DAVID TIECK and his FLEETING FOREVER

And now in really simple riddles

2012-02-18T07:48:00.000-08:00

What is the gender of the author of the following quote?

'Reece Witherspoon has only gotten more beautiful since having children'

a. A man
b. A woman
c. You are a sexist douche-bag for writing this blog
d. She never was beautiful, let alone now MORE beautiful
e. Chocolate and peanut butter should never make love
f. A transgender
g. I'm too busy masturbating at pictures of her from that time she went topless before she was famous to answer this question
h. I think she is gorgeous, and I'm a man, and my boyfriend agrees
i. With a spoon, more like with my penis, am I right?
j. Isn't a multiple choice supposed to have four answers at most?
k. A multiple choice can have as many answers as you want you asshole
l. Maybe I'll keep adding more just to fuck with you people
m. I just realized that I was completely messing up the alphabet here
n. That's pretty pathetic, even if you have fixed it
o. If you fixed it then why are you still mentioning it
p. An alien that looks like a woman
q. If 'Q' is always followed by 'U' then why doesn't the alphabet reflect that
r. I hope he doesn't try and drag this out to 'Z'
s. Hermaphrodite

If you chose A, K, Q, or U you are correct.

If you have noticed there was no U then you are also correct

If you think chocolate and peanut butter shouldn't be friends then I agree

If you can hook me up with her please do so

If you can't then who can you hook me up with, I am horny and lonely, please help!

Lesbians are beautiful

2012-02-17T08:16:00.000-08:00

I had long hair for about six long years.

HAD long hair.

In the middle of the night, around a ten days ago, I was feeling inspired by a beautiful two month long insomnia bout, mixed together with watching lots of Californication while thinking 'I'm a writer too, if I had that haircut would I get all those women throwing themselves at me?' It was a perfect storm.

It was around 4am when I thought to myself ‘why not try a little trim, and see if I like it?’ then I could just keep trimming a bit more every day or two until I'm no longer inspired to continue. Just see how short may suit me. It was a perfect plan.

It took about two or three nights of dawn trimming before I realized that I had made a big mistake. I have cut my own hair maybe a hundred times in my life. On at least a hundred of those occasions I have thought to myself after ‘I really, really should never ever do that again’. I am the perfect example of stupidity.

The first couple of nights I thought it was looking alright, and so I was motivated to continue. Yet the shorter it became the more obvious it was that I had left huge imbalances of length and texture, almost as if I was both not an expert at this, can’t look at my own head from above, and was cutting with blurry insomnia eyes. So I kept trimming away hoping to even it out, always thinking ‘evening out wont make it seem shorter, it’s just evening it out, right?’

For the next ten nights my insomnia continued, now fueled by what was becoming a clear obsession. I have a huge mirror next to my bed and I kept studying my hair and then running back to the bathroom and trimming more…….. and more and more and more. And it wasn’t looking good, no matter how many people told me it was, so I thought simply 'this looks AWFUL, maybe if I trim more I can fix it'.

With my hair mania reaching the point of pure paranoia to the point that every laugh I heard anywhere near me was a group of people pointing at me saying 'look at that guys stupid hair' I knew it was time to let a professional have a look. I figured the professionals eventually fixed that BP oil leak, so there is an outside chance they could do something with the even worse disaster that is my head.

Now, I have a love hate relationship with hairdressers.

I love the massage chair while my hair is being washed, and the feel of another humans hands in my hair.

I hate hate the small talk, and I am always petrified that I'll raise all the cliché topics they're sick of talking about all day everyday, so I sit there half mute with a weird ‘thinking’ look on my face’.

I love love love watching people work creativity with their hands; it gives me shivers down my back with a feeling of pleasure that surpasses any sexual encounter I've ever had.

I hate hate fucking hate making small talk, especially when I'm having orgasm like shivers and I'm talking to the one male hairdresser after all the cute girls got allocated to the heads around me.

I love that there are cute girls who often have unique and funky look.s

I hate that no matter where I go or what I ask them to do to my hair they only hear one thing

‘Lesbian’

'just a trim and tidy up please' I say
'No worries’ they reply ‘hey this is my mind talking it’s so nice to find a client I can communicate with telepathically! So just so were clear, you just told me with your voice for a trim but with your mind you said to do everything humanly possible to make you look like a lesbian right? If so look straight ahead with a weird ‘thinking’ look on your face’ they think.

So I went along. And I asked for ‘not too much length off, just tidy up the mess I made of this head o’ mine please’ and you know what? She cut almost all my hair off. It turns out ‘not too much length off’ means ‘all of it off please’ I really need to work on my accidental telepathy.

Anyway I think it looks pretty good, because people keep saying to me ‘it looks pretty good’. Actually people keep telling me ‘wow, that’s so much better, so glad you got rid of that long hair, all this time you looked so awful but I never wanted to tell you, even though, in my opinion, you basically looked like a homeless bum with that messy shit and I am surprised I let myself be seen in public with you’. It turns out I was not the perfect friend.

Oh also I was walking around the other day and I heard a lady turn to another lady and say ‘that’s a really cute beard on that lesbian’.

Now for some sleep.

The Man and the Clown

2012-02-04T02:37:00.000-08:00

Dear Expert

2012-01-19T07:41:00.000-08:00

I'm glad I don't write a 'Dear Abby' advice column because then even the birthday song becomes a request for advice:

'Happy birthday to you, happy birthday to you, happy birthday Dear Abby'
'Wait wait wait, seriously you’re going to throw one of those at me now? Give me a break for fucks sake, how dare you try to make me work in the middle of my birthday song!''
'No no, it’s nothing, it's just the song'
‘Oh it’s just the song, it’s just the song, now help me, right?
‘No, not at all’
'So why do you have to include ‘Dear Abby’? It's supposed to be my day off!'
'That’s just how it goes, I swear, everyone gets 'dear' and then their name’
‘So you're saying everyone is trying to take my job now, ‘Dear Steve’, ‘Dear Phillip’, ‘Dear Dramquilla’ and you're telling me this on my birthday, very classy, thank you, and I'll remember this every year too, because you told me during my birthday song, thanks a lot you cunt'
'Um Abby? Are you sure you're qualified to give 'advice' to people?'

No sir, not for me one little bit. I guess what I am really asking is this - is your name really ‘Expert’?

Some very good advice

2012-01-05T04:25:00.000-08:00

On how to….. Wait for the excitement….. Fix a fridge!

Cricket, for those who don't know, is an awesome game. In its best variety, known as ‘test cricket’, a match lasts for five days. Some of the awesome elements included in this sport during these five days are:
- Long periods where seemingly nothing happens
- Heavy drama that to many looks like people just standing around
- The daily tea break
- Ducks (seriously)
- A player position known as ‘silly mid off’ (also ‘silly mid on’!)
- Another known as ‘the night watchman’ (that sounds like a superhero!)

Don’t you just love it? Ha ha, I put a question mark as if you may not!

One way to put it is that if sex is a super fast-paced game that lasts for 90 odd minutes, then test cricket is like spending five days in bed with a beautiful new lover mixing up long periods of cuddling and staring into each others eyes with regular unplanned moments of passion. Plus cool helmets.

A less erotic (and therefore less awesome) way to describe cricket is that it’s just like baseball only with way different rules and tactics and with way cooler helmets (cricket ones have face masks!)

So you can imagine my frustration, anger and desire to rip heads off little girls dollies when yesterday I was lying in bed, alone, watching the cricket, smack bang during one of the mesmerizing long period of seemingly nothing happening, when abruptly my electricity went out! NOOOOOOOOOOOOO.

First thing first - locate the problem (some of you may have already guessed that it will end up being the fridge). I made a quick guess that it was probably the fridge, but only after I had made sure that no power points were overloaded, that nothing was on fire, that I had scratched my head until I had blood under my fingernails, and had looked around. Looking around of course being a euphemism for fifty times looking past your houseguest's chest who is wearing a see-through singlet and no bra, all the while pretending to be checking all the lights and appliances that are located behind her. And eventually making the discovery that her breasts are lovely and your other houseguest has actually checked the appliances, and god bless braless boobs in see-through singlets. That may in fact be the best sentence in the English language.

Note to self: write a book named ‘god bless braless boobs in see-though singlets’.

Having played around with the fuse box (note to self: next time don’t use a wet coat hanger) I came to the expert opinion that the problem was either the fridge or some other unknown problem. I had to pull the fridge out of its cupboard to confirm; horribly this required finding screwdriver.

If you're like me you have several tools in your house, consisting of a tool set given as a gift ten years ago that is always missing the exact parts you need for whatever you need to fix, and a screw driver you've had since stealing it from your dad 22 years ago to fix a skateboard.

I have a special 'tool draw' where I personally put the tools after every use, so my tool draw was full of plastic bags, light bulbs for lights I no longer own, and indistinguishable bits of moldy food scraps that I’ve been promising to clean out for years and will eventually do so the day I ultimately decide to sell the place, upon when I’ll think 'that's much better, I should have cleaned that 17 years ago'.

I found the toolbox in the spice cupboard and went to grab the screwdriver set. Last time I needed tools the much-needed wrench was missing from my toolbox but it was back today, laying uncomfortably in the spot the much needed screwdriver should have been. The other screwdriver was discovered after literally a five-hour search, conveniently in the cutlery draw under 12 forks.

It was finally time to unplug the fridge and it turns out (and this may surprise some of you) but it WAS the fridge that was the problem. It is now sitting on my balcony and I am hoping that it drying out may stop what ever was shorting out the electricity. It’s the best repair idea I can come up with.

The lessons are:
- I probably need a new fridge
- This cricket game is going along awesomely but
- I would actually prefer five days in bed with a new lover

For need

2012-01-03T01:02:00.000-08:00

I'm feeling perfect
Like a horrible concoction of lies
My glass full of past mistakes
The tambourine in rhythm
Yet not my hand clapping
Where has all my effort gone
A deception of my long planned undoing
I need nourishment for my truth
A positivity revolution
Just jam
Sing in my alcohol taunting voice
Any distraction from reality please
And listen to the ruthless crunch of insanity
At least I'm not a hypocrite
Just another thing I hate myself for
As always
Forever
My own regrettable choice

Sleep tight your filthy motherfuckers

2011-12-16T06:17:00.000-08:00

‘Sleep tight’ I said to her ‘unless you’re cool like me, in which case sleep loose mo-fo’
‘What are you calling me a slut?’ She angrily responded
‘At what point did I say slut?’
‘You called me loose?’
‘No I didn’t, I was making a joke, and also the word loose does not necessarily connote the vagina’
‘Oh now calling girls a slut is a joke to you?’
‘Yes that’s exactly what I said, and it is a joke, and it can be a funny joke in the right circumstances, but that was not the joke at all, the joke was that most people say sleep tight and I wanted to say the opposite, hence the wonderful joke sleep loose…. Mo-fo, which, you know, is short for motherfucker, but more…. Hip’
‘So I am a slutty motherfucker now?’
‘Yes, yes, ok I will allow it, you are a slutty motherfucker’
‘Well thanks for fucking being honest’
‘You’re welcome’

It was the best hang gliding trip ever. Fucking hang gliding.

How sickening!

2011-12-08T23:48:00.000-08:00

Oh my god people, OH MY GOD, I don’t want to alarm you, but…….

I’ve got the flu!!!!

Well, or a cold, or you know a pandemic of phlegm emergent bacteria having epic orgies in my nostrils. I can never tell the difference between those three.

Of course this is actually no reason to be glum because being sick is fun! Most people think that having the flu is all bad and reason for tearful concern, but that’s not true, there are in fact lots of positives. Such as:

- Microscopic bacteria are breeding rapidly using my nose hair as a filthy swingerclub cum stained bed, which makes up for any of my own sexual inefficiencies.
- There are still idiots who think you get the flu from being cold so it's fun to pump the heat and ask if you can breathe on their face? 'Sure - I'm not cold', ‘really, ha ha, bloooooooowwwww’
- Coughed up phlegm has an awesome way of oozing towards the sinkhole that is always fascinating and wildly satisfying to observe. And
- You can have epic masturbation marathons, throwing the used tissues about the room with gay abandon, and far from being disgusted your roommates will merely feel sympathy for your endless discomfort.

Hooray!

It's not all fun though. Awww, I know just after I proved it was. Fuck I am a disappointment.

I know this is going to bring up some bad memories, because it happens to all of you all the time too, but there is the annoyance that the good medicines are now kept behind the counter at the pharmacy because scum bags buy them to make meth to sell to school children, and if as a guy with long hair you even attempt to purchase these you will be treated like a child killer. Yep malelonghairism, one of the most roaring forms of prejudice plaguing the world at the moment. With the well known hate group slogan of ‘I don’t hate men, I just think if they have long hair they kill children, and probably are a little greasy and therefore don’t deserve the good cold medicine’. HEY HATE GROUP – that’s not a catchy slogan, so suck on that for an insult.

I've tried everything to convince them that I am sick enough to warrant the pills I used to be able to buy when I was twelve with no questions asked. I’ve tried telling the truth, I have tried making up symptoms so my cold seems worse, I have tried taking used tissues into the pharmacy to prove I'm sick but all three of those ideas gets the same response - 'get your disgusting seamen away from me'. And for some weird reason I get the same response when I make up symptoms at the sperm bank. Another obvious flaw with having the flu is that you find yourself talking too much about your bodily fluids. Stupid disease.

But I'm not complaining instead I'm hopped up on an overdose of crappy over the counter meds and using my extra time in bed to study bacteria mating habits, and writing better malelonghairism slogans:
- Not as neat as it could be
- Gel wasters
- Now how can I tell if my wife cheated on me with a dude or a girl just by the foreign hairs I find in our bed?
- Ha ha wind hates you

Hell yeah if I ever go bald and turn on my own kind I am SET!

335am I must be glowing

2011-12-06T08:35:00.000-08:00

I haven't blogged much recently. I have been traveling, I have been writing a novel again for the first time in a few years and being reminded that I am not happy unless I am writing a novel, even if no one will ever read them.

It is the middle of the night and I am an epic age from sleeping, and I dont care that, that makes no sense.

I feel like it is time for me to start getting back to being honest, writing what's on my mind, and not caring so much if what I write is funny, or original, or so weird that it counts as art in my strange mind.

I have started fantasizing about being in a relationship again. This despite those being a rare find for me, a desperately painful and frustrating thing to maintain and a guaranteed angrily broken heart at the end. As usual the stories my friends share with me about relationships they are in and those they hear about are 100% stories of things that I can't help but feel would make me want to murder someone, most likely myself, yet I am finding myself thinking 'I could put up with that'. I am nothing but a hopeless romantic.

'I miss having someone to be pathetically sweet too' I thought moments ago.

'She's already had a proper sex life, I could never be with someone who has had that when I haven't' I thought moments ago.

I want to be more honest in my writing.

I spend way too much time on internet dating sights these days.

I am going to publish my book 'the embarrassing memory murderer' about my endless life of humiliation some way or another in the next few months and oh my god is that going to open eyes to a life like mine. Yet do I really want people to know the truth?

I have thirteen minutes of battery on this laptop left, I need to publish post soon or get mad at myself for constantly telling myself what I want to do more of yet never do.

Yes I do want people to know the truth, but is it going to be cathartic or an exercise in narcissism?

I am moving to Canada, is this right?

Perhaps, but perhaps not. I want the odd 'yes' in my life please.

I have just renovated my apartment and it is brilliant, but it is not leaving me with the desire to stay. I think this is good. I want to chase dreams fearless again.

I am now on reserve battery power. I can't be fucked to get my charger. I can't sleep. I can't be fucked to hook up the DVD player on my new TV so I have something to watch. I want to read but it makes me want to write and I can't write if my computer is out of battery.

I want to have a girlfriend asleep next o me to watch breathing and cuddle for warmth and affection. If I have a girlfriend I can't move to Canada unless I take her with me. If she can come she is probably not pursuing her own passions. I could never date someone like that. If I stay for a girl then I am someone like that.

Now it's six minutes. This blog may not cure all my doubts and fears after all. Maybe I should have worked on my new novel instead of writing this. No one will ever read those anyway and that is too horrific to imagine. I wish I had time to edit this, I know there will be something I regret.

Hey maybe I will end up with a humiliating story I can write about in a future non-fiction book. Humiliation is awesome for a writer. .

Three minutes left.

I want to get more honest in my blogging.

I hope I can find a girl to start my proper sex life with.

If she is anything like the girlfriends I hear about we're all fucked.

I dont like this as an ending but now time.

This is one of THOSE blogs - Asia

2011-11-15T06:56:00.000-08:00

You know the ones, where your blogger blogs about stuff he or she is up and he or she happens to be out on one of his or her regular adventures and instead of telling you about all the awesome stuff he or she is up to he or she instead is all about weird shit? We all know THOSE blogs.

Here is some weird stuff I saw on just one single day in a small Taiwanese fishing village.

- They had skin care products named after the horrifically plastic surgery deformed Australian minor celebrity for a long ago reality show and banging a rock star – Sophie Monk. Are you kidding me? Tag line – ‘you too could look deformed’.
- They had KKK brand white fungus drink – tag line ‘Sophie Monk is white so we won’t bash her, but man she looks deformed’.
- I saw a dog wearing a diaper/ nappy. Tag line – ‘For the owner who wants to show their love with cruel selfishness’. That would make some mean deformed dog poo
- They have a condom design named ‘hard shell’ – tag line ‘for when you really, really don’t want to feel it’ but if your banging Sophie Monk I recommend shoving them in your eyes.

Wow, Taiwan is full of awesome and amazingly friendly people, but they sure are mean about that Sophie Monk. Although I don't blame them, she is pretty deformed.

So very generous

2011-11-03T23:51:00.000-07:00

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Where have I bloody well been?

2011-10-30T19:37:00.000-07:00

Catch up part one

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It’s Epi!

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

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

2011-10-17T01:41:00.001-07:00

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

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

Hell Yeah! We should go!

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

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

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

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

Someone will cook some lamb in New Zealand!

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

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

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

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

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

Politicians in political settings will do something disappointing

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

I hate you science, you fat bastard

2011-10-06T21:51:00.000-07:00

Cause how often do you get to make fun of people in a hypocritical way?

That's some sexy, sexy science

2011-10-03T20:07:00.000-07:00

Don't ruin those girls, you bastards!

2011-09-27T00:45:00.000-07:00

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The answers to these questions are as follows

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

Yay – coining time:

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

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

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

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

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

The lessons are:

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

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

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

What they really mean of course is:

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

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

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

Vicious vicious criminal

2011-09-22T22:58:00.000-07:00

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

Other vicious criminals: Whatcha in for?

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

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

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

Also don't forget to go vote for me over here: http://www.pedestrian.tv/blogster/tech_media_culture for the love of god won't someone think about the vicious children?

You are so hot... now that you've been scienced!!!

2011-09-20T00:11:00.000-07:00

Once again very important scientific information takes Dave to be finally pointed out.... life your game other science type people

This is not a drill

2011-09-14T01:23:00.000-07:00

For those who haven't yet, please check out my other blog

www.everyoneistalkingabout.com its my topical humor spot.

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

http://www.pedestrian.tv/blogster/tech_media_culture

Thanks awesome people

Really, really costly

2011-09-12T21:35:00.000-07:00

Here is an exchange I just witnessed.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Hey idiots - YOU'VE BEEN SCIENCED

2011-09-11T07:30:00.000-07:00

A HUGE apology by me (and other capitalized words)

2011-09-08T02:48:00.000-07:00

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

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

I AM SORRY

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Unnecessary acts of violence

2011-09-05T21:29:00.000-07:00

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Ah to protect and serve.

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

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

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

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

http://www.bouncers.com.au/bouncers-articles/2006/2/20/looking-for-a-night-out-but-finding-only-trouble/

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

http://www.pedestrian.tv/blogster/tech_media_culture

How stomach shrinkingly romantic

2011-08-30T21:44:00.000-07:00

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Things that shouldn’t be on TV

2011-08-29T23:10:00.000-07:00

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You’re welcome MTV!!!!

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