, how good are book sellers!!!!)

So I hate pitching myself, but regardless I have complete respect for people who support independent artists, and I personally have a dedication that when (if?)(please god!) I make it I will be doing all I can to help other artists get their work out there, it was the whole goal of Fleeting Forever when I began it, unfortunately I don't have any pull to help anyone really yet, but I believe that the problem with the arts across all genres is the talent no longer rises to the top, because the business side is so tough, and creative minds don't work well at this. Anyway, the point is there is a lot of unfound talent out there and I want to find it and expose it. Which is all to say a purchase of my book hopefully will lead to helping others too.

Fuck I feel like an asshole for saying that.

Some people really like my book, I'd like you to also.


Oh, and tell me about talent you know about that isn't getting exposed, best way for us all to help each other is to talk about each other :)

Oh also if you're in Australia all book shops can at least order it in for you, most Borders and Angus and Robertsons have it, some independent book shops have it, some Dymocks have it, and if they are charging above $15.99 ask if they can check with the distributors on the cost, because that is the correct cost.

Plus I wanted to make the price an even $32 when it was released and now an even $16, because its time the 99c madness ended, but they wouldn't let me. Revolution is a slow process :(

The meaning of life is coming later today, and it will change your LIFE!!!!!

Monday, February 22, 2010

Answering life’s big questions

What is the reason cats and rabbits have the same feet when one climbs trees, and the other burrows in the ground?

Great question – one which has baffled scientists and evolutionists for thousands of years. Fortunately I have access to secret documents never before seen by humans.

You see a few thousand years ago kitties and bunnies were one creature known as a hlizer. The hlizer was the cutest creature on earth, and beloved by all. (humans that is, the other uglier animals like pigs and cows fucking hated them, and to punish their ill thought we started eating the fuckers).

At some point however, the hlizer became restless with being merely the cutest and most loved animal ever seen, it wanted to spread its wings (not literally, yeah right like a hlizer had wings, what will people make up next) and it wanted to dig below the ground and climb high into the trees. So the hlizer leadership group came together and decided hlizers should branch out (again not literally, they wanted to climb trees not become them, come on people) and split into two different animals, the bunny and the kitty.

The agreement was written on secret documents, with certain rules which could not be broken. The hlizer was already the cutest animal in the world, and they did not wish to lose this title (the sneaky chicken was trying to sneak in here so the hlizers had us eat those fuckers too, tricky they were) so it was decided that in their pursuit of burrowing underground and climbing trees cuteness could not be sacrificed, and as a super cute element of the hlizer, the paws were not allowed to change in appearance, only in function.

To make sure this took place a system of selective breeding took place. The old saying ‘to breed like bunnies’ is actually a morphing of the old old saying ‘to breed like hlizers’ and referred to not bonking like maniacs, but selective breeding where only the cutest of the cute were allowed to spread their seed (nice way of saying cum in each other).

Over time however, a resistance to the selective breeding grew. Especially in the new bunny populations. ‘hey I might not be the cutest, but I am still cute, let me breed god damn it’ (another way of saying cum in each other) bunnies were heard saying in underground speakeasies.

Eventually the rebels made the move and broke the ancient hlizer agreement, and started fucking more like rabbits are more known for in more modern times more. They knew not what they were doing, and soon a wild and ugly rabbit population developed around the world, no where near as cute as the selectively bred bunnies, which we now know of as domestic or pet bunnies. Still oh so cute.

The kitties too had a resistance and some break away non-selective fucking, but after the disastrous practise created the Mexican hairless, the resistance was squashed, and the kitty gene pool remained mostly pure and cute as, well as a kitty.

Thousands of years later we can all just be proud and happy to know, that thanks to a few smart, and dedicated hlizers, who were willing to make the tough decisions, to this day we are blessed to be able to keep bunnies and kitties, including their cute little paws, in our very homes. Plus eat burgers with bacon and sides of deep fried chicken fingers (not actually fingers, I mean seriously, who names a food and thinks 'I know lets have the fuckers think they are eating a body part that this animal doesn't even possess!').

And who said organized religion was wrong? (which is a question completely unrelated, and even I would have to say in the most part yes organized religion is wrong, but you know, people (or hlizers) coming together for a common good can still work!)

Why do you never see baby vultures?

Great question, and again, because this time thanks to my relationship with the Macy’s family I have the answer which has been a tightly guarded secret for decades.

You see when Macy’s, Nordstrom’s, Myer, Harrods and other large department stores hire a girl to work their make-up counters they have a dilemma. In order to sell vast quantities of make-up they need to somehow figure out how to get their staff to convince clients that covering their faces with so much make-up that they look like middle-aged whores who moonlight as circus clowns is the way to go.

They tried a number of methods to achieve this. First they said to the staff ‘hey want to tell the customers to keep whacking on make-up till they look like fucking freaks’ and the staff said ‘hell no, I could never be so cruel’.

Then they tried saying ‘what if we give you a bit of commission’ which worked a little bit but still had staff saying ‘you really don’t need to have the lipstick go well past where the lip turns into skin’.

But then someone had a genius idea – ‘we’ll stick baby vultures up the staffs asses’ he screamed at a meeting. ‘Are you fucking retarded’ came the reply by his manager, a man soon to be fired for this very statement (because of using the word ‘retarded’ in an un-PC way, although it turns out he may well have been fired soon for nearly costing the company the use of the amazing baby vulture technology).

Testing began at once, and baby vultures were inserted into make-up counter girl’s asses, and it worked amazingly. Not only were these women now willing to cake themselves in ridicules amounts of make-up themselves, they were now happy to take even natural beauties and convince them that they could never quite be attractive if a human eye saw even a patch of her human face skin, and they did this all while being snotty yet smiley. It truly was genius.

Unfortunately one side affect was when the now full grown vultures climbed out of the make-up girl’s ass they would be ugly and angry, and unable to acquire normal employment these vultures instead turned into dirty scavenges.

By the way, while I am a vocal supporter of male to female anal sex, I think it should be avoided if you ever find yourself being intimate with a department store make up girl. Unless of course you want your dick bitten off, but then you may have other issues you’d like looked into.

Little known facts about answering life’s big questions

- It’s way easier if you merely stick to the obvious truth and don’t feel the need to embellish or invent

- It’s harder than throwing a rock at a passing catholic school bus but its easier than proving Christian heaven to Muslims

- It’s slightly more rewarding than forcing a toddler to wear a purple hat

Tomorrow I distinctly and completely and helpfullyely define the meaning of life, yes, I know, how good am I?

Friday, February 19, 2010

Rickshaws, hell yeah I did

I knew a guy named Richard Shaw once.

His parents, who had emmegrated from Sweden to Australia shortly before Richard was born, had never heard of the totally fucking awesome Asian transportation vehicle of extraordinary kick assnessous so they felt no shame at all when they began calling their son 'Rick'. In fact they thought they were doing him a favor, as this sounded more Australian to them, and they had been given a lot of grief over their own names 'Svenashlergan' and 'Svenuanabergenshlergenflurgen'. Sadly these traditional Swedish names have even all but died out even in native Sweden because of teasy bully cock heads who terrorized them from a gutless distance via the internet with cruel taunts like 'hey Svenuanabergenshlergenflurgen need any more 'urgen' rhymes in your name!' Sure, while a super cleaver taunt, its nothing short of gutless and douchey (ha ha, those clean vaginas), and to all of our detrement these names were even mostly taken out of the many great works of Swedish literature we all adore. Fuck you bullys.

So his parents were unaware, but Rick Shaw's happiness was a ticking time bomb ticking away about to tick one time too many so that if you had like a form with a question asking 'Is Rick Shaw happy?' with a box that was labelled 'yes' an another labelled 'no' you'd soon be able to quite accurately tick the box next to 'no' as in the time bomb of his happiness had ticked one tick too many and he was no longer a happy little camping enthusiast. Or happy in general, non-camping related at all.

That's right, two horrible things were to take place.

1. A hilarious episode of Seinfeld, where Kramer and Newman strapped rickshaws to homeless men with disastrous results, was about to hit the airwaves, starting a rickshaw loving obsession which swept Australia like some fucking enormous sweeping type device which wasn't scared of being bitten by snakes and spiders and sharks and crocodiles (ever notice how bitey things often have names which start with 'S' so fuck you crocodiles) and everyone with two legs, and who weren't so mentally challenged that they were institutionalized were doing everything they could do drag a rickshaw down the street and when rickshaws couldn't be located you better believe they'd make do with a 'Rick Shaw' - that poor motherfucker (he didn't actually fuck mothers, this is just a weird expression).

2. In a cruel twist of fate, as puberty hit all the boys, including Rick Shaw, and Rick was to discover himself to be blessed with nothing short of a tiny little pathetic penis - that poor motherfucker (see above to find out whether I am actually suggesting Rick fucked his mother - actually come to think of it I don't know if he ever fucked his mother, its not like he would have told me! Who knows, maybe one day he said 'Mom, puberty has come and gone and my penis still looks like a two year olds, no one will ever have sex with me, boo hoo' and his mom may have responded lovingly (lyingly) with 'sure they will, penis size is no where near as important to girls as boys think it is' and then he might have said 'would you sleep with a boy with a tiny penis' and then she may have been like thinking 'if I say no then I might fuck him up for life, maybe its my motherly duty to literally fuck him, you know to keep his confidence up')

(Seriously Dave, you're blogging about rickshaws and you turn to incest humor? Yes David I fucking am, perhaps I have some deep hidden mommy scars and some twisted fucking sexual perversion, so give me a break motherfucker, no not literally motherfucker, I am not a sick freak like Rick Shaw!!!!!)

So Rick was named after a physically demanding transportation device which had become super popular in Australia where he lived and he also had a tiny penis. He was not happy. Tick that box I was talking about if you must. He had a huge decision to make.

Should he

1. Follow the traditional path of the small penised (and small IQ'd, and small confidence in ones true masculinity) and buy an unnecessarily huge car, or powerfully engined car knowing that his fellow small penised comrades would now have his back, but he would face a life time of teasing for being called 'Rick Shaw' and driving some huge SUV fucking thing.


2. Embrace the rick shaw in his Rick Shawness, and get around that way, but then in no way warn girls he dated about his lack of penis size because they couldn't tell from his mode of transportation so when he finally got them into bed they'd just laugh in his face at his tiny penis.

Obviously both these options sucked balls (not in the literal fun way). And sadly Rick chose option

3. Have another suicidal dude pull his rickshaw off a cliff with him riding in back, killing him painfully.

Poor motherfucker (how dare you tarnish his memory by suggesting I mean this literally).

The point is rickshaws are awesome.

Other reasons why rickshaws kick ass

- Awesome tongue twisters like 'don't get sore because of the whore rick saw from the rickshaw
- Because when car guys refer to a cars horse power, they don't mean the power a horse can develop when running, they mean the power a horse generates while cumming, yes a car with 300 horse power has the same power as a 300 horse orgasms, those car guys really do have sick minds
- Its a dude pulling you, how is that not cool?
- If I started an abortion contortion show would you come via rickshaw, hell yeah you would

Life would be better if there was more stuff like AIDs

Cause think about it, AIDs is the one thing you can give to as many people as you want without losing it yourself. Imagine if some good things were like that! We'd all have shit loads of good stuff. And imagine if the good stuff had to be given with sex, like you could give people money without losing any yourself and all you had to do was have sex with them without a condom. Or you know happiness, or creativity, or cheese. Oh my god, you could give lots of cheese without sacrificing cheese by making love, that must be what heaven will be like.

Tell me about it

So you know as a writer in the past four years I have written about 3 or 4 million words or so of work, only 3.98 million of them unread by anyone, but I have yet to ever really have writers block (I think I sucked some writers block god's cock in a past life, I'm not proud of it, but you do what you have to do) but what I am facing a little right now is topic block.

So who (seriously you dyslexic loser - 'here', not fucking 'who', the word you want is 'here') here is the deal, name me a topic, a word, a suggestion, a thought and I will write something about it. Just let me know what and I'll rock it out!

By the way, why are models so freakin tall? I have never met a guy who wants a girl to be taller than him, so by my calculations models should average five foot two!! (ps I love girls way shorter than me who are ridiculously hot, call me babys)

Ps I hate the use of the word 'baby' to mean 'girl I'd like my cock in'

Pps Why do so many writers write shit as if everyone feels the same as them

Ppppps did I mention 'why are models tall' and 'I like short girls yet'?

Saturday, February 13, 2010

Never get in trouble for forgetting a birthday or holiday again!

It's very simple people, always celebrate all major occasions 364 days early!

"You forgot my birthday again you fucking asshole"
"What are you talking about? We celebrated your birthday 364 days ago! Plus, I don't want to ruin the surprise, but lets just say I have something special organized for tomorrow!"

Reasons why this good

- You get a warning every time
- Much easier to re-gift
- Day after sales
- You're less likely to get an STD (assuming that on the actual day your more likely to engage in unsafe sex, which is very unlikely so this one isn't very likely to inspire any major shifts towards following my plan, but if it did then you're welcome - for having less STDs that is, if you were thinking I was saying you're welcome for something else that is!)

Yay, now everyone's happy!

Wednesday, February 10, 2010

Type before you think (awesomenessous?)

Sometimes I like to just start writing with no idea at all well I will end up, this is one of those times, as we speak I have no thoughts about where this is going whats so ever, its like the beginning of a road, only not at all because this is a blog and not a thing of you know concrete and that (ok Dave I get it, you have decided to type as fast as you can and not edit your thoughts at all, well that doesn't mean you can avoid having a thought).

The thing about thought is that it is often the things which you don't think which matter more than the thoughts you do have, you know, if you you've never even thought 'rape it wrong' then your more likely do it even if you have never thought 'I might like to rape' than if you you often think 'rape is wrong' but occasionally think 'I might like to rape'.

Well thats probably a crock of shit (or any receptacle full of shit to be honest, unless its great white shark shit, that stuff hard to pile)

The point is next time someone calls you a 'thoughtless shit', merely say 'thankyou'!

So I am still shy (another term for shy is - 'that fucking loser in the corner') It's been a long time since I have announced 'I am shy' (not just because when you are shy you don't like saying shit like 'I am shy' for it points out to people that you are shy, which can result in people coming up to you and going 'heard you are shy' in which event your forced to run to the bathroom to cry into a wash cloth you think has been left in there for people to dry their hands, but in reality is where the man of the house wipes up any jizz he failed to wash off in the shower while having his morning tug)(damn shyness). For the past four of five years I have tended to say 'I used to be the world's shyest man' or 'I used to be fucking shy' but the reality is, while I can now stand on a stage and improvise stuff which makes people laugh, while I can yell and scream, and let go completely in the moment, merely talking to a stranger or even worse someone I loosely know, is extremely painful to me. I am the king of awkward silences, leading me to being surrounded by many acquaintances, but few friends.

The thing is though, the more I sit in audiences these days the more I know my place is not in the audience, but rather on the stage. Two years ago I wrote 'the world is my stage' in an effort to encourage myself to completely let go, but it turns out just writing something doesn't actually make it happen, which is really unfair seeing as I am a writer (actually I have written in the first person as a maniac completely psychopathic serial killer, perhaps better if all I write does not just happen to me).

The worst thing is that I have this deep thought in the back of my mind, a belief, that as soon as I break this final barrier all that I have worked towards will start to come my way, yet I still keep myself from pushing through.

I have made it to the no mans land between the warning sign and the fall, now I need to step off the cliff.

(Stop being philosophical you prick, this was supposed to come out as a stream of consciousness comic piece)(note to self: You've been meaning to read more philosophy for years (note within note: more = not zero) so do it)

And as the water dripped in the background I could not help but feel as if waterfalls are just arrogant show offs 'hey we get women to stand topless under us for sports illustrated shoots, when have you ever gotten a woman to do that?' shut the fuck up waterfall.

Seems to me as if anorexia would be easier to cure if it wasn't called an eating disorder but rather a 'lack of eating disorder' you know cause anorexics don't eat and that.

Some people say they have been to hell and back but then never tell us about it 'is it as bad as we think you bastards, cause a lot of people are wasting some serious fun sinning opportunities to avoid that place'

Do you realize that we never celebrate the anniversary of the invention of toilet paper? Humans used their hands before then, and I guarantee you weren't always getting a satisfactory wipe, and we don't celebrate the achievement of the invention of the product which eradicated this!!! No wonder there is still so much hatred in the world.

And with 'hatred' in the past sentence its time to go.

I hope to have time to write a proper thought out comic piece tomorrow, wait - 'thought out' you thoughtless bastard (hell yeah)

Tuesday, February 9, 2010

I am 'Jesus 2: Even Jesuyerer'.... oh wait

We are at the opening of the most amazing construction job ever built. I am a special guest, as is all my family, as we are well respected in both the literature and business worlds (because great writers always get invited to building openings? What the fuck!).

This structure is purely amazing. The tallest thing ever built by man. A massive holy metal framed column reaching up to the sky. And if that wasn't enough built right along side one of the steepest and deepest cliff faces in the known world. (With the city of Budapest at the bottom some how, mmmm Budapest).

Of course, as this is not a drama, but an action story, the cliff gives way under the massive weight of the structure (actually earth is giving away all over the fucking place).

I am situated at the bottom, in the middle of the hollow part of the structure, with a view intending to be upwards watching the magnificent feat of human technology rise above me, instead I spot a gap in between the building and the crumbling cliff and dive into the hole and towards the deep fall (to Budapest, I don't know why).

My ability to fly becomes in valuable now. As it would in most cases of falling into seemingly endless falls (Budapest is a long fucking way down), but rather than fly back up to the carnage above me I go with the flow, along with other potential survivors who have made their way into the cliff fall).

We are not ones to take this opportunity and not enjoy it. We enter a car race using children s toy cars made to be like Bat-mobiles and Simpsons characters and have a great time heckling each other of our car choices.

We stop and eat in some of the excellent cafes and restaurants which for some reason are still open even though it is clear this is probably the end of the world (I'm pretty sure by now even Buddapest has crumbled away, that or it was just a fuck up in the script I chose to pretend never happened rather than justify it no longer being there).

I stopped and bought a couple of mixed CDs which was really weird cause I'd never do that, I only buy whole albums for I wish to hear the music the way the artist intended it to be heard.

Of course all this tomfoolery could not continue. Serious business had to be taken care of, and in fact it was about to get serious like having one of those used tampon bins kept next to public toilets dumped on your head.

Actually even more fucking serious.

As the earth continued to crumble away an ancient city opened up in front of us, and there was Jesus, still nailed to the cross.

We paused to watch a documentary which explained a lot of what was going on, the posh British host of the show explained to us that Jesus was in fact still nailed to the cross, still suffering, although fortunately by some luck the nails hadn't rusted, so at least he didn't need a tetanus shot. He told us a lot more, but it was kind of a boring documentary, and the scenery was amazing, so I decided to press on.

In fact my instincts couldn't have been more spot on, for I came to two small tombs, to the wings of Jesus on the cross, where I now remembered Mr Posh British TV host told us that, upon this crumbling of the earth, Jesus 2 was to be born. And I was the first to arrive. Therefore I was Jesus 2.

Fuck year, ladies and gentleman, please let me introduce myself - Jesus 2, your new king, bow before me, worship me, and I will make all your dreams come true, cross me and I will destroy you.

And now I wake up.

This was my dream after insomnia kept me up till at least 6am, despite barely sleeping for a week. I woke up in a deep pool of my sweat, freezing cold as the sweat had been cooled by the winter nighttime air, but still you know, fucking tired, and a little curious about where this dream was going, and a little pissed off I had set my alarm so early, so I hit snooze, hell fucking yeah I hit snooze.

Over the course of a couple of snoozes, a couple of memories from the documentary came back. The main one of course being that of course Jesus 2 was to be born in this tomb, he was not just the first dude who showed up. Plus the woman who would give birth to this baby would become Jesus 2 father, but he wouldn't like you know get to have sex with her or anything.

That's right, in my dream, despite my rare ability to fly, my great skills driving a toy car fire truck, my excellent taste in fine dining (I had pizza) and my shit music taste, I had unbelievable cast myself as not king to man, but as one of the most pathetic and surely tortured men in all history - Joseph.

Yes Joseph, a man so poor he can't afford a bed for even one night, a man who is married but still can't get his wife to have sex with him, a man who allowed his virgin wife to become pregnant 'to a man in the sky', a man who still stood by her as she gave birth to a son who would call this man in the sky 'Father', a man who listened when his wife said 'you know what we should probably never have sex, the man in the sky thinks it will make a better story'.

Fuck you, I don't want to be Joseph, let me be someone else.

So anyway, I used to joke that I was Adam reincarnated. I have a a huge gap in my ribs on my right side which I pretended was where God took a rib to create Eve, to be Adams companion.

I joked about this for years as a youngster, until it occurred to me I was too shy to even talk to girls, so suggesting girls were literally created to be companions specifically to ME, suddenly made this joke a little depressing.

For the record I used to have a doubtless belief in god as a teenager, although I didn't believe in all the dogma and how different people could worship the same god and think there way is the only way and fuck off the rest of us to hell. But my faith drifts away slightly more every year, to the point now where I guess I probably just kind of hope there is some sort of enjoyable after life. (If I become a ghost I think I'll hang around a Comedy Club, or perhaps a 24 hour movie theater).

Anyway, just thought I'd share.

By the way, from the top of my head right now, up until now I think there were only two modern stories written which made me think 'fuck me, I wish I'd written that, I want to write something as good as that, I am jealous of that, I love that, thats genius' and you know stuff like that.

Up till now those two were
- Being John Malkcovich &
- Eternal Sunshine of the spotless mind

Both by Charlie Kaufman. That fucking Genius. The one writer on earth I am jealous of.

Anyway I third story/film has come up - Big Fan, by Robert D. Siegel and starring Patton Oswalt. As a former short fat, going no where loser, who survived through the love (passion/obsession) of his sport team this couldn't have been more perfect and heartbreaking and fucking genius. Check it out.

Sunday, February 7, 2010

I really am a sweet girl (shit I meant to write boy but I wrote girl, fuck me)

So I was in a bar the other night, and this guy is hitting on these girls near me and I guess he was getting shot down or whatever because suddenly he gets all upset and he's yelling at these girls, and they say some shit back, and then all shit breaks lose and this guy just loses it, and he grabs this girl by the neck and is screaming at her "how do you like me now you fucking bitch" and he starts grabbing her tits, and grabbing at her crotch and she is screaming in distress and eventually I think, "I can't handle this anymore, I have to act"

So I march right up to them and I say "hey you two, keep it down, I AM TRYING TO HEAR THE MUSIC, YOU FUCKS!!!"

I mean my god, some people are just so freaking inconsiderate and don't think of anyone but themselves, shit heads.

Wednesday, February 3, 2010

Why don't you just bite me (is a slightly relevant saying)

It turns out that if you always keep your mouth shut you’re MORE likely to be bitten by a spider, (that is if you let one live in your mouth).

So maybe it’s ok to speak your mind once in a while, you know, to save yourself getting bitten by the spider.

Ok, so the fact that you have chosen to allow this spider to live in your mouth makes me think that when your speaking your mind there is a good chance that what you have to say (that is the things that come out of your mind) may not be the kinds of things which people would say ‘wow, that’s profound, I never thought of it that way’ but then again, are you willing to be bitten by a spider just because people don’t find you profound? That seems excessive to me.

To be quite honest what you have to say might end up confusing, and dare I say it even ‘weirding’ a few people out, these will be the words of a man who allows spiders to live in his mouth after all, but my god man, you’ve got a goddamn spider in your mouth, I can’t possible point out just how crucial it is for you to open your mouth at least occasionally.

Are you ever like ‘ah yeah’ and then your like ‘hell yeah’ but then it turns out you’ve just been tricked and that? Fucking tricksters, I fucking hate those guys, they're just real hardcore fucking assholes.

Monday, February 1, 2010

Big News (is the name of this project)

I'm involved in a new project by former SNL/Drew Carey Show/Sesame St/lots of other awesome stuff I'd like to have done writer Michael McCarthy called 'Big News' home to daily comedy sketches based on that days news.

Check out my huge debut (bonus points if you manage to blink and miss me)