Sunday, January 31, 2016

Three - Incorrect Graft

Friends of mine, of which I have many (such as my best friend Kev, my little brother Gav, my older sister Dev, or even one of my old school chums like Liv, Sav or Fev), know something about me that is a thing about me that they know is a thing that they can rely on to be a thing of mine - and that's that I don't like to dilly dally.

This is for many reasons, such as:
- I don't know what 'dilly' means.
- I don't know what 'dally' means.
- I don't know what 'dilly dally' means.
- I don't like things I don't know the definition of. 
- I don't like wasting time unnecessarily by messing around in a dawdling fashion resulting in time being treated idly leading to a lingering sense of delay and ultimately lallygagging. And 
- I don't know what lallygagging means.

But another thing my many friends will tell you, (friends like my best friend Kev, my Dad Puv, my cousin Aev, or even my best fiend Kev), is that I don't like things that amble along as if there is some sense of intentional avoidance or reluctance to get to the next thing.

It's one of the reasons Kev knows he's an asshole, because he's been far from reliable in this regard over the course of our friendship. 

Like one time I cut my foot while trying to carve my toe nails into the shapes of my favorite guitar models, and so I called up Kev and asked if he'd bring me over a selection of skin grafts in various skin tones, so that I could match the closest one up just right before glueing it over the wound (I didn't want weird looking feet, obviously) and it took him nearly three hours! I'd realized I'd actually just spilled my Fender Telecaster Red Nail Polish almost two hours before he showed up. AND he didn't even bring any black skin grafts saying 'I knew it didn't match yours'. That racist. Then he wanted to know if he could have a go playing one of my guitars! What a dick. 

So when he has actually cut himself, albeit in a stupid 'I said fork not knife you dick' way, there was no way I was going to dillydally on my goals here. 

But then, disastrously, after looking already for a while, I'd found nothing but disappointment  in the cloakroom. Literally zero else. 

But If you thought that just because I said what I found in there was literally nothing but disappointment, and that this means that I didn't find anything else in there BUT disappointment in there then you'd be wrong.

Oh and I'm not talking just regular wrong. I'm talking really wrong. And really wrong is barely a finger print off being dead wrong (depending on how thorough the forensic team on site were). Which is to say that, oh yeah, you better believe that you are wrong. Really stupidly wrong. Wrong like a fire pit in an ice factory, which I guess is probably more wasteful than wrong, but wastefulness is wrong! Wrong like a train built to the moon, which would be more miraculous than wrong, but miracles are weird and often tied to religions and cults and miracle workers, all of which themselves are wrong. Wrong like the time Kev thought I'd buy chocolate off his daughter to help pay for surgery for the kid at her school to get her eyesight back. I mean school kids should not be performing surgery on other school kids, that shit is WRONG. Seriously, try it on a old person on a donkey or something first at least, and if you're going to buy a donkey with my chocolate money I want a ride BEFORE you fuck up its eyes! 

So yeah, I found literally nothing in the cloakroom, but I also found other stuff in the cloakroom. Lots of stuff in fact - Disappointment, humiliation, a small spider, that my shoe lace was undone, a musky odor, an eyelash in my eye, and even more, but none of those were what a sought. 

I was in there at least fifteen minutes before I gave up. Which is a long time for me. I once spent only twelve minutes looking for a lost kitten. Sure I'd found it after four minutes, but it's the time that counts. 

In the cloakroom I looked for what I sought till my little heart nearly gave out (I was born seven months premature so my heart never got to full size. Although my mother had been planning to carry me for fifteen months, so I did only nearly die). Yet despite my searching, today was not to be my day. I didn't find anything remotely interesting in there. No trap doors. No secret passage ways. It was a bust. A horrible bust (the worst kind of bust). 

There was only one thing even slightly intriguing that I found in the whole damn cloakroom - An awesome looking, fitting and feeling leather jacket, which I could tell just by looking at would look amazing on me, but I didn't want it. I don't have any girls I'm crushing on to woo with it, I'm totally into exotic girls these days, and there is a supply of them as short as a broken record in this hell hole town.

Oh and there was also the two first class tickets with no name on them to some place called Venezuela, but who can afford hotels and meals in restaurants in this economy?

Oh and there was the safe that was unlocked with the several wads of cash with the sash around them saying 'unmarked, trust me'. No thanks, who needs the pressure of having to make decisions like which awesome thing to buy with wads of untraceable cash? 

Fucking cloakroom. I hated it now. It had ended up having three remotely interesting things after I'd said there would only be one, and I hate when the only thing turns into three things, make me look stupid will you numbers? You pricks! 

So I stumbled out. Now I just needed to save face. I needed to do something big. Big enough that Kev would forget what I'd promised. I had no idea what it would be, just that it would have to happen... NOW! And I'll tell you this, this thing would lead to things of such size that only a psycho would make you wait to hear more one second longer. 

Well I'm NO PSYCHO! So I shall make you wait at least TWO seconds more.

To be furthered*

*Another word for continued, which I'm using now as I used up continued in part one, and there is no way a story as important as the one I'm telling you here shall include any repetition or other delaying tactics, whether for dramatic affect nor any other wonderful literary or story telling device, no way in hell, NO way in heaven, and no way in the afterlife, regardless of ones destination in it, with heaven and hell being the logical options, and any of my friends could tell you that. Probably not my old school chums or family members, all of whom I'm estranged with, but the rest of them for sure. 

Saturday, January 30, 2016

Two - Frosty Responsibility

My mate Kev has never been the reliable sort. One time when I locked myself out of my apartment it took him the best part of three hours to merely get his date to leave his bedroom, drive up the coast to my parents house, break in and get my spare keys from the locked draw in my dad's home office then drive them an hour back down to me. Seriously? Three hours! I'd realized I'd left the back window open nearly two hours before he showed up. Then he wanted one of my last five beers! Dick. 

Another time when was at his place and I asked if I could have a beer he replied 'I think there is one left in the outside fridge, help yourself'. Yep! That's right. He didn't even get it for me. 

Then one other time when I was moving he only helped me for half a Sunday. Then when I realized that I didn't have room in my new place for the large fridge I owned and asked if he wanted to take it, he claimed that he 'already had a fridge', so I said 'well you have a garage, stick it in there' and then he said 'I can barely fit my car in there as it is' and then I said 'park on the street you lazy prick, and besides once when I was at your place you didn't even have any cold beers! None. Who the fuck treats a visitor like that? Take my fridge and you can have a fridge just for beer and be a good host for once'. 

That shut him up. I'd obviously convinced him. But then later, when I asked for the money he owed me for buying it off me he said he'd only give me the price I paid for it $899, which turned out to be $50 less than what it cost to buy a new one in the modern market due to inflation! 

Yep, Kev, he's a good mate, but he can't be relied on for shit. That means when he actually DOES get something moderately right, like spurting blood to give me cover, I know I have to get my part right too. It's hard to call someone out for being a lazy, unreliable dick if you fuck shit up yourself occasionally.

So opon my first purveyance of the cloakroom I knew that my ability to make fun of Kev for stabbing himself with a knife instead of a fork was on the line. I had to find something. And something good. Very good. Good enough to warrant being both found and claimed as being good. 

And I had to find it in the cloakroom. Because that's where I both was, and where I'd claimed I'd find said good stuff. 

The search was going to create a story worth detailing in every detail like a poet detailing something poetically, and when you're going to do something like that, you want to do it swiftly. Something I personally would never, ever fail to do. 

To Be Continued*...

*long for Cont, you know to be clear

Thursday, January 28, 2016

One - A musk of anticipation

I stumbled out of the cloakroom. I needed to do something BIG, and I needed to do it NOW! And it had to be something very big. And something extremely Now! 'Now and big' I thought to myself, solidifying the situation, the goal and the necessary speed to myself, while simultaneously wasting time that could have instead been used to think of something else, possibly something big to do, or even something to do achievable with speed. Speed in the now sense. 

To be honest I perhaps should have come out even earlier, but I'd been forced to stay in the cloakroom longer than I'd desired because I'd struggled to find it to be filled with the the types of things I'd been coveting, and I didn't want everyone to know that I'd failed to find what I was seeking, especially after I'd made such a huge deal about the fact that what I was seeking was going to be easy to find. 

'Only coats? Bullshit!' I began, when doubts had been aired 'cloakrooms are the oft forgotten wonder chests of restaurants, filled with trap doors to wine cellars so full of wine that they could make even a wino pee his pants, and ceilings so unnecessarily high that all sorts of amazing things would be stored on the high shelves, enough to make short people nail blocks of wood to the underside of their feet for a mere glimpse, and hidden doorways to VIP rooms so grand that they HAVE to be secret or else every celebrity in town would want in, and NO establishment can keep the volume of hidden recording devices that would be required to collect all the information required to blackmail THAT many celebrities to pretend they like your food, which is the the LIFE-BLOOD of the restaurant trade! Yep cloakrooms, and if you think I'm wrong, then you are a moron and a fool!' I'd leveled at my friend, when he'd questioned why I wanted him to purposely jam a fork into his thigh by the bathroom doors to create a scene and provide me cover.
'But this is a Mexican restaurant in a building originally built for an ill-conceived fish tank themed seafood restaurant, they don't even sell wine!' He'd replied. Apparently trying to get out of his relatively minor part of the scheme. 
'A fish tank themed seafood restaurant sounds like a fine idea, even a fun idea' I'd retorted.
'The kids were told "you're in a fish-tank" now let's eat some fish", they thought they were going to get fucking EATen!' He said, catching himself from  breaking into a yell. 
'Maybe that's a good lesson for the kids, did you think of that? That maybe kids need to learn that not every time they think they are going to be eaten will they actually be fucking eaten, so maybe just stop your crying and toughen up, I mean cannibalization was eradicated from these parts once they broke up that cult that had forgotten to buy seeds for their community garden, but kept watering, raking and hoeing in vain for three years before the leader went insane and ate his number three, so toughen the fuck up kids. Besides, if this restaurant made people feel like they were about to be eaten, that's even more of a reason they needed a private VIP section, who wants to eat somewhere where they feel the food may be them? "Oh wow, this is delicious, what is it, oh fuck it isn't me is it? Did you drug me and carve some of my ass cheek off then wake me up, take me to a nice restaurant, have it cooked and then feed it to me! If you did I'll carve a fucking hole from your ass cheek you dick!" Yeah right, that's how celebrities want to eat? You dumb piece of shit Kev'. 

That shut him up. I'd obviously convinced him, and over to the bathroom door he'd gone. Then he'd paused. Then he'd looked like he was about to do it. Then he'd paused again. Next he'd retreated into the bathroom. In there he took ages. I never asked him what he was doing. I have a couple of ideas that I sketched out in my 'What I Think People Were Doing When I Couldn't See Them' visual journal, and I wrote a few ideas down in my 'IF You Crossed Me Then I Think it MAY Have Been In One Of The Following Ways'
List Diary, and I later reenacted out some of the most plausible options in what turned out to be one of my messiest days at my 'Performance Art' Practice Group (I'd also brought everyone what turned out to be crumbly cake).  But let's face it the options are endless. The chances that I nailed it down are pretty unlikely (Unless he was looking at himself naked in the mirror while imagining to himself the parts of animals he most wished would grow on his own body suddenly sprouting from his skin, which is of course what most of us do in restaurant bathrooms). Then he came out. Paused again. Next he took a glass of beer off a strangers table and chugged it. Then got into a verbal altercation with the man he'd stolen it from. Let it escalate to the point of a push and shove off. Then suddenly slammed the man to the ground, grabbed a butter knife, and yelled 'buy you a new beer, here's your fucking beer', and then buried the knife into his leg.

What an asshole. How can a butter knife to your leg be equivalent to a beer for someone else? He's just lost a beer and now you're chucking confusion onto his pain? Plus, as I now yelled out across the room 'I said a fork you moron' causing everyone to look up at me. 'Look dickhead, now everyone's staring at me, this is the OPPOSITE of what I was going for! Can't you do anything right you dick!' I added. What a dick. 

But then he got lucky. A gush of blood began to spray from the wound. An artery or something must have popped. And while people dove for cover I was able to sneak into the cloakroom unseen. 

And as I opened the door, and crept into the dark, musky compound of possibilities, a huge smile radiated off my face. The smile of possibility! 

But little could I possibly know at that time, just what disasters awaited me. Big and immediate disasters. The kind everyone would want to hear me tell about in a big and lavish way, and now. I'm talking really BIG and immediately NOW! A wish I will of course honor. 

To be cont*....

*Short for continued, you know to save time and space. 

A worldwide journey to become a household name

Kev wanted to be someone who could be described as being a 'household name'.
So he traveled the entire globe, and  attempted to knock on every single door, to try to introduce himself to every single person. 
The mission did not work out as he'd hoped.
(He had a remarkable ability to regularly time his knocks for the same time people had scheduled their monthly bath, oh and many people in places like Siberia, Belarus or the posh parts of England didn't understand what the hell 'g'day mate, let a bloke introduce himself, the names Kev, or Kevo to me mates' even meant). 
Still the legend of 'the ol' bloody stump where his hand should be door banger' does get told around the odd camp fire now.
So it was still totally worth it. 

Tuesday, January 26, 2016

The ultimate mih

My energy and emotional state is a tad ‘mah’ today, which admittedly is better than ‘meh’, and way better than ‘muh’, but no where near as good as ‘moh’, and even further from my ultimate goal of ‘m(is there a vowel I haven’t used yet? Oh wait i)h.

And I’ll tell you why, because I just realized that if I owned a big Transylvanian monk made lavender scented beaver fur brown hat shaped like the map of Texas, the absolutely ONLY things that I wouldn’t like about it would be that:

-       I have a small head, so big hats rarely fit me well.
-       Transylvania scares me (because I can never find it on maps), and this hat would possibly remind me of Transylvania.
-       Monks weird me out, I mean how do they keep their hair so short all the time? They don’t have clippers in monasteries on top of mountains that were built and have remained unchanged since 1648!
-       Lavender is a better color than scent, WAY better!
-       Beavers are cuter alive than skinned.
-       Brown is a really boring color; perhaps the world’s MOST boring color. Except for maybe grey, but ain’t no one EVER going to make a grey hat, EVER!
-       Texas isn’t an appropriate shape for a hat. Not that Texas is a BAD shape, not in general, in some ways it’s an enticing shape, but it’s just not practical for head wear.
-       Also I’m personally NOT Texan, and you should only wear hats shaped of places you are legitimately from. That’s why traditional baseball caps are shaped the way America was shaped before a Bond villain went back in time and eradicated the state of West Californazia and our memory of it, and arching of massive land banks period.
-       Oh and why are monks even making hats? You spend all that time cultivating a uniform hairstyle and then build something to cover it up? That’s just dumb.

So other than those things, I would totally like said hat. And yet I do NOT own a big Transylvanian monk made lavender scented beaver fur brown hat shaped like the map of Texas, despite them being a perfect gift. And it was my birthday last week too. Oh man, I’m so mah. At least I have long luscious hair, suck on that monks! Now if I can just find one to make it jealous I'll totally be mih. 

Monday, January 25, 2016

End Of Days

It's Australia Day today in the Australian occupied segments of Australia (and also in the southern parts of Romania for some weird creepy reason, that I'm sure involves secret webcams) and Australia Day, a day where as we all know, regardless of where we live or are from, is a day where Australians celebrate the existence of Days (something the rest of the world, except for some awesome people in Romania, seemingly take for fucking granted, and if you don't think Days will one day form a union and go on strike till they get respect, then your fooling yourself). 

Yes, Days are swell, all seven of them, from Sunday to Saturday, and everything in between, and we love them, including elements of them such as:
- Their existence 
- The fact that if they didn't exist literally nothing else would (well maybe 1970 era 'disposable' coffee cups. 

Still, while we can all uniformly agree that Days are swell, Australia Day has come to mean different things to different people, vastly different things covering such a vast spectrum of varsisity that it's hard to believe that we're all the same species, let alone nationality, and yet deep in the center orifice of this vastness is the reality that at the core we all have the exact same thoughts on this wonderful day celebrating Days, thoughts including: 

- You know what I love about Days? It's that they exist. And because they exist we can exist. And frankly I don't think I'd even WANT to be alive in a world that didn't exist.  
- Man I sure am thankful for Days. 
- And thankful for a day where we come together as a society to celebrate Days, and ignore our personal needs, desires, and petty personal issues. 
- Oh wait, today is also the day when they announce which Australians will be knighted this year right? 
- I want a fucking Knighthood! 
- Everyone would have to call me sir! 
- Including my dick Math teacher Mr Simmons from year six who made me call HIM sir, and once yelled at me when Debbie was the one fucking talking, not me at ALL, except to say the bare minimum responses to her questions, fuck you Si... I mean Mr Simmons! 
- And I DESERVE to be fucking knighted! 
- At least as much as any of those other dicks. 
- I'm swell! 
- TOTALLY swell! 
- So why hasn't the Queen called yet? 
- I guess she'll get around to it.
- Wait, it's been six minutes now, and she STILL HASN'T called! 
- I'm opening a window, 'HEY, FUCK YOU QUEEN!'
- 'Like every Australian I've worshipped you like a golden mother' 
- 'Fuck you!!!' 
- And 'fuck Australia, and you assholes who worshiped a woman who's never even fucking knighted me!' 
- I'm moving! 
- That's the last straw. 
- I'm moving overseas! 
- As fast as fucking possible, and as far away as possible, from the Queen, and all her goons in parliament. 
- Oh that's right, as a fourth generation Australian over the age of 30 there is literally no where else in the world I'm allowed to live and work.
- And anyway the exchange rate SUCKS at the moment.
- I better open the window again, 'hey  everyone, I'm still proud to be an Aussie, and by still I mean I always was, this place is swell'.
- 'Plus the Queen's ace!' 
- 'You know what? I'd even support a day where we CELEBRATE being Australians, you know like how today we celebrate Days, but instead of days we celebrate being Aussie'.

Then some bloke from the Barbie next door flings a beer bottle into our heads screaming 'without Days you wouldn't even exist you ungrateful cunt'. 

And we head off for a long, concussions filled nap, with head injuries bad enough to forget this ever happened so we can repeat it all next year. 

Yep Australia, a Queen loving, beer hurling, head injury epidemic rich place, watched closely on webcam from Romania, what could BE more swell! 

So Happy Aussie Day everyone (Except you Simmons, you dick!) 

Grease my palm

John had a self labeled 'poor pore'. 
He assumed that the pore had named itself that because it had no money. 
Probably because John was a poor pore owner and he'd never given it any. 
And the pore was very poor in math knowledge, and even poorer in multilingual language skills, so I couldn't get a job anywhere. 
So the pore retaliated by erupting in acne fueled acne explosions. 
And in revenge John, head of worldwide Social Security, decided that being poor meant you were an asshole, and that assholes deserved to be poor. 
So he invented the poverty spiral and sold it to the King of Denmark for a hundred and eighty bucks. 
Who then rented sections of it out to leaders around the world.
In exchange for no one really realizing that Denmark had a king.
Or that they didn't actually invent many of the pastries attributed to them.
Although when the paperwork came through John discovered the Danes secret shame. 
So he spent his one hundred and eighty dollars on an information gathering worldwide trip to find out the TRUE source of the world's finest 'Danishes'.
(Turned out very few of them originally came from Sasquanchan in far north-east Mongolia, who'd have ever guessed?)
Eating, often poorly made, pastries for three meals a day for the next seven years really messed with Johns skin.
Now he has hundreds of poor pores.
And as he looked in the mirror, and squeezed on one of his many zits, he couldn't help but think... 'Six bucks for a tube of acne cream, what a fucking rip off'. 

Sunday, January 24, 2016

People you know

I've been thinking about friendship today, which is weird, because I normally think exclusively about salamanders (main thought: what would happen if you threw a salamander hard at a lion?) but then something weird about friendship occurred to me, I realized something weird, that friendship is weird...

I mean the weird thing is friendship is that it's weird, because you can have a different friendship role in different circles, consider these from my life: 

- Around work friends I'm submissive and subordinate 
- Around sport friends I'm made fun of in a boisterous manner 
- Around my strong and confident friends I'm over-giving and beta 
- Around my sock puppet friends I'm a total alpha male 
- And yet when I'm with my imaginary friends I put the dolls head in the oven from ten to ten fifteen or else the next person I see in person will definitely have their head exploded by the laser from the tumor in my brains caused by my shocking insubordination 

Yep, friendship, it sure is weird. 

Now I'm off, I think I hear a lion in my bathroom, so I need to grab my salamander gloves, I've got to throw this thing before my imaginary friend Scott gets home and make me eat another pillow case, ahh man, I'm not even hungry. 

Saturday, January 23, 2016

The world just changed again, again

One thing you may or may not know about me is that I am a bit of an inventor. Now I may not be a great inventor, but still I'll tell you, inventing is not as easy as it looks. In fact for a mere genius like me it's usually ‘very easy’ at the easiest, and often it’s only ‘kind of easy’. I mean consider these awesome inventions of mine that I found only ‘kind of easy’ to invent, and that have swept the nation, and even the globe:

- The idea that there should be a nation sized broom
- The idea that there should be a globe sized broom
- The idea for a robot big enough to operate a nation sized broom
- The idea for a robot big enough to operate a globe sized broom

Ever since I came up with these four amazing inventions the world has been in chorus with unity, singing my praises to the mountain tops, or for those with poor falsettos, the mountain middles, I mean who hasn't heard someone cry out 'when the fuck is someone going to build a giant robot building machine and a giant broom building machine, Dave's done his part for fucks sake, he can't do it ALL you lazy fucking dicks!'

And I appreciate this praise. Well I don't think all the swearing is necessary, but apart from that I think the main thing is they are focused on how great an inventor I am, and I fucking like that.

But today I surprised even myself. Yep I came up with another invention, and I did this one with even more ease than very easily, in fact I wasn't even trying to invent something. It just happened! By accident! And this invention, I believe, is something previously never even before imagined, let alone invented!


Here is how it happened.

I was at the shops (indecently shops were invented by my great grandmother when she was asked by my great, great, grand uncle if he could borrow eighty bucks, and she regretted lending it to him so she immediately stole his iPhone from his plate glass window fronted home on Main St, which was the first time anyone had ever even considered that you could exchange money for goods in a glass fronted building. Inventing is in my blood I guess) and when I got back to the car from the shops I was suddenly struck - I'd done something I don't think anyone had ever even thought of before, let alone invented – I bought MORE than I planned!


It was quite a task. It involved FOUR whole steps, steps that I think few would dare risk, and these steps were as follows:

1. Being some who had already invented lots of things
2. Accurately estimating the future earnings of these inventions to be exactly LOTS, making it worth the risk to wait till I got home before doing my own math on my purchases to double check the clerks weren't stupid.
3. Using that time to instead manically laugh in the face of people who don't have such guaranteed lots of money's coming in soon, people like the stupid clerks.
4. Being distracted by that and accidentally putting a couple of things in my cart from last week's shopping list, that's were NOT on this weeks.

And boom, I invented buying more than you planned. Who knew that was even possible? No one, that's who!

It was quite an amazing discovery. Frankly if I'd ever TRIED to invent this I think even I would have chickened out before implementing it, I mean there were so many obstacles I would have assumed I'd have to face, obstacles that would have panicked me with fear, such as:

- What if the shop clerk asks to double check my shopping list to make sure I didn't add anything to my trolley extra?
- What if I realize everything I wanted, as logic would suggest, was already on my shopping list?

No WAY I'd have taken risks like that in a real world scenario. Which really just speaks to the power of my mind, so determined to invent something that it also invented a way to invent a brief distraction in my brain, long enough to let me invent it. And now because of me, those of us with practically guaranteed big invention money can spend at will, financing ourselves up the kazoo (indecently one of my second cousin’s dad’s inventions, although he was TRYING to invent a plastic carrot, again inventing for others isn't always very easy) knowing we can pay it back later, and without the heavy pressure of making sure our shopping lists are flawless before we head to the shops!


Still, and I know some of you have already realized, but not all inventions are one hundred percent good all the time. But for those of you have not yet discovered the flaw here, I'll let you idiots know with a traditional Q&A&How:

Q. What if the shops themselves discover this is possible also?

A. They could try and EXPLOIT this knowledge, that's what! Oh FUCK!

How would they exploit it? I don't fucking know, try and entice us to buy more stuff somehow or something, they can figure that out, I’m a mere genius, I can't fucking invent EVERYTHING can I?

What I can do however is this - invent a solution to this problem, so that THAT invention isn't even likely to happen, and the problem never even arises, and we can all feel safe to never, ever purchase more than we planned, unless we plan to do so on our own.

So here I go, phew, this might be hard, but I feel a responsibility, an invention to stop shops exploiting this new invention… wait I’ve got it:

- The idea that we should never tell the shops that over shopping is possible.



That was actually very easy, I truly am a great inventor. So go spread the word people, tell everyone you know to never ever tell shops that over shopping is possible! And once you’ve done that, hey come around to my place, I accidently bought a whole extra loaf of bread I didn’t need! Wow, even genius inventions sure can lead to craziness.

Friday, January 22, 2016

I've got beef

It just occurred to me that it’s very possible, if not likely, that one day soon every single person on earth on the same exact and totally random day, will start claiming they are NASA astronauts who just today hastily returned to earth having remembered they may have forgotten to take their favorite hat off their list of least favorite things listed as a favorite on their own specific respective list, and need to rectify this immediately or else their detailed list system may start seeming practically pedantic to some people, and they consider themselves more precise than pedantic and don't fucking LIKE being called names that are only 'close' to reality, don't like it at ALL!

In fact the more that I think about it the more I'm sure that it's almost certain to happen. 

Well fuck you everyone on earth. I don't like that at ALL. That’s TOTALLY going to spoil my long campaigned mission to start a one off - every single person on earth, (except one person), on the same exact and totally random day, will start claiming they are NASA astronauts who just today hastily returned to earth having remembered they may have forgotten to take their favorite hat off their list of least favorite things listed as a favorite on their own specific respective list, and need to rectify this immediately or else their detailed list system may start seeming practically pedantic to some people, and they consider themselves more precise than pedantic and don't fucking LIKE being called names that are only 'close' to reality, don't like it at ALL! day. 

Damn it. I was looking forward to that. Fuck. 

I bet this is the work of Geoff, fuck you Geoff, and get this, if my day takes off you now get to be the ‘except one person’. 

Ok, I feel good now. Beef out. 

Thursday, January 21, 2016

Today in pet hates

Here's one I think we'll all agree with...

Don't you hate it when you're riding along innocently on your bike, with a joyful hope in your soul, and with a jolly song in your heart, and a jing-jing merry spring on your breath, when SUDDENLY you get shoulder-barged off your bike by a giant scorpion that smells of lycra halfway though its production cycle, and with twelve arms, each of which have a human face on the end, and each face is a different sibling from a family who's wealthy parents have recently passed away and left all their considerable fortune to 'which ever kid argues the loudest and meanest for it', and it wearing a scary skeleton outfit, but then when people see your scratched and bruised arms and knees they don't believe it happened because apparently 'there's no such thing as a bike'.

I think we ALL hate that. But I have a solution - simply make that scorpion your pet, and you'll now have a loving, snuggly pet hate! 

Wednesday, January 20, 2016

The inevitable future

The light alighted above her head. She could feel the glow. But she did not take a look right away. She needed to steel herself first. It's not that she had not done the work. Diets. Gym. Tanning. Fashion. She'd done them all over the years. For this. In search of this moment. And here it was.

She took a deep breath. Closed her eyes. Turned her head upward and slowly let her eyelids pry open. 

It WAS true.

The light was green.

This was the moment. Seventeen years since the invention of the technology. Fourteen years since the scanners were put on every human. Dozens of incidences of seeing others have their lights turns green. And now it was HER time.

This was HER scientifically judged, proven and registered most attractive minute of her life. This was a fact. She'd never looked as good. She'd never look as good again. This was her peak. Her beautiful summit of beauty. 

She smiled. Taking it in. Feeling the glow. Feeling excited. Feeling gorgeous. Feeling on top of the world! 

She closed her eyes again. And smiled. Briefly. She opened them again and looked into the mirror. Her smile beamed. Her teeth soaked in the green light. And she made sure she enjoyed every second of this. 

However, just as she thought life could never be this good again, as her smiled stretched wider than it had ever been before, the pressure on her cheek skin slightly tinged a pore or two, and the light turned back off. Never to aluminate again. 

She turned around. Paused for a moment. Then reached for some toilet paper to finish wiping. Then pulled up her pants and walked towards a dark unknown.

Monday, January 18, 2016

Cozy Cozy and Conveniently Convenient

It's my super fun, super new, and newly super fun new invention! It's called - a Pet Hat. They're ace! 

Here's how to make one. 

Step one: Simply take a 'pet hate', and extract the last 'e' from it. 

Step two: Do six years for in jail for drug manufacturing.

Step three: Realize the past six years were a wasted hole from your existence, and they were a deserved hole, due to your previous scroungful influence on society via your evil flooding of the consumerable options available to a fickle and easily influenced public, with (hush hush ...) DRUGS!

Step four: Pick something off the ground, ask yourself two questions 1. Could that be a hat? 2. Could that be a pet? Then answer 'yes' to both of those. Then ask yourself a third question 3. Could it therefore be a pet hat? Then also answer 'yes' to that. Then make that thing your pet hat.

Step five: Figure out how to take care of this pet hat (taking care of may include such things as: love, grooming, vet trips, having the lining re-sewed, teaching it to feel confident and playful at the local pet hat park, and more). Once you've mastered these skills now declare this pet hat a 'practice pet hat', I mean you picked that thing randomly off the ground, who knows what diseases it may have? Now pick out something even better than that last thing to be used as a pet hat (I recommend a cat and/ or dog specially bred into the shape of a hat) and make THAT your pet hat! A real pet hat, and NOT a practice pet hat this time. You've already done the practice thing. How much fucking practice do you need? 

Step six: Never have a bitterly cold and loveless to the point of shivering loneliness, head and/ or hat stand and/ or pet bed again! 

Pet hats, they're ace. So go, get, shoo, shoo off and go get one! Oh and let's soon have a pet hat play date! Well, you know, in six years or so, you drug manufacturing cunt! 

Making Money Easy - a poem

I'm not a gambler.
But I can tell you this. 
If you can stick a can of Coke up your butt, only when you pull it out it's now a Pepsi.
Then you never need lose a bet again!
If you can stick a can of Coke up your butt but when you pull it out it's now a tennis racket!
Then you won't even need to make bets to make money, you can just open a store selling tennis rackets!!
But if you stick a tennis racket up your butt and when you pull it out it's a can of Coke.
Then you have a serious medical condition, and should seek help immediately. 

Saturday, January 16, 2016

Flat Roads

Gerald was the type of guy who liked to take chances. 
'Chances' being what the neighborhood kids called the free condoms at the free clinic next to the expensive pizza place - 'Chances Italiano'.
'Chances' not being what Gerald would EVER take when it came to pregnancy. 
Not again.
Not since that stripper he'd banged had extorted tons of cash from him to pay for her abortion or else. 
He should have known better when he met her.
Her name WAS 'Chances' after all.
They weren't very diverse when it came to naming things in Gerald's town, Riskville. 
But it was a fun town to live in, and therefore a small price to pay.
As long as you didn't mind living near the local Nuclear Waste Dump, that was next to giant snake breeding facility, that was next to the 'Free All Caged Animals' activist headquarters, who had a share occupancy deal in their office building with the 'Society To Help All Activist Groups, And Also We Have Seven Flesh Eating Aliens Captured And Locked Up, But It Doesn't Feel Right To Us, We'll Probably Release Them Soon' group, with said building located right on top of the world's first volcano readying to erupt with billions of dead fish heads. 
Also the housing was cheap. 
Especially if you rented through one of the two local real-estate firms, 'Chances Reality' or 'Chances Houses'. 
Just don't go with the national chain 'First Roof'.
They MAKE you get insurance.
What a waste of money. 

Confounded Attack - A Poem

Stan was smacked in the head with a meteorite. 
But by the time it struck his temple it had disintegrated to barely the size of a grain of sand.
And left a mark barely red enough for people to think he had a pimple.
And it fetched a market rate of barely enough money to buy a hamburger, let alone retire on. 
Therefore despite his desperate prayer being answered to its exact request.
Stan still had no excuse to get out of work on stock take day.
And another of gods children was needlessly lost from the flock, storming off with an internal monologue of scorn and contempt.
Yet Peter down the hall, heading up Division Seventeen of prayer answering, STILL kept his job.
He really is a nice dude that God.
Way too fucking nice. 

Friday, January 15, 2016

While you were out

Expert Contestant: Gumption, halitosis, joulike, numstae, mirchewood, Slick, Xinphole, Glunky, Darnsimple, kwin, Steve, Twiddly, um, Lincostyne, Youltide, Wayne...

Host: Yes folks, that's fifteen, and therefore John takes the round! Congratulations. 

Coming up after the break, can our experts come up with even MORE names here on "Stupid Names For Awesome Things, Awesome Things Like Igloos Made Out Of Zebra Dreams, Paper Mache Newspapers With Stories Of Machete Attacks, and Other Awesome Things, and Stupid Names For Those Things, Names Like Parenthesis and Woostishere, and Other Stupid Names Like That" you bet they can, we think, based on history, at least FOUR more!

And now a message from our sponsors...

Commercial voice over with relevant imagery: Hello everyone, let's face it, the world can be a tough ride, and it leaves most of us feeling warn out and disheveled from time to time, and as someone who's been there also, well let me guess - you desire to soak your weary bones in a nice relaxing bath of urine? 

I knew it. 

However, if your significant other hears you moot this excellent plan, and in a show of bizarre apprehension, replies something the equivalent of - 'you want to bathe in urine? In OUR bath? In our home? The bath I use frequently? Sounds cool, go ahead, only one thing, I think you might be underestimating how much urine that'll take to fill it, want me to grab you a beer from the fridge?' 

Well then I think you're going to need to ask yourself the following questions:

1. Do I perhaps need to find myself a less negative and more supportive significant other? 
2. Is there somewhere ELSE I can bathe in almost pure urine without the horror of the ordeal of having to drink the six or seven beers required to make that much urine myself? 
3. Is that a pussy amount of beers for me to be describing it as a 'horror of an ordeal'?
4. Would that have been better phrased as a simply a 'horrible ordeal'?
5. Um, I feel like I should ask five questions, but I can't think of another one, is that ok? 

And the answer to all five of those questions is the same answer - 'YES'! And the solution to all of the issues raised is the same as well - 'why not try a public fountain!'.  

Public fountains are chock full of urine, from a variety of sources, so you can soak till you are as tender as a urinal cake, they make excellent attentive lovers, will never ever question your grammar or spelling, especially when you've gone for 'cool sounding' over technically correct, and are covered in graffiti, some of it posed as questions, so you'll never have to think of them yourself anymore! 

Yep - public fountains are swell, try one today! 

Please note: Opinions and observations in this ad are merely opinions and observations as opinioned and observed by the opinion and observation department put in charge of this ad, and you personally may find your local fountain to be to instead merely 'richly populated' with urine, at best 'wonderfully passionate' lovers, often 'rude and pretensions as all fuck' when it comes to your use of language, and covered in more statement oriented graffiti. But we think even in those far more dire sounding scenarios that a public fountain will easily improve your life in every way imaginable. 

This message was brought to you by 'The Society Public Fountain Proliferation', still dedicated to our now seven thousand three hundred and twelve year strong goal of making the world one huge public fountain, and still struggling to get even half way to that goal, and make sure that public fountains remain valuable, relevant and beloved in a world increasingly focused on water conservation instead of beautiful expressions of sculptured art with water, and homes instead of places people would drown if they tried to sleep. What the fuck is wrong with people? 

Host: Welcome back to "Stupid Names For Awesome Things, Awesome Things Like Igloos Made Out Of Zebra Dreams, Paper Mache Newspapers With Stories Of Machete Attacks, and Other Awesome Things, and Stupid Names For Those Things, Names Like Parenthesis and Woostishere, and Other Stupid Names Like That" Hope you enjoyed the break. 

Next in the hot seat is regular expert Kathy, are you ready: 

Kathy: Yes! 

Host: Your awesome thing is... A Hat Made From Hairs Blown Off A Lama With A Hairdryer That Was Crafted From Golf Ball Innards, can you come up with at least fifteen stupid names for something THAT awesome? 

Kathy: Unfortitan, Ourx, Onjki, Gurthink, Firedly, Constatine, wow I'm on a roll, I might break the mythical century here! Wait, Mythicanal, Centrumtank, Shelly, Brekni....

Thursday, January 14, 2016

Pulsating Choices

Roger danced like a swan, swanning on like a swan that was swan dancing up a storm that would soon rain down with such swan like volume that said swan was destined to soon have new places to swim for a whole month, although so would swans other than this swan, who despite being swans who were just as swanny as this swan, and therefore capable of swan dancing up storms themselves, had left it to this original swan to do all the work, and yet were more than happy to enjoy the rewards, with barely a hint of gratitude, which is why Roger was now swanning on like a swan that was swan dancing up a storm so intense that these other swans that had failed to swan dance themselves, would soon be swan lightninged to a crisp!  

Stephanie, watched on, mouth agape, now becoming concerned, forlorned and disenchanted, as she was beginning to wonder if this holistic healer was not going to cure her husbands recent decapitation after all. And she was going to have to, reluctantly, abandon her hippy ideals and accept the help of regular modern medicine. 

Although, really, how numb skulled and damn stupid can someone be, how utterly and completely devoid of basic common sense? I mean what kind of idiot goes to an Holistic Dance Surgeon named 'Roger'? 

Wednesday, January 13, 2016

On top - a poem

Tilley was looking at a bird. 
He was jealous of birds. 
After six leg breaks, two snapped cruciate knee ligaments, three rotted out fibulas (one of the replacements rotted too), and worst of all one nasty ingrown toenail, all over the course of four painful years, the thought of flying seemed like a dream.
Also he was jealous of their feathers, they reminded him of tickling, tee he he.
But the flying was the real desire. 
A wish he'd wished for at every wishing well he'd seen since before he even noticed the developing second rot. 
And now. 
As he looked at this bird.
With his desire bubbling like a wishing well being boiled from a volcano below it (ultimately melting all those coins, what a waste. Who the hell digs a wishing well without first getting a full geological study done?). 
This wish miraculously came true. 
He could suddenly fly like an eagle, that had eaten an angel, that had been conceived in the jet-stream of bee. 
'Wow, ace' he thought as he soured over a majestic river leading to a beautiful deserted beach, 'this is going to make it easier to get to the Cathedral every afternoon to tell God off for never, ever, ever, EVER letting anything good happen to me, WAY easier' he thought. 
'Suck on that God, you cunt!' He screamed as he watched a pod of orcas swim by a previously undiscovered reef which was so vibrant it made the Great Barrier look like squished cockroach. 
Meanwhile the wife of the dead guy who'd provided him with two fresh, and one flawless, fibulas sat at home forlorn while STILL awaiting her thank-you card. 
She was soon giggling though.
Her new beau was ticking her with a feather. 
He'd just plucked it from her pet bird which had just died. 
But she didn't know that yet, so our ending remains cheerful.
Cheerful as a bee sitting proud on-top a bronzed eagle sculpted from melted coins, with a smile on its face, as it watches his bee mate sucking pollen from flowers, totally unaware that two angels are fornicating in its wake.