There are a million places online trying to answer life's big questions. But only here are we exploring the forgotten questions, the yes or no questions, the easy questions, it's like a piece of paper, but what's written on the paper?
Staring the honest and modest David 'Pinky-Von-Sox' Tieck
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.
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
- 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.
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?
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!
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
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
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.
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
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.
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.
“Hey buddy (tee-hee) instead of struggling with those… USE
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
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
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.
You can do it.
Just stop thinking.
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.
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!
Hello lovely people. This is my/ our melbourne international comedy festival show. We like it. Audiences are having an absolute ball. The show is a beautiful explosion of diamond encrusted joy. But social media hates us. And has banned us. Our theory is that Zuckerberg was called a dickhead a lot at school. Anyways... this is us. Hopefully we’ve circumnavigated the algorithm of lack of genuine intelligence and/ or continued to fail :)
Oh great Trump was in the news again today. Can you believe he did that thing he did? Yes THAT!
Now he’s going to show up in conversation, and I’ll have to talk about him. And oh yes, I just LOVE talking about Trump. Eye roll.
I was chatting about him with a family member last week and it lead to us getting into a fist fight, and now this family member has one human eye and one pig eye.
I mean he had the pig eye before the fight too, miracle surgery actually, but it’s hard to punch someone with a pig eye, because bacon smelling juice pops out with every blow, and you get that on your shirt, and next thing you know hamburgers are following you around saying ‘hey that’s mine dick’ and you’re like, ‘I didn’t steal your bacon, I swear’ and they’re like ‘then why do you smell of bacon’ and you’re like ‘because I punched a guy with a pig eye’ and the hamburger is like ‘really plausible dick, only an asshole would punch a pig eyed man!’
And he’s right. I don’t like punching anyone, but Trump just riles people up, and the thing was this family member and I agreed, Trumps ties are too long, depending on the day your referencing, sometimes he’s not even wearing ties, fuckin’ Trump. How is anyone supposed to have a civil in-depth discussion on male business fashion if he won’t even wear a too long tie everyday? Especially when you’re talking to someone who can’t show their sarcasm because they can’t physically eye roll with a pig eye! Fuck you Trump!
Now because of you I have a hamburger pacing up and down outside my house, and you call the cops and they just say ‘if he bites you, just bite him back’ and I’m like ‘yeah right, he doesn’t even have bacon, that’s not the most delicious type of burger!’
Because, you see, I discovered the
truth behind bottle caps!
“Woo hoo. Finally!” I hear you yell, in
your beautiful throaty cheers right from your beautifully throaty thoughts.
But it gets even better.
This truth I’ve discovered was not just
the mild truth. No way, no how, I discovered the spicy truth.
“Woo hoo. Fantastical” I hear you
squeal, in your beautiful glass shattering whelp, right from your beautifully
But it get’s even better.
This truth I discovered was not just
not the mild truth but also not just the spicy truth, because the level of fire
in this spice was super fiery and
this fire came in a convenient saucy sauce.
“Woo hoo. Fantabulous” I hear you
shriek, in that suddenly brain damagingly piecing way, right from your brain
damagingly piecing brains.
You see this isn’t any kind of truth. No
This is the kind of truth that if you
drank a bottle of it, you’d want to hope you were filming it for you-tube, or
elsewhere in the video sharing interwebs that could be considered similar, and you
would damn hope that you’d get a lot of views for drinking that much fiery
sauce of truth. And yet you decided to do it on a street corner? Are you mad? Good
luck getting lots of views filming it from there. Unless it’s a super busy
street corner. Which of course almost all are. God damn traffic!
is the kind of truth that if you snorted a field of it, you’d want to hope
aliens were watching you, readying to attack, only to think “hmmmm, those are
some damn strong nostrils, that can snort up a whole field of ANYTHING, and
seeing as we are aliens which are made of nothing but wafting freshly baked
cookie clouds, maybe we should consider another day for the attack, perhaps
when this bad ass motherfucker gets a cold, or at least is on a strict ‘no
smelling cookie wafts diet’, which I heard actually is great for shifting
weight, just as long as you don’t go near a mall where they have a freshly
baked cookie kiosk, and why on earth would you ever visit a mall without one?
My god, why on earth indeed. Let’s fuck off to a better planet, this one is
fucked. Damn god damn dieters.
THIS is the kind of truth that if you
ever even considered filling a pool with it, and then demonstrating your new
found love of sitting in a sauna for so long, that you become so dehydrated
that your skin become stiff like the skin of a pig that’s been basted over a
fire pit for six months, because intruders came and stole the pants of all
those at the luau and everyone is starving, but way too self-conscious to eat
in front of a group with no pants, and so everyone is desperately attempting to
bully their leg hairs into growing into the shape of perfect shorts, and then
hope to pretend to be a top half human, bottom half monkey, that’s shaved it’s
legs below the knee, in hope of passing itself off as a top half human, first
half of bottom half monkey, and bottom half of bottom half human, so it can eat
some fucking pig without anyone looking at it weird, and then you hope to take
that disgusting dehydrated thick rash you claim is your skin, and dive in and
with plans to soak it in said pool, hoping it would then suck up all that
sweet, sweet liquid and you could finally be credited with discovering a new
way of cramming liquid into a body, and finally one which is dominated by something
other than some gross orifice sucking shit up? But are you crazy? As if the lifeguard will let you dive in?
There is a clear ‘no diving sign’; do you really think you can get past that
kind of epic security? God damn fucking god damn rule sticklers.
“Woo hoo. Fanfuckutabalicous” I hear
you bellow, right from the depths of some hollow part of your body which is so
seriously deep that you should be worried that your beautiful brain is on tour
down there, I mean we all like to see our brains go on tour from time to time,
but stay safe please.
That’s right. The bottle cap truth has
been found. By me. Right here. Right now. In all it’s glory.
So yeah, BOTTLE CAPS, guess what…
The truth is, that it turns out, that they go
best on… bottles!
Woo hoo. Fabulociticy.
Don’t you just love it when things make