Tuesday, October 16, 2018

Fly me to the moon you lunatic – A poem



Sadly they forgot where the moon was.
Sure it was visible
But that didn’t explain truly “where” it was
And they were Moonologists!
Self confessed moon experts
If they didn’t know were the moon was then who did?
NASA. Obviously.
And of course the estimated two million plus amateur astrologists out there.
But “screw them”. They said.
If THEY didn’t know – then NO one should know.
So they blew the moon up.
Out of spite.
It was only after the explosion.
That one of them piped up and asked “um, if we didn’t know where the moon was, how did we manage to blow it up”?
“Oh fuck” came the reply “I guess we did know where it was”.
Then a tidal wave killed them. 


Saturday, October 13, 2018

Hornets - A poem

Jonathon got attacked by a giant swarm of Hornets 
He killed three 
And got stung by eight hundred and seventy two 
The people of the town wanted to feel bad for him 
But everyone was just so happy that Sarah, who’d owned and managed the local Hornet Ointment Emporium for the past twenty three years,
Finally had a customer  


Friday, October 12, 2018

Say it with me... Berg. Berg. Berg. See wasn't that fun?


I’ve always been intrigued by animals that get around on floating icebergs. “Why an iceberg?” I’ve been known to wonder to myself from time to time. Often even times when thinking about animals on icebergs!

Well this week I decided to wonder know more, and instead go out and meet one for myself. 

What I found turned out to be intriguing indeed, but also sad, fascinating, scary, and even intriguing. 

You see, the first animal I managed to spot drifting into the harbour atop of an iceberg somehow turned out to be an animal which had stowed away on an the wrong iceberg which had led it to the WRONG continent!

Furthermore, as the first person to intercept it on its approach to land, I was now the person who’d lucked (or unlucked) into having the responsibility to tell it it’s mistake.

You can imagine my abject terror. But there was also fear. Reservation. Malaise. And even also mild terror. Which on top abject terror, made it somewhere between extreme terror and obscene terror, but I was too scared to deal with extreme nor obscene terror, so I isolated my two branches of terror onto two branches, carefully making sure that even though I obviously knew the trunk of these terrors was the same, the branches themselves were individuals, and as individuals they had the right to compartmentalize themselves anyway they wished. In this case separately. So I could calm the fuck down.

Besides, this wasn’t all about me, it was only half about me, the other half being my responsibility to this animal. Plus fractions terrify me. So how could I possibly be expected to isolate the sums of all the terror and properly label it now? Seriously.  

I decided that instead of sucking into myself, I should blow out of myself, towards the poor lost animal. And it wasn’t hard, for I did have lots of questions. Questions such as:

- Where did you THINK you were going? 
- How does one power a berg anyway, ice or other sort of berg? Wind? Petroleum? Nuclear? 
- And ARE there bergs in non-ice categories?
- Because if there are some god damn nuclear-powered margarine-bergs out there we deserve to fucking know! 
- And if there is not, then just call them all bergs, forget the f’n ice.
- Seriously.
- Just go with berg!
- Berg. Berg. Berg. 
- What’s so hard about that?
- It’s even fun to say.
- Beeeerrrrgggg!
- Go on try it.
- You’ll see it’s fun I swear.
- Go on then.
- Say it with me.
- “Berg. Berg. Berg”.
- You didn’t go.
- Do you not WANT to say it?
- Is that it?
- Or is it something else? 
- Cause frankly you haven’t answered ANY of my questions! What’s up with that French Fry?
- I’ve decided to nickname you French Fry by the way.
- And I know it doesn’t make sense! Yeah. Exactly.
- So what is it?
- Too good to talk to a human? 
- Oh fuck you! 
- You think you’re better than me?
- Because YOU’RE an Elephant!
- Yeah.
- How’s that better than me?
 - Plus how did you even get on an iceberg? 
- And what made you think it was going to take you to California?
- And who told you California was a continent? Cause whoever it was, was an idiot. And I don’t want you hanging around with idiots.
- Cause idiots are morons.
- And if you say ‘nah, I was just listening to the Mommas and the Poppas and got whimsical for the West Coast, I’m gonna tell you this - YOU’RE LISTENING TO THE MOMMAS AND THE POPPAS ALL WRONG MAN! It’s a fantasy. You’re not supposed to try and LIVE it! 
- Also were there penguins on this berg when you got on? Cause if you’ve started eating birds I’m going to be very cross with you.
- We like you Elephant.
- Us humans.
- I know I suggested just before that I think I am better than you because I am a human and you’re an elephant.
- But that was just anger talking.
- Truth is we like you.
- Us humans.
- We like you a lot.
- But that’s partly because you DON'T eat birds. And because you DON’T take the Mommas and the Pappas literally. NO ONE likes an animal that eats birds and misunderstands the meanings behind an entire bands’ body of work. They’re so damn majestic! (birds and bands).
- So if that’s what you’re telling me, then why don’t you turn this berg right around?

But that’s when it hit me. I was in no position to judge. I myself had arrived in Australia for the first time stowed away on a floating mattress that I thought was headed for Oklahoma. And I was a Muskrat when this took place. And I’d been inspired by the body of work of The Kinks, which I had misunderstood to be summed up as telling the world “why buy a waterbed, when you can just be on a bed in water?” And having interviewed the Kinks subsequently they told me “You’re missing the point man, our body of work was supposed to be understood to be summed up as “don’t float on a mattress to a landlocked American state where cowboys ride, because if you do, one those cowboys may have a bull that will puncture your mattress, and then how are you going to get home? A flying car? Yeah right!” (the lesson is always meet your heroes, they have so much wisdom to share).

So I hung my head in shame. And I told the elephant the bad news. Rubbing his trunk in commiseration (and sneakily checking for penguin breath. There was none. So feel free to keep liking Elephants). And I shoved him back towards California. With a “farewell” and “safe travels”.

And you know what?

The elephant did speak back to me finally.

Just with his eyes.

But they clearly said…

“Berg. Berg. Berg. Yeah that is fun. Thanks so much for that. And if on my travels I see any Muskrats floating out at sea on a mattress, I’ll tell them, what the Kinks told you, we’re all in this together you see. Animals. Humans. Birds. Bands. And even Idiots”.

The next time I saw that elephant, he’d taken human form and was about to interview the ghost of Momma Cass from the Mommas and the Poppas (I think she was one of the Mommas) so I knew he’s going to be ok.

And my terror drifted away.

Like a French Fry on a nuclear-powered margarine-berg. And that’s something we can all enjoy.  



Monday, October 8, 2018

These are wise words, potentially

'You can't climb a valley'

Yes wise words, wise indeed, which is why I said them! 

Cause I like saying wise things. 

And this thing is very wise. 

Wise I’m telling ya. 

So wise they’re even wiser than some other things! 

Say like eating a block of wood, to name just one example of something not as wise! 

Although there are probably even more potential examples of wise words out there just waiting to be discovered. Potentially as many as a dozen. 

But You know what? 

‘Potential can suck a poo faced turd!’ 

Which is yet another example of wise words. 

Words that have been said.

By me. 

And words which are wise. 

Which is why I said them. 

Because check this out, as a child I had ‘potential’ to grow up to be a monkey wrangler. 

And look what's become of me. 

When was the last time I even wrangled a single monkey, let alone wrangled one professionally? 

This past Wednesday, that's when. And that’s hump day, which is camels not monkeys! 

And the pros do it every hour on the hour every hour, in an hourly fashion which is honorable hourly. So I am no pro, no indeed, so ‘potential’ can suck my ass, hourly! 

You know what ‘potential’, just to screw with you I’m going to name ALL the ‘potentially a dozen’ wise words, just to fuck you up! 

Wise words ‘potentially’ to be discovered include all of the below: 

  1. Don’t eat a block of wood.
  2. If you’re planning on making a movie based on the Novel 'Scum Sundaes' don’t forget to make the lead lactose intolerant, I know we don’t want to be poking ‘fun’ at the ‘no laccy for me please’ crowd, but if you don’t include that story line then you’ll literally be flushing the drama down the toilet like a lactose free turd. 
  3. Taking photos of memories of photos is stupid. 

Ok, shit, I think that's it. That’s all the ‘potential’ new wise words that had yet to be discovered. 

Yep, seriously ‘potential’ sucks. 

Potential may actually be the worst thing ever conjured by man. Oh no, wait..

  1. Potential may actually be the worst thing ever conjured by man. 

Four, that’s it. 

FAR less than a dozen. 


‘Potential really sucks’. 

And those are wise words. 

Wise indeed.

Which is why I said them!





Saturday, October 6, 2018

On being good at your job...

And now a quick note on being good at your job...

Roger was terrible at his job
Really bad at
Genuinely shit house at it
Garbage
Just fucking horrible
Shitter than a gnat shit on a mosquito shit near a human poo.
People didn’t seem to care though
Seeing as he was an evil dictators food taster
Seven dictators had died on his watch!
And Six of those were both disliked AND loathed.
And three of them died eating poisoned loaves (two bread loafs and one loaf of pickled cyanide. ((Although frankly the name should have given away the threat enough on that one that some poor food taster's incompetence should have been irrelevant - cause I mean, duh, anything pickled is gross)) ((except maybe pickled old shoe, which is surprisingly vastly tastier that un-pickled old shoe. Although also harder to pair with wine)))
This loaves and loathed combination was of course a coincidence the pun headline writers at the local paper adored
‘Loathed dictator loaved to death!’
Was a popular headline
As was ‘love it or loave it, our leader is dead!’
Although that last one did get a guy called ‘Steve’ fired. But some say it was more for font choice, than his inability to use loaved AND loathed in the headline.
So people didn’t really care how bad at his job Roger was.
And man, he was fucking terrible
Just a fucking disgrace
Shitter than a dog shit on a bird shit near a poo museum.
Then again Roger was also a nice guy
Which always helps
Oh and when he tasted food it somehow regularly resulted in gold being spat out windows
Partly because for some reason dictator chefs often think Gold McNuggets will be what their dictator wants
And yet they NEVER provide a satisfactory variety or volume of dipping sauces
And Roger refused to even TRY an un-dipped McNugget
So he’d just slide them over to his boss, saying ‘yeah great’
And then the dictator would spit the McNugget out the window, with a scream ‘no BBQ, no Sweet and Sour, not even any fucking Honey Mustard, what am I, some sort of fucking peasant!’
So gold McNuggets would litter the outside of the palace window
And if you were willing to wipe the spit off (which 32% of interviewed peasants said they were) you’d get to eat a delicious piece of gold yourself!
So Roger wasn’t hated
Oh and his friend Mike was a popular morning radio host
And people love friends of celebrities!
Even IF said morning radio hosts most famous bit is prank calling the newly widowed
Although normally only widows of dead dictators
It’s probably why Roger and Mike were such close friends
So yeah
If you’re shit at YOUR job
Just garbage
Like even if your SUPER shit
Shitter than a monkey shit, on an elephant shit, near a shit faced shit head shitting his pants
Then perhaps you may not be loathed too!
Which means if you ever choke to death on loaves
Your death headlines will be pun free!
Congratulations!


Friday, October 5, 2018

Please read this BEFORE you next go to a beach or park (or urban space seagulls think are parks or beaches)





Here’s some advice from me.. 

You should NEVER scream at a seagull, ever! Unless you WANT the seagull to BITE OUT YOUR TONGUE! 

Now this is of course assuming your tongue is made of French fries. And also assuming your tongue doesn’t have a retraction element, you know like a way of sticking your tongue back in. Like you can stick you tongue out, so of course you should be able to stick it in. 

But if YOU can’t, and you have a French Fry tongue, are you f’n crazy?

Why are you screaming at seagulls? That’s mad man. 

I mean you should know a few things straight up: 

- Seagulls don’t understand the variety of human emotions, particularly when it comes to volume based expressions of emotion, I mean there are plenty of loud HAPPY people at the beach and parks (and urban spaces seagulls think are parks and beaches), where seagulls hang out, so you’re probably not even succeeding in expressing what ever it is that you’re angry about regardless of your personal situation. Which brings me to...
- You’ve got a French Fry as a tongue! So you’re probably mumbling as well. So god knows if this particularly gull has picked up any language skills from years of monitoring picnickers and beach combers alike in hopes of nabbing a cracker or even a tuna soaked bread stick, but even if they have, you’re probably NOT expressing yourself eloquently enough for them to understand, and trust me I spent many a year as a mumbler, and FACT in that time not a SINGLE seagull, landgull, or earthwindandfiregull EVER said ‘ah yeah, I understand’. Not a single one. That’s how bad mumbling is. And also...
- They’ll eat your tongue! I get it you’ve got a message to share. And you are you, you are. And you don’t want to be held back by your particular scenario. We’ve all been there. I have a leg of lamb for a right forearm for example (don’t get me started on the grief I get for having a leg for an arm, it’s a dire life, let me tell you, I mean for one thing I can’t use the phrase ‘I’d give an arm and a leg’ for anything without imagining only giving up only one limb, (which is literally a leg AND an arm) without facing a lot of awkward payment situations, and some very disappointed and unsatisfied sales folk I’ll tell you. But that’s who I am. And I also can never give the finger to mountain lions. For a number of reasons. Climbing said mountain is hard on my leg of lamb arm. Mountain lions don’t understand modern western profanity based common sign language. And, and, and they’d BITE it. A leg of lamb arm is very attractive to mountain lions. Let me tell ya) but you have a French Fry tongue. That’s not going to change. Tongue transplant technology is still weak. Sure you can get a giraffe tongue put in (assuming you can talk a giraffe into donating one) but then you end up really ‘tonguey’ and that’s off putting to some people. So just deal with it. 

And here are some things you should know second up. Wait I said ‘straight’ above right? Not ‘first’? So I guess I should say here are some things you should know bendy up:

- You can ignore most of the above if you’re one of the lucky few who happen to NOT have a French Fry tongue. 
- You can also ignore this if you’re one of the absolute rare breed of person who never yells at gulls.
- Also overall these are some all some thoughts from me which might even be to absurd for ME! And I have a god damn leg of lamb as an arm. And also I’m ME! 
- Still I want to start posting this nonsense more, if you got this far thanks! 
- Also what food products DO you have in place of body parts? Let me know, and I’ll be sure to have advice more specifically focused on your personal situation in two shakes of a lambs tail. 
- Which incidentally is a phrase that always makes my arm ache, I have no idea why.
- The World sure is weird sometimes.
- Glad we all have this blog to escape back into normality from time to time.

Thursday, August 2, 2018

The Two Little Dickheads are in EDINBURGH!

Two Little Dickheads 

This is what happens when a cabaret clown and an improv master with a shared passion for cats spend way too much time together. 

A diamond-encrusted explosion of silliness, making the ordinary extraordinary. 

‘It is something strange and wonderful and I want to go again' (PopCulture-Y.com).

 'Jeeze Louise, this was fun. A bombastic doozy if ever there was one' (ArtsReview.com.au). Multi award-winning performers.

https://tickets.edfringe.com/whats-on/two-little-dickheadshttps://tickets.edfringe.com/whats-on/two-little-dickheads

Tuesday, July 24, 2018

Leaf - A Poem

Leaf - A Poem

What makes a leaf?

What makes not a leaf? Fucking most things. I answered my OWN question, dick.

Monday, July 23, 2018

Signs your pet Barracuda is badass at practical jokes

Signs your pet Barracuda is badass at practical jokes

‘Tis a sad truth, that despite our best and most purest of efforts, many of us won’t achieve true greatness. And regardless of our refined and generous hearts, many of us will never be bestowed with everlasting love. Yet there’s still hope for a happy life. Yes, no matter our failings in other areas of life, we too may one day own a pet Barracuda that’s bad ass at practical jokes.

Here’s a handy list of signs that the pet Barracuda you have circling your bathtub right now, is in fact simply bad fucking ass at practical jokes...

- It once ran for parliament and used the campaign donations to throw a margarita party.
- For three years it had you CONVINCED it was actually a barramundi.
- Every-time it has hidden in your toilet to fright you, it’s managed to bite you EXACTLY on the taint, gooch or equivalent.
- Its farts smell like Otter queefs.
- It’s the very fish who populated the long held fallacy that if you paint an ancient Egyptian pyramid fluorescent purple they automatically shoot lazers that render Harley Enthusiasts impotent, which led to the recent 0.012% increase in fluorescent purple paint, and in a ballsy counter play, a 0.0092% increase in Harley sales.
- It’s never once led a panty raid on any sorority that had previously declared a truce with all aquatic, amphibious and/ or ambidextrous creatures. (Well thats not so much badass as classy, but then again classiness itself is definitely badass).
- It’s flawlessly ambidextrous despite possessing zero limbs.
- It sometimes glues mannequin limbs to itself, then goes clubbing under the name Sir Barra-Von-Cuddington, and seventeen thousand, twelve hundred, and forty two strangers it’s met while flirting in the bathroom lines, have now donated to its ‘save the urinal cakes’ fund.
- It’s queefs smell like Otter pimple discharges.
- It once ran for mayor, and used all the campaign donations to open a bar called ‘Tis’ which is located inside a wildebeest, and is now the hottest bar inside a wildebeest this side of Detroit!
- The Margaritas in said bar are two for one, as long as you ‘pants’ the fish standing next to ya!

Yes ‘Tis a validity, as hopeful as it is honest, that anyone could have a pet Barracuda that’s badass at practical jokes, if yours is as such, congratulations! And god save the urinal cakes.

Saturday, June 16, 2018

Today’s question is.... revealed in this blog

Today on - Today’s question is - we have the usual, todays question - so please give a big today’s question cheer for today’s question - coming up momentarily - and now without further ado, and possible devoid of ado period - or is it adieu? - I don’t know, it’s not important - because it’s time for...

TODAY’S.... QUESTION... IS...

If butts were made of poop. And poop was made of whatever butts are currently made of. You know butt skin and butt chub and stuff. How quickly would you give up eating clam based taco shells? 

A. NEVER! 
B. Depends how soft these new ‘poops’ are? 
C. Why would someone make a taco shell out of clams? 
D. In this scenario what’s my ‘front butt’, so to speak, made out of?
E. Why do you assume I have to ‘give up’ clam based taco shells? Why have I been eating them? Who made me damn it? What is this horror world you’re describing? 
F. Would I still have to give up clam based ‘faux’ crab shells, cause NEVER! 
G.  Why did you even pose this? 
H. Plus ‘butt chub’? You couldn’t google the technical term you gross bastard? 
I. Although, ha ha, ‘butt chub’! 
J. Oh shit, is this a list? I thought it was multiple choice question.
K. You fooled me you dick. 
L. Fuck you. 
M. Eat a bag of dicks you dick.
N. No wait, a big bag of butt chubs! 
O. Ha ha, I used your own foul thoughts against you! 
P. Take that.
Q. Oh shit, I just thought about clam based taco shells again. 
R. I hate this quiz.
S. I really fucking hate it. 
U. Wait, where is T?
V. I’ve come this far and I don’t even get a T? 
W. That’s my fucking favorite letter to make shirts in the shape of! 
X. I HATE you. 
T. Fuck you! 
Y. All of the above. 
Z. None of the above. 
T. You clammy f’n dick! 

:)



Wednesday, May 23, 2018

What Chewbacca Probably Thinks About While Trying To Fall Asleep


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Ahhh. It’s so nice to have my head on a nice soft pillow. Man, what tough day.

Well done today buddy. You really shone in hard circumstances. Great work. Seriously. You were amazing.

Sure I didn’t get a medal, or a reward, again. Or get to be the center of attention. But I know that I was JUST as heroic and important to the mission as the others, and if I know that, then that’s enough right?

Hey if I risk my life and just survive then even THAT’S enough right?

I don’t do it for the plaudits. I do it for what’s right. And to save the people I care about. To be honest, in some ways, not being one of the ones honored in the end is maybe even a BIGGER honor. I wasn’t personally rewarded, so no one can EVER say that I was only in it for the rewards right? I risked MY life to save OTHERS. Period. No other end game. I don’t need to be remembered. I don’t need to be the one getting applauded. I just did it. That’s real heroism.

Still, an award would be nice. Remember when at school that Guidance Counselor said if I didn’t start applying myself and lift my test scores then the most I could hope to amount to would be to become meathead nightclub bouncer or something? Well I DIDN’T apply myself, and flunked biology AND woodwork, and I’m going to end up helping blow up the Death Star! Twice! Man if I DID have an award I would so go stick it right in that Guidance Councilors stupid face. That would be sweet.

But still it’s not WHY I do it. I can’t think that way.

Cause, man. I could have died today. Wow.

You forget in the moment. But I really could have DIED today.

That’s big.

I wonder what would become of me. Would I get buried? Or burned? Would I just disappear like Ob-Wan? Oooooh I hope I end up becoming a rug in a log cabin. No no no, in a Ski Chalet! That would be sweet. Near a fire. Maybe with someone’s pet kitten or Ewok curled up asleep on me. That’s how to spend eternity. I’ll probably end up just a coat or something though right? I wish I wore clothes. I bet I could rock a pair of leather pants. Although I bet if I tried Han would just mock me. For a guy that seems to wear the same damn shirt every single day, he sure is judgmental of other people’s fashion choices.

Anyways, stop thinking about it Chewie, you know you never get to sleep when you go down these paths, and besides I’m sure you’ll risk your life for nothing again tomorrow, won’t you big fella, so you can save these thoughts for after THAT adventure.

Wake up. Get blasted at. Blow something up. Watch Han get the rewards AND the cute dates. Go to bed. Start again. That’s your lot in life.

No no no. Don’t do this to yourself. I can’t get bitter. I have to stay positive. And I have to sleep. I HAVE to. I need to sleep if I’m going be fresh enough to survive anyway. Come on Chewie. Stop thinking about every damn thing and just sleep.

Maybe I should count sheep or something.

“One sheep. Two sheep. Three sheep. Four…”

Oh screw it. That’s doesn’t work. Now I just want to chew the sheep’s faces off. Oh man, how good is chewing faces off!

You know I never asked my mom what a Bacca is. Man, I must’ve LOVED chewing them as a kid to get named after them. They must have been YUM. I probably just shoved my face into bowls of them and chewed them like some sort of animal. Not even waiting for the table to properly be set. Like…

Wait.

I just had an idea.

I just thought of something.

Yes, yes, yes!

It’s the best line ever.

Next time I see someone eating something just with their face I can yell out...

“Use the forks!”

Lol. That’s brilliant.

Wait no, even better. I could yell it when I see someone struggling with chopsticks

Lol. Genius.

“Hey buddy (tee-hee) instead of struggling with those… USE THE FORKS”.

YES! I’ll bring the house down. Now THAT will get me remembered. YES. Goddamn YES!

Man, I hope Han’s up for Chinese food soon.

Ok, ok, ok, I have to plan this right. I can’t just suggest it, can I? I can’t make it clear it was my idea, or the joke won’t seem off the cuff.

But then again Han hardly ever suggests Chinese.

Oh man. How can I get him to think about it on his own.

Maybe I can just like play around with the hyperdrive or something, and when he says “what the hell are you doing in there Chewie” I can be all like “just NOODLING around”.

Or or or, I can like clean out the toilets and ask him “should I just DUMPling this stuff into a pile of space junk and hope the Imperial Green Police don’t catch us, or is that too big a RICE..SK”.

“Just risk it Chewie” Han will probably say, “say for some reason I suddenly feel like Chinese food, want to go to Ming Koks for dinner” he’ll ponder my way.
“Chinese? That’s out of the blue Solo, let’s do it”, I’ll roar nonchalantly, while casually preparing the Falcon for the jump into light speed.
“You’ve been manipulated again Solo”. I’ll think with a chuckle.

Wait, I just realized something. Solo? He doesn’t even NEED that second name. It’s redundant. Otherwise he’d be Hans plural. Han singular leaves the Solo implied for damns sake. I don’t have a second name. Man, Han just get’s fucking everything doesn’t he?

Wait, wait, no no no. Did I just hear him in the other room saying “I’ve got a bad feeling about this”?

Fuck, fuck, fuck. Fall asleep now and pretend you didn’t hear it.

Come on buddy fall asleep.

Now please.

Come on.

You can do it.

Just stop thinking.

Sleep away.

Come on damn it.

Oh fuck I think I just heard the deflector shield get activated.

Here we go fucking again.

Well this time, if Han nicks my Bowcaster again, and takes all the plaudits again, then I am TOTALLY gonna make him shout the Chinese Food! Suck on that, Solo.



Friday, May 4, 2018

Signs your shirt would make a poor plane (Don’t read this naked; well bottom half naked is ok)

 Congratulations, you did it, you put on a shirt today (please ignore this congratulations if you have instead put on some different form of top side of body practical clothing option. For YOUR personal congratulations please wait for the appropriate blog to reach your beautiful eyes shortly, or longly, depending on your top side of body clothing choice of choice). 

But is it a good shirt? I don’t know. I can’t see it. But also, of course it is. Shirts are ace. I wear them frequently. Sometimes even when I’m asked instead to wear a spray of tiny cut up pieces of glass. Which is, at best, only my third favorite type of top side of body cover. 

So let’s just brass tax this bad boy out down to the facts Jackson - shirts are awesome. 

Yet. YET. Would this kick ass shirt your wearing have made it so close to the top if it had have taken on a different profession? 

Probably, right? If you’re good at stuff you’re probably good at other stuff too. Like I’m good at writing random made up words which don’t fit the gulupital nature of the current sentence. So it stands to reason that I’d also be great at hiding giraffes under air conditioning vents, right? So I’ll probably just do that one day, and be honored for my contributions in helping giraffes live in homes without paying market rent. 

Still, I’m here to tell you, it’s not ALWAYS the same deal with your shirts. 

The point is, obviously, that before you reassign your shirt to be an airplane, here are some signs that this shirt in particular may, shock horror, make a BAD airplane. 

1. None of the buttons hold the current Federal Aviation requirements in regards to jet-fuel. 

2. The sunglasses dangling off the v-neck are NOT aviators.

3. You ask for a lift to the airport and the response is anything other than 'fuck off, it's my ONE day off'. 

4. Less than 80% of its seats armrests host working headphone jacks. 

5. If you spill poop on it, it doesn’t just suck it into the engine with a mighty force that seems to come from as deep as hell and then spray it all over the Atlantic. 

6. It’s sixteen tones of geniusly crafted steel and advanced computer technology, but shaped more like a boat than a plane. 


So there you go. 

If you ended up with a good plane congrats! Kaboom.

If not bad luck, but at least be thankful you didn’t end up wearing a spray of tiny broken up pieces of glass, you got a shirt damn it, and shirts are ace!