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 www.everyoneistalkingabout.com 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 - http://youtu.be/8TyfGqDdrbM)

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