But maybe their job is harder than it looks
Tuesday, July 26, 2011
Friday, July 22, 2011
How to lose weight and eat all that you want
Here is my new invention, by which I mean an idea for an invention; I can’t actually invent it because that takes skills I don’t have, like putting things together, building stuff, and making stuff work. Geez those inventor type people are amazing. Remember when if you were an inventor it meant you were really famous and popular? Wow you must be ninety, what was the depression really like?
I’ve had many ideas for inventions of the years. My best was a photocopier that fed the papers you wish to copy in and out of the copier like how it happens on printer. A couple of years later that invention was invented by one of those amazing people mentioned above, and is now standard on almost all photocopiers. That inventor is now a billionaire and is super-popular (I assume) but we both (if by both you mean I) know that I was the real inventor, or idea guy.
I have been going to the gym a lot lately, I have a bet going with a couple of mates about dropping some weight, and I don’t want to drop all the delicious food I like, and that got me thinking, here it is, my invention:
It’s a treadmill that has a computer built in where you type in everything you have eaten since you last worked out, and it just keeps spinning till you have burnt off all the calories you need to burn off.
It would be great for everyone:
- Like eating lots of cheeseburgers? You now spend seven hours a day in the gym.
- Anorexic? You will probably not get carpel tunnel syndrome from excessive typing.
- Small already obese child? The machine will be programmed to call child protective services on your parents while you run.
- Struggle with motivation? It comes with a cage and cattle prong thrusting into your butt device.
- Bulimic and don’t want to do math? Comes with special scale to weigh your puke bucket.
- Celebrity? We’ll provide a small African child to eat food and exercise for you.
- Elderly? You lived through the depression so probably don’t have a weight issue.
Still not convinced? Well consider this:
If you ask someone that old adage about that tree falling in the woods, and that person is deaf, do they actually exist?
If you answer “no” to that question then you are probably nuts, but at least your out there doing things, asking questions, that’s called being proactive, which is just like my machine.
Order now…. And you’re also nuts, because as I mentioned above I don’t actually invent my inventions, but order in two years, when some young whippersnapper will independently come up with my idea (steal it) and become rich and famous, and provide himself a small African child so he’ll never have to use his own machine ever again.
I’ve had many ideas for inventions of the years. My best was a photocopier that fed the papers you wish to copy in and out of the copier like how it happens on printer. A couple of years later that invention was invented by one of those amazing people mentioned above, and is now standard on almost all photocopiers. That inventor is now a billionaire and is super-popular (I assume) but we both (if by both you mean I) know that I was the real inventor, or idea guy.
I have been going to the gym a lot lately, I have a bet going with a couple of mates about dropping some weight, and I don’t want to drop all the delicious food I like, and that got me thinking, here it is, my invention:
It’s a treadmill that has a computer built in where you type in everything you have eaten since you last worked out, and it just keeps spinning till you have burnt off all the calories you need to burn off.
It would be great for everyone:
- Like eating lots of cheeseburgers? You now spend seven hours a day in the gym.
- Anorexic? You will probably not get carpel tunnel syndrome from excessive typing.
- Small already obese child? The machine will be programmed to call child protective services on your parents while you run.
- Struggle with motivation? It comes with a cage and cattle prong thrusting into your butt device.
- Bulimic and don’t want to do math? Comes with special scale to weigh your puke bucket.
- Celebrity? We’ll provide a small African child to eat food and exercise for you.
- Elderly? You lived through the depression so probably don’t have a weight issue.
Still not convinced? Well consider this:
If you ask someone that old adage about that tree falling in the woods, and that person is deaf, do they actually exist?
If you answer “no” to that question then you are probably nuts, but at least your out there doing things, asking questions, that’s called being proactive, which is just like my machine.
Order now…. And you’re also nuts, because as I mentioned above I don’t actually invent my inventions, but order in two years, when some young whippersnapper will independently come up with my idea (steal it) and become rich and famous, and provide himself a small African child so he’ll never have to use his own machine ever again.
Thursday, July 21, 2011
David Tieck…… ACT…tor
The last time I was in a play was about 25 years ago. I played a Native Hawaiian who was part of a posse who speared Captain Cook to death (this was my second on stage murder in my second play, having been in charge of dumping a house on the Wicked Witch in my first play, I never did grow out of my murderous typecasting).
This was really fun because the kid playing Cook was an old friend who was a temporary enemy, and I liked the idea of stabbing him to death at this time. Also I think I was jealous of him getting the lead even though I would have stabbed myself before saying a single line on a stage.
Then again it was also horrible because for some reason playing a Native Hawaiian meant the make-up lady put me in black face with bright cherry red lipstick (I believe it was her revenge for years of mental abuse by the supermarket chocolate isle) and I had to go on stage like that, and then no one showed me how to get it off, so I spent the best part of twenty-four hours like that, and it was epically humiliating.
Fun fact that ex friend became a friend friend again and then the first time I ever heard Smells Like Teen Spirit was in his little brothers room, and that little brother is now a hugely famous electro pop musician, I hated him then (annoying) and now (jealousy), and because of him it took me a many years to appreciate Nirvana. Also because Axl Rose told me via interviews not to like them, and if Axl Rose tells you to do something you do it damn it.
Recently I've been thinking about trying to perform in a play in a positive way. Like enjoying it, and having lines, and not taking out immature vendettas (actually I believe from memory the catalyst for the ex friend period was someone who wasn't a friend daring me that I couldn't de-friend him as a friend, holy lord pathetic, at least I am pretty sure that is the only time I have ever been influenced by another person).
So I started putting some feelers out for audition opportunities, and last night I was invited to a play reading.
What occurs at a play reading? I hear you ask. I thought it was a place to hear the play read by a series of prepared actors, when alas it was actually a place where several things happens:
1. Potential auditioners such as myself get to read random parts of the play at various time.
2. Actors show off how Acterly they can be despite being told not to be acterly.
3. Actors with dyslexia try to come up with as many jokes as possible to self deprecate their inability to read.
4. Numerous actors try to show off how good they are at doing Upper Class British accents even if their character is described as being from Austria or France.
5. Actors such as myself decree that one should only adopt said posh accent if one is directed to by either text or director, and when the time cameth upon my good self to read a character, I decided to conduct my business in my normal Australian accent still tinged with whisks of Americana, yet when I discovered myself endowed with a character an accent arbitrarily came out of my mouth akin to what I would do when mocking the British royal family, or reading something utterly disgusting to humor my friends.
“And then, my lord, she shat her last nights fine dining experience over my face, lathering it in the same manner I lather your fine silver with polish, before shining it to a mirror, so you can watcheth yourself fist a goat in the rectum” Jane Austin.
Speaking of shining silver, Paris Hilton stormed out of an interview today when the host suggested she may no longer be relevant, I was equally outraged, how dare someone suggest she was ever relevant (awesome boobs though).
The play that we read was “An ideal husband” by Oscar Wilde. I shamelessly do not know that much about good ol’ Oscar, other than that I believe he was a hugely admired, and extremely promiscuous homosexual who died of alcoholism in Paris in the early part of the twentieth century, and was keen on the phrases “she’ll be right” and “ya know what I’m sayin’”. Also I have personally kissed his grave, something I like to do with all playwrights before exploring their work.
This particular play, while extremely witty at times, was full of not too interesting characters (at least when cold-read by a variety of unprepared rotating actors) and the story is way, way, way, way too long and repetitive, and probably far less interesting than any random page of Mr Wilde’s hypothetical personal journal (Example: Today I had lots of promiscuous sex. My partner, a beautiful young man, asked if we should lock the door, and I said to him “she’ll be right” but then just as we were getting deep into it, so to speak, a woman burst into the room yelling “what’s going on here” and I was forced to reply “just banging your husband, know what I’m sayin’”).
In the end I decided to leave early and not audition, mostly because even though this was amateur theatre, it still requires the best part of six months of three times weekly rehearsals, and even small parts in the play require learning a minimum of seven million words (rumors had it that the catalyst for Wilde’s death was an actor in a minor role skipping three words in one performance and as a result only saying 6,999,998 words in one performance, creating a depression that caused Oscar to drink himself to death).
I have too much respect (laziness) for my potential director to risk that. Plus the theatre holds only about 22 people, and there aren’t that many performances of the play, which by my calculation means the actors will each rehearse 217 hours for each individual that will see the play, just overstepping my personal 213 hour per viewer standard. And if we don’t have personal standards why even enter the theatre?
In the end I went and gorged on KFC, then went home, had some beers, watched some TV, and polished the hell out of my fine silver, you never know when the next fun times are on their way. Wait, did you, you? Ewww, I don’t have a goat here, Axl Rose just told me “Welcome to the jungle” and I assume that’s his way of saying “your place really is a pigsty, better have a tidy up”.
This was really fun because the kid playing Cook was an old friend who was a temporary enemy, and I liked the idea of stabbing him to death at this time. Also I think I was jealous of him getting the lead even though I would have stabbed myself before saying a single line on a stage.
Then again it was also horrible because for some reason playing a Native Hawaiian meant the make-up lady put me in black face with bright cherry red lipstick (I believe it was her revenge for years of mental abuse by the supermarket chocolate isle) and I had to go on stage like that, and then no one showed me how to get it off, so I spent the best part of twenty-four hours like that, and it was epically humiliating.
Fun fact that ex friend became a friend friend again and then the first time I ever heard Smells Like Teen Spirit was in his little brothers room, and that little brother is now a hugely famous electro pop musician, I hated him then (annoying) and now (jealousy), and because of him it took me a many years to appreciate Nirvana. Also because Axl Rose told me via interviews not to like them, and if Axl Rose tells you to do something you do it damn it.
Recently I've been thinking about trying to perform in a play in a positive way. Like enjoying it, and having lines, and not taking out immature vendettas (actually I believe from memory the catalyst for the ex friend period was someone who wasn't a friend daring me that I couldn't de-friend him as a friend, holy lord pathetic, at least I am pretty sure that is the only time I have ever been influenced by another person).
So I started putting some feelers out for audition opportunities, and last night I was invited to a play reading.
What occurs at a play reading? I hear you ask. I thought it was a place to hear the play read by a series of prepared actors, when alas it was actually a place where several things happens:
1. Potential auditioners such as myself get to read random parts of the play at various time.
2. Actors show off how Acterly they can be despite being told not to be acterly.
3. Actors with dyslexia try to come up with as many jokes as possible to self deprecate their inability to read.
4. Numerous actors try to show off how good they are at doing Upper Class British accents even if their character is described as being from Austria or France.
5. Actors such as myself decree that one should only adopt said posh accent if one is directed to by either text or director, and when the time cameth upon my good self to read a character, I decided to conduct my business in my normal Australian accent still tinged with whisks of Americana, yet when I discovered myself endowed with a character an accent arbitrarily came out of my mouth akin to what I would do when mocking the British royal family, or reading something utterly disgusting to humor my friends.
“And then, my lord, she shat her last nights fine dining experience over my face, lathering it in the same manner I lather your fine silver with polish, before shining it to a mirror, so you can watcheth yourself fist a goat in the rectum” Jane Austin.
Speaking of shining silver, Paris Hilton stormed out of an interview today when the host suggested she may no longer be relevant, I was equally outraged, how dare someone suggest she was ever relevant (awesome boobs though).
The play that we read was “An ideal husband” by Oscar Wilde. I shamelessly do not know that much about good ol’ Oscar, other than that I believe he was a hugely admired, and extremely promiscuous homosexual who died of alcoholism in Paris in the early part of the twentieth century, and was keen on the phrases “she’ll be right” and “ya know what I’m sayin’”. Also I have personally kissed his grave, something I like to do with all playwrights before exploring their work.
This particular play, while extremely witty at times, was full of not too interesting characters (at least when cold-read by a variety of unprepared rotating actors) and the story is way, way, way, way too long and repetitive, and probably far less interesting than any random page of Mr Wilde’s hypothetical personal journal (Example: Today I had lots of promiscuous sex. My partner, a beautiful young man, asked if we should lock the door, and I said to him “she’ll be right” but then just as we were getting deep into it, so to speak, a woman burst into the room yelling “what’s going on here” and I was forced to reply “just banging your husband, know what I’m sayin’”).
In the end I decided to leave early and not audition, mostly because even though this was amateur theatre, it still requires the best part of six months of three times weekly rehearsals, and even small parts in the play require learning a minimum of seven million words (rumors had it that the catalyst for Wilde’s death was an actor in a minor role skipping three words in one performance and as a result only saying 6,999,998 words in one performance, creating a depression that caused Oscar to drink himself to death).
I have too much respect (laziness) for my potential director to risk that. Plus the theatre holds only about 22 people, and there aren’t that many performances of the play, which by my calculation means the actors will each rehearse 217 hours for each individual that will see the play, just overstepping my personal 213 hour per viewer standard. And if we don’t have personal standards why even enter the theatre?
In the end I went and gorged on KFC, then went home, had some beers, watched some TV, and polished the hell out of my fine silver, you never know when the next fun times are on their way. Wait, did you, you? Ewww, I don’t have a goat here, Axl Rose just told me “Welcome to the jungle” and I assume that’s his way of saying “your place really is a pigsty, better have a tidy up”.
Friday, July 15, 2011
Wednesday, July 13, 2011
Naked girl watching Dave
Around four and a half years ago my best mate Goshie was facing a horrifically disgusting reality. He was turning thirty. Oh god, the repulsion.
He was obviously not looking forward to it at all, seeing as it’s basically the worst day of your life up until then, so to ease the pain he decided that on this particular day he needed to be partaking in his passion, land based game rock fishing. He booked himself a long trip in some of the best land based game fishing spots in the world in Northern Australia, and set of on an adventure of fish pulse stopping, and thirty forgetting fun.
Then he broke his ankle.
This may sound weird, but in rock fishing you NEED your ankle, you are standing on uneven ground all day fighting fish the size of a human that zig and zag in every direction including left, yes LEFT, and left, from memory was one of the two directions he had the most trouble moving.
He had his mate literally piggyback him to the ledge and back a couple of times, a considerable feat on its own (wait did I just unintentionally make a quip about my mates weight?) but he was in too much pain, physical and emotional. So he gave up on the fishing and instead tried to drown his sorrows the only way he could in a remote coastal place where everything even slightly entertaining required the ability to walk, that’s right, he sat around drinking beer all day.
Then he got gout.
In drinking you NEED not to have gout, because it’s some weird disease that Mother Nature coughed up where your body can handle this amount of alcohol normally, but because your injured in your foot somewhere (I believe it has to be the foot) it purposely attacks that injury in a cruel and painful way. It’s Mothers Natures way of trying to get given a really nasty word associated with her (cunt) because she feels like she is way more badass than her reputation states.
Goshie was unhappy, and was forced against all his desires to come home early, in fact as it worked out he flew in on the very morning of his thirtieth eve, a broken man, in the ankle, in the heart, and diseasingly (a word that absolutely should exist, why does everyone have to be ‘riddled’ with disease, rather than ‘broken diseasingly’ you break your arm, you break your toaster, why not your diseasinglyness?)
As his best friend of nearly twenties years it was up to me to save the day. I had one afternoon to throw him the best thirtieth birthday party he could imagine, with absolutely no time to prepare or really think about at all, and knowing half his best mates were still in the North fishing.
There was only one thing for it; I had to get him a pony.
No wait, this is 30, not 28; I had to get him a stripper.
I made a few phone calls, only getting a start well into the afternoon when I discovered he was in town, and rallied a few boys, and found a stripper company willing to send me ‘whatever they could scrape up’.
A few hours later the boys and I sat around talking, drinking a few beers, and trying to have fun, when abruptly the buzzer rang, someone was at the door. I ran down stairs, met a surprisingly cute girl, paid her in advance in cash, then ushered her in to the utterly shocked Goshie.
Ten minutes later she stuck a lollypop in her vagina and then in his mouth. We still have it today! It hangs in a zip lock bag from my wall mounted CD rack and is a proud reminder of a fun night. It’s oozed a bit into the corner, and if you fondle it you will discover a texture that is unlike anything on earth, and that’s cool.
Four years later a backpacker from England who was staying in the weird hostel I call my living room every summer offered to eat it for a hundred dollars, and after we enthusiastically threw cash into a pile filling it to a hundred in mere moments, we all looked at each other with the same look in our eyes ‘seriously dudes, that is part of what makes this home such a wonderful home, we can’t lose that now, merely to watch some dude humiliated and probably being broken diseasingly’ and we pulled our money back out and said out loud ‘this place is a weird utopia, lets not destroy that, and did you guys all also think “broken diseasingly?” because that’s awesome, we all just independently coined a phrase, how magic is that lollypop!’ Also, now that we think about it, the cure to gonorrhea is probably in that bag.
Four months after the day the lollypop entered our hallowed lives and it was my own personal thirtieth birthday, I was broken emotionally, not physically or diseasingly, but being broken emotionally is horrible.
My best mate Goshie of more than twenty years knew it was up to him to save the day. He made a few phone calls, and as much as he tried to hide it, I knew what was coming, and I was ushered into past the hillness with a stripper of my own humiliating me on my own floor. I didn’t get a lollipop in the mouth or my pubes burned with a candle (as Goshie also copped) but I had plenty of stuff done to me with my clothes pulled off and beads taken out of her vagina and rubbed all over my face and my body covered in shaving cream rubbed all over me from her huge fake, scarred boobs. The point was though, two make a pattern, and a pattern in this household create a house rule:
If a person is living in my humble abode when they pass the magic age of thirty, they must, I repeat must, be subjected to a stripper.
This rule, one of many in this household, has had various reactions. Most protest ‘I don’t actually want a stripper guys’ is often cried
‘It’s not for you, you idiot, it is for the guys to watch you humiliated, you don’t get a say’ is boasted back.
One guy, the formable man known as the Green, protested years in advance, and then moved out just before his thirtieth, and now is getting married and is refusing to have a bucks party or even a best man, so NO strippers, ‘It’s not for you, you idiot, it is for the guys to watch you humiliated, what are you, broken diseasingly?’
Greenie escaped, but he was going to be the only one. The rule couldn’t possibly be hand carved into stone until a third took place, and thankfully the awesome ‘The Vibe’, the newest roommate to our crazy world, turned thirty this past Monday.
By the way – Fun Fact: A shocking 33% of teenagers think you can get HIV from kissing! You can only get it from sex with monkeys, or licking newspaper ink, you idiots.
The Vibe new this was coming. We had been talking about it since he first moved in, and had fought through numerous amounts of protesting, and a small amount of trying to figure out a day it could take place where we could have a big bunch of boys and no one particularly religious (or female) would be in the house.
Last week the clouds aligned, and it was the day that would end at midnight with him turning thirty (a horrible, despicable day). We had tried to fire up the boys by telling them that if we had enough coming, and contributing cash, then we’d get a lesbian double act. We spent a couple of fun days looking up all the websites showing the ‘we promise they’re real’ pictures of the girls, and we began our count down of making fun and salivating (mostly making fun – are you going to get a lollypop The Vibe?)
Game day arrived. We still hadn’t gotten any concrete numbers of revelers, which means we still hadn’t made any bookings, and as the crucial hour arrived our numbers seemed pathetically small. Ok, no lesbian double, but we need to order.
I decided to do this online, both because I hate calling up to order pizza, let alone to ask for a girl to come and violate herself, and also because I kind of liked the idea that I could order a girl the way I order a book from Amazon.com. A couple of us sat around, tried to think about what the birthday boy would most be attracted to, and then mostly just thought about what we would most like, and a little while later we had made our order with our top three choices just waiting to hear back with who they were sending us.
So we waited.
And waited.
And ordered and ate pizza.
Then waited.
We had heard nothing. Holy crap. I went against my shyness and called the company up. I got yelled at for trying to order online on the same day, and then meekly complained back that the website should be designed to say that rather than take my order and give me back a conformation, and she barely apologized, but all around it was a fucking disaster. People were due to arrive in an hour or two and we had nothing organized. Holy crap.
We scrambled on the net. I called up another and they had no one. Then, masking my shyness by trying to tell another mate of mine how cool it was to order up a strip strip, I handed him another number and he called up, they said they had someone and it was all booked in, with a request for a curvy blonde. Phew.
The boys began to arrive. We sat around drinking beer, and eating pizza. A couple of girls joined in and we allowed them to, to fill up the numbers, and one housemate tried to get us to not tell his girlfriend what was going on, a façade overthrown by the stadium nature of the way we had set up the furniture, and in the end she joined in too.
The time had arrived. We got the call and me and another mate went to meet her at her van. She grabbed the attention of the eye immediately, wearing a tiny skirt, tight little top, and only after running the eyes up and down her body a couple of times did we noticed her face and the got the real sense of being worn out by drugs and hard living. We also noticed that she was a petite brunette rather than curvy blonde, and having looked on the website further I am now pretty sure she is the only girl that’s on the roster that actually works there.
She climbed out of the van with the line ‘Oh damn I forgot to put panties on’. I walked though the lobby thinking ‘I wish the floor was made of glass’ before ‘oh wait, I don’t need a mirror, she’ll be jamming that thing in my face in a couple of minutes. In the elevator she asked us for drugs and told us a drug anecdote, and told us over and over she had to drag herself out of bed to do this (it was 8pm when we called) I wanted to judge, but look who we were in this transaction.
Now having a stripper in your apartment is a weird thing for a guy. As men we spend 90% of our time trying to get clothes off a girl or imagining what it would have looked like if we had not inevitably failed. Now you have a girl you know is taking it off. It’s like a spending years studying to become a pilot and then discovering you can fly like superman. It just snaps a weird place in the brain, the part where you hold morals, and a great respect for women, and where you remember all your internet passwords.
She went in back to get ready (put on panties – seriously that was all she had to do to get ready), this may sound weird but in stripping you don’t need panties, then she downed a shot of scotch she had requested, put on her music and began.
I won’t give too detailed a description of what happened, that’s not what this blog was about, but here are some bullet points.
- She made jokes about being shy and nervous
- She danced a bit, but mostly on the ground with her showing off her flexibility
- She grinded with the birthday boy as she took off her clothes and had him motor boat her
- She then got very naked
- Made sure everyone got to see what a vagina looks like when the girl has her legs behind her head
- She asked everyone in the room if they had any drugs she could have with her eyes
- She asked everyone in the room if they had any drugs she could have with her vagina (way more vocal that eyes)
- She nicknamed a guy ‘wolfman’
- She made sure to play up to not just the birthday boy, but the sexual deviants, the dude she would choose to have sex with out of all of us, the dude trying to stay in the shadows, and a dude she only saw in an acid flashback
- The then pummeled herself with a dildo, then got birthday boy to do it, then got the dude she would have sex with out of all of us do it
- She ignored a guy clearly taking mental pictures to masturbate to later
- The she abruptly stopped in a shy, awkward way
- She asked for a round of applause
- She went into the kitchen and poached some eggs that she ate with her butt crack
That last one is a lie, but all in all it was a beautiful sight, of course. She did have an amazing body. Yet truth be told it is very much not a sexual thing. It’s more like the Northern Lights over Alaska, beautiful yes, but also clouded by your brain not being able to quite comprehend what you’re looking at.
Also it’s hilarious. You are seeing your friends do things to a naked women that you never thought you’d see, and in front of room of people, and in a couple of examples in front of their girlfriends. It’s hilarious like a bad horror movie; it’s too surreal to take seriously so instead you take it humorously.
After she finished, and as she put on her clothes she asked who painted the pictures on my walls. It is I, and as she walked over to some of them to look at closer she told me about a few of her artistic endeavors as well. She has a passion for painting dead rock stars, something I found immensely cool. She told me an awesome story about how she knew someone who worked at the hotel where Michael Hutchinson of INXS accidently killed himself in a horrible masturbation accident, and how she had pulled a favor to go photograph the room where it happened, and while doing so her Ipod shuffle randomly played an INXS song, and half way through it got stuck. Spooky.
Having bonded over art I gave her a signed copy of my book, something these days I do quite a lot, but there is a weird closeness you feel for someone who has just performed something so intimate in front of you. It reminded me of the first acting scenes I did where my character was in love with my scene partner and how that even in a short time the acted feeling bled into the real me. It’s weird, and warm, and nice, and totally explains to me why so many co-stars end up dating but in a way that doesn’t last. As we chatted one of my other friends came and gave her his business card with the explanation ‘if you ever want to hang out?’
She had a bit of a read from my book, and realizing that my book is titled ‘Losing my virginity 52 times’ she felt the courage to ask ‘was one of them doing it in the butt’ then over the next few minutes she made several out loud confessions to me that she’d never had ‘anything in the butt, not even a finger’.
Her time was up, I walked her out, and in the elevator she again told me she’d never had anything in her butt, only this time (in my imagination) not so much saying it, but asking if I could do it to her. Then the prematurely worn out bits of her face started singing to me ‘you can do her in the butt for some drugs, you can do her in the butt for some drugs’ over and over to the tune of ‘she’ll be coming around the mountain when she comes’.
I walked her to her van, said goodbye, and then stayed up with some of the boys till sunrise as we welcomed a new friend into the over-our-best zone of being thirty, by playing each other all of our favorite songs. It was really nice, and somber, and sad, but at least we didn’t have the pain of knowing people wanted to see us naked so bad they’d pay us. I just wish we now had a new souvenir lollypop on the wall, that way we could allow a backpacker to eat it.
He was obviously not looking forward to it at all, seeing as it’s basically the worst day of your life up until then, so to ease the pain he decided that on this particular day he needed to be partaking in his passion, land based game rock fishing. He booked himself a long trip in some of the best land based game fishing spots in the world in Northern Australia, and set of on an adventure of fish pulse stopping, and thirty forgetting fun.
Then he broke his ankle.
This may sound weird, but in rock fishing you NEED your ankle, you are standing on uneven ground all day fighting fish the size of a human that zig and zag in every direction including left, yes LEFT, and left, from memory was one of the two directions he had the most trouble moving.
He had his mate literally piggyback him to the ledge and back a couple of times, a considerable feat on its own (wait did I just unintentionally make a quip about my mates weight?) but he was in too much pain, physical and emotional. So he gave up on the fishing and instead tried to drown his sorrows the only way he could in a remote coastal place where everything even slightly entertaining required the ability to walk, that’s right, he sat around drinking beer all day.
Then he got gout.
In drinking you NEED not to have gout, because it’s some weird disease that Mother Nature coughed up where your body can handle this amount of alcohol normally, but because your injured in your foot somewhere (I believe it has to be the foot) it purposely attacks that injury in a cruel and painful way. It’s Mothers Natures way of trying to get given a really nasty word associated with her (cunt) because she feels like she is way more badass than her reputation states.
Goshie was unhappy, and was forced against all his desires to come home early, in fact as it worked out he flew in on the very morning of his thirtieth eve, a broken man, in the ankle, in the heart, and diseasingly (a word that absolutely should exist, why does everyone have to be ‘riddled’ with disease, rather than ‘broken diseasingly’ you break your arm, you break your toaster, why not your diseasinglyness?)
As his best friend of nearly twenties years it was up to me to save the day. I had one afternoon to throw him the best thirtieth birthday party he could imagine, with absolutely no time to prepare or really think about at all, and knowing half his best mates were still in the North fishing.
There was only one thing for it; I had to get him a pony.
No wait, this is 30, not 28; I had to get him a stripper.
I made a few phone calls, only getting a start well into the afternoon when I discovered he was in town, and rallied a few boys, and found a stripper company willing to send me ‘whatever they could scrape up’.
A few hours later the boys and I sat around talking, drinking a few beers, and trying to have fun, when abruptly the buzzer rang, someone was at the door. I ran down stairs, met a surprisingly cute girl, paid her in advance in cash, then ushered her in to the utterly shocked Goshie.
Ten minutes later she stuck a lollypop in her vagina and then in his mouth. We still have it today! It hangs in a zip lock bag from my wall mounted CD rack and is a proud reminder of a fun night. It’s oozed a bit into the corner, and if you fondle it you will discover a texture that is unlike anything on earth, and that’s cool.
Four years later a backpacker from England who was staying in the weird hostel I call my living room every summer offered to eat it for a hundred dollars, and after we enthusiastically threw cash into a pile filling it to a hundred in mere moments, we all looked at each other with the same look in our eyes ‘seriously dudes, that is part of what makes this home such a wonderful home, we can’t lose that now, merely to watch some dude humiliated and probably being broken diseasingly’ and we pulled our money back out and said out loud ‘this place is a weird utopia, lets not destroy that, and did you guys all also think “broken diseasingly?” because that’s awesome, we all just independently coined a phrase, how magic is that lollypop!’ Also, now that we think about it, the cure to gonorrhea is probably in that bag.
Four months after the day the lollypop entered our hallowed lives and it was my own personal thirtieth birthday, I was broken emotionally, not physically or diseasingly, but being broken emotionally is horrible.
My best mate Goshie of more than twenty years knew it was up to him to save the day. He made a few phone calls, and as much as he tried to hide it, I knew what was coming, and I was ushered into past the hillness with a stripper of my own humiliating me on my own floor. I didn’t get a lollipop in the mouth or my pubes burned with a candle (as Goshie also copped) but I had plenty of stuff done to me with my clothes pulled off and beads taken out of her vagina and rubbed all over my face and my body covered in shaving cream rubbed all over me from her huge fake, scarred boobs. The point was though, two make a pattern, and a pattern in this household create a house rule:
If a person is living in my humble abode when they pass the magic age of thirty, they must, I repeat must, be subjected to a stripper.
This rule, one of many in this household, has had various reactions. Most protest ‘I don’t actually want a stripper guys’ is often cried
‘It’s not for you, you idiot, it is for the guys to watch you humiliated, you don’t get a say’ is boasted back.
One guy, the formable man known as the Green, protested years in advance, and then moved out just before his thirtieth, and now is getting married and is refusing to have a bucks party or even a best man, so NO strippers, ‘It’s not for you, you idiot, it is for the guys to watch you humiliated, what are you, broken diseasingly?’
Greenie escaped, but he was going to be the only one. The rule couldn’t possibly be hand carved into stone until a third took place, and thankfully the awesome ‘The Vibe’, the newest roommate to our crazy world, turned thirty this past Monday.
By the way – Fun Fact: A shocking 33% of teenagers think you can get HIV from kissing! You can only get it from sex with monkeys, or licking newspaper ink, you idiots.
The Vibe new this was coming. We had been talking about it since he first moved in, and had fought through numerous amounts of protesting, and a small amount of trying to figure out a day it could take place where we could have a big bunch of boys and no one particularly religious (or female) would be in the house.
Last week the clouds aligned, and it was the day that would end at midnight with him turning thirty (a horrible, despicable day). We had tried to fire up the boys by telling them that if we had enough coming, and contributing cash, then we’d get a lesbian double act. We spent a couple of fun days looking up all the websites showing the ‘we promise they’re real’ pictures of the girls, and we began our count down of making fun and salivating (mostly making fun – are you going to get a lollypop The Vibe?)
Game day arrived. We still hadn’t gotten any concrete numbers of revelers, which means we still hadn’t made any bookings, and as the crucial hour arrived our numbers seemed pathetically small. Ok, no lesbian double, but we need to order.
I decided to do this online, both because I hate calling up to order pizza, let alone to ask for a girl to come and violate herself, and also because I kind of liked the idea that I could order a girl the way I order a book from Amazon.com. A couple of us sat around, tried to think about what the birthday boy would most be attracted to, and then mostly just thought about what we would most like, and a little while later we had made our order with our top three choices just waiting to hear back with who they were sending us.
So we waited.
And waited.
And ordered and ate pizza.
Then waited.
We had heard nothing. Holy crap. I went against my shyness and called the company up. I got yelled at for trying to order online on the same day, and then meekly complained back that the website should be designed to say that rather than take my order and give me back a conformation, and she barely apologized, but all around it was a fucking disaster. People were due to arrive in an hour or two and we had nothing organized. Holy crap.
We scrambled on the net. I called up another and they had no one. Then, masking my shyness by trying to tell another mate of mine how cool it was to order up a strip strip, I handed him another number and he called up, they said they had someone and it was all booked in, with a request for a curvy blonde. Phew.
The boys began to arrive. We sat around drinking beer, and eating pizza. A couple of girls joined in and we allowed them to, to fill up the numbers, and one housemate tried to get us to not tell his girlfriend what was going on, a façade overthrown by the stadium nature of the way we had set up the furniture, and in the end she joined in too.
The time had arrived. We got the call and me and another mate went to meet her at her van. She grabbed the attention of the eye immediately, wearing a tiny skirt, tight little top, and only after running the eyes up and down her body a couple of times did we noticed her face and the got the real sense of being worn out by drugs and hard living. We also noticed that she was a petite brunette rather than curvy blonde, and having looked on the website further I am now pretty sure she is the only girl that’s on the roster that actually works there.
She climbed out of the van with the line ‘Oh damn I forgot to put panties on’. I walked though the lobby thinking ‘I wish the floor was made of glass’ before ‘oh wait, I don’t need a mirror, she’ll be jamming that thing in my face in a couple of minutes. In the elevator she asked us for drugs and told us a drug anecdote, and told us over and over she had to drag herself out of bed to do this (it was 8pm when we called) I wanted to judge, but look who we were in this transaction.
Now having a stripper in your apartment is a weird thing for a guy. As men we spend 90% of our time trying to get clothes off a girl or imagining what it would have looked like if we had not inevitably failed. Now you have a girl you know is taking it off. It’s like a spending years studying to become a pilot and then discovering you can fly like superman. It just snaps a weird place in the brain, the part where you hold morals, and a great respect for women, and where you remember all your internet passwords.
She went in back to get ready (put on panties – seriously that was all she had to do to get ready), this may sound weird but in stripping you don’t need panties, then she downed a shot of scotch she had requested, put on her music and began.
I won’t give too detailed a description of what happened, that’s not what this blog was about, but here are some bullet points.
- She made jokes about being shy and nervous
- She danced a bit, but mostly on the ground with her showing off her flexibility
- She grinded with the birthday boy as she took off her clothes and had him motor boat her
- She then got very naked
- Made sure everyone got to see what a vagina looks like when the girl has her legs behind her head
- She asked everyone in the room if they had any drugs she could have with her eyes
- She asked everyone in the room if they had any drugs she could have with her vagina (way more vocal that eyes)
- She nicknamed a guy ‘wolfman’
- She made sure to play up to not just the birthday boy, but the sexual deviants, the dude she would choose to have sex with out of all of us, the dude trying to stay in the shadows, and a dude she only saw in an acid flashback
- The then pummeled herself with a dildo, then got birthday boy to do it, then got the dude she would have sex with out of all of us do it
- She ignored a guy clearly taking mental pictures to masturbate to later
- The she abruptly stopped in a shy, awkward way
- She asked for a round of applause
- She went into the kitchen and poached some eggs that she ate with her butt crack
That last one is a lie, but all in all it was a beautiful sight, of course. She did have an amazing body. Yet truth be told it is very much not a sexual thing. It’s more like the Northern Lights over Alaska, beautiful yes, but also clouded by your brain not being able to quite comprehend what you’re looking at.
Also it’s hilarious. You are seeing your friends do things to a naked women that you never thought you’d see, and in front of room of people, and in a couple of examples in front of their girlfriends. It’s hilarious like a bad horror movie; it’s too surreal to take seriously so instead you take it humorously.
After she finished, and as she put on her clothes she asked who painted the pictures on my walls. It is I, and as she walked over to some of them to look at closer she told me about a few of her artistic endeavors as well. She has a passion for painting dead rock stars, something I found immensely cool. She told me an awesome story about how she knew someone who worked at the hotel where Michael Hutchinson of INXS accidently killed himself in a horrible masturbation accident, and how she had pulled a favor to go photograph the room where it happened, and while doing so her Ipod shuffle randomly played an INXS song, and half way through it got stuck. Spooky.
Having bonded over art I gave her a signed copy of my book, something these days I do quite a lot, but there is a weird closeness you feel for someone who has just performed something so intimate in front of you. It reminded me of the first acting scenes I did where my character was in love with my scene partner and how that even in a short time the acted feeling bled into the real me. It’s weird, and warm, and nice, and totally explains to me why so many co-stars end up dating but in a way that doesn’t last. As we chatted one of my other friends came and gave her his business card with the explanation ‘if you ever want to hang out?’
She had a bit of a read from my book, and realizing that my book is titled ‘Losing my virginity 52 times’ she felt the courage to ask ‘was one of them doing it in the butt’ then over the next few minutes she made several out loud confessions to me that she’d never had ‘anything in the butt, not even a finger’.
Her time was up, I walked her out, and in the elevator she again told me she’d never had anything in her butt, only this time (in my imagination) not so much saying it, but asking if I could do it to her. Then the prematurely worn out bits of her face started singing to me ‘you can do her in the butt for some drugs, you can do her in the butt for some drugs’ over and over to the tune of ‘she’ll be coming around the mountain when she comes’.
I walked her to her van, said goodbye, and then stayed up with some of the boys till sunrise as we welcomed a new friend into the over-our-best zone of being thirty, by playing each other all of our favorite songs. It was really nice, and somber, and sad, but at least we didn’t have the pain of knowing people wanted to see us naked so bad they’d pay us. I just wish we now had a new souvenir lollypop on the wall, that way we could allow a backpacker to eat it.
Thursday, June 30, 2011
Driving Dave
Cars are things that men use to show off, to go fast in, to feel powerful and virile, and are things women, and I, use to get places.
Actually according to two minutes of research I just did on the Internet men like cars because they crave power, and because they feel cars are an extension of them, or part of them, or something. Really? If you want power and an extension of yourself, why not just play with your arm, and then start a dictatorship (why do you think dictators always have a signature salute? And also start ‘arms races’!)
I’ve never had any love for cars. Truth be told I’d rather have the ugliest car in the world than a Ferrari, and actually I do really want the ugliest car in the world, because I like to handicap my relationships with women by being pretentiously weird. To me cars are just things to get me places. Except for the past two years when I haven’t had a car and have been using trains/ buses and walking to get places. (By the way, really fat people, walking is that thing you do to get from the toilet to the fridge, well you can also use it to get places, it’s awesome, give it a fighting chance).
The thing is not just one thing but several things:
- I don’t care about macho stuff.
- I don’t like to drive, being the passenger lets me think about things other than ‘what the fuck is this guy doing?’
- I have just spent the past two years jumping back and forth from left side of street driving to right side, and it messed with my head so much I have no idea where I am supposed to look anymore.
- When you lend someone a car and they really enjoy it and then you take it back for three weeks, don’t drive it once, and then hear about how much harder life was for borrowee in said time you feel bad for taking it back.
- I want to be thinner and a walk to the shops helps me avoid the gym by fooling myself ‘It must be four blocks to the shops, that’s the same as 45 minutes on a treadmill right? Pass me that pizza’.
So what happened was I signed up for three classes at the prestigious acting school NIDA right here in Sydney, where I am back living, and I realized something: I need to take a train and a bus to NIDA, in rush hour, and it was going to add probably 2 and a half to 3 hours times 3 to my week for 8 weeks, which is possibly up to 72 hours wasted staring at office workers who have contempt for my casual life-style. I decided instead to ask for my car back, and drive to class.
My eight weeks of classes ended this past Monday night, so I finally had some free time two days later to go and pick up my car. Yay. I can finally get places I no longer need to go, hoorah.
This was my first drive in anyway in 9 months, and my first drive in my own city for over 2 years. I was kind of nervous to be honest.
Here is a bunch of things I observed:
- Your lights don’t turn on themselves, in an old car, unlike other people’s cars that are new and expensive or old and still aren’t turned on by me (resist a sex joke, resist a sex joke, good boy, for once, David).
- You have to really concentrate to drive, damn it, I hate concentrating, it’s like trying to eat while playing ring a ring a rosie (which I do all the time).
- At one point I nearly got as fast as 70km per hour (in a 70 zone) holy crap it felt fast.
- The fact that felt fast really shows just how much I really don’t concentrate on the driving when other people drive me.
- Someone asked me to spell bureau yesterday, which finally reminds me why the hell that word randomly appeared in my I-phone notes for this blog; there is an hour of tedium I won’t get back.
- It’s tedious driving; you have to think about what you’re doing and not on trying to think of funny words that rhyme with slinky.
- I had to go backwards to park, I hate backwards things and thoughts and people and directions, will my torture never end.
- Stinky, blinky, finicky, krinky, funky, twinky ha ha, words that kind of rhyme with slinky are hilarious!
For those of you like me let’s now play the game of annoying people for no reason. Here is how it works, change the word ‘understand’ in a sentence with ‘got’ at a time where it doesn’t work as an exact synonym for. Here is one for you:
“I got a car!” you say.
“Oh awesome” they reply, strangely not asking for more information.
“Why, most people have understood cars for years” you say back with desperate hurt in your voice.
‘What sort?” they ask, after a long, long, uncomfortable silence.
Cars are awesome.
Actually according to two minutes of research I just did on the Internet men like cars because they crave power, and because they feel cars are an extension of them, or part of them, or something. Really? If you want power and an extension of yourself, why not just play with your arm, and then start a dictatorship (why do you think dictators always have a signature salute? And also start ‘arms races’!)
I’ve never had any love for cars. Truth be told I’d rather have the ugliest car in the world than a Ferrari, and actually I do really want the ugliest car in the world, because I like to handicap my relationships with women by being pretentiously weird. To me cars are just things to get me places. Except for the past two years when I haven’t had a car and have been using trains/ buses and walking to get places. (By the way, really fat people, walking is that thing you do to get from the toilet to the fridge, well you can also use it to get places, it’s awesome, give it a fighting chance).
The thing is not just one thing but several things:
- I don’t care about macho stuff.
- I don’t like to drive, being the passenger lets me think about things other than ‘what the fuck is this guy doing?’
- I have just spent the past two years jumping back and forth from left side of street driving to right side, and it messed with my head so much I have no idea where I am supposed to look anymore.
- When you lend someone a car and they really enjoy it and then you take it back for three weeks, don’t drive it once, and then hear about how much harder life was for borrowee in said time you feel bad for taking it back.
- I want to be thinner and a walk to the shops helps me avoid the gym by fooling myself ‘It must be four blocks to the shops, that’s the same as 45 minutes on a treadmill right? Pass me that pizza’.
So what happened was I signed up for three classes at the prestigious acting school NIDA right here in Sydney, where I am back living, and I realized something: I need to take a train and a bus to NIDA, in rush hour, and it was going to add probably 2 and a half to 3 hours times 3 to my week for 8 weeks, which is possibly up to 72 hours wasted staring at office workers who have contempt for my casual life-style. I decided instead to ask for my car back, and drive to class.
My eight weeks of classes ended this past Monday night, so I finally had some free time two days later to go and pick up my car. Yay. I can finally get places I no longer need to go, hoorah.
This was my first drive in anyway in 9 months, and my first drive in my own city for over 2 years. I was kind of nervous to be honest.
Here is a bunch of things I observed:
- Your lights don’t turn on themselves, in an old car, unlike other people’s cars that are new and expensive or old and still aren’t turned on by me (resist a sex joke, resist a sex joke, good boy, for once, David).
- You have to really concentrate to drive, damn it, I hate concentrating, it’s like trying to eat while playing ring a ring a rosie (which I do all the time).
- At one point I nearly got as fast as 70km per hour (in a 70 zone) holy crap it felt fast.
- The fact that felt fast really shows just how much I really don’t concentrate on the driving when other people drive me.
- Someone asked me to spell bureau yesterday, which finally reminds me why the hell that word randomly appeared in my I-phone notes for this blog; there is an hour of tedium I won’t get back.
- It’s tedious driving; you have to think about what you’re doing and not on trying to think of funny words that rhyme with slinky.
- I had to go backwards to park, I hate backwards things and thoughts and people and directions, will my torture never end.
- Stinky, blinky, finicky, krinky, funky, twinky ha ha, words that kind of rhyme with slinky are hilarious!
For those of you like me let’s now play the game of annoying people for no reason. Here is how it works, change the word ‘understand’ in a sentence with ‘got’ at a time where it doesn’t work as an exact synonym for. Here is one for you:
“I got a car!” you say.
“Oh awesome” they reply, strangely not asking for more information.
“Why, most people have understood cars for years” you say back with desperate hurt in your voice.
‘What sort?” they ask, after a long, long, uncomfortable silence.
Cars are awesome.
Monday, June 20, 2011
Time for me to man up
This week I decided to do something that goes against every instinct I have – that’s right I decided to do something manly.
Manliness for some reason is not my forte. Things like quirkiness, silliness, and giddy with girlish glee come to me as easily pants come off a nudist (the manliest of all fetish groups), but things that men do simply do not inspire me in any way.
There is a retarded saying that gets thrown around a lot ‘boys will be boys’. Thanks genius. It is a completely pointless saying that adds absolutely nothing to society, and it is one of the few sentences that if you swap the word ‘boy’ with anything else - still works. Consider these examples:
- Boxes will be boxes
- Salmonella will be salmonella
- Genocide will be genocide
All remain as useless, and as innocent and lovely as the saying ‘boys will be boys’ yet that’s the one that stuck. Try replacing boy in these sentences with random words that I will in no way pick specifically to support my point:
Boy bands suck. Replace ‘boy’ with ‘great’ and you get:
Great Bands suck.
No they don’t, they’re great.
By the way former boy bander Lance Bass wants to start a boy band reality show, he was quoted as saying ‘time to get back to what I was born to do, making the world a far worse place’.
Try this one:
Catholic Priests have a reputation for molesting young boys.
Replace ‘boys’ with ‘IPads’
And you get:
Catholic Priests have a reputation for molesting young IPads.
That’s just stupid, I mean for starters the Catholic Church has been around for centuries, where as IPads are very new, and this makes both the word ‘young’ redundant, and the word ‘reputation’ historically false. Plus why would they molest an IPad? They have so many better uses (Access to facebook to stalk former ‘play things’ to make sure they haven’t spoken up yet).
Point is whoever coined the phrase ‘boys will be boys’ was an idiot. And yet he makes a good point. Because - boys often act ‘instinctually’ boy like. I wasn’t one of those; I was always far more concerned with re-coining flawed phrases than traditional young boy activities like fighting, playing with trucks or circle-jerks.
Still sometimes even I have to man up, and this week was one of those times, I had a major kitchen appliance on the frits (a word meaning ‘not working lets sulk and eat fritters’) and I had to man up and take action. That’s right, my dishwasher broke so I bought a new one and had someone else organize a plumber to come install it. ‘Goooo Dave MAN!!!’
Having a dishwasher installed is not as simple as it may seem. First I had to prepare my apartment. The dishwasher had been broken approximately a week; we are a household of three men in their adolescent twenties and thirties, with immature jobs like writer, IT programmer for the Reserve Bank of Australia, and Anesthetist. So there was no way any of us could figure out how to wash a dish in that week. But once again it was left to me to man up, I bought ‘washing dishes for dummies’ the audio book, and I did in fact figure out how to wash the dishes, which by now included every single thing in the kitchen, including plastic knives and forks, and several ripped up cereal boxes. It only took 4 hours.
Next I had to face yet more idiocy. The plumber called me at the ungodly hour of 8am! Damn you. And why did he call me then? To tell me that he’d be at my place in three hours. Basically - ‘Wake up, wake up, I need to tell you that you can have three hours more sleep if you want to’ thanks plumber. (For the record god now only operates between 11am and 7pm, the rest of the time he is playing with his IPad).
The hardest part was still to come of course. I was going to have to make conversation for an hour or two with a plumber.
‘What is a plumber exactly?’ I hear you ask. Well a plumber is someone who went to a career counselor and was asked:
‘What do you love?’
‘Other people’s toilets, especially crawling behind the urine covered floor of broken ones’ came the reply.
‘Good news, we have two options for that, heroin addict or plumber?’
‘Would I have to eat plumbs?’
‘Nope its all crawling behind the urine covered floor of broken toilets all the time’
‘Yippeee’ and a plumber was born.
I HATE making conversation with tradesmen, and not because of the toilet thing, but because these people are real men. The real reason they take this job is because when they were kids they liked to fight, play with trucks and circle-jerk, and these boys graduate from that into adults who get into fights, drive trucks and circle-jerk, I mean know how to fix things.
Talking to these people panics me for some reason. I just know I am going to be caught out.
‘Fixed anything lately?’ they’re bound to ask me.
‘Yes of course…….. I have penis, um, clearly, um so I, yeah, I fix stuff all the time, I had this wooden thing, that um, had one of those metal spiral things’
‘A screw?’
‘Yeah and I, um hammered it’
‘You hammered a screw?’
‘No no, of course not, I mean………. I’m sorry, I’m a fraud, I’m not a real man, I have never fixed anything, I can’t even fix myself a sandwich, I don’t get it, you keep broken sandwiches around? Why don’t you just buy a new one!!!!!!’
This particular plumber was pretty good. He was very quick to laugh, and he laughed with his whole face and with eyes shut in a way that would have been adorable on a girl (like me). So I set my game plan to turn everything back to a joke, even as he sometimes tried to turn the conversation to manly things. At one point he showed me how to empty out a flooded, broken dishwasher (you pour the dirty water all over my floor) and other times he would mention things about pipes, and glue and other things I know nothing about, but I got through those by being rude and pretending to not hear him, and eventually all was saved, and the dishwasher was installed. We plan to test it out only after dirtying every dish in the place and then playing a game of ‘I hope my roommate puts some of that disgusting pile in the dishwasher soon so I don’t have to’. And I was free once again to spend my time thinking mostly about non-manly stuff.
For the record here is a list of things I can comfortably discuss in more detail and with more enthusiasm than fixing things:
- Barbie dolls
- Toilet paper
- Types of microwave popcorn
- Types of tropical fish
- The symbolism inherent in every afternoon cry
- What it feels like to have a pap smear
- Interesting ways to fit the word rash into a sentence (for example I don’t say I have a pile of vomit on my carpet, I say I have a ‘rash’ of vomit on my carpet)
- Manly fetish groups
Manliness for some reason is not my forte. Things like quirkiness, silliness, and giddy with girlish glee come to me as easily pants come off a nudist (the manliest of all fetish groups), but things that men do simply do not inspire me in any way.
There is a retarded saying that gets thrown around a lot ‘boys will be boys’. Thanks genius. It is a completely pointless saying that adds absolutely nothing to society, and it is one of the few sentences that if you swap the word ‘boy’ with anything else - still works. Consider these examples:
- Boxes will be boxes
- Salmonella will be salmonella
- Genocide will be genocide
All remain as useless, and as innocent and lovely as the saying ‘boys will be boys’ yet that’s the one that stuck. Try replacing boy in these sentences with random words that I will in no way pick specifically to support my point:
Boy bands suck. Replace ‘boy’ with ‘great’ and you get:
Great Bands suck.
No they don’t, they’re great.
By the way former boy bander Lance Bass wants to start a boy band reality show, he was quoted as saying ‘time to get back to what I was born to do, making the world a far worse place’.
Try this one:
Catholic Priests have a reputation for molesting young boys.
Replace ‘boys’ with ‘IPads’
And you get:
Catholic Priests have a reputation for molesting young IPads.
That’s just stupid, I mean for starters the Catholic Church has been around for centuries, where as IPads are very new, and this makes both the word ‘young’ redundant, and the word ‘reputation’ historically false. Plus why would they molest an IPad? They have so many better uses (Access to facebook to stalk former ‘play things’ to make sure they haven’t spoken up yet).
Point is whoever coined the phrase ‘boys will be boys’ was an idiot. And yet he makes a good point. Because - boys often act ‘instinctually’ boy like. I wasn’t one of those; I was always far more concerned with re-coining flawed phrases than traditional young boy activities like fighting, playing with trucks or circle-jerks.
Still sometimes even I have to man up, and this week was one of those times, I had a major kitchen appliance on the frits (a word meaning ‘not working lets sulk and eat fritters’) and I had to man up and take action. That’s right, my dishwasher broke so I bought a new one and had someone else organize a plumber to come install it. ‘Goooo Dave MAN!!!’
Having a dishwasher installed is not as simple as it may seem. First I had to prepare my apartment. The dishwasher had been broken approximately a week; we are a household of three men in their adolescent twenties and thirties, with immature jobs like writer, IT programmer for the Reserve Bank of Australia, and Anesthetist. So there was no way any of us could figure out how to wash a dish in that week. But once again it was left to me to man up, I bought ‘washing dishes for dummies’ the audio book, and I did in fact figure out how to wash the dishes, which by now included every single thing in the kitchen, including plastic knives and forks, and several ripped up cereal boxes. It only took 4 hours.
Next I had to face yet more idiocy. The plumber called me at the ungodly hour of 8am! Damn you. And why did he call me then? To tell me that he’d be at my place in three hours. Basically - ‘Wake up, wake up, I need to tell you that you can have three hours more sleep if you want to’ thanks plumber. (For the record god now only operates between 11am and 7pm, the rest of the time he is playing with his IPad).
The hardest part was still to come of course. I was going to have to make conversation for an hour or two with a plumber.
‘What is a plumber exactly?’ I hear you ask. Well a plumber is someone who went to a career counselor and was asked:
‘What do you love?’
‘Other people’s toilets, especially crawling behind the urine covered floor of broken ones’ came the reply.
‘Good news, we have two options for that, heroin addict or plumber?’
‘Would I have to eat plumbs?’
‘Nope its all crawling behind the urine covered floor of broken toilets all the time’
‘Yippeee’ and a plumber was born.
I HATE making conversation with tradesmen, and not because of the toilet thing, but because these people are real men. The real reason they take this job is because when they were kids they liked to fight, play with trucks and circle-jerk, and these boys graduate from that into adults who get into fights, drive trucks and circle-jerk, I mean know how to fix things.
Talking to these people panics me for some reason. I just know I am going to be caught out.
‘Fixed anything lately?’ they’re bound to ask me.
‘Yes of course…….. I have penis, um, clearly, um so I, yeah, I fix stuff all the time, I had this wooden thing, that um, had one of those metal spiral things’
‘A screw?’
‘Yeah and I, um hammered it’
‘You hammered a screw?’
‘No no, of course not, I mean………. I’m sorry, I’m a fraud, I’m not a real man, I have never fixed anything, I can’t even fix myself a sandwich, I don’t get it, you keep broken sandwiches around? Why don’t you just buy a new one!!!!!!’
This particular plumber was pretty good. He was very quick to laugh, and he laughed with his whole face and with eyes shut in a way that would have been adorable on a girl (like me). So I set my game plan to turn everything back to a joke, even as he sometimes tried to turn the conversation to manly things. At one point he showed me how to empty out a flooded, broken dishwasher (you pour the dirty water all over my floor) and other times he would mention things about pipes, and glue and other things I know nothing about, but I got through those by being rude and pretending to not hear him, and eventually all was saved, and the dishwasher was installed. We plan to test it out only after dirtying every dish in the place and then playing a game of ‘I hope my roommate puts some of that disgusting pile in the dishwasher soon so I don’t have to’. And I was free once again to spend my time thinking mostly about non-manly stuff.
For the record here is a list of things I can comfortably discuss in more detail and with more enthusiasm than fixing things:
- Barbie dolls
- Toilet paper
- Types of microwave popcorn
- Types of tropical fish
- The symbolism inherent in every afternoon cry
- What it feels like to have a pap smear
- Interesting ways to fit the word rash into a sentence (for example I don’t say I have a pile of vomit on my carpet, I say I have a ‘rash’ of vomit on my carpet)
- Manly fetish groups
Thursday, June 16, 2011
Natalie Portman’s Vagina
TV Host: Welcome to ‘Everything Placenta’ the show where we talk about placenta, because why not, it exists, it’s important to the creation of humans, and humans grow up to be people, and some of them are pretty nice, so that’s important people, stop being so queasy and prejudice, what did placenta ever do to you, I’ll tell you what, it allowed you to exist!!!!!!
I am getting a word from my producer Steve to stop berating the audience, so I’ll move on.
Oh yeah, on a lighter note, today is the best day ever! I mean the absolute best, like the awesome. Shut up Steve I am getting on with it. Today is the bestest day ever, but only because something happened yesterday, Natalie Portman gave birth you guys, wow. Hasn’t it seemed like she’s been pregnant for about twelve years?
We have been given a very special interview……
I told you I didn’t want to say that Steve!
Put down the cue card, I’m not saying that.
Ok fine, you wanker, ok…. Ugh… I once charged a bull, but it turned out its battery was already full (silence) see Steve you tool, and I am full of charge to welcome a very, very special guest Natalie Portman’s used placenta!!!!!!!!!!
(Huge applause as a crystal vase filled with Natalie Portman’s used placenta)
TV Host: Thanks for being here, Natalie Portman’s used placenta
Natalie Portman’s used placenta: Thanks for having me, just call me Plenty, not because I’m placenta, but because I’m famous so I’m making…. Plenty of cash!
TV Host: Ha Ha, we should get you writing our introductions!
Plenty: Anytime TV Host
TV Host: Ha Ha, I’m not famous….. (awkward silence) so anyway, how did this all begin for you?
Plenty: Well this one day I just opened my eyes and I felt hazy and disorientated, I had no idea where I was, so I felt around myself and was like eeeeewwwww, what is this white disgusting salty goo all over me?
TV Host: Ha ha, I think I… know what that was?
Plenty: It was pretty traumatic and gross actually TV Host, to tell the truth I was so grossed out that I started puking my guts out only, thing is, when you’re placenta the puke just attaches itself onto you and becomes you and you grow more and more the more you puke.
TV Host: Sounds like the Blob?
Plenty: I later found that wasn't goo but seminal fluid and it was literally the thing that gave me life, I guess I owe it a huge apology!
TV Host: So then what did you do?
Plenty: Well once old mate seminal fluid dripped off me I had a look around and thought ok, it ‘s small and cozy, moist some of the time but not always, and it smelled wonderful ALL THE TIME, and it was so nice that I thought “this is the greatest place on earth” and then I thought “where is the greatest place on earth?” Then it hit me “the greatest place on earth would be inside Natalie Portman’s vagina!”
TV Host: It would be pretty amazing in there!
Plenty: Hell Yeah, after that I couldn't stop singing, “I'm in Natalie Portman’s vagina, I'm in Natalie Portman’s vagina” it was awesome! But then, and I hate to say this, but after a few months, even being in the most wonderful place on earth, it started to get tedious.
TV Host: But you had company?
Plenty: Yeah, this kid started growing around me and at first I was excited but it turned out he was a real brat, he was all “don't you know who I am? My mum was in ‘Star Wars The Phantom Menace’ what have you ever done?” and we ended up having huge fights so I tried to stay silent most of the time.
TV Host: What did you do to pass the time?
Plenty: Well, in the final few months, occasionally the head of an Academy Award would come and play peek-a-boo with me for ten or fifteen minutes, then Natalie’s whole body would shudder and the head of the Academy Award would disappear for a few days…. I looked forward to those days.
TV Host: Awwww, that’s really sweet. So how did it all end?
Plenty: I was having a huge fight with the brat, that idiot thought ‘Your Highness’ was a great follow up to ‘Black Swan’ and I said she needed to follow up with something that WASN’T really crap and instead make more movies like ‘Garden State’ and so we’re screaming at each other then the kid goes “Fuck this place and fuck you” and he just squeezes his way out this tunnel, I tried to follow so I could tell him that doing a movie with Ashton Kutcher is always a bad idea but that sex movie was a disgrace to your mum’s talent but then I found myself sitting back and enjoying a once in a lifetime experience, yep I was literally slowly oozing out of Natalie Portman’s Vagina.
TV Host: Oh my god it sounds AMAZING. What have you been up to since then?
Plenty: Oh you know, I've been doing all the talk shows, I have a photo shoot with Vanity Fair tomorrow lifes...
(David Tieck bursts on the set)
TV Host: Sorry sir, you can’t be here, Steve get this idiot off the set.
David Tieck: Did that thing just say it just oozed out of Natalie Portman’s Vagina?
TV Host: Yes.
David Tieck: Oh my god I need that inside of me.
Plenty: Oh my god what’s happening, put me down, put me down, what’s that a spoon? Don’t put that in me, oh my god, oh my god, nooooooooooo, aaagghhhhaaaghghh!!!
I am getting a word from my producer Steve to stop berating the audience, so I’ll move on.
Oh yeah, on a lighter note, today is the best day ever! I mean the absolute best, like the awesome. Shut up Steve I am getting on with it. Today is the bestest day ever, but only because something happened yesterday, Natalie Portman gave birth you guys, wow. Hasn’t it seemed like she’s been pregnant for about twelve years?
We have been given a very special interview……
I told you I didn’t want to say that Steve!
Put down the cue card, I’m not saying that.
Ok fine, you wanker, ok…. Ugh… I once charged a bull, but it turned out its battery was already full (silence) see Steve you tool, and I am full of charge to welcome a very, very special guest Natalie Portman’s used placenta!!!!!!!!!!
(Huge applause as a crystal vase filled with Natalie Portman’s used placenta)
TV Host: Thanks for being here, Natalie Portman’s used placenta
Natalie Portman’s used placenta: Thanks for having me, just call me Plenty, not because I’m placenta, but because I’m famous so I’m making…. Plenty of cash!
TV Host: Ha Ha, we should get you writing our introductions!
Plenty: Anytime TV Host
TV Host: Ha Ha, I’m not famous….. (awkward silence) so anyway, how did this all begin for you?
Plenty: Well this one day I just opened my eyes and I felt hazy and disorientated, I had no idea where I was, so I felt around myself and was like eeeeewwwww, what is this white disgusting salty goo all over me?
TV Host: Ha ha, I think I… know what that was?
Plenty: It was pretty traumatic and gross actually TV Host, to tell the truth I was so grossed out that I started puking my guts out only, thing is, when you’re placenta the puke just attaches itself onto you and becomes you and you grow more and more the more you puke.
TV Host: Sounds like the Blob?
Plenty: I later found that wasn't goo but seminal fluid and it was literally the thing that gave me life, I guess I owe it a huge apology!
TV Host: So then what did you do?
Plenty: Well once old mate seminal fluid dripped off me I had a look around and thought ok, it ‘s small and cozy, moist some of the time but not always, and it smelled wonderful ALL THE TIME, and it was so nice that I thought “this is the greatest place on earth” and then I thought “where is the greatest place on earth?” Then it hit me “the greatest place on earth would be inside Natalie Portman’s vagina!”
TV Host: It would be pretty amazing in there!
Plenty: Hell Yeah, after that I couldn't stop singing, “I'm in Natalie Portman’s vagina, I'm in Natalie Portman’s vagina” it was awesome! But then, and I hate to say this, but after a few months, even being in the most wonderful place on earth, it started to get tedious.
TV Host: But you had company?
Plenty: Yeah, this kid started growing around me and at first I was excited but it turned out he was a real brat, he was all “don't you know who I am? My mum was in ‘Star Wars The Phantom Menace’ what have you ever done?” and we ended up having huge fights so I tried to stay silent most of the time.
TV Host: What did you do to pass the time?
Plenty: Well, in the final few months, occasionally the head of an Academy Award would come and play peek-a-boo with me for ten or fifteen minutes, then Natalie’s whole body would shudder and the head of the Academy Award would disappear for a few days…. I looked forward to those days.
TV Host: Awwww, that’s really sweet. So how did it all end?
Plenty: I was having a huge fight with the brat, that idiot thought ‘Your Highness’ was a great follow up to ‘Black Swan’ and I said she needed to follow up with something that WASN’T really crap and instead make more movies like ‘Garden State’ and so we’re screaming at each other then the kid goes “Fuck this place and fuck you” and he just squeezes his way out this tunnel, I tried to follow so I could tell him that doing a movie with Ashton Kutcher is always a bad idea but that sex movie was a disgrace to your mum’s talent but then I found myself sitting back and enjoying a once in a lifetime experience, yep I was literally slowly oozing out of Natalie Portman’s Vagina.
TV Host: Oh my god it sounds AMAZING. What have you been up to since then?
Plenty: Oh you know, I've been doing all the talk shows, I have a photo shoot with Vanity Fair tomorrow lifes...
(David Tieck bursts on the set)
TV Host: Sorry sir, you can’t be here, Steve get this idiot off the set.
David Tieck: Did that thing just say it just oozed out of Natalie Portman’s Vagina?
TV Host: Yes.
David Tieck: Oh my god I need that inside of me.
Plenty: Oh my god what’s happening, put me down, put me down, what’s that a spoon? Don’t put that in me, oh my god, oh my god, nooooooooooo, aaagghhhhaaaghghh!!!
Tuesday, June 14, 2011
The wrongest joke told by Dave – The Documentary
It was a chilly and windy evening in early autumn (I think) in the trendy bohemian (know it all) inner west suburb of Glebe in Sydney (a city). It was early in the evening, people were eating their dinner, happy, out on Thursday at the pub, and looking for a nice evening on dates (how do people get those thing) or with friends. The scene was set for a fun night for all, but no one was prepared for what was about to take place.
David Tieck (sometime comedian)
“I hadn’t performed in a few weeks, and was still pretty new to the art form so I was very nervous that night. Add to the fact that this was also my first ever gig to a paying audience and the biggest audience (people who sit together and all look at the same thing) I had ever played (more than 20) so yeah, you could say I was nervous, really nervous, knees knocking, butterflies, the whole shebang, but I knew it was going to be ace, because I AM ace”.
David was not at very intelligent at this part of his comedy career (or now).
David Tieck (sometime comedian) “Truth be told I had never even been to a pub stand up comedy night (the dark part of the day) and I wasn’t really sure what would take place, but I knew it would be ace, because people like to laugh, and I liked making people laugh, and these were people who were going out specifically to laugh, and I was booked because I convinced (the opposite of a light bulb) the club booker that this was something I was capable (the parallel of a glass of orange juice) of, and that’s an ace coincidence (also a c word). Plus I thought I could pull it off because I was confident (not a ‘see’ word)”.
David was a cocky fool and nervous, a clusterfuck (The word Elvis thought meant window “did you see the bird flying past the clusterfuck this morning? Really fun and exciting” he’d say) of opposite psychological forces that in the world of stand-up comedy can be a disaster guaranteed (a word that means ‘likely’) to happen. And as we’ve already pointed out David was not very intelligent about his stand-up comedy so that makes it even worse.
David Tieck (Somewhat a curtain) “I had a few weeks to prepare so I picked out my five best (a word that means ‘likely’) jokes that I had worked on before, but as the weeks drifted by I found myself coming up with ace new ways of doing them (a word that means ‘them’).”
David being the unintelligent poorly educated, and lazy (didn’t even check out one of their nights in advance to see what the tone of the evening would be, I mean what a dick) started to think that the way to make these jokes funnier was to make them wronger, really wrong, wronger than a wrong wacky witch in Wrongville (a town in Pennsylvania).
David Tieck (Sometimes can do similar things as curtains) “I came up with some ace new jokes. I was really, really looking forward to telling them, it was going to be ace (a word that’s ace)”.
Now this dickhead David had weeks to learn a mere five minutes of material, that he wrote, and intelligent comedians (ones not like David) know that it way fucking easier to learn stuff you wrote yourself than to learn other people’s shit, and this dude did write this stuff (What you put up Turkeys asses) so he should have had no problem learning his jokes.
David Tieck (Stand him in front of a ‘clusterfuck’ and you can’t see out, just like a curtain, see what I mean?) “I knew I was going to be nervous and I didn’t want to forget my jokes, so I wrote one word reminders on my hand so if I forgot (when you wear too much lipstick) I could look down and see the word and remember (when you LOVE climbing on statues) and I could then tell it. It was an ace way to not forget and also I came up with an ace joke about it in case people noticed and it was so good a joke that I kind of wanted to be noticed so I could tell the ace joke (a thing people tell to make people laugh)”.
So this fucking douche starts out and he’s doing awful - nervous, twitching, shaky voice, and no confidence in his delivery at all. What a wanker.
David Tieck (Can you see through a curtain? No! Can you see through David Tieck? No! It’s pretty simple). “I started out doing really ace, I mean I was really nervous but I covered (another fucking c word) it up pretty well, and at one point a guy in the audience goes ‘holy shit he’s fucking losing it’ and I thought ‘that’s ace, comedians on stage, comedians in the audience, this is ace’ so I decided to use my hand with words written on it joke”.
Then this tool David tells this horrible, disgusting (when its really old people having sex in front of you) joke.
David Tieck (I mean you can’t like close him or anything but that’s not the point, he can do the job if you need him) “So things are going ace so I decide to use (what addicts do) my ace joke”
He just fucking says it.
David Tieck (sometime curtain) “So I just say it all ace like”
“Some of you may have noticed I have writing on my hand, but it’s not for my act or anything it’s because I plan on masturbating later and I find it way easier if I pretend I just cheated on an English test in school, that way I don’t feel guilty for thinking about twelve year old boys”.
And the audience just groans in disapproval (a state of not liking things).
David Tieck (ace comedian) “I don’t remember how it went, I was kind of nervous (a state of being ace) and so I assumed it was ok, because seriously that’s an ace joke”.
He said plenty of other shit (where food ends up) and they all sucked, but thinking of twelve-year-old boys, that shit is just wrong!
David Tieck (fucked in the head) “I mean I have said worse stuff, like in my private (a low status job in the army) life and all, I say wronger jokes all the time, once after Lilly Allen was in the news because she had sadly had a miscarriage (a party game you play with kids) and my friends and I were having an argument over the attractiveness (whether you think they’re ace or just totally bangable) of Lilly Allen and some of us thought she was just all right, but I think she is fucking gorgeous so I said ‘I want to bang her so bad I'd blow a load all over her NEXT miscarriage’ it was ace. But you know wrong”.
This knucklehead has never been asked back to perform at that club, and never bloody will. I just pray that he’s never said anything wronger, although sometimes at night I wake up screaming after dreaming he just has (the space where a train would be if it was there although it’s not there right now, but will probably come back).
This has been The wrongest joke told by Dave – The Documentary (a type of film that’s all true, except the politically charged ones).
Credit music rolling.
David went on to quit stand up comedy “I didn’t really like it” he said. He now owns a massage parlour that promises ‘Happy Endings’ (a hand-job) but then fails to deliver ‘Happy Endings’ (also a type of curtain with pictures of ceiling fans on them) and gets his kicks arguing with unhappy customers “they laugh way more than stand-up comedy audiences”.
Bill Jones who was in the audience that night gave up being a pedophile that very night “I realized that it really wasn’t funny.”
Lily Allen got married and announced her new pregnancy this past weekend “I’m glad I met a great man, there are some real sick psychos out there”.
David Tieck (sometime comedian)
“I hadn’t performed in a few weeks, and was still pretty new to the art form so I was very nervous that night. Add to the fact that this was also my first ever gig to a paying audience and the biggest audience (people who sit together and all look at the same thing) I had ever played (more than 20) so yeah, you could say I was nervous, really nervous, knees knocking, butterflies, the whole shebang, but I knew it was going to be ace, because I AM ace”.
David was not at very intelligent at this part of his comedy career (or now).
David Tieck (sometime comedian) “Truth be told I had never even been to a pub stand up comedy night (the dark part of the day) and I wasn’t really sure what would take place, but I knew it would be ace, because people like to laugh, and I liked making people laugh, and these were people who were going out specifically to laugh, and I was booked because I convinced (the opposite of a light bulb) the club booker that this was something I was capable (the parallel of a glass of orange juice) of, and that’s an ace coincidence (also a c word). Plus I thought I could pull it off because I was confident (not a ‘see’ word)”.
David was a cocky fool and nervous, a clusterfuck (The word Elvis thought meant window “did you see the bird flying past the clusterfuck this morning? Really fun and exciting” he’d say) of opposite psychological forces that in the world of stand-up comedy can be a disaster guaranteed (a word that means ‘likely’) to happen. And as we’ve already pointed out David was not very intelligent about his stand-up comedy so that makes it even worse.
David Tieck (Somewhat a curtain) “I had a few weeks to prepare so I picked out my five best (a word that means ‘likely’) jokes that I had worked on before, but as the weeks drifted by I found myself coming up with ace new ways of doing them (a word that means ‘them’).”
David being the unintelligent poorly educated, and lazy (didn’t even check out one of their nights in advance to see what the tone of the evening would be, I mean what a dick) started to think that the way to make these jokes funnier was to make them wronger, really wrong, wronger than a wrong wacky witch in Wrongville (a town in Pennsylvania).
David Tieck (Sometimes can do similar things as curtains) “I came up with some ace new jokes. I was really, really looking forward to telling them, it was going to be ace (a word that’s ace)”.
Now this dickhead David had weeks to learn a mere five minutes of material, that he wrote, and intelligent comedians (ones not like David) know that it way fucking easier to learn stuff you wrote yourself than to learn other people’s shit, and this dude did write this stuff (What you put up Turkeys asses) so he should have had no problem learning his jokes.
David Tieck (Stand him in front of a ‘clusterfuck’ and you can’t see out, just like a curtain, see what I mean?) “I knew I was going to be nervous and I didn’t want to forget my jokes, so I wrote one word reminders on my hand so if I forgot (when you wear too much lipstick) I could look down and see the word and remember (when you LOVE climbing on statues) and I could then tell it. It was an ace way to not forget and also I came up with an ace joke about it in case people noticed and it was so good a joke that I kind of wanted to be noticed so I could tell the ace joke (a thing people tell to make people laugh)”.
So this fucking douche starts out and he’s doing awful - nervous, twitching, shaky voice, and no confidence in his delivery at all. What a wanker.
David Tieck (Can you see through a curtain? No! Can you see through David Tieck? No! It’s pretty simple). “I started out doing really ace, I mean I was really nervous but I covered (another fucking c word) it up pretty well, and at one point a guy in the audience goes ‘holy shit he’s fucking losing it’ and I thought ‘that’s ace, comedians on stage, comedians in the audience, this is ace’ so I decided to use my hand with words written on it joke”.
Then this tool David tells this horrible, disgusting (when its really old people having sex in front of you) joke.
David Tieck (I mean you can’t like close him or anything but that’s not the point, he can do the job if you need him) “So things are going ace so I decide to use (what addicts do) my ace joke”
He just fucking says it.
David Tieck (sometime curtain) “So I just say it all ace like”
“Some of you may have noticed I have writing on my hand, but it’s not for my act or anything it’s because I plan on masturbating later and I find it way easier if I pretend I just cheated on an English test in school, that way I don’t feel guilty for thinking about twelve year old boys”.
And the audience just groans in disapproval (a state of not liking things).
David Tieck (ace comedian) “I don’t remember how it went, I was kind of nervous (a state of being ace) and so I assumed it was ok, because seriously that’s an ace joke”.
He said plenty of other shit (where food ends up) and they all sucked, but thinking of twelve-year-old boys, that shit is just wrong!
David Tieck (fucked in the head) “I mean I have said worse stuff, like in my private (a low status job in the army) life and all, I say wronger jokes all the time, once after Lilly Allen was in the news because she had sadly had a miscarriage (a party game you play with kids) and my friends and I were having an argument over the attractiveness (whether you think they’re ace or just totally bangable) of Lilly Allen and some of us thought she was just all right, but I think she is fucking gorgeous so I said ‘I want to bang her so bad I'd blow a load all over her NEXT miscarriage’ it was ace. But you know wrong”.
This knucklehead has never been asked back to perform at that club, and never bloody will. I just pray that he’s never said anything wronger, although sometimes at night I wake up screaming after dreaming he just has (the space where a train would be if it was there although it’s not there right now, but will probably come back).
This has been The wrongest joke told by Dave – The Documentary (a type of film that’s all true, except the politically charged ones).
Credit music rolling.
David went on to quit stand up comedy “I didn’t really like it” he said. He now owns a massage parlour that promises ‘Happy Endings’ (a hand-job) but then fails to deliver ‘Happy Endings’ (also a type of curtain with pictures of ceiling fans on them) and gets his kicks arguing with unhappy customers “they laugh way more than stand-up comedy audiences”.
Bill Jones who was in the audience that night gave up being a pedophile that very night “I realized that it really wasn’t funny.”
Lily Allen got married and announced her new pregnancy this past weekend “I’m glad I met a great man, there are some real sick psychos out there”.
Friday, June 10, 2011
Back in context
Now its time to play a little game I like to call “back in context”. Hell Yeah!
Well known and celebrity type people like to sometimes like to complain that they get quoted out of context well I’m the type of dude who likes to do shit different so I prefer to put stuff “Back in context”. I like to call this game “Back in context”, which is something that I mentioned earlier but I didn’t mention before that this is all about putting things “Back in context” if you know what I mean.
Here is an example:
Kim Kardashian was quoted this week saying “I love my bum”!
Wow, that’s great, love is awesome, I have been told by people who have enjoyed it, apparently a lot of people enjoy this “phenomenon” wow, it’s a phenomenon now, and I am still left out, that means you name shit wrong you wankers!
Unfortunately for Kim the entire quote was:
“I love my bum, one time I was loving it so much that in the middle of a pie eating contest I was distracted and found myself fingering out my bum right in front of everyone”.
Really Kim, that’s fucking awful, you were in a pie eating competition? Those are so wasteful. I hate pie waste. On the other hand, you finger your own bum, hell yeah, I did that once, awesome! Also the rhyme, that’s pretty awesome, rhyme is awesome, it’s like ballsome, only better, because nothing that rhymes with awesome is worth shit.
You see how this works? I make a truth into an insult to a celebrity back into an insult of myself. It’s like “Back in context” only more like “how awesome is this?”
Here is one I prepared earlier.
Emma Watson was quoted this week about her lack of a love life saying:
“Guys are intimidated by me”
Really, guys are intimidated by a freaking gorgeous, super successful “holy crap you can have any guy you want just pick who you want” kind of girl. It’s pretty tough, but then again consider the entire quote:
“Guys are intimidated by me. I just want to meet a nice guy who regularly beats off to Harry Potter One”
Oh my god, Emma? That’s wrong man. A few days ago I beat off looking at a freaking gorgeous picture of you in a pink sports bra after you’d been to the Gym and I did not think about Harry Potter One, because I’ve never seen it, I instead thought “Wow I wish every girl on earth was watching me masturbate right now so they’d see that guys don’t actually like the whole ‘makeup’ made up shit as much as we like the real you” that’s how “Back in context” more superior I think I am over you, and here I am making up paedophiliac thoughts of yours? What’s wrong with you?
Here is a brilliant one, so brilliant that I have to invent a new word for super brilliant that I am coining as we speak “cutoffdenimlikethrow”!!!!!!! Oh fuck, I fucked up that coining, stupid stupid stupid Dave, then again this really is pretty fucking still pretty cutoffdenimlikethrow!!!!!!!:
Lindsay Lohan was quoted saying:
“I’m totally clean”.
Awesome Lindsay, that’s awesome, almost “cutoffdenimlikethrow” awesome (it’s growing on me, this word may take off after all)!!!!!!!!!!!!! So happy for you, if you get clean then you’re only “getting talent” away from getting the success you deserve, i.e. way less that you’ve enjoyed, but holy cutoffdenimlikethrow did you fuck up when I realised that the full quote was:
“I’m totally clean…ing this mirror before I snort coke off it, one time I snorted up some Oreo cookie dust, and let’s just say that wasn’t an attractive sight, you know, because I’ve never been attractive”.
Wow, Lindsay? Why say something like that about yourself? Snorting coke is epic-ally beautiful, your face and body is gross, but your lifestyle, wow, so sexy. Of course think in mind this real quote from me:
“I’d pound Lindsay Lohan once for every freckle on her ass!”
Keep in mind the last person I tongue kissed was when I got mouth raped by a guy named Oscar, and that was months ago, so that’s pretty shit for me to have as a reality.
Blake Lively had nude photos this week and this week is also apparently dating known homosexual Leonardo DeCaprio because he likes having “beards”, and is “really famous” and is “really talented” and Blake Lively “really needs credibility” but Leo probably should be all like “I like cock and acting” cause who gives the slightest shit AND matters. Also that Weiner bloke did some shit related to cock, the very thing that Leo likes!!!!! That’s cutoffdenimlikethrow!!!!!!! I wish I had a quote about it I like, but I “Back in context” don’t.
“That’s lazy Dave”.
“Yes it is David”.
Also Jennifer Love Hewitt, the very actress I have been in love with since I first saw her as “Sarah” on “Party of Five” and still love despite her cutoffdenimlikethrow crazy thoughts on engagement rings and vagina adornment (she’s cutoffdenimlikethrow for them, where as I am totally cutoffdenimlikethrow against them) yet that smile man, holy fuck that smile) I am cutoffdenimlikethrow a smile guy by the way and she has a cutoffdenimlikethrow smile, and also she was revealed this to be the rotten tomato websites:
“Worst reviewed actress of all time”
Sorry reviewers but I’d still bone her – take that all you people who always tell me my standards are too high! But I will never tell why (holy fuck that cutoffdenimlikethrow smile is fucking gorgeous).
Quote by Dave:
“What did I say ‘cutoffdenimlikethrow” was supposed to mean again?
The “back in context” quote was:
“People don’t like me but I’m fine with it….. because I’m going to drown my sorrows with a three week sex marathon with David Tieck”
Holy shit!! YEEEEEEEAAAAAAAHHHH, fucking cutoffdenimlikethrow YEAAAAAAHHHHHH!!!!!!
Hey Dave?
Yeah David?
Who “actually” wrote that quote?
I did.
That’s you, not her!
UHOUGUGO OH dhc fucking bullshit man, bullshit! Why can’t “I” meet a lovely girl, and get that “love” people talk about, they’re all like “I “cutoffdenimlikethrow love, I love it so much I’d pound it once for every freckle on its ass!”
Fuck em!
Well known and celebrity type people like to sometimes like to complain that they get quoted out of context well I’m the type of dude who likes to do shit different so I prefer to put stuff “Back in context”. I like to call this game “Back in context”, which is something that I mentioned earlier but I didn’t mention before that this is all about putting things “Back in context” if you know what I mean.
Here is an example:
Kim Kardashian was quoted this week saying “I love my bum”!
Wow, that’s great, love is awesome, I have been told by people who have enjoyed it, apparently a lot of people enjoy this “phenomenon” wow, it’s a phenomenon now, and I am still left out, that means you name shit wrong you wankers!
Unfortunately for Kim the entire quote was:
“I love my bum, one time I was loving it so much that in the middle of a pie eating contest I was distracted and found myself fingering out my bum right in front of everyone”.
Really Kim, that’s fucking awful, you were in a pie eating competition? Those are so wasteful. I hate pie waste. On the other hand, you finger your own bum, hell yeah, I did that once, awesome! Also the rhyme, that’s pretty awesome, rhyme is awesome, it’s like ballsome, only better, because nothing that rhymes with awesome is worth shit.
You see how this works? I make a truth into an insult to a celebrity back into an insult of myself. It’s like “Back in context” only more like “how awesome is this?”
Here is one I prepared earlier.
Emma Watson was quoted this week about her lack of a love life saying:
“Guys are intimidated by me”
Really, guys are intimidated by a freaking gorgeous, super successful “holy crap you can have any guy you want just pick who you want” kind of girl. It’s pretty tough, but then again consider the entire quote:
“Guys are intimidated by me. I just want to meet a nice guy who regularly beats off to Harry Potter One”
Oh my god, Emma? That’s wrong man. A few days ago I beat off looking at a freaking gorgeous picture of you in a pink sports bra after you’d been to the Gym and I did not think about Harry Potter One, because I’ve never seen it, I instead thought “Wow I wish every girl on earth was watching me masturbate right now so they’d see that guys don’t actually like the whole ‘makeup’ made up shit as much as we like the real you” that’s how “Back in context” more superior I think I am over you, and here I am making up paedophiliac thoughts of yours? What’s wrong with you?
Here is a brilliant one, so brilliant that I have to invent a new word for super brilliant that I am coining as we speak “cutoffdenimlikethrow”!!!!!!! Oh fuck, I fucked up that coining, stupid stupid stupid Dave, then again this really is pretty fucking still pretty cutoffdenimlikethrow!!!!!!!:
Lindsay Lohan was quoted saying:
“I’m totally clean”.
Awesome Lindsay, that’s awesome, almost “cutoffdenimlikethrow” awesome (it’s growing on me, this word may take off after all)!!!!!!!!!!!!! So happy for you, if you get clean then you’re only “getting talent” away from getting the success you deserve, i.e. way less that you’ve enjoyed, but holy cutoffdenimlikethrow did you fuck up when I realised that the full quote was:
“I’m totally clean…ing this mirror before I snort coke off it, one time I snorted up some Oreo cookie dust, and let’s just say that wasn’t an attractive sight, you know, because I’ve never been attractive”.
Wow, Lindsay? Why say something like that about yourself? Snorting coke is epic-ally beautiful, your face and body is gross, but your lifestyle, wow, so sexy. Of course think in mind this real quote from me:
“I’d pound Lindsay Lohan once for every freckle on her ass!”
Keep in mind the last person I tongue kissed was when I got mouth raped by a guy named Oscar, and that was months ago, so that’s pretty shit for me to have as a reality.
Blake Lively had nude photos this week and this week is also apparently dating known homosexual Leonardo DeCaprio because he likes having “beards”, and is “really famous” and is “really talented” and Blake Lively “really needs credibility” but Leo probably should be all like “I like cock and acting” cause who gives the slightest shit AND matters. Also that Weiner bloke did some shit related to cock, the very thing that Leo likes!!!!! That’s cutoffdenimlikethrow!!!!!!! I wish I had a quote about it I like, but I “Back in context” don’t.
“That’s lazy Dave”.
“Yes it is David”.
Also Jennifer Love Hewitt, the very actress I have been in love with since I first saw her as “Sarah” on “Party of Five” and still love despite her cutoffdenimlikethrow crazy thoughts on engagement rings and vagina adornment (she’s cutoffdenimlikethrow for them, where as I am totally cutoffdenimlikethrow against them) yet that smile man, holy fuck that smile) I am cutoffdenimlikethrow a smile guy by the way and she has a cutoffdenimlikethrow smile, and also she was revealed this to be the rotten tomato websites:
“Worst reviewed actress of all time”
Sorry reviewers but I’d still bone her – take that all you people who always tell me my standards are too high! But I will never tell why (holy fuck that cutoffdenimlikethrow smile is fucking gorgeous).
Quote by Dave:
“What did I say ‘cutoffdenimlikethrow” was supposed to mean again?
The “back in context” quote was:
“People don’t like me but I’m fine with it….. because I’m going to drown my sorrows with a three week sex marathon with David Tieck”
Holy shit!! YEEEEEEEAAAAAAAHHHH, fucking cutoffdenimlikethrow YEAAAAAAHHHHHH!!!!!!
Hey Dave?
Yeah David?
Who “actually” wrote that quote?
I did.
That’s you, not her!
UHOUGUGO OH dhc fucking bullshit man, bullshit! Why can’t “I” meet a lovely girl, and get that “love” people talk about, they’re all like “I “cutoffdenimlikethrow love, I love it so much I’d pound it once for every freckle on its ass!”
Fuck em!
Tuesday, June 7, 2011
Literally a slice to my balls
There was a story in the paper yesterday that some wonderful wonderful scientists may have invented a new perfectly workable male contraceptive pill. Hooray!
Fun facts about scientists:
- If chicks found them fascinating and totally bangable we'd have things like male pills and cures to STDs way faster.
- Some of them are really smart.
- Some of them once invented a machine that does stuff it's supposed to do, so that's really cool.
Now I for one am very excited about a possible male pill. Some people (women) think that men can't be trusted to take the pill but this is ignoring the reality that all men would swallow a small mule every morning if it meant three times in their life they could have sex without a condom. Especially if those three times did not result in children. But lets face it we'd swallow a pill out of a mules ass, even if it did nothing but allow us sex without a condom three times, you know as long as we could sneak a morning after pill into her drink the following mornings.
Fun facts about sex:
- For men, it's way way better without a condom.
- Way way better.
Here are some fun facts about me:
- I never want to have kids.
- I don't like it when strangers come up to me and say "you look like my cousin Bill, he's so smelly".
- I've spent lots of time thinking about letting a doctor slice open my scrotum with a scalpel and cut out something then use a needle to stitch my scrotum back up.
- I love cats.
- I've never had regular sex or anything close to it in my life so the slice my scrotum dealy seems excessive for now.
- I have a bit of cash and a tiny tiny bit of fame but plan to increase both substantially one day, only I panic that if I do some lady may purposely try to get pregnant to me. I also fear I will sleepwalk off my balcony, that I'll die in a car crash and that one day I'll be nicknamed Bill. I don't want to be nicknamed after a stinky dude.
So I still may do the slicey slicey one day. Soon even. The problem is, consider these fun facts about vasectomies:
- They really do cut open your scrotum with a scalpel.
- You're fucking awake when they do it.
- When you start researching this you inevitably get sent to the surprisingly ample catalogue of pictures of vasectomies gone horribly horribly wrong.
- This is far more terrifying than anything you have ever seen or ever will see in your life.
- They do it while you're awake, that's freaking madness!
So come on scientists, get this shit happening as fast as humanly possible. If you don't I'll totally make you eat a small mule, or worse, I'll nickname you bill!
Fun facts about scientists:
- If chicks found them fascinating and totally bangable we'd have things like male pills and cures to STDs way faster.
- Some of them are really smart.
- Some of them once invented a machine that does stuff it's supposed to do, so that's really cool.
Now I for one am very excited about a possible male pill. Some people (women) think that men can't be trusted to take the pill but this is ignoring the reality that all men would swallow a small mule every morning if it meant three times in their life they could have sex without a condom. Especially if those three times did not result in children. But lets face it we'd swallow a pill out of a mules ass, even if it did nothing but allow us sex without a condom three times, you know as long as we could sneak a morning after pill into her drink the following mornings.
Fun facts about sex:
- For men, it's way way better without a condom.
- Way way better.
Here are some fun facts about me:
- I never want to have kids.
- I don't like it when strangers come up to me and say "you look like my cousin Bill, he's so smelly".
- I've spent lots of time thinking about letting a doctor slice open my scrotum with a scalpel and cut out something then use a needle to stitch my scrotum back up.
- I love cats.
- I've never had regular sex or anything close to it in my life so the slice my scrotum dealy seems excessive for now.
- I have a bit of cash and a tiny tiny bit of fame but plan to increase both substantially one day, only I panic that if I do some lady may purposely try to get pregnant to me. I also fear I will sleepwalk off my balcony, that I'll die in a car crash and that one day I'll be nicknamed Bill. I don't want to be nicknamed after a stinky dude.
So I still may do the slicey slicey one day. Soon even. The problem is, consider these fun facts about vasectomies:
- They really do cut open your scrotum with a scalpel.
- You're fucking awake when they do it.
- When you start researching this you inevitably get sent to the surprisingly ample catalogue of pictures of vasectomies gone horribly horribly wrong.
- This is far more terrifying than anything you have ever seen or ever will see in your life.
- They do it while you're awake, that's freaking madness!
So come on scientists, get this shit happening as fast as humanly possible. If you don't I'll totally make you eat a small mule, or worse, I'll nickname you bill!
Sunday, June 5, 2011
I'd still go
I just randomly found on my bedroom floor five French Francs!
Do you know what that means? I now own five French Francs. And also a French Person who doesn’t empty out his pockets anywhere near often enough has been sneaking into my bedroom and doing something that dislodged a coin from a place that it has remained for about a decade. I assume that they did some sit-ups, or were so excited to find a pair of my used underpants they jumped for joy, or perhaps they suddenly got a weird feeling that the world should be upside down and they should be walking on the ceilings. It’s an exciting mystery for me to enjoy. One with a probably French character. It’s very exciting. Seriously.
Here is where the excitement really takes off though - if there is another World War and France get kicked out of the European Union for surrounding too fast and are therefore forced to give up the Euro and revert back to their previous currency, and make an interesting choice to set it’s value to be the same as it was in 1979, and I find myself in France sometime after that I can totally buy a croissant with those Francs. YEEEESSSS!!!
Now I know what your thinking, why would you buy a regular croissant when you could buy a chocolate croissant? You’re right, a chocolate croissant is way more delicious than a regular croissant and will not require an additional expense for butter or some form of jam, or perhaps even some cheese, but lets be realistic, no way is France getting kicked out of the European Union but still going to be allowed to make chocolate croissants. They are seriously delicious. Seriously. Especially in the morning when you get fresh ones still warm from the oven. Seriously delicious. Seriously. Or if you chuck them in the microwave you can get them all melty inside. It’s seriously delicious. I mean seriously. As if they are going to let them still have those. Just no fucking way.
“After a unanimous vote of all remaining European Union countries we have declared that only holding out Germany for three weeks really was seriously pathetic, so you’re out. Go on, get on out of here. Get. France, don’t make me hit you with a rolled up newspaper……. Oh by the way, also, you can’t make chocolate croissants anymore, they’re too seriously delicious”.
Truth be told if this was all going down they would probably stop a whole bunch of things from them doing. For the record I can exclusively now report the entire list of things that will get banned in France if there is a third world war and France gets kicked out of the European Union for surrendering too fast. Sourced exclusively from my own personal suggestions. Some of these may seem harsh, just like with the no more chocolate croissants, but if they’re not punished they’ll never learn.
1. No longer allowed to put paper into recycling bins, it’s too prejudice against other forms of trash (As if prejudice will be allowed)
2. No longer allowed to watch a surprising yet inspirational speech and respond with a pause then a one-man slow clap. (They are allowed to write “slow clap” on a piece of paper and slyly hand it to a police officer)
3. Not allowed to listen to any songs recorded by Elton John between 1978-1982 (that one is just obvious)
4. If you get injured in a football match the said injured player is no longer allowed to “walk it off”
5. If you get a stomach-ache from eating too many chocolate croissants you also can’t “walk it off” because you are lying! They’re banned, seriously banned!
I know it’s a tough punishment. And some of you are no doubt thinking I am cruel for suggesting them, especially as I used the word “official” somewhere near that list (possibly) and that is a very authoritive word, so it’s pretty much all guaranteed to happen now. So sorry. But remember, I have already volunteered to go back to France, even in their new harsh world. Because I love France, and I have Five French Francs to spend, ironically found right before this catastrophic turn of events began, that’s got to be fate or something. So I’ll go. Unless it turns out the intruder who dropped the Francs WAS doing sit-ups, you dudes have six-packs and still only held out three weeks? Pathetic. Seriously Pathetic.
Do you know what that means? I now own five French Francs. And also a French Person who doesn’t empty out his pockets anywhere near often enough has been sneaking into my bedroom and doing something that dislodged a coin from a place that it has remained for about a decade. I assume that they did some sit-ups, or were so excited to find a pair of my used underpants they jumped for joy, or perhaps they suddenly got a weird feeling that the world should be upside down and they should be walking on the ceilings. It’s an exciting mystery for me to enjoy. One with a probably French character. It’s very exciting. Seriously.
Here is where the excitement really takes off though - if there is another World War and France get kicked out of the European Union for surrounding too fast and are therefore forced to give up the Euro and revert back to their previous currency, and make an interesting choice to set it’s value to be the same as it was in 1979, and I find myself in France sometime after that I can totally buy a croissant with those Francs. YEEEESSSS!!!
Now I know what your thinking, why would you buy a regular croissant when you could buy a chocolate croissant? You’re right, a chocolate croissant is way more delicious than a regular croissant and will not require an additional expense for butter or some form of jam, or perhaps even some cheese, but lets be realistic, no way is France getting kicked out of the European Union but still going to be allowed to make chocolate croissants. They are seriously delicious. Seriously. Especially in the morning when you get fresh ones still warm from the oven. Seriously delicious. Seriously. Or if you chuck them in the microwave you can get them all melty inside. It’s seriously delicious. I mean seriously. As if they are going to let them still have those. Just no fucking way.
“After a unanimous vote of all remaining European Union countries we have declared that only holding out Germany for three weeks really was seriously pathetic, so you’re out. Go on, get on out of here. Get. France, don’t make me hit you with a rolled up newspaper……. Oh by the way, also, you can’t make chocolate croissants anymore, they’re too seriously delicious”.
Truth be told if this was all going down they would probably stop a whole bunch of things from them doing. For the record I can exclusively now report the entire list of things that will get banned in France if there is a third world war and France gets kicked out of the European Union for surrendering too fast. Sourced exclusively from my own personal suggestions. Some of these may seem harsh, just like with the no more chocolate croissants, but if they’re not punished they’ll never learn.
1. No longer allowed to put paper into recycling bins, it’s too prejudice against other forms of trash (As if prejudice will be allowed)
2. No longer allowed to watch a surprising yet inspirational speech and respond with a pause then a one-man slow clap. (They are allowed to write “slow clap” on a piece of paper and slyly hand it to a police officer)
3. Not allowed to listen to any songs recorded by Elton John between 1978-1982 (that one is just obvious)
4. If you get injured in a football match the said injured player is no longer allowed to “walk it off”
5. If you get a stomach-ache from eating too many chocolate croissants you also can’t “walk it off” because you are lying! They’re banned, seriously banned!
I know it’s a tough punishment. And some of you are no doubt thinking I am cruel for suggesting them, especially as I used the word “official” somewhere near that list (possibly) and that is a very authoritive word, so it’s pretty much all guaranteed to happen now. So sorry. But remember, I have already volunteered to go back to France, even in their new harsh world. Because I love France, and I have Five French Francs to spend, ironically found right before this catastrophic turn of events began, that’s got to be fate or something. So I’ll go. Unless it turns out the intruder who dropped the Francs WAS doing sit-ups, you dudes have six-packs and still only held out three weeks? Pathetic. Seriously Pathetic.
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