Rickshaws, hell yeah I did

I knew a guy named Richard Shaw once.

His parents, who had emmegrated from Sweden to Australia shortly before Richard was born, had never heard of the totally fucking awesome Asian transportation vehicle of extraordinary kick assnessous so they felt no shame at all when they began calling their son 'Rick'. In fact they thought they were doing him a favor, as this sounded more Australian to them, and they had been given a lot of grief over their own names 'Svenashlergan' and 'Svenuanabergenshlergenflurgen'. Sadly these traditional Swedish names have even all but died out even in native Sweden because of teasy bully cock heads who terrorized them from a gutless distance via the internet with cruel taunts like 'hey Svenuanabergenshlergenflurgen need any more 'urgen' rhymes in your name!' Sure, while a super cleaver taunt, its nothing short of gutless and douchey (ha ha, those clean vaginas), and to all of our detrement these names were even mostly taken out of the many great works of Swedish literature we all adore. Fuck you bullys.

So his parents were unaware, but Rick Shaw's happiness was a ticking time bomb ticking away about to tick one time too many so that if you had like a form with a question asking 'Is Rick Shaw happy?' with a box that was labelled 'yes' an another labelled 'no' you'd soon be able to quite accurately tick the box next to 'no' as in the time bomb of his happiness had ticked one tick too many and he was no longer a happy little camping enthusiast. Or happy in general, non-camping related at all.

That's right, two horrible things were to take place.

1. A hilarious episode of Seinfeld, where Kramer and Newman strapped rickshaws to homeless men with disastrous results, was about to hit the airwaves, starting a rickshaw loving obsession which swept Australia like some fucking enormous sweeping type device which wasn't scared of being bitten by snakes and spiders and sharks and crocodiles (ever notice how bitey things often have names which start with 'S' so fuck you crocodiles) and everyone with two legs, and who weren't so mentally challenged that they were institutionalized were doing everything they could do drag a rickshaw down the street and when rickshaws couldn't be located you better believe they'd make do with a 'Rick Shaw' - that poor motherfucker (he didn't actually fuck mothers, this is just a weird expression).

2. In a cruel twist of fate, as puberty hit all the boys, including Rick Shaw, and Rick was to discover himself to be blessed with nothing short of a tiny little pathetic penis - that poor motherfucker (see above to find out whether I am actually suggesting Rick fucked his mother - actually come to think of it I don't know if he ever fucked his mother, its not like he would have told me! Who knows, maybe one day he said 'Mom, puberty has come and gone and my penis still looks like a two year olds, no one will ever have sex with me, boo hoo' and his mom may have responded lovingly (lyingly) with 'sure they will, penis size is no where near as important to girls as boys think it is' and then he might have said 'would you sleep with a boy with a tiny penis' and then she may have been like thinking 'if I say no then I might fuck him up for life, maybe its my motherly duty to literally fuck him, you know to keep his confidence up')

(Seriously Dave, you're blogging about rickshaws and you turn to incest humor? Yes David I fucking am, perhaps I have some deep hidden mommy scars and some twisted fucking sexual perversion, so give me a break motherfucker, no not literally motherfucker, I am not a sick freak like Rick Shaw!!!!!)

So Rick was named after a physically demanding transportation device which had become super popular in Australia where he lived and he also had a tiny penis. He was not happy. Tick that box I was talking about if you must. He had a huge decision to make.

Should he

1. Follow the traditional path of the small penised (and small IQ'd, and small confidence in ones true masculinity) and buy an unnecessarily huge car, or powerfully engined car knowing that his fellow small penised comrades would now have his back, but he would face a life time of teasing for being called 'Rick Shaw' and driving some huge SUV fucking thing.

or

2. Embrace the rick shaw in his Rick Shawness, and get around that way, but then in no way warn girls he dated about his lack of penis size because they couldn't tell from his mode of transportation so when he finally got them into bed they'd just laugh in his face at his tiny penis.

Obviously both these options sucked balls (not in the literal fun way). And sadly Rick chose option

3. Have another suicidal dude pull his rickshaw off a cliff with him riding in back, killing him painfully.

Poor motherfucker (how dare you tarnish his memory by suggesting I mean this literally).

The point is rickshaws are awesome.

Other reasons why rickshaws kick ass

- Awesome tongue twisters like 'don't get sore because of the whore rick saw from the rickshaw
- Because when car guys refer to a cars horse power, they don't mean the power a horse can develop when running, they mean the power a horse generates while cumming, yes a car with 300 horse power has the same power as a 300 horse orgasms, those car guys really do have sick minds
- Its a dude pulling you, how is that not cool?
- If I started an abortion contortion show would you come via rickshaw, hell yeah you would

Life would be better if there was more stuff like AIDs

Cause think about it, AIDs is the one thing you can give to as many people as you want without losing it yourself. Imagine if some good things were like that! We'd all have shit loads of good stuff. And imagine if the good stuff had to be given with sex, like you could give people money without losing any yourself and all you had to do was have sex with them without a condom. Or you know happiness, or creativity, or cheese. Oh my god, you could give lots of cheese without sacrificing cheese by making love, that must be what heaven will be like.

Tell me about it

So you know as a writer in the past four years I have written about 3 or 4 million words or so of work, only 3.98 million of them unread by anyone, but I have yet to ever really have writers block (I think I sucked some writers block god's cock in a past life, I'm not proud of it, but you do what you have to do) but what I am facing a little right now is topic block.

So who (seriously you dyslexic loser - 'here', not fucking 'who', the word you want is 'here') here is the deal, name me a topic, a word, a suggestion, a thought and I will write something about it. Just let me know what and I'll rock it out!

By the way, why are models so freakin tall? I have never met a guy who wants a girl to be taller than him, so by my calculations models should average five foot two!! (ps I love girls way shorter than me who are ridiculously hot, call me babys)

Ps I hate the use of the word 'baby' to mean 'girl I'd like my cock in'

Pps Why do so many writers write shit as if everyone feels the same as them

Ppppps did I mention 'why are models tall' and 'I like short girls yet'?

Never get in trouble for forgetting a birthday or holiday again!

It's very simple people, always celebrate all major occasions 364 days early!

"You forgot my birthday again you fucking asshole"
"What are you talking about? We celebrated your birthday 364 days ago! Plus, I don't want to ruin the surprise, but lets just say I have something special organized for tomorrow!"

Reasons why this good

- You get a warning every time
- Much easier to re-gift
- Day after sales
- You're less likely to get an STD (assuming that on the actual day your more likely to engage in unsafe sex, which is very unlikely so this one isn't very likely to inspire any major shifts towards following my plan, but if it did then you're welcome - for having less STDs that is, if you were thinking I was saying you're welcome for something else that is!)


Yay, now everyone's happy!

Type before you think (awesomenessous?)

Sometimes I like to just start writing with no idea at all well I will end up, this is one of those times, as we speak I have no thoughts about where this is going whats so ever, its like the beginning of a road, only not at all because this is a blog and not a thing of you know concrete and that (ok Dave I get it, you have decided to type as fast as you can and not edit your thoughts at all, well that doesn't mean you can avoid having a thought).

The thing about thought is that it is often the things which you don't think which matter more than the thoughts you do have, you know, if you you've never even thought 'rape it wrong' then your more likely do it even if you have never thought 'I might like to rape' than if you you often think 'rape is wrong' but occasionally think 'I might like to rape'.

Well thats probably a crock of shit (or any receptacle full of shit to be honest, unless its great white shark shit, that stuff hard to pile)

The point is next time someone calls you a 'thoughtless shit', merely say 'thankyou'!

So I am still shy (another term for shy is - 'that fucking loser in the corner') It's been a long time since I have announced 'I am shy' (not just because when you are shy you don't like saying shit like 'I am shy' for it points out to people that you are shy, which can result in people coming up to you and going 'heard you are shy' in which event your forced to run to the bathroom to cry into a wash cloth you think has been left in there for people to dry their hands, but in reality is where the man of the house wipes up any jizz he failed to wash off in the shower while having his morning tug)(damn shyness). For the past four of five years I have tended to say 'I used to be the world's shyest man' or 'I used to be fucking shy' but the reality is, while I can now stand on a stage and improvise stuff which makes people laugh, while I can yell and scream, and let go completely in the moment, merely talking to a stranger or even worse someone I loosely know, is extremely painful to me. I am the king of awkward silences, leading me to being surrounded by many acquaintances, but few friends.

The thing is though, the more I sit in audiences these days the more I know my place is not in the audience, but rather on the stage. Two years ago I wrote 'the world is my stage' in an effort to encourage myself to completely let go, but it turns out just writing something doesn't actually make it happen, which is really unfair seeing as I am a writer (actually I have written in the first person as a maniac completely psychopathic serial killer, perhaps better if all I write does not just happen to me).

The worst thing is that I have this deep thought in the back of my mind, a belief, that as soon as I break this final barrier all that I have worked towards will start to come my way, yet I still keep myself from pushing through.

I have made it to the no mans land between the warning sign and the fall, now I need to step off the cliff.

(Stop being philosophical you prick, this was supposed to come out as a stream of consciousness comic piece)(note to self: You've been meaning to read more philosophy for years (note within note: more = not zero) so do it)

And as the water dripped in the background I could not help but feel as if waterfalls are just arrogant show offs 'hey we get women to stand topless under us for sports illustrated shoots, when have you ever gotten a woman to do that?' shut the fuck up waterfall.

Seems to me as if anorexia would be easier to cure if it wasn't called an eating disorder but rather a 'lack of eating disorder' you know cause anorexics don't eat and that.

Some people say they have been to hell and back but then never tell us about it 'is it as bad as we think you bastards, cause a lot of people are wasting some serious fun sinning opportunities to avoid that place'

Do you realize that we never celebrate the anniversary of the invention of toilet paper? Humans used their hands before then, and I guarantee you weren't always getting a satisfactory wipe, and we don't celebrate the achievement of the invention of the product which eradicated this!!! No wonder there is still so much hatred in the world.

And with 'hatred' in the past sentence its time to go.

I hope to have time to write a proper thought out comic piece tomorrow, wait - 'thought out' you thoughtless bastard (hell yeah)

I am 'Jesus 2: Even Jesuyerer'.... oh wait

We are at the opening of the most amazing construction job ever built. I am a special guest, as is all my family, as we are well respected in both the literature and business worlds (because great writers always get invited to building openings? What the fuck!).

This structure is purely amazing. The tallest thing ever built by man. A massive holy metal framed column reaching up to the sky. And if that wasn't enough built right along side one of the steepest and deepest cliff faces in the known world. (With the city of Budapest at the bottom some how, mmmm Budapest).

Of course, as this is not a drama, but an action story, the cliff gives way under the massive weight of the structure (actually earth is giving away all over the fucking place).

I am situated at the bottom, in the middle of the hollow part of the structure, with a view intending to be upwards watching the magnificent feat of human technology rise above me, instead I spot a gap in between the building and the crumbling cliff and dive into the hole and towards the deep fall (to Budapest, I don't know why).

My ability to fly becomes in valuable now. As it would in most cases of falling into seemingly endless falls (Budapest is a long fucking way down), but rather than fly back up to the carnage above me I go with the flow, along with other potential survivors who have made their way into the cliff fall).

We are not ones to take this opportunity and not enjoy it. We enter a car race using children s toy cars made to be like Bat-mobiles and Simpsons characters and have a great time heckling each other of our car choices.

We stop and eat in some of the excellent cafes and restaurants which for some reason are still open even though it is clear this is probably the end of the world (I'm pretty sure by now even Buddapest has crumbled away, that or it was just a fuck up in the script I chose to pretend never happened rather than justify it no longer being there).

I stopped and bought a couple of mixed CDs which was really weird cause I'd never do that, I only buy whole albums for I wish to hear the music the way the artist intended it to be heard.

Of course all this tomfoolery could not continue. Serious business had to be taken care of, and in fact it was about to get serious like having one of those used tampon bins kept next to public toilets dumped on your head.

Actually even more fucking serious.

As the earth continued to crumble away an ancient city opened up in front of us, and there was Jesus, still nailed to the cross.

We paused to watch a documentary which explained a lot of what was going on, the posh British host of the show explained to us that Jesus was in fact still nailed to the cross, still suffering, although fortunately by some luck the nails hadn't rusted, so at least he didn't need a tetanus shot. He told us a lot more, but it was kind of a boring documentary, and the scenery was amazing, so I decided to press on.

In fact my instincts couldn't have been more spot on, for I came to two small tombs, to the wings of Jesus on the cross, where I now remembered Mr Posh British TV host told us that, upon this crumbling of the earth, Jesus 2 was to be born. And I was the first to arrive. Therefore I was Jesus 2.

Fuck year, ladies and gentleman, please let me introduce myself - Jesus 2, your new king, bow before me, worship me, and I will make all your dreams come true, cross me and I will destroy you.

And now I wake up.

This was my dream after insomnia kept me up till at least 6am, despite barely sleeping for a week. I woke up in a deep pool of my sweat, freezing cold as the sweat had been cooled by the winter nighttime air, but still you know, fucking tired, and a little curious about where this dream was going, and a little pissed off I had set my alarm so early, so I hit snooze, hell fucking yeah I hit snooze.

Over the course of a couple of snoozes, a couple of memories from the documentary came back. The main one of course being that of course Jesus 2 was to be born in this tomb, he was not just the first dude who showed up. Plus the woman who would give birth to this baby would become Jesus 2 father, but he wouldn't like you know get to have sex with her or anything.

That's right, in my dream, despite my rare ability to fly, my great skills driving a toy car fire truck, my excellent taste in fine dining (I had pizza) and my shit music taste, I had unbelievable cast myself as not king to man, but as one of the most pathetic and surely tortured men in all history - Joseph.

Yes Joseph, a man so poor he can't afford a bed for even one night, a man who is married but still can't get his wife to have sex with him, a man who allowed his virgin wife to become pregnant 'to a man in the sky', a man who still stood by her as she gave birth to a son who would call this man in the sky 'Father', a man who listened when his wife said 'you know what we should probably never have sex, the man in the sky thinks it will make a better story'.

Fuck you, I don't want to be Joseph, let me be someone else.

So anyway, I used to joke that I was Adam reincarnated. I have a a huge gap in my ribs on my right side which I pretended was where God took a rib to create Eve, to be Adams companion.

I joked about this for years as a youngster, until it occurred to me I was too shy to even talk to girls, so suggesting girls were literally created to be companions specifically to ME, suddenly made this joke a little depressing.

For the record I used to have a doubtless belief in god as a teenager, although I didn't believe in all the dogma and how different people could worship the same god and think there way is the only way and fuck off the rest of us to hell. But my faith drifts away slightly more every year, to the point now where I guess I probably just kind of hope there is some sort of enjoyable after life. (If I become a ghost I think I'll hang around a Comedy Club, or perhaps a 24 hour movie theater).

Anyway, just thought I'd share.

By the way, from the top of my head right now, up until now I think there were only two modern stories written which made me think 'fuck me, I wish I'd written that, I want to write something as good as that, I am jealous of that, I love that, thats genius' and you know stuff like that.

Up till now those two were
- Being John Malkcovich &
- Eternal Sunshine of the spotless mind

Both by Charlie Kaufman. That fucking Genius. The one writer on earth I am jealous of.

Anyway I third story/film has come up - Big Fan, by Robert D. Siegel and starring Patton Oswalt. As a former short fat, going no where loser, who survived through the love (passion/obsession) of his sport team this couldn't have been more perfect and heartbreaking and fucking genius. Check it out.

I really am a sweet girl (shit I meant to write boy but I wrote girl, fuck me)

So I was in a bar the other night, and this guy is hitting on these girls near me and I guess he was getting shot down or whatever because suddenly he gets all upset and he's yelling at these girls, and they say some shit back, and then all shit breaks lose and this guy just loses it, and he grabs this girl by the neck and is screaming at her "how do you like me now you fucking bitch" and he starts grabbing her tits, and grabbing at her crotch and she is screaming in distress and eventually I think, "I can't handle this anymore, I have to act"

So I march right up to them and I say "hey you two, keep it down, I AM TRYING TO HEAR THE MUSIC, YOU FUCKS!!!"

I mean my god, some people are just so freaking inconsiderate and don't think of anyone but themselves, shit heads.

Why don't you just bite me (is a slightly relevant saying)

It turns out that if you always keep your mouth shut you’re MORE likely to be bitten by a spider, (that is if you let one live in your mouth).


So maybe it’s ok to speak your mind once in a while, you know, to save yourself getting bitten by the spider.


Ok, so the fact that you have chosen to allow this spider to live in your mouth makes me think that when your speaking your mind there is a good chance that what you have to say (that is the things that come out of your mind) may not be the kinds of things which people would say ‘wow, that’s profound, I never thought of it that way’ but then again, are you willing to be bitten by a spider just because people don’t find you profound? That seems excessive to me.


To be quite honest what you have to say might end up confusing, and dare I say it even ‘weirding’ a few people out, these will be the words of a man who allows spiders to live in his mouth after all, but my god man, you’ve got a goddamn spider in your mouth, I can’t possible point out just how crucial it is for you to open your mouth at least occasionally.


Are you ever like ‘ah yeah’ and then your like ‘hell yeah’ but then it turns out you’ve just been tricked and that? Fucking tricksters, I fucking hate those guys, they're just real hardcore fucking assholes.

Big News (is the name of this project)

I'm involved in a new project by former SNL/Drew Carey Show/Sesame St/lots of other awesome stuff I'd like to have done writer Michael McCarthy called 'Big News' home to daily comedy sketches based on that days news.

Check out my huge debut (bonus points if you manage to blink and miss me)


http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=v4G4PZytfIw

Not so cool after all you shit

When I was younger adults always used to tell us “you are what you eat”. I wanted to be cooler, so I one day I tracked down the most popular kid in my school and watched what he ate. More peanuts than I was expecting!


So then I followed him after school too, and that’s when I stabbed him and ate him. I never did turn into him though. Turns out that 'are what you eat is a load of shit'. In the end I was glad, because the next day when I was shitting him out he suddenly didn’t seem to so cool. Its hard to look cool when you’ve been mashed into a brown log with a bit of peanut lodged into your head.

And now a message from inside my pants

I went to the shops to meet my dad this week, where bought me underpants for my 33rd birthday! I don’t know how the hell I reached this point in life. My dad and I have the perfect guy relationship, we talk sports, and personal stuff is never ever, ever mentioned fucking ever! Now we have a tradition where he buys me underpants.


I hate the word underpants, we call them undies in Aussie which is a little bit better, it just sounds too fucking childish to me.I'd prefer to call them 'cock warmers, fart keeperinerers, sort of, at least keep the skid marks off your pants dealies'


'Victorias secret, now stocking a full mens range of cock warmers, fart keeperinerers, sort of, at least keep the skid marks off your pants dealies, mmm sexy'


I wear the little shorts ones now, it took me like twenty nine years to find those, the rest of the time I wore uncomfortable shit. The little ones which dig in, and boxer shorts which leave you to flap.


By the way, I used to think that the fact I flapped too much but that this didn’t bother others was a sign I might be you know bigger than the ruler suggested.


You know what else, you know people cross their legs, and girls go tight, guys go either like horizontal and loose, or tight like girls. That used to make my balls hurt, so I assumed guys who did that tight way were small in the junk, but now I do it sometimes! Does that mean my balls have shrunk?


When I was young, and hoping puberty would hit me one of these days, I started getting underpants which had pictures of a guys bulge on the cover, something I have never fucking understood, why on earth marketers think guys want to buy underpants with pictures of naked body building, socks in underpants, on their underpants packaging, but anyway I was now getting underpants with a picture of a guy who clearly new first hand what a pube looked like, unlike me. The thing is I used to think that this picture was evidence that I could use to prove to my friends I had a teenage rather than prepubescent cock, should I need to prove it to them, and they be stupid enough (and gay enough) to want evidence but not just tackle me to the ground and pull my pants down in a act of humiliating sexual assault. Here friends, THIS is a picture of the guy who models my underpants!!! Take that you doubting fooools.


Ahh penis, will you and I ever be friends?


By the way, I really god damn wish I knew what I did while I sleep. On this lovely morn I wake to huge back and buttock bruises, what the fuck, was I a rock star last night who took a leap into the drums, cause I don't remember that.


I’m off to LA tonight, see you all in like a day or so!!

Hard core accounts management (and anal sex)

When I was an accounts officer for a while back in the shitty days, I was the back up head of the department, and for a while I was in charge of double checking my co-workers work and fixing any errors they had made.


This one day an asshole cunt of an old timer who refused to use email, had requested a stop payment by phone. I saw it not done so did it, as was my job. And then all hell broke loose!


The girl whose main job was to make these payments, an impossibly gorgeous blonde, with cute dimples and a body which if cast into a toy would, like barbie, start controversy over the unrealistic element of female bodies in toy form, with an ass so perfect she literally individually made me obsessed with anal sex, was SLAUGHTERED by this guy for having made the payment, even after she was asked not to. He screamed at her so bad the building shook and three desks were covered in his spit.


The thing was it was me who had made the payment. She had missed one, my job was to check that no broker had made an email request to have this stopped, and so as was my job I paid it. However, even though it was actually me, and I was in the right, as he had refused to follow protocol designed to stop these fuck ups, I stood and watched him tear this girl a new wrist (leave her asshole alone, that’s mine (I wish)).


Within moments a boss of a high enough standing called the two of them into his office, and my immediate boss, and I sat in my desk immediately recognising I had just missed an opportunity to be a hero to the staff, to demonstrate some leadership, to stand up for what was right, to knock a bully down to size with some stone cold truth that it was inability to stay up with the times and follow simple protocol but most importantly get a better shot at getting into this girls ass.


Since then I have looked back on this moment as a turning point, well maybe a defining point, which would ultimately change me. If I wanted to fuck girls in the ass I would have to stand up for myself occasionally!


I should have told this stubborn old man that he was a useless and as intelligent as fungi growing on a dead cows ass bones. And he had no right to yell at someone else for his own deeply entrenched stupidity, and then said ‘now hey baby, want me to go bend you over the copy machine!


Even if the girl did turn out to be coke snorting whore who was fucking various guys in the office for cocaine and other reasons, and who didn’t quit but just stopped coming into work one day and then wouldn’t answer her phone, so I had to do all her fucking work until we got a chance to find out for sure that she hadn’t been murdered and was just being a selfish bitch, and then I had to go through the process of hiring someone new, who I had to train, which was all fucked (plus my boss and I were given specific ‘advice’ from management that we weren’t allowed to hire a pretty girl, as apparently we’d hired three pretty girls in a row and we might be called sexists, but I wasn’t involved in those hirings, this was my first one, and I wanted to hand pick someone who was qualified but would ultimately not be able to keep herself from sleeping with me).


It tool a while for me to make the change into the weird, yet confident artist I am, but I still wish I could go back and re-live that moment, I mean seriously, that girls ass was amazing.


Thus we come to the first time I actually did get to make love to a girl’s ass. I was in the middle of a sex drought so bad I was in physical pain, which caused me to call up a girl I had dated briefly who I had broken up with resulting in her sending me a text message every five minutes for 4 days calling me a cunt, and I was having sex with her (she said even though I was a massive asshole I was the best sex she’d ever had so she was happy to go for another run – hell yeah) so we did it. And then she was asking me about ‘losing my virginity 52 times’ and this lead her to say ‘have you ever fucked a girl in the ass?’


Twenty minutes later I had and it was fucking awesome - for both of us - even though I never got in there again she later admitted to me that this had become a regular and important part of her sex life, and then she married a guy who was like ten years younger than her, like her 28 to his 18 or something, I can’t really remember, but it was clearly a massive mistake. Here is the thing though; as we were doing it (it = the anal) ‘Relax’ by Frankie goes to Hollywood came on radio!


The lessons

One – omens which suggest that you will get lots of anal in your life are false (I have got no more, fuck you world, and Frankie)


Two – Standing up for yourself (or giving a girl cocaine) is a much better way to get into a girls ass than sitting silent like a fucking pussy while someone unfairly screams at her.


Three – Writing a book called ‘losing my virginity 52 times’ can inspire people to offer you first time experiences (but only once – fuck you world)

It's back baby

My internet has been down for a couple of days, grrrrrr, but now its back baby, and I can respond to all my lovely comments.

Hey get this one, what do you call it when your internet down? Annoying! (not so much a joke as a statement of truth born out of frustration and put into a question and answer type dealy)

By the way, fuck you NBC. First you take away my beloved Conan's show, now your sending repeats back to Australia denying me his last couple of days of hilariously ripping you a new asshole.


By the way, when you go to a restaurant they always assume you are there for a party. Smith party of four! Which makes sense because when I want to really party hard I always call up a friend and say “dude, wanna go to Ihop”


Speaking of parties, when I blow my nose I always look into the tissue to see how much snot and what colour it is. When I scratch my balls I always sniff my fingers after to see how they smell. When I take of a condom I’ve just blown a load in I always hold it up to see how much I’ve filled it up, and I squeeze it to see how thick it is, but if I get a pimple I never squeeze it, because pimple puss is fucking gross.