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.

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.


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.

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.

Thursday, November 3, 2011

So very generous

Sashimi is a dish, or meal, or pet food that is served, as far as I know, in many Asian countries. Essentially what sashimi is, is an attempt by a restaurant or chef to warn his diners that he is in fact suffering from a severe form of Alzheimers rendering him to mentally think he’s living in the year 4386 BC, which of course is a good few years before some teenagers invented fire so they could light their farts. As YOU know a couple of centuries later someone once put a sausage on a stick and held it in front of the fiery fart and proclaimed ‘if you remove the smell of Zorgs ass, this would actually taste better than raw flesh’ and cooking was invented.

Sashimi chefs have never heard of such a wonderful thing. So instead they serve people a plate of raw fish flesh. Incidentally I once wrote a novel called ‘raw fish flesh’ it was about a man deserted on a tropical island who died because he wouldn’t eat raw fish flesh ‘That’s freaking disgusting’ he bellowed as mermaid tried to force some into his mouth as he descended towards death from malnutrition. This man was based on my idea of what I would do if I were deserted on an island and the only thing to eat was raw fish flesh. Yes I would rather die than eat raw fish flesh – even if living meant I could bang a mermaid.

My point is - ‘Hey chefs, cooking exists, I know – we have a goddamn toaster oven in our hotel room, its cost us twenty bucks at the store just up the road. Also don’t cook fish, that stuff is freaking gross and stinks as bad as anything on earth, I’d rather eat a Zorg firey fart hotdog’.

The things is that as rare Westerners that visit the small fishing town of Chenggong our contact in town organised a special feast for us, and people from all over town came to meet us. And I was able to do something that every traveller dreams of, rudely rejecting a locals generous gift.

Actually it wasn’t as bad as that. They served us all sorts of things, and the rice and chicken were great, and the duck really needed more time in the oven, but was ok, and they kept making us drink. They made us drink a lot. They have a strange yet wonderful way of drinking here, they all take a small cup and you are not allowed to have a sip unless you toast it to someone else who has to drink. And when you are the strangers everyone wants to toast you, and when you are gullible you let them make you believe that you are never allowed not to finish the cup (which they always immediately refill for you – back to the top) and that the first time you toast with a new person you must drink three whole cup fulls.

We all got really, really drunk. With no language familiarity I tried to seduce the girls with my eyes, taking the opposite approach Goshie took the opportunity to straight out ask for dirty sex acts, enjoying the freedom of knowing they knew not a thing he was saying, and thirty painful hours later Epi was in hospital with severe food poisoning.

Blood tests confirmed that the cause was, drum roll please, Sashimi! It’s freaking disgusting stuff, but I was willing to let him feel that way, I cannot not say thankyou to generosity and free beer. I just wish these generous types would introduce the chef to fire.

Sunday, October 30, 2011

Where have I bloody well been?

Catch up part one

As some of you may know I am in Taiwan at the moment. My plan was to write a blog everyday as a travel journal of sorts, well actually my plan was to write a blog informing you all that I was morphing this blog into a daily travel journal and then start writing a daily travel blog, but not only did I not get around to writing that blog I have yet to get around to writing a single one of my daily blogs. And I’ve been gone ten or eleven days already, that’s almost a full week.

You know the story, I missed the first couple of days while acclimatising to strange surroundings, then I put off starting because I didn’t have the time to get it all done, and then the longer I put it off the longer I needed to pull it off, and so on and so on. Yep that’s how much fun this trip has been already!

Well I still want to write this journal thing damn it, and I just can’t catch up, so here is a catch up on what’s been happening so far.

I hate fishing, it’s a cruel and boring sport, so when my best mate Goshie, the famed fishing journalist, invited me to go on a fishing exploration trip I said ‘well if I don’t have anything else much happening then I’ll come'. Of course I thought I WOULD have lots going on then and it would never happen.

Then it turned out I didn’t have much on, as I have no real job and my latest book is taking longer than I thought to get to the bookstores, so the trip was booked. Plus there barely are bookstores anymore, what did I think was going to happen taking on this career? I should have stuck with something safe, and guaranteed to stay a relevant part of everyone’s lives, like being a newspaper journalist, or radio announcer.

Then Goshie got a bad ankle injury and the trip was at least mentally canceled.

Goshie decided an hour later that his ankle was ok and it was back on.

Two hours later Goshie decided that not only was his ankle fucked but so was his elbow from walking on crutches and it was back off.

I watched a little TV while he changed his mind four or five more times. I think the Big Bang Theory was on during part of this time, and this is a show I like but don’t love, so it was a satisfactory wait, but not exhilarating. Man I need a freaking holiday from all this mild satisfaction damn it.

Tension is built to unprecedented levels but in a shock conclusion to anyone who didn’t read above that I am in fact in Taiwan, the unthinkable happened, truly unthinkable, and if you think about it just about anything is ‘thinkable’ so this thing must be insanely hard to think, wait for it - the trip was called on and we left.

We meet Goshie’s fishing mate, Epi, at the airport and fly off, and 25 hours or so later we arrive in Taipei, a huge metropolitan city full of everything anyone could desire, but because we’re on a fishing trip we choose not to get a comphy hotel and instead get a bus, then a train, then hire a car working south, with stunning coast on one side and towering mountains on the other. It is really gorgeous.

We finally reach our destination, Chenggong – a tiny fishing village where we’ve come to fish. I hate fishing, but I love traveling. This is going to be interesting.

Also I should point out that the universe is trying to tell me something at the moment, I don’t know what, but it keeps showing me little clues. Maybe it’s telling me that the trip might get canceled, hmmm, hmmm, wait no, we’ve satisfied that cliff hanger already, wait, check this out for a cliff hanger, in our next installment someone will be in hospital! Really! But who? Oooooohh, cliff-hanger!

It’s Epi!

Damn it, I ruined it again. Wait, but how? Oooooh cliff hanger.

Monday, October 17, 2011

The truth about what is about to come, fuck you rapture

Apparently some crazy religious coot has predicted the end of the world again this coming week, and while crazy old coots are rarely wrong I for one think that our impending death is only a small part of the upcoming week that we need to give serious thought about. And as a crazy young coot I am in the perfect position to predict what’s going on. Here are MY predictions for the IMPORTANT stuff that’s going to happen this week. Take THAT old man!

A volcano on a small island of Indonesia will erupt; no one was hurt as it will be the first volcano to erupt soapy water. It is shall become the world’s biggest slip n slide!

Hell Yeah! We should go!

A man will attempt to eradicate starvation in Africa by collecting all pickles picked out of cheeseburgers, and all tofu picked out of Asian food, and sending it over.

Wow that’s gross, in protest I say we all agree to refuse to call cheeseburgers ‘cheeseburgers’ until the other ingredients get the same billing as the cheese!

Double chins will be renamed ‘chin scrotums’ or ‘chotums’ for short.

Damn it, now I wish I had a double chin, where can a guy get a friggin’ cheeseburger around here?

Someone will cook some lamb in New Zealand!

I think I’d make a good parent of a lamb. 'Where's the toilet?' You’re standing on it. 'Where's dinner?' You're standing on it. Well… good luck.

War will once again break out between Israel and Palestine, although both sides will agreed that the only weapons allowed are feathers, a spokesperson will say 'we’re going to laugh about this feud one day any way, why not laugh during it too'

That's awesome I can't wait to see Spielberg’s movie adaptation of the events, I hope it stars me, can any of you teach me a Palestinian accent?

A man will try to impress a horse by telling it ‘I knew your mother before she was glue’

That’s smart of him; if he said ‘before she was dog food’ it may have been upsetting.

Politicians in political settings will do something disappointing

Wait, WHAT? I thought politicians were flawless I'm shocked, damn it the whole world could be about to fucking end, oh my god. We better enjoy ourselves this week; this could be our very last chance to do certain fun activities that in my opinion are most enjoyable when shared between a man and a woman. DAMN YOU POLITICIANS! I bet they’ll even ruin the volcano slip n slide!

Tuesday, September 27, 2011

Don't ruin those girls, you bastards!

I’ve been thinking a lot about fame the past couple of days. As a famous author I am well on my way to being famous, I mean consider this list of places I have been recognized by adoring public:

-In an elevator.
- On the street.
- In a mall.

Sure, it’s only happened three times total, but those are the three most popular places for humans to be! Scientists claim that at any given point of time 79% of people on earth are either in the mall, in an elevator or on the street, and I have been recognized in all three of those spots, that’s got to mean something right?

Yes it does, it means I am well on my way to fame. Need more evidence? Well consider this true story - there is a TV show called ‘How Do I Look’ on American TV somewhere. The concept of the show is that they find people who secretly hate how a friend of theirs dresses and instead of having a quiet word, or realizing the best people are individuals who dress the way they do because they like it that way, and don’t need to follow fashions just to hide any personality they can, they get you to ambush them with camera crew and fashion experts and force them to become just another sheep in the latest unattractive and uncomfortable trend that is out there.

One of the suggestions they give as to why your friend may need a make over is that she may dress ‘nerdy or geeky’. How the fuck dare you ‘How Do I Look’ the nerdy/ geeky girls are some of the hottest fucking girls out there, how dare you try and get them out of their comfortable Converse and into ridiculous heels so they constantly walk with bleeding ankles, crushed toes and looking like thery’re always trying to take a turd. There are far, far, far too few of these girls as there is, don’t take them away from us.

I only know about this because they are about to film several episodes in Australia and they contacted me yesterday to tell me that ‘saw your photo and I would love to consider you as an accomplice’ and that in accomplices they are looking for ‘STYLISH FEMALES’!

Yes, me me me, according to them I’M a stylish female, So much so they want me to go on their show to show it off, hell yeah!

Also today I was approached by a newspaper to take part in their ‘asking people on the street if they are working on anything at the moment that they had put off to spring to start working on’ feature.

I was able to give them this direct quote in response to their question – ‘No’. And because of this delightful insight into the human condition I gifted them they felt they needed to also take my photograph, as clearly people would need to put a face to the name of this amazing ‘no’ person.

Fortunately as of the past couple of days I am rocking my – ‘I’ve had a lot of acne around my mouth recently so I haven’t been shaving at all in a vain attempt to hide it even though my beard doesn’t grow in some of these pimple spots but I feel like the more going on the less people will focus on the zits’ - full beard. Hell yeah!

So yeah, I’m pretty famous. And this is getting concerning. You see last night I was watching TV and for the thirteenth trillion time a television journalist mentioned that a celebrity that was now dead was having some of their former work used in a way that would mean right about now the dead celebrity would be ‘turning in his grave’.

This raises several questions:
1. Who invented this cliché and why is it so popular?
2. I prefer to sleep on my side or stomach, but they always place you on your back in a coffin, I sure as hell HOPE I get to turn in my grave?
3. Why does it take a misuse of your legacy to cause this, and what happens to side sleepers who aren’t celebrities?
4. Whenever a girl says 'don’t put words in my mouth' I always think 'really, what do you want me to put in there, something sexy, like my t-shirt, that’s weird?’
5. What the hell happens to celebrities who are cremated, can they not have their work exploited later or do we need to coin a new phrase?

The answers to these questions are as follows

1. It’s popular because unimaginative journalists are jealous of the coiner ‘Bob’, a necrophiliac who was famous in Victorian times for sodomizing recently deceased aristocrats.
2. No, you’re dead you idiot. Plus you don’t want to be buried. Plus you’re not really famous you were using sarcasm and irony above.
3. They get really, really badly decomposed, and teenagers use their house later in life to throw parties where ‘immoral acts’ take place, it really is sad.
4. If you’re going to eat my t-shirt, can I then sodomize you?
5. We need a new phrase, go coining crazy Dave, I believe in you!

Yay – coining time:

If they are in an urn we can say they must be ‘farting in their pot’.

If they were dumped in the ocean we can say they must be feeling like they’ve been ‘washed up a whales bum’.

If they were spread over a field we can say they must feel like they have ‘been blown up the nose of a person with a cold who then sneezed them into a salad bar sadly lacking in a sneeze guard causing a customer to complain that the lettuce is dirty that earns them a free voucher for a free diet coke upon next visit.’

If they were intentionally snorted, Keith Richard’s dad style, we can say ‘had a really weird son.’

If their partner had their ashes enclosed into a dildo she masturbates with daily we can say they must be ‘feeling like they sprung a leak during orgasm.’

The lessons are:

- Before I die I’m going to have two toes removed bury one and cremate one, just to figure out which feels right.
- If urination is not in your top four ways of removing urine from your body then you must be awesome.
- I think tomorrow I might remove some hair from my body, but which part, mmm mystery.
- I hope I find a partner one day who will dildo up my ashes.
- If I spring a leak I hope there isn’t some dude there licking it up.

And now so I don’t end with a disgusting imagery here are some more looks that ‘How Do I look’ thinks need to be repaired.

1. Sporty Tomboy needs to go Glam!
2. College grad needs a professional look! Or Stuck in her high school look and she’s in her 30’s!
3. Comic-Book Nerd.
4. Every day is Halloween with her quirky style!
5. She loves to wear “Little House on the Prairie” style dresses (long and patterned dresses).
6. Forever in hand me downs.
7. People who lost weight but still wear their big clothes.
8. Earth Mother.
9. Dresses like a kid.
10. Granola girl needs to go Glam!

What they really mean of course is:

Change your
1. Most guys dream 2. Fun 3. Individualistic 4. Super fun 5. Beautiful 6. Poor yet trying 7. Never says this is good enough until they reach their goal 8. Caring 9. Fun 10. Healthy
Friend into a high maintenance, boring, lives beyond her means, gives up early, stupid sheep.

Fuck you ‘How Do I Look’ I hope you all die, and are wearing such stupid tight clothes you CAN’T turn in your grave!

Then I hop Bob pays you a visit. Ahhh, necrophilia, you’ll NEVER be disgusting imagery!

Thursday, September 22, 2011

Vicious vicious criminal

If I ever go to jail I want it to be for something cool…. like vagrancy!

Other vicious criminals: Whatcha in for?

Me, only with a cool gruff vicious criminal voice: Nothing! And I mean LITERALLY nothing, I’m in jail for doing nothing for so long they put me in here, I do my nothing hard, I nothing to the core. When I’m feeling the demon in my soul I go out somewhere in public and just do nothing for so long and hard the cops are like 'if this guy keeps up with all that nothing he might fucking kill someone'. That's how bitching my nothing is motherfuckers. So stay away from my toothbrush or I’ll nothing you to death!

Priest, with tears in his eyes and a vicious quivering chin: We are gathered here today to remember the life of Tom, taken so young after David Tieck did nothing so long people started dying (now really crying) why didn't the officials stop this before it was too late, make that man do something for fucks sake!

Actually the cool thing about going to jail for vagrancy is the punishment is to continue to do nothing. Jail is literally like a perfect crafted school where people can master vagrancy! It's like Harvard man. Wow, the two pillars of cool, jail and Harvard, now I actually want to do it, I would do it too, but I’m just too viciously lazy, but still, stay away from my fucking toothbrush!

Also don't forget to go vote for me over here: for the love of god won't someone think about the vicious children?

Tuesday, September 20, 2011

Wednesday, September 14, 2011

This is not a drill

For those who haven't yet, please check out my other blog its my topical humor spot.

Also don't forget to vote for me in the Pedestrian Blogstar awards

Thanks awesome people

Monday, September 12, 2011

Really, really costly

Here is an exchange I just witnessed.

Frantic woman: Excuse me sir, I am really sorry to bother you, but I lost my wallet and I desperately need $5 so I can get home.

Naive looking man with welcoming grey beard and smile while pulling out cash: I don’t have a five, only twenties sorry.

Woman: I wouldn’t ask, but I am really, really desperate, you couldn’t give me a twenty if I gave you back a ten?

Man: Um, Um, Um, well, you know.

Women pulling out a ten: Please, I really need it.

Man, reluctantly hands over a twenty and takes the ten.

Woman turns around and as soon as he can’t see her anymore her frantic face changes into a beaming smile and she walks away with a smug skip.

The conclusion is obvious – the bus in Sydney must cost FIFTEEN DOLLARS!!! Why are you smiling lady, you should be OUTRAGED at having to pay that much to get home. Less smiling and more writing to your local government representative lady!!!!

I guess the real question is have you ever staple gunned your face to another persons face? It hurts but you end up getting to know them better.

Thursday, September 8, 2011

A HUGE apology by me (and other capitalized words)

In my last blog I discussed the ongoing problem of violence around Sydney nightspots, and as part of that blog I was forced of course to discuss the people who are at fault for all this violence - the bouncers.

Well I have done some research, and from what I have now learned I have to whole heartily and quite humbly say this to all the bouncers:


Yes, I apologize for bashing you with my words and I also apologize for many times saying to people ‘if there was a button that could be pressed and instantly kill every bouncer in Sydney I would press it without hesitation or guilt’, and I also apologize for then fantasizing about how hard I would laugh watching the news trying to figure out how to make it seem like a tragedy.

Why have you changed your tune David? I hear some of you ask. Well I have been doing some research and it turns out being a bouncer is way, way harder than it seems. In fact, and I think few people know this, but just becoming a bouncer requires…

Wait, wait, I interrupt this blog for a bit of breaking coincidence I just have to share. I am currently sitting in a coffee shop writing this, and out the window a man just arrived who is currently drinking a beer the size of a small cow, that isn’t in a brown paper bag, adjacent to a public park full of playing kids, and is now standing over three guys trying to conduct a meeting and creepily staring at them. Then FIVE cops walked past, all kitted up with every baton and taser imaginable, this ONE day after the State Government announced new laws making it easier for them to deal with public drunks, and they just looked at him and did or said NOTHING. Wait, now he’s yelling at the meeting. Hmm.

So like I was saying, there is NO problem with drunks in this city, it is ALL the bouncers fault, and I have to apologize to them because I have now found out how hard it is even to become a bouncer.

Surprisingly the journey to this particular career path starts at birth. To become a bouncer you must be born really, really stupid. And I mean REALLY stupid, it is a tough window you must hit, because sadly if you are born with slightly MORE intelligence than your average bouncer has you will probably end up being institutionalized for being mentally handicapped. And that destroys careers before they even begin. And being born this dumb really does take some luck. It helps if your mother’s birth certificate somewhere includes the words ‘possibly a girl'.

For those dumb enough to avoid the institutions the journey has just begun, and it is far from smooth sailing (a sport they will never understand - ‘but when I am in the bath I sink in the bath, why don’t those boats sink in that big, big bath mommy’).

If they manage to make it into adolescence without drinking drain cleaner, forking the toaster, or taking an iron into the bath trying to figure out sailing, they will eventually find themselves identified as 'having literally no possibility of contributing anything positive to society ever' it is now time to undertake a dangerous and invasive operation where the parts of the brain that house ‘compassion’, ‘common sense’ and the word ‘sorry’ are cut out and fed to pet snakes.

Now they must navigate school, this is a minefield (things that often kill off potential bouncers - ‘really? This is ‘mine’ field, I want to run all over my field mommy’). During school they must get all the bully training they can, and really develop a hardcore passion for physically hurting people, but not so much that they get expelled, forcing them into violent crime and ending up prematurely in jail (most bouncers are not encouraged to earn a jail spell until at least the age of 22, any younger and they themselves will become the bullied and that can rekindle a long lost spark of empathy, an emotion that sadly can't be cut out and fed to a snake, or exist in a bouncer).

If they get through this, and few do, it's time to learn about the intricate skills of bouncing (also if you want your kid to grow up to be a bouncer you must ensure that he never goes anywhere near a jumping castle when he is a kid, the word ‘bouncing’ to him must ONLY conjure images of violence. If he does get invited to a party with a jumping castle make sure he goes in there holding a hunting knife ‘why is all my blood not on the inside of me now mommy?’ – So you’ll know how people are supposed to look if they want to have fun in a club son.)

Bouncer tribes, like most evil cults, have a distinct set of commandments they must know inside and out:

1. If it has a penis it is too drunk to come in.
2. If it has tits it is allowed to puke into a puppy’s face and still come in.
3. Pay bribes to cops BEFORE you bash someone for nothing.
4. Put on pants BEFORE you put on shoes, it’s much more efficient.
5. Remember the cops want to bash people for nothing too, make sure you just antagonize some to the point of wanting to fight.
6. All men’s shoes are wrong.
7. Once a week laugh and laugh while setting a box of puppys on fire that you’ve stolen from a cancer kid that was given to him to cheer him up after his dad died in a botched attempt at a bone marrow transplant on the day he found out Santa wasn't real.
8. If you must experiment with irons in the bath unplug them for god sake.
9. Punching people in the face is fun.
10. Why does my brain feel hollow, is there bits missing?

And that’s it. It usually takes them a few months to look up all those words in the dictionary so they know what they mean (‘what does ‘botched’ mean mommy?’ – ‘It’s what the doctor did to my boob job son, that’s why I have sex with 24 year-olds in the toilets at your job’) and then a year or two to memorize the list, but then they are free to stand in front of nightclubs. It’s shocking isn’t it, I had no idea getting that job was so hard.

So all I can say is sorry for being so hard on you bouncers, you’ve had in tough. Wait the word ‘sorry’ has been physically removed from your brain, um, how can I explain – it’s like wanting someone else to feel better about something you’ve done, you know almost like the opposite of bashing them for no reason.

As for you patrons there is hope for you too. If you want a fun night out you can party in almost any other western city in the world and bouncers will for the most part help you have a fun safe night (also known as doing their intended job). Or if you are stuck in Sydney consider this easy trick - just cut a small square of blank paper, write P.T.O. on one side and then also P.T.O. on the other side and hand to bouncer and before he’s managed to escape the trap you'll have already had a fun night and will be half way through a late night kebab.

As for me I am going to stop complaining about bouncers and instead try and walk home without this drunk outside puking on me, maybe I’ll just hand him a puppy.

‘Where is my puppy mommy?’
‘I gave it to a guy to give to a drunk to puke on, trust me, one day you’ll get your revenge, oh yeah, you’ll get your revenge, also damn you hurt coming out of my penis hole son! Also if you go to the toilet at work tonight make sure you say hi.’

Monday, September 5, 2011

Unnecessary acts of violence

And now, for a change of pace, it is time for some hard-hitting journalism from Dave.

This past week in Sydney, as part of their only job requirement - keeping patrons safe and having fun, several bouncers at nightclub hot spot, ‘The Ivy’ dragged a man into the basement and beat him near to death. Then when the cops showed up they told them ‘the bad man done run away boss, he not in the room in the underground being having the skin on his face bones ripped off with knuckles, I swear he ain’t boss, I swear’ and when the cops chased after this ghost down the street the bouncers used the time to clean up the crime scene so, they hoped, they could get away with it.

‘Come to the Ivy this weekend, everyone is safe and having fun at the Ivy, we hire security to SECURE it!’

What did this guy do so wrong to earn this beating? Well he was wearing the wrong shoes of course.

Well I am only speculating, but Sydney Bouncers are obsessed with shoes in way that makes the Sex and the City girls look like double leg amputees who cry at the mere mention of footwear existing. And due to some vortex of logic at some point in history the police and government have declared that bouncers are welcome to perform any act of prejudice, cruelty or violence to anyone they want to as long as before hand the bouncer has told them that he doesn’t like the guys shoes.

I have numerous Asian friends, for example, and there are several clubs in Sydney that have a no Asians allowed policy, but that’s hard to enforce under normal laws so instead what they say is ‘Sorry, you can’t come in… wearing THOSE shoes!’ It doesn’t matter what shoes he is wearing, they can be sneakers, they can be brand new $500 leather shoes hand crafted by the pope, or they can be, and almost always are, the exact same shoes as other people are wearing that are let in just before you and just after you. This can be if you’re Asian or any other ethnic minority, or literally any other sub-group they want to be prejudice against, long hair, gay, fat, old, too ugly, fancy shirt wearer, hat wearer – this is true, there is literally several men hired by the State government who’s job is to drive around to pubs and make sure no one is wearing a hat in them – seriously as ludicrous as it sounds this is 100% true! I think a politician saw a spy movie once where a bad guy had a hat that had a knife in the peak and he screamed ‘hats can kill’ and dedicated his life to making sure if someone is wearing one when he gets to the pub he must leave it on the table, NOT on his head, phew everyone is safe.

Now what often happens is the person being discriminated against will say ‘but I can see four people in there from here wearing almost identical shoes as mine, what the fuck?’ The bouncer is now allowed to say that he felt ‘threatened by this behavior’ and is allowed to beat this man to any level of pulp he so desires and the next day the media shouts ‘alcohol fueled louts creating violence in Sydney streets again!’

It should be pointed out that this is very much allowed by the cops. I once witnessed a man getting rejected by a bar because his outfit was wrong (he was Asian) and this man responded by purposely walking through the velvet rope, which inspired the bouncer to pick him up and throw him onto a very busy highway, only not killing him by the fate of a red light, before chasing him up the street. I frantically located policemen fearing for the man’s life and after telling him what happened the first cop said to me ‘fuck off mate’ and when I looked to his partner to figure out what was going on he added ‘he said fuck off mate’.

Ah to protect and serve.

Another time I was in a bar where the bouncer was such a cock to me on the way in that I vowed not to spend a cent on the inside so I didn’t drink anything at all. A couple of hours later I was kicked out with no explanation. Pissed off I tried to argue with him at the door merely wanting an explanation and the cops showed up saying:

‘What’s going on here’?
‘I was kicked out and I merely want an explanation’
‘It’s because you’re drunk you fucking idiot and if you don’t leave right now I’ll smash you in the face with my baton and throw you in the paddy wagon’ said a police officer to me, and fuck you I haven’t had a sip of alcohol.

Ah to protect and serve. I literally cried after this, it was the moment I knew the wonderful Sydney I grew up in no longer existed. It was also the closest I ever have or ever will go to committing an act of violence, I actually thought about it - that's intense for me. I also once thought about picking flowers, but I didn’t do that either, I am not a man of action.

Violence on Sydney streets has been a big talking point in the media in the past year, much to the surprise of everyone, even though I had this article published in the Sydney Morning Herald five years ago:

Yep – I predicted this all! Yet I still don’t have a real journalism job.

No one can figure out why this is getting so out of hand even though it’s been the same for many years, and also the fact that the nights they do police blitzes there is always WAY more violence. Wait, add way more cops and there is way more violence, I just can’t figure it out!

Let me think about this – when I put chocolate powder in milk the milk gets chocolaty, and if I put more chocolate in the milk gets more chocolaty, so if more cops means more violence it’s the milks fault?

Of course all of the discussion is coming from police commissioners, politicians and journalists, 100% of whom haven’t tried to have a party night since 1972, and therefore have no fucking clue what they are talking about so just blame it on alcohol and young party enthusiasts.

Equivalents to this idiocy:
- Toddlers teaching people how to perform heart surgery
- A ‘Where to stay in Tunisia’ book written by a someone who’s never left Anchorage Alaska, and has never learned to read
- A vegan proclaiming ‘Now THAT was a good meal’
- People who are Chris Brown fans

Despite this being a big talking point for a long time this specific beating at the Ivy was particularly shocking, because the Ivy is a hotspot, and therefore is a place where men who are very, very boring go to lie about how much money they have so plastic women will sleep with them. The Ivy is swarming with so much pretentiousness and vanity that one time a guy there mentioned that he had once been to an art gallery for fun and the roof caught on fire. Another time two girls walked past having a lively political discussion and three people instantly drowned in the VIP pool. So being a bouncer here is considered the cream of the crop for Bouncers, and sadly owner of the Ivy, nightclub baron Justin Hemmes, has been forced to fire the men who beat that poor man, because, I assume, in his words ‘I built you that space in the basement so you could beat people near to death and NOT get caught you idiots, and when I encourage you to really badly hurt people because they don’t satisfy my personal aesthetics, and that is very often, I want you to beat them so bad they will never fully recover in way that doesn’t make me look bad, because I want to fuck lots of plastic women, and the ones that like to fuck violent people all want Chris Brown, YOU’RE FIRED, but if you see an Asian guy trying to get in on the way out take him down to the basement and beat him near to death please, just make sure you tell him he has the wrong shoes first’

‘Hey we know how to be bouncers!’ they responded. Yes they do.

If you also don't like random acts of severe prejudice or violence please click on this link, or copy and paste it if the link thing wont work, spot me, David Tieck on the top right, and hit like. If you do like people being beaten for no reason you can skip this step, but really what kind of a person does that make you?

Tuesday, August 30, 2011

How stomach shrinkingly romantic

Yesterday, for the first time in a long history of gym attendance, I saw a mirage; the much talked about but always absent - beautiful girl working-out sans both boyfriend AND wedding ring! I know it sounds impossible doesn’t it guys? But it really happened! (Then again it is just the gym in my building, it is a big building, yet it is a building big on couples, damn I hate couples).

Shocked to the core I could do nothing but peddle my bike mindlessly as I stared at her ass moving all around as she skipped a merry beat on the treadmill in front of me. I was mesmerized; both because it was a lovely ass, and because the gym is really boring, so forming a crush is alarmingly easy. I’ve formed crushes on condensation on the window before ‘hey there baby, you really are looking…. moist’.

And form a crush I did. Obviously I had to make a move. Taking into account the thousands of morale destroying rejections your average thirty something male has encountered in his life, and not wanting to make a fool out of myself in front of someone I may well see in the elevator every few days, I decided that it was worth risking all, so make a move I did - yep I moved machines to the one adjacent to hers and when she alighted and walked past my elliptical machine I totally sped up! Awesome first impression won!

‘Hey aren’t you that guy from the gym who ellipticals really hard?’ she is bound to say if she sees me in the elevator sometime soon
‘Oh do I? It just feels like average hardness to me’ I can suavely reply
‘Well it’s way harder than I go’
‘Really you look like you could handle going pretty hard if you wanted to’
‘It’s hard to say, I have never tested my hardness capabilities before, maybe I should try going harder next time’
‘If you need help I can show you how I manage to go so hard’
‘That would be great, because as I mentioned you do seem to go hard’
‘It’s easy for me to go hard, I wake up in the morning hard, that’s just the kind of exerciser I am. Hard that is’

Now with monotonous small talk over I can feel safe to throw in some sexual innuendo:

‘Hey there baby, you really are looking…. moist, wait I mean, you were, in the gym, that time I saw you, because you were sweaty, not that I was watching, your sweat that is, I was watching your ass, um, I mean I was too busy going hard baby’.

Yep the dance of romance has begun. I am not even going to wait till I spot her in the gym, the next step is obvious, I just need to keep going to the gym at around the same time everyday hoping she shows up and doesn’t bring a boyfriend, but does keep wearing those little shorts and sports bra, and keeps noticing how hard I go.

In the meantime a couple of other things I need to get off my chest:

Note to Asian girl who has the physique of a malnutritioned flagpole, you don’t NEED an hour of cardio a day, plus even your camel toe looks like it could do with some food. Still, I would like to cup your tiny ass.

Note to guy with gigantic biceps yet enormous fat gut, you DO need cardio, lay off the steroids and weights, plus divorce your wife she is FAR too hot for you. Still, I would like to cup your chubby ass.

Note to Greenpeace worker I met today, man you were cute, if we dated would you think about whales while we had sex or would you think about sex with me while you were saving whales? Because both are a super turn on.

Wait, wait, wait…. whales…. blow holes…. blowjobs, you freaking Jedi mind tricked me didn’t you? Still, I would like to cup your tiny ass.

Also if you see a whale tell it from me ‘hey there baby, you really are looking…. moist’ cause if it isn’t moist it could die at any moment, and what kind of Greenpeace worker just sits and watches that happen?

Monday, August 29, 2011

Things that shouldn’t be on TV

This week was the VMA’s and of course the biggest talking points about this years VMA’s are four fold:

- Lady GaGa is a much better looking guy than it is a woman.
- Even it doesn’t want to kiss Brittany Spears.
- Why the hell does MTV still stage its video music awards when it doesn’t ever play videos anymore, and instead plays crap and immoral reality shows?
- Jesus Christ what kind of freak would even think about wanting to kiss Brittany Spears? (Insert your own Madonna/Kevin Federland insult here).

I of course didn’t watch the awards because I never even flick to MTV anymore because in Australia it is playing Katy Perry for every second of every day, even when it is showing one of their crap reality shows it photoshops a radio into the hand of every teen mom and has it playing a Katy Perry song on it. Although when the teens are giving birth it forgets about the radio and just has the little girls vagina spew out ‘Teenage dreams’ just before the future criminal, I mean baby squeezes out.

I assume that is; I, obviously, have never watched a second of any of that stuff, although it does make me very sad that I can name a Katy Perry song by name.

All is not lost though, I mean MTV will never be something I’ll watch again, but that doesn’t mean I can’t sell them a few reality show ideas. Here are some suggestions of mine based on my understanding of their moral code, and willingness to exploit people:

- Retards in a pit. A show where we put retards in a pit, and see how long it takes them to get out. It should be a pit that would be easy to get out of if you are not retarded. This one would definitely play with a laugh track
- Sidney needs a Kidney. We find people who are in desperate need of kidney transplants and pair them with naive poor teenagers who think it would be totally worth giving up a kidney for an Ipad
- Abort or not, we let the Jersey Shore cast decide. We find pregnant twelve year olds and have them compete against the Jersey Shore in a series of tests of intelligence, if you can’t beat them in absolutely every one you get your fetus forcibly aborted live on camera. If you do beat them all Snookie decides if you keep the baby or not. Clause 1: you must have specifically gotten pregnant for the show. Clause 2: MTV is not responsible for cervical cancer caused by damage to the cervix from having sex too young, what the hell do you think the hymen is for you idiots? Hint: it’s not a 14-year-old boy’s chewing gum. Clause 3: If you get pregnant to an immediate family member and Snookie decides you must keep your baby we want you to be part of our other new show
- My incest freak baby.

You’re welcome MTV!!! Now if you need a host for any of these shows please, please, please pick me. I will humiliate myself in anyway you need!!!!! Plus, plus – PUNS:

Welcome to Sidney needs a kidney, because sometimes your new kidney is more than a…. stones… throw away. This next retard spent so much time stuck in a pit she has a ….. hole… lot of problems with her kidney.

You’re welcome MTV!!!!

Ps. I am doubling up at the moment, but I plan to switch all my topical blogs over to if you are so inclined please go follow me there too :)

I have reached the top

Call me crazy, but I have spent a hell of a lot of time thinking about this, and I have come to the logical conclusion that if an ant climbed to the top of a mountain and yelled: ‘I’m the king of the castle and you’re a dirty rascal’. It’d then quickly follow this sentence up with: ‘Fuck it was a long way up here, plus what the hell is a rascal?’

I know, it seems so obvious now that I have written it in sentence form, but for many years anthropologists (people who study the ways different people and societies have lived over history, but occasionally get chucked some ‘ant study grant money’ based on an administrative cock up due to their field’s poorly thought out name) have wondered what would happen if an ant ever reached the summit of a mountain, and have failed to figure out anything due to ants poor climbing skills when considered against their size and the size of mountains in regions they inhabit. Also anthropologists waste a hell of a lot of time on pots ancient people used, and pots are not interesting at all.

List of things more interesting than pots:
- Coffee stains
- The poorly regulated olive picking unions
- Ants, they walk in a line, that’s really cool

Sure of course, if instead of ‘mountain’ we merely switched in ‘ant hill’, we would find lots of ants who had climbed to the top, but that is not impressive at all, in fact switch the species and it sounds almost like you are a genocide fan:

‘Today I climbed a human hill’
‘Really, you’re into genocide? That’s so 2003, get away from me you unimpressive loser’

Yep that’s how sad the life of anthropologists and ants are; forever trying to scale the heights of anthropology and/or high things.

And really it’s the ants I feel sorry for, because the word ‘ant’ is merely the word ‘an’ with another singular letter added. That is a very small addition to an already very small word that itself was very mediocre to begin with. So why the hell does an ant deserve to be king of anything, let alone a mountain?

I think ants would be more remarkable if they had’ve shunted adding the letter ‘t’ to ‘an’ and instead gone with ‘anf’ or even more fun ‘anh’. How fun would it be pronouncing that all the time? It’s almost unpronounceable. And saying almost unpronounceable words is one of the funnest things anyone can ever do, consider these fun words:

- Constituents
- Entrepreneurial
- Fandangle
- Hierarchical
- Obstetrician
- Flan

I could spend two or three hours having fun just saying these six words alone, add ‘anh’ to the mix and there is a fun weekend.

Although it would make it way harder to insult them: ‘Hey you, you dirty an.., um, angh, how the hell do I say what you are????’ Before you know it they WOULD be king of stuff, because how the hell do you stop something you can’t insult?

There would be NOTHING you could do to stop them, instead of, well stepping on them, but is it worth climbing off your human hill to do that? That is definitely something Anthropologists should get working on, that or what the hell IS a rascal?

Thursday, August 25, 2011

What Jim Carrey was really saying to Emma Stone

I feel warm and fuzzy inside

I have a new goal that I have recently set myself – get addicted to coffee before the warm part of spring.

I have a weird long-term relationship with coffee. In highschool I thought consuming coffee, like using deodorant, and talking to the opposite sex was something that you shouldn’t attempt until you were a fully established adult. At the age of thirty-four I still feel a million miles away from being a fully established adult, so fourteen year olds drinking coffee gives me the creeps in the same way fourteen year olds doing anything other than going to school and playing with toys does (not those kinds of toys you sick bastards – did you really think I meant Barbie? That thing sets impossible standards!)

In my late teens or early twenties I tried coffee for the first time. I didn’t know it at the time but the coffee I was drinking, just by chance, had been filtered using a chemical rich urine-neutralizing shield designed to go into babies’ nappies/diapers. I didn’t really like the taste at the time, but I did start to grow hair on my spleen.

Over the next fifteen years or so I have had the odd sporadic coffee, only when I am in super cold climates, and usually only after I have already drunk two or three hot chocolates and I can feel the my stomach fat growing into my spleen hair.

Then this past week I went skiing. This meant that for a weird week I was waking up really early and in really cold weather. Those things BOTH go with coffee! Everyone else was drinking coffee, and even though I hate to give into peer pressure, I tightened my girdle that makes me look more like Barbie and joined the crowd. And I kind of liked it.

Upon my return to Sydney I made a vow to keep the earlier starts going, and instead of four hours of TV and Internet surfing to start the day I would head to a café, read the paper and do some writing. It has been awesome and productive, and I really want to keep in up. I just need to get addicted to coffee so I still crave it in the super hot Aussie summer.

That is why I am currently sitting in a chain coffee shop that’s named after a woman named Gloria and her pants. I have no idea who, or what, or why someone thought ‘Jeans’ should be in the title of a coffee shop, but I assume the meeting went something like this:

‘I have heard that some people find coffee has a laxative effect’
‘Ha ha, that’s hilarious, I wonder if anyone will ever accidently shit in their jeans in our new coffee shop?’
‘I don’t know, probably. So anyway what are we going to call this place?’
‘Well there is this girl named “Gloria Jeans” I’m trying to bang at the moment, can we name it after her cause that might help my cause?’
‘But that has literally nothing to do with any product we will sell’
‘But she is REALLY hot’
‘You’ll take pictures?’
‘Of course!’
‘Ok, a coffee toast to our new coffee shop name Gloria Jeans! Ughh, um, I need to run the toilet, there better be LOTS of toilet paper in there’

Of course, if I am totally honest, my new coffee goal is also based on my desire to meet cute girls, preferably ones that have body shapes of the EXACT same proportions as a Barbie. So this coffee shop that I have chosen as my new sometime home is immediately adjacent to a park that has a couple of well-established themes:
- It is a horrible wind tunnel.
- There are numerous aggressive magpies and crows that will attack you and literally snatch food right from your hand.
- It is almost always also completely and utterly choc full of mothers groups.

I don’t know what is going on in my neighborhood, but fertility rates in the past couple of years have swarmed to pandemic levels. It is utterly frightening. This park looks like a trash tip of strollers being crawled all over rat like toddlers and babies.

Today the park also holds two guys with off-the-leash-pitbulls, only a day or so after ‘pitball kills four year old’ stories have been all over the papers (I know this because of my early morning coffee habit). And this just confirms a suspicion I have always had - most mothers secretly hope their baby is blown away by a wind tunnel, snatched by a crow or eaten by a pitball. I blame the poor morals taught by Barbie.

I’m not a baby killer myself, but I do like to play a fun game concerning babies. I try to spot the cute girls caring for a kid, and then look for wedding rings. If none is apparent I assume that there is no chance on earth anyone would ever have a baby out of wedlock and conclude this girl must be a nanny. Then I lust over her for a brief little while before asking myself ‘do girls who become nannies share my same staunch determination to NEVER EVER become a parent’. Usually the answer is whispered back to me ‘actually she probably loves kids and if you ever had sex with her she’d fish your used condom out of the trash and drain it out into herself’. Now I loathe her for tricking me into being attracted to her, and for highly immoral sperm stealing. Then I make funny faces at her kid, because kids always love me and can’t help wanting to play with me. It’s the kind of rollercoaster ride that shouldn’t be possible from a beverage, and yet coffee comes through!

As for this coffee I am drinking right now? Well I am not enjoying it at all. Spring has really hit today, and it’s far too warm to enjoy a warm drink. I am going to keep it up though, I really want to burn off my spleen hair.

Sunday, August 21, 2011

How can you be so cold?

This past week, as part of my life goal to have endless adventures to make up for the chronic lack of physical affection I receive the from fairer sex, I went on a vacation based around studying, identifying, discussing, and basing happiness around the various states of frozen and horribly sometimes unfrozen water. Yep, I went to the snow.

Skiing in Australia is a particularly strange pastime. The fact that our continent is one enormous inhabitable desert surrounded by hot sunny beaches all under a hole in the ozone so harsh that if you try and moon a car full of teenagers your butt cheeks instantly sprout a farm of skin cancers leaves snow sport enthusiasts in an understandable state of utterly expecting that the tiny hills we almost ironically call the ‘Snowy Mountains” will have the perfect skiing conditions all the time.

The reality of course is that we have two main categories of “snow”
- Solid bricks of ice and
- Melted hills of slush.

Of course this is if you can find either of these in between the thousands of rocks, trees, and full fields of mountain side grass. This leads to much discussion on where to find the best “snow”.

“Should we try the Excellorator?”
“Nah too icy, what about the Front Valley Quad?”
“Nah too slushy”
“Um you know those are the only two options in Australia right?”

Of course I am being far too harsh here. I for one, having grown up enjoying these hills many a time, know what to expect and love it for what it is, and I have many extra ways to enjoy our subpar yet still awesome alpine hills. These include:

- Risking my enjoyment, health and safety all in the name of fashion. On this trip I bought a whole new outfit based around a grape and grey colored ski parker. Now on this particular trip the first and last days were so hot people literally skied in t-shirts, but the three days in-between were freezing cold, enormously windy, and jumped between relentless rain and blizzards. I had brought with me a much needed neck warmer to pull over my mouth and nose so I could survive the horror of going up a chair lift exposed to nature trying to beat your spirits to death, but alas the one I brought was bright red and clashed with my new color scheme so instead I just braved the pain. This was smart; my lips are now so crippled with crusty dryness and bloody splits that if I blot them with a tissue it looks like I have kissed a man’s collar with ruby red lipstick. Being a heterosexual man is so awesome.
- Inventing ad campaigns. This ones for you owners of beach resorts – simply put a webcam on a chairlift and patch the feed of people finding out what it feels like to have 58000 tiny grains of ice hit your face at 234km per hour every 3 seconds, and put the caption ‘this is a holiday, are you retarded?’
- Becoming a “Goodsamarabunny”. I know this makes me a little weird, but when I see a six year old sitting in the snow, balling his or her eyes out because they are lost, can’t figure out how to get their skis back on, and don’t have a clue where their parents are, I like to help them rather than ski past yelling wooohoooo. I know this makes me weird because pretty much everyone else takes the wooohooo option. Then in the chairlift line they look at me with eyes saying “stay away from little kids you pedophile”. Then YOU help them asshole! Then again my beanie shaped like a cute bunny may have given the wrong impression. Still I am officially a hero.
- One chairlift in the resort of “Blue Cow” has an area you can’t ski in because it is inhabited by the endangered snowy mountain pygmy-possums, an animal so stupid that it chooses to live in a rare snow covered area full of people rather than the endless isolated forest surrounding this hill. By riding this chairlift I assume I saved this animal, I am officially a hero.
- I also help out cute girls who have fallen down. I am officially a hero.

Oh I almost forgot, at the snow there is also super fun sport. Two main ones in fact:

1. Attempting to sit on every single patch of snow you can find anywhere on the mountain, with special keenness to sit on snow near chairlifts, flat sections, and ridges. A sport also known as snowboarding.
2. Standing around in the snow waiting for snowboarders who are sitting down, making relentless fun of snowboarders for always sitting down, and getting frustrated at how much time you spend standing in snow waiting for snowboarders who are enjoying yet another sit down. A sport also known as skiing.

Both of course are high paced and soaring adrenaline Olympic sports.

Snowboarding is judged by how many times on one day you can sit in snow and either un-strap or re-strap your board to your feet. The lowest number ever recoded is 2,454. If you can’t get into six figures you can forget about the Olympics. Another fun event is the ‘How much snow in your bum crack does it take before you snap and punch the mountain’.

Skiing is judged by how few blisters you can develop walking fifteen meters in horrible ski boots. World record fewest is 2,454. If you can’t get into six figures you can forget about the Olympics. Another fun event is ‘how badly can you twist your knee without requiring reconstructive surgery’.

I am of course a skier, because I am not stupid, and I love blisters, especially puss filled ones. But also because it’s immensely fun, challenging, beautiful, and adventurous, all things I love. In fact having just arrived back a couple of days a go I am already trying to figure out how to go back in the next few weeks. If you are a cute girl you should come with me, we’ll make fun of snowboarders together, then at night I’ll make you hot chocolate, and we can cuddle by an open fire, and when the moment strikes I’ll kiss you with my crusty dry bloody split lips. I am officially a hero.

Sunday, August 14, 2011

A solution to a world wide problem

I am pretty sure that if you collected all the pickles I've picked out of cheeseburgers and all the tofu I have picked out of Asian food then we could make a hell of a lot of people a really gross meal.


Africa or something

Friday, August 12, 2011

How your life is at risk from a newly discovered yet very common disease

I don’t like to get too political or socially aware on my blog, but this week I have been given access to some exclusive scientific research about a very real disease that you may currently be suffering from unaware, and/or very well may be put ting your life, and the lives of all the people you know and love in danger every single day.

‘LSB’ or ‘Lazy Scum-Bag’ is a condition that scientists have now discovered to be the root of why so many drivers seem unable or unwilling to use their car’s indicator, blinker or as perpetrators call them 'why do they have that weird stick next to my steering wheel in every car I drive?'

Suffers of LSB have been seen across the world failing to indicate while doing the following:

- turning left
- turning right
- changing lanes
- parking
- trying to hit dogs and
- while using roundabouts with 74 cars approaching from every direction

Sound ghastly? It is, but here is where it gets extraordinarily scary - LSB’s have be known to fail to indicate even when there are other cars around that need to know the LSB’s plans before navigating their own situation in the safest way possible, also when pedestrians are in the facility possibly about to walk exactly where you are planning to turn under a cloak of false safety from the car lights suggesting it is planning on going straight and not turning at all, and yes, even when there is no one around but they are still legally required to use their blinking tool.

Good…. GOD.

This despite activating said indicator requiring nothing more than moving a finger two inches from where it already is, or should be!

Every day more and more people develop the symptoms suggesting the early stages of LSB, and once it takes hold life, as they know it, is nothing but hell. As one long suffer of LSB described the ordeal of his horrible affliction:

'Using my blinker requires me to move my finger two inches! Fuck that I'd much rather kill a kid!'

LSB has been noticed by experts for many years but always discounted as not being a real condition due to sufferers simultaneously partaking in activities that are dangerous and/or annoying despite in these cases it requiring MORE effort than treating their fellow drivers with respect.

Activities like

- Honking horn at someone for doing something they themselves do guilt free
- Tailgating despite the car in front already going the speed limit and the fact tailgating is most likely to slow them down now that they have been put in danger
- Not kindly allowing someone into your lane, and then giving them the finger when you force them to force their way in

For years experts have thought these activities were merely caused by people being 'selfish' and 'total assholes' mostly because they are, that's why LSB caught scientists so off guard, because in terms of effort it is the opposite the regular behavior of the LCB. One expert was recently quoted saying:

‘Turns out even total assholes are capable of getting diseases, wow we’re in luck, maybe they'll also get Hodgkin’s Luphoma, that's a real thing right?’

If you are sufferer of LSB not all hope is lost. Help is out there, counseling can help, losing your license for a DUI has been known to minimize the regularity and there are also full cures, such as:

- Jumping off a balcony
- Putting your head in oven and slow roasting it like beef brisket
- Going to a hospital and seeing a crippled brain damaged kid who was hit by a car that didn’t indicate and then explaining to his parents exactly why moving your finger two inches is too hard
- Getting blinded by shards of glass after crashing into a kitchen appliance store
- Thinking to yourself 'I’m a dangerous fucking douche bag, is this how I was resided? Yes, I guess it's time for a parental/self murder suicide’

If a slower approach is more your style you can also simply start moving your finger 2 inches occasionally. If you're not ready to do it in a driving situation start at home, you'll find all sorts of benefits, cans of soda can now not just held but also opened, TV channels can be changed with a remote, and you can point at things and say to someone exciting things like 'was that pot plant always there?'

Sadly of course, most LSB suffers will never seek help as one of the symptoms of LSB is a condition known as ‘LYNDAW’ or 'like you've never done anything wrong' which is a weird tick like response LSB sufferers will spew once having it pointed out that moving ones finger 2 inches is not big that big an ask seeing as it saves lives.

‘Like you've never done anything wrong!’ They'll yell.

Yes sadly, in the LSB mind, the fact that there are few flawless humans in the world justifies anything they may do wrong themselves, despite how possibly catastrophic the result and the available simple solution.

So sad.

So if you meet a LSB sufferer give them a hug, they're suffering, then tackle them to the ground and steal they're car keys, just caused they're diseased doesn’t mean they should be allowed to kill us.

Tuesday, August 9, 2011

Kanye West vs Adolf Hitler, a study

Kanye West interrupted his concert yesterday to complain that ‘people look at me like I'm Hitler’. Hmmm, I’ve never done that myself, and I despise Kanye, but now that YOU raise it Kanye, I am willing to play ball. Why don’t we play a lovely, happy happy, game of Kanye West vs Adolf Hitler, a study yaaaay:

Hitler – Stupid mustache
Kanye – Stupid plastic stripy sun glass things

Hitler – Stole Swastika design from Buddhists
Kanye – Steals beats, music and choruses from real musicians

Hitler – Known for powerful impassioned speeches
Kanye – Known for whiney rants

Hitler - Tried to eradicate the Jews, gypsies, and homosexuals
Kanye – Trying to eradicate good music, credibility of Grammies and his ability to seem anything but retarded

Hitler - Stormed into Poland to start a truly awful war
Kanye - Stormed onto awards show stage to make ridiculous claims about a truly awful song

Seriously Kanye, that all the singles ladies piece of shit was fucking despicable. ‘If you like it he soulda put a ring on it’? Really we’re supposed to waste three months of salary just cause we only like a girl. Shut the fuck up, and buy your own ring

Hitler - As a dinner guest would be controversial yet fascinating
Kanye- As a dinner guest would make you pull out a steak knife, stab out your own ear drums and gouge out your eye balls

Hitler - Rebuilt Germany only to destroy it
Kanye - Rebuilds others peoples music only to destroy it

Leave other peoples art alone you prick.

Hitler - Built an evil dictatorship and falsely called it socialism
Kanye - Makes mix tapes of other peoples music, talks over some of it and falsely calls himself an artist

Seriously Kanye, an artist is someone who creates something. Imagine a novelist using ‘samples’ of other better novels. It would be called plagiarism and they would be blacklisted from the arts. If you want to be an artist make all your own shit you piece of shit.

Hitler - Had legions of supporters now considered stupid and evil
Kanye - Has legions of supporters who must have been conceived using nuclear power plant toxic waste as a lubricant

Where do you get that lube, cause we should probably throw it down a mineshaft, along with every Kanye CD.

Hitler - Was a leading cause of death to Europeans
Kanye - Every album he's made has been post 911, and every year he continues there is at least one world wide catastrophe, coincidence? Hell no. Also I have it on good knowledge that babies have cried way more than average since his first song.

Really Kanye, making babies cry? Ever had to sit next to one on a plane. Oh no, you fly private jets, with plasma screens and Internet connection; Hitler never had any of those.

Hitler - Bombed England every night, yet they stood strong and united
Kanye - Entered England this week and there are riots and looting

Slow clap for you Kanye, you made a strong, resilient, loyal nation turn on each other.

Hitler - Made Anne frank hide in attic scared to leave and have Hitler kill her
Kanye - Makes music lovers hide in attic scared to face anyone who likes his songs and be forced to kill them

Hey if you want people dead Kanye at least have the balls to do it yourself.

Hitler - Made people listen to radio every night for war updates
Kanye - Radio listenership has been falling and falling every year since Kanye started. Coincidence? Hell no. I also have it on good authority that since Kanye released his first album that Alien sightings have been down. Yes, that's right, even aliens want to avoid earth now.

Thanks Kanye, one of those aliens probably has a cure to cancer and AIDs. Be proud of all the deaths you are allowing.

Hitler - Killed himself ending the war
Kanye – Refuses to kill himself allowing his music to go on, and on, and on, like a never ending water fall of vomit pouring all over the world, that just wont stop, please wont it stop, please, for the love of god PLEAAAASEEEE!!

Hitler – Never personally hurt anyone with his own hands
Kanye - Once proudly claimed in the song American Boy 'I'm feeling like Mike at his baddest’

Kanye! You’re feeling like Michael Jackson, a pedophile, at his baddest??!!!! So you are basically proud to rap about a confession that you yourself are as bad as a man raping young boys in your own song? What the hell are you doing? It’s HORRIBLE! DESPICABLE! Oh my god, how are you not in jail?

Hitler - One of the worst humans in history
Kanye - One of the worst humans in history

So hmmm, Kanye being compared to Hitler fair on not? I'll let you decide on your own that yes, it’s very, very, very fair.

Thanks for pointing it out Kanye, or else I would have been forced to merely compare your music to the only sound potentially worse - a parrot being shoved into a waste disposal unit.

Monday, August 8, 2011

Oooh, heaven is a place on earth

I recently saw a sign outside of a church that proclaimed:


That’s, awesome! Because that basically means that one of the angles went up to god and they had the following exchange:

Angel - Hey God mate, um, so I wanted to raise something with you, um, thing is there really is a hell of a lot of heaven up here in heaven, I mean practically everything in heaven is heaven; it's a god damn administrative nightmare!

God - (Pick your own god like voice, I personally prefer to ignore the traditional deep and manly for a good solid gay Latino boy voice) Sorry man, I know, I never expected so many people to end up, up here, geez so many people are just so darn good, barely a bad thing could be said about any of them, so we have expanded a lot. Tell you what, why don’t just cram a lot of heaven onto earth?

Angel – um, Earth really? Not Randlton in south east of universe 179, they're really crying out for some heaven. Or maybe Lievendtonalvle in the deep bluder of Universe 745, they don’t even have Internet porn yet; we could give them some heaven?

God – Ugh, um, maybe don't question my wisdom angel, I'm fucking god!

Angels – Yes, yes I'm sorry

God - Besides Randleton didn't kill the son I sent them like I told them too, they made him a celebrity instead, can you imagine, a self centered everything come easy pretentious celebrity? Do you know what a brat he is now? I'm having a he'll of a time trying to get him to clean his room.

Angel - Sir you're god, why don't you hire a cleaner, I'm sure we can get you a Mexican or something!

God - It's about discipline! It’s about fucking respect! You can't let your kids think just cause they're Son of God everything comes easy.

Angel – I'm sorry. You’re right god.

God – I’m right? Thanks so much, your support and understanding means a tremendous lot to me, without it I just don’t know how I would handle the doubt (under breath – seriously where do I find these idiots) I’m FUCKING GOD you tool, OF COURSE I AM RIGHT!

Angel – Sorry, sorry, um, well just one more thing I guess, when you say cram some heaven onto earth, are you sure we don't wish to be more careful and perhaps gently place a bit of heaven, isn’t cramming a bit of a haphazard way to distribute stuff?

God - Oh my god you are a fag aren't you, just stuff a pile into the vortex and stick your foot in and cram it in good and deep.

Angel – But, but it’ll wrinkle!

God – Holy shit, it's fucking heaven! It doesn’t matter where it goes, how much it wrinkles, it’s fucking HEAVEN! They’ll deal with it. You know what, I bet they'll even put up a sign somewhere to commemorate it.’

Angel – You really think so? A sign? Where, like a billboard or something?

God – I reckon probably outside a church somewhere.

Angel – Wow, now THAT would be cool. But I just can’t see it happening.

God – Tell you what, if I am right you pay for my internet porn for a month, if you are right I’ll pay for yours.

Angel – You’re on.

God – (walking away, under breath) What a moron, I’M fucking GOD! Of course I am fucking right, anyway Hell fucking Yeah, free Internet porn for a month, suck on that Lievendtonalvle!

Friday, August 5, 2011

This blog has sex AND murder

I was just in the most filthy disgustingly stinky public toilet in the world. True story. Fun times.

It is a toilet close to where I live in the car-park of a grocery store and I believe in a good year it still doesn't get cleaned. The grocery store has good fresh fruit though.

I knew this toilet was going to be epically gross before I even entered, as it always is, but I was busting and there was no other option other than a tree and you get fined for that, unless your a dog. Damn dogs, they get all the luck. The bad news, as I was soon to discover, was that another VIP guest behind the velvet rope of this toilet was clearly so disgusted that they would not sit to do their number two, and instead of going home they chose to attempt to projectile poo from a good foot from the bowl, and it turns out they are really bad at this activity. REALLY bad, I mean come on guy, practice on the ring attached to your garage for a while before you try and join the pros.

By the way violence is never the answer..... unless the question is 'What's the worst kind of diarrhea?'

The hot fudge on top of the sundae was actually on the floor though, ah the beautiful garnish of a fresh used condom.

So I think it's safe to say someone has just had the... BEST sex of their life.

It made me realize something a shower is the same as a murder weapon, find either after a 17 day hike in the rain-forest with an overly enthusiastic botanist and you’re going to use it.

Which all goes to say doesn’t anyone ever care that the outside of the condom doesn’t want AIDs either?

I am one desperately dangerous dude

I don't have a violent bone in my body. One time a piece of chicken gristle stormed into my body via my throat and not one bone attacked it, or even stood up to it, it's now embedded between my stomach and spleen. Even now my bones bring it chicken soup when it's sick, then again I guess that is forcing cannibalism, I do have the odd silly bone.

Over my years I've held the odd weapon. As a teenager I sourced some Ninja stars and a couple of knives, plus most nights at some point I'll hold a fork, and you can do some serious damage to a scrotum with one of them. I had a potato gun, I had cap guns and briefly in Czech republic I bought a very illegal in Australia BB gun. It said on the box for ages 11+ and I WAS in that age range, so I felt totally safe.

Still as of today, and I assume forever, I have never been in a fight or performed an act of violence. It's almost impossible for me to even imagine a reason that could make me want to hit someone (except Sydney bouncers like this one -

I could never even hold a deadly weapon. As a teenager I always assumed if they tried to force me in the army they’d force me right back out when I treated the weapons like they were covered it smallpox. There is literally nothing you could do to even get me to hold a loaded gun. The best case scenario if it goes off is it misses someone by 364 degrees, and actually come to think of it my body would take more than 1 degree of a circle, and then there is up and down, but up has air and that's been excellent to me, and down has dirt which is my seventh favorite brown thing (chocolate and related products, brown haired ladies, pants from the seventies, wood, brown eyed girls, grizzly bears, dirt, then of course the obvious poo....rly designed helmets).

Still ok, a bullet could go many places, but one of them is in my flesh, or even in my bones and they don't deserve it, they’re not violent. It could even go into other people, and only some of them deserve it (mostly pop stars and boyfriends of girls I find cute).

Some people say holding a gun makes you feel strong, powerful, invincible, good at scrabble and other manly things, but I don’t care about those things. No guns for me please no sir no siree (apparently this phrase is a crap score in scrabble, no spaces allowed, stupid game). I'll take a fork over a gun any day.

So last Saturday I arrived at the gun range.

I was in Bathurst 200km west of Sydney. A couple of things you might like to know about Bathurst
- It was Australia’s first inland settlement, born in 1815, and now 196 years later, spurred on by small amounts of gold, freezing weather yet no skiing and Australians desperate fear of living more than 20 minutes from a beach, the population has swelled to nearly 31000!
- It is now most famous for a car race that attracts 70000 people and just two competitors, Ford and Holden. Each company has about 100 cars each and fans are either passionately Ford or Holden, and that's retarded. It's like supporting golf based on the ball manufacturer “I can’t wait for the Masters this weekend, I’m a Nike man myself” “Oh really, I want you to die, Titleist is way better, you motherfucker”. These are the people who if turn on a random TV channel cheer out loud if there is no commercial on, regardless of how crap the show. In fact these are the people who make it so the lead in show on TV affects the viewers for the next show. You don’t have to be loyal to a network you tools, pick up the remote and watch whatever you want.
- My fan, and friend, Andy Day of the Day brothers identical twin organization grew up there and invited me to come shoot his guns at a gun range.
- Supporting Ford or Holden in the Bathurst 1000 is as stupid as getting in a fistfight over which is the better condiment, salt or pepper.
- I like Nike balls better; they feel softer off my golf club, yet I wear a Titleist cap to the gym.

Upon arrival at the range there were various people shooting various guns at various targets and I felt immediately and overwhelmingly humble. It is surreal and scary to stand behind a row of young men (all men, women don't come here, they don't like how the ear-muffs mess up their hair) all shooting guns, knowing they could turn around and kill you, or fuck up and kill themselves. Especially as we drove in via a Vietnam Veterans memorial park, while I read a newspaper story about the Norway massacre.

Before I could jump in myself there was the little matter of the “new” safety test. To make sure that it was ok for the company to hand me a deadly weapon I first had to sign a form promising that I wasn’t a wanted criminal, that I never had an apprehended violence order taken out on me, and that I had no intentions of shooting anyone. Then I had to read a form with the rules on it, and promise to obey them.

Even thought the rules were far more stringent than I suspected they would be, with rules on never having the gun ever point anywhere other than directly towards the targets when loaded, and never being anywhere other than in a locked box when not on the range, and no shooting anyone in the face, it still felt a little light on safety to me. Then I realized that literally everyone else here was in possession of at least one fire arm, and had way better skills with them than me. Anyone’s ability to be dangerous here would last about three seconds.

Having been certified as being safe it was now time to learn how to use a gun. This took place on top of a garbage bin and broke twelve of the rules I had just learned, especially as the owner accidently left in on the bin for ten minutes, with no one watching it, in a place where any one could pick it up. Anyone’s ability to be dangerous here could be catastrophic.

It was time for me to shoot. I was lead to a small Russian semi-automatic 22, already in place in the firing box, pointing forward. Forgetting everything I had just learned I was coached in loading and preparing the gun, and stringently watched by an expert as I fired my first rounds. Pow (heart thumping) pow (deep swallow) pow (holy crap I am worried about violating even the slightest safety check) pow (please don’t accidently shoot myself) pow.

I was nervous as all hell firing my first shots. But the gun was pretty tame, yet powerful feeling, and surprisingly all of my first five rounds hit the target near the centre. I could actually be good at this.

I noticed a distinct unwavering feeling of having metal in my heart as I went through the rounds, getting use to using the gun, and feeling my nerves dissipate and my confidence rise.

Andy Day had pulled out the big bad boy Smith and Wesson 357 magnum revolver to my left, and as I shot the 22, I could feel the big boy shooting with a bang so intense you felt it in your whole body. Soon, as my skills grew, it was my turn with the big man, and wow it had kick and power. I was starting to like this. I was feeling that supremacy people who like guns say they like so much.

Over the course of a couple of hours I began to get more and more use to loading, preparing, dismantling and firing various guns. It was hugely fun. As I got better and better I began to unleash rounds faster and faster, feeling bullet shells flying all around me, and sometimes hitting me in the face. I did, for a rare time in my life, most certainly feel like a bad ass.

I began to shoot with my imagination running wild, disappearing into my mind and imagining many an old west/ modern action movie scenario. And it was now that I realized I had reached complacency, I'd dropped my safety standards, woops, plus I now badly wanted to run around doing rolls on the ground, jumping over car bonnets and firing at random targets in every direction. It became clear to me right then if I was going to continue to fire these things it would only continue to be fun if it continued to get more and more dangerous. So I put down my gun, and thought “I’ll probably never pick up one of those again, now who wants to play laser tag, cause I really, really want to shoot someone in the face right now, just for the fun of it”.

I am now someone who knows what it feels like to fire a deadly weapon. If war breaks out tomorrow I'm ready. And if I survive the first few weeks I'll almost certainly get complacent and shoot myself in the penis, but at least that’s way more smarter than passionately following a two horse car race.

Monday, August 1, 2011

Things not to text to strangers

Here is something that you should never text message to a stranger

I want to rip your clothes off
and pull you into me from behind
fucking you in the ass
deeper and harder
hearing you scream
as you think of the Tasmanian logging industry
my vodka infused natural lubricant
will overcome every doubt
in your moistest of brain juices
like the aggregate of every bull
and every Paris Hilton wanna be
like an orgy in a vat of duck fat
You'll be dripping with sweat
like a Persian monkey on steroids
and I want to catch every drop
in a bed pan
and watch you sponge bath yourself with it
like a menopausal old woman in a nursing home
You don't know me
but we already share the same STDs

And now a poem by Dave

The beginning of time
The end of innocence
The beginning of pressure
The end of presence
And the little girl is told to hurry
Up and not be a child anymore
So someone like me can take advantage of her
And just moments later
Just snippets of time
And she is too old already
And its moved onto after
And I feel it too
I really do
Cause its too late for me to
Choke in a bathtub
Or to put a shotgun in my mouth
In a wilderness shack
I’m already beyond that
And I haven’t even begun
But I still want to make
A red stain on a fresh white sheet
And I still want to force the overwhelmed
Into a crumpled heap
And my hands and my eyes
Threaten to expose my desperate disguise
I’m empty inside
The beginning of everything
The end of the wrong path
The beginning of gold walls
The end of the relaxed past
I feel it too
But I need to

Friday, July 22, 2011

How to lose weight and eat all that you want

Here is my new invention, by which I mean an idea for an invention; I can’t actually invent it because that takes skills I don’t have, like putting things together, building stuff, and making stuff work. Geez those inventor type people are amazing. Remember when if you were an inventor it meant you were really famous and popular? Wow you must be ninety, what was the depression really like?

I’ve had many ideas for inventions of the years. My best was a photocopier that fed the papers you wish to copy in and out of the copier like how it happens on printer. A couple of years later that invention was invented by one of those amazing people mentioned above, and is now standard on almost all photocopiers. That inventor is now a billionaire and is super-popular (I assume) but we both (if by both you mean I) know that I was the real inventor, or idea guy.

I have been going to the gym a lot lately, I have a bet going with a couple of mates about dropping some weight, and I don’t want to drop all the delicious food I like, and that got me thinking, here it is, my invention:

It’s a treadmill that has a computer built in where you type in everything you have eaten since you last worked out, and it just keeps spinning till you have burnt off all the calories you need to burn off.

It would be great for everyone:
- Like eating lots of cheeseburgers? You now spend seven hours a day in the gym.
- Anorexic? You will probably not get carpel tunnel syndrome from excessive typing.
- Small already obese child? The machine will be programmed to call child protective services on your parents while you run.
- Struggle with motivation? It comes with a cage and cattle prong thrusting into your butt device.
- Bulimic and don’t want to do math? Comes with special scale to weigh your puke bucket.
- Celebrity? We’ll provide a small African child to eat food and exercise for you.
- Elderly? You lived through the depression so probably don’t have a weight issue.

Still not convinced? Well consider this:

If you ask someone that old adage about that tree falling in the woods, and that person is deaf, do they actually exist?

If you answer “no” to that question then you are probably nuts, but at least your out there doing things, asking questions, that’s called being proactive, which is just like my machine.

Order now…. And you’re also nuts, because as I mentioned above I don’t actually invent my inventions, but order in two years, when some young whippersnapper will independently come up with my idea (steal it) and become rich and famous, and provide himself a small African child so he’ll never have to use his own machine ever again.

Thursday, July 21, 2011

David Tieck…… ACT…tor

The last time I was in a play was about 25 years ago. I played a Native Hawaiian who was part of a posse who speared Captain Cook to death (this was my second on stage murder in my second play, having been in charge of dumping a house on the Wicked Witch in my first play, I never did grow out of my murderous typecasting).

This was really fun because the kid playing Cook was an old friend who was a temporary enemy, and I liked the idea of stabbing him to death at this time. Also I think I was jealous of him getting the lead even though I would have stabbed myself before saying a single line on a stage.

Then again it was also horrible because for some reason playing a Native Hawaiian meant the make-up lady put me in black face with bright cherry red lipstick (I believe it was her revenge for years of mental abuse by the supermarket chocolate isle) and I had to go on stage like that, and then no one showed me how to get it off, so I spent the best part of twenty-four hours like that, and it was epically humiliating.

Fun fact that ex friend became a friend friend again and then the first time I ever heard Smells Like Teen Spirit was in his little brothers room, and that little brother is now a hugely famous electro pop musician, I hated him then (annoying) and now (jealousy), and because of him it took me a many years to appreciate Nirvana. Also because Axl Rose told me via interviews not to like them, and if Axl Rose tells you to do something you do it damn it.

Recently I've been thinking about trying to perform in a play in a positive way. Like enjoying it, and having lines, and not taking out immature vendettas (actually I believe from memory the catalyst for the ex friend period was someone who wasn't a friend daring me that I couldn't de-friend him as a friend, holy lord pathetic, at least I am pretty sure that is the only time I have ever been influenced by another person).

So I started putting some feelers out for audition opportunities, and last night I was invited to a play reading.

What occurs at a play reading? I hear you ask. I thought it was a place to hear the play read by a series of prepared actors, when alas it was actually a place where several things happens:

1. Potential auditioners such as myself get to read random parts of the play at various time.

2. Actors show off how Acterly they can be despite being told not to be acterly.

3. Actors with dyslexia try to come up with as many jokes as possible to self deprecate their inability to read.

4. Numerous actors try to show off how good they are at doing Upper Class British accents even if their character is described as being from Austria or France.

5. Actors such as myself decree that one should only adopt said posh accent if one is directed to by either text or director, and when the time cameth upon my good self to read a character, I decided to conduct my business in my normal Australian accent still tinged with whisks of Americana, yet when I discovered myself endowed with a character an accent arbitrarily came out of my mouth akin to what I would do when mocking the British royal family, or reading something utterly disgusting to humor my friends.

“And then, my lord, she shat her last nights fine dining experience over my face, lathering it in the same manner I lather your fine silver with polish, before shining it to a mirror, so you can watcheth yourself fist a goat in the rectum” Jane Austin.

Speaking of shining silver, Paris Hilton stormed out of an interview today when the host suggested she may no longer be relevant, I was equally outraged, how dare someone suggest she was ever relevant (awesome boobs though).

The play that we read was “An ideal husband” by Oscar Wilde. I shamelessly do not know that much about good ol’ Oscar, other than that I believe he was a hugely admired, and extremely promiscuous homosexual who died of alcoholism in Paris in the early part of the twentieth century, and was keen on the phrases “she’ll be right” and “ya know what I’m sayin’”. Also I have personally kissed his grave, something I like to do with all playwrights before exploring their work.

This particular play, while extremely witty at times, was full of not too interesting characters (at least when cold-read by a variety of unprepared rotating actors) and the story is way, way, way, way too long and repetitive, and probably far less interesting than any random page of Mr Wilde’s hypothetical personal journal (Example: Today I had lots of promiscuous sex. My partner, a beautiful young man, asked if we should lock the door, and I said to him “she’ll be right” but then just as we were getting deep into it, so to speak, a woman burst into the room yelling “what’s going on here” and I was forced to reply “just banging your husband, know what I’m sayin’”).

In the end I decided to leave early and not audition, mostly because even though this was amateur theatre, it still requires the best part of six months of three times weekly rehearsals, and even small parts in the play require learning a minimum of seven million words (rumors had it that the catalyst for Wilde’s death was an actor in a minor role skipping three words in one performance and as a result only saying 6,999,998 words in one performance, creating a depression that caused Oscar to drink himself to death).

I have too much respect (laziness) for my potential director to risk that. Plus the theatre holds only about 22 people, and there aren’t that many performances of the play, which by my calculation means the actors will each rehearse 217 hours for each individual that will see the play, just overstepping my personal 213 hour per viewer standard. And if we don’t have personal standards why even enter the theatre?

In the end I went and gorged on KFC, then went home, had some beers, watched some TV, and polished the hell out of my fine silver, you never know when the next fun times are on their way. Wait, did you, you? Ewww, I don’t have a goat here, Axl Rose just told me “Welcome to the jungle” and I assume that’s his way of saying “your place really is a pigsty, better have a tidy up”.