This is not a drill

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

www.everyoneistalkingabout.com its my topical humor spot.

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

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


Thanks awesome people

Really, really costly

Here is an exchange I just witnessed.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Hey idiots - YOU'VE BEEN SCIENCED

A HUGE apology by me (and other capitalized words)

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

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

I AM SORRY

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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


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

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

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

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

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

Unnecessary acts of violence

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Ah to protect and serve.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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


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

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

How stomach shrinkingly romantic

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Things that shouldn’t be on TV

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You’re welcome MTV!!!!

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

I have reached the top

Call me crazy, but I have spent a hell of a lot of time thinking about this, and I have come to the logical conclusion that if an ant climbed to the top of a mountain and yelled: ‘I’m the king of the castle and you’re a dirty rascal’. It’d then quickly follow this sentence up with: ‘Fuck it was a long way up here, plus what the hell is a rascal?’

I know, it seems so obvious now that I have written it in sentence form, but for many years anthropologists (people who study the ways different people and societies have lived over history, but occasionally get chucked some ‘ant study grant money’ based on an administrative cock up due to their field’s poorly thought out name) have wondered what would happen if an ant ever reached the summit of a mountain, and have failed to figure out anything due to ants poor climbing skills when considered against their size and the size of mountains in regions they inhabit. Also anthropologists waste a hell of a lot of time on pots ancient people used, and pots are not interesting at all.

List of things more interesting than pots:
- Coffee stains
- The poorly regulated olive picking unions
- Ants, they walk in a line, that’s really cool

Sure of course, if instead of ‘mountain’ we merely switched in ‘ant hill’, we would find lots of ants who had climbed to the top, but that is not impressive at all, in fact switch the species and it sounds almost like you are a genocide fan:

‘Today I climbed a human hill’
‘Really, you’re into genocide? That’s so 2003, get away from me you unimpressive loser’

Yep that’s how sad the life of anthropologists and ants are; forever trying to scale the heights of anthropology and/or high things.

And really it’s the ants I feel sorry for, because the word ‘ant’ is merely the word ‘an’ with another singular letter added. That is a very small addition to an already very small word that itself was very mediocre to begin with. So why the hell does an ant deserve to be king of anything, let alone a mountain?

I think ants would be more remarkable if they had’ve shunted adding the letter ‘t’ to ‘an’ and instead gone with ‘anf’ or even more fun ‘anh’. How fun would it be pronouncing that all the time? It’s almost unpronounceable. And saying almost unpronounceable words is one of the funnest things anyone can ever do, consider these fun words:

- Constituents
- Entrepreneurial
- Fandangle
- Hierarchical
- Obstetrician
- Flan

I could spend two or three hours having fun just saying these six words alone, add ‘anh’ to the mix and there is a fun weekend.

Although it would make it way harder to insult them: ‘Hey you, you dirty an.., um, angh, how the hell do I say what you are????’ Before you know it they WOULD be king of stuff, because how the hell do you stop something you can’t insult?

There would be NOTHING you could do to stop them, instead of, well stepping on them, but is it worth climbing off your human hill to do that? That is definitely something Anthropologists should get working on, that or what the hell IS a rascal?

What Jim Carrey was really saying to Emma Stone

I feel warm and fuzzy inside

I have a new goal that I have recently set myself – get addicted to coffee before the warm part of spring.

I have a weird long-term relationship with coffee. In highschool I thought consuming coffee, like using deodorant, and talking to the opposite sex was something that you shouldn’t attempt until you were a fully established adult. At the age of thirty-four I still feel a million miles away from being a fully established adult, so fourteen year olds drinking coffee gives me the creeps in the same way fourteen year olds doing anything other than going to school and playing with toys does (not those kinds of toys you sick bastards – did you really think I meant Barbie? That thing sets impossible standards!)

In my late teens or early twenties I tried coffee for the first time. I didn’t know it at the time but the coffee I was drinking, just by chance, had been filtered using a chemical rich urine-neutralizing shield designed to go into babies’ nappies/diapers. I didn’t really like the taste at the time, but I did start to grow hair on my spleen.

Over the next fifteen years or so I have had the odd sporadic coffee, only when I am in super cold climates, and usually only after I have already drunk two or three hot chocolates and I can feel the my stomach fat growing into my spleen hair.

Then this past week I went skiing. This meant that for a weird week I was waking up really early and in really cold weather. Those things BOTH go with coffee! Everyone else was drinking coffee, and even though I hate to give into peer pressure, I tightened my girdle that makes me look more like Barbie and joined the crowd. And I kind of liked it.

Upon my return to Sydney I made a vow to keep the earlier starts going, and instead of four hours of TV and Internet surfing to start the day I would head to a café, read the paper and do some writing. It has been awesome and productive, and I really want to keep in up. I just need to get addicted to coffee so I still crave it in the super hot Aussie summer.

That is why I am currently sitting in a chain coffee shop that’s named after a woman named Gloria and her pants. I have no idea who, or what, or why someone thought ‘Jeans’ should be in the title of a coffee shop, but I assume the meeting went something like this:

‘I have heard that some people find coffee has a laxative effect’
‘Ha ha, that’s hilarious, I wonder if anyone will ever accidently shit in their jeans in our new coffee shop?’
‘I don’t know, probably. So anyway what are we going to call this place?’
‘Well there is this girl named “Gloria Jeans” I’m trying to bang at the moment, can we name it after her cause that might help my cause?’
‘But that has literally nothing to do with any product we will sell’
‘But she is REALLY hot’
‘You’ll take pictures?’
‘Of course!’
‘Ok, a coffee toast to our new coffee shop name Gloria Jeans! Ughh, um, I need to run the toilet, there better be LOTS of toilet paper in there’

Of course, if I am totally honest, my new coffee goal is also based on my desire to meet cute girls, preferably ones that have body shapes of the EXACT same proportions as a Barbie. So this coffee shop that I have chosen as my new sometime home is immediately adjacent to a park that has a couple of well-established themes:
- It is a horrible wind tunnel.
- There are numerous aggressive magpies and crows that will attack you and literally snatch food right from your hand.
- It is almost always also completely and utterly choc full of mothers groups.

I don’t know what is going on in my neighborhood, but fertility rates in the past couple of years have swarmed to pandemic levels. It is utterly frightening. This park looks like a trash tip of strollers being crawled all over rat like toddlers and babies.

Today the park also holds two guys with off-the-leash-pitbulls, only a day or so after ‘pitball kills four year old’ stories have been all over the papers (I know this because of my early morning coffee habit). And this just confirms a suspicion I have always had - most mothers secretly hope their baby is blown away by a wind tunnel, snatched by a crow or eaten by a pitball. I blame the poor morals taught by Barbie.

I’m not a baby killer myself, but I do like to play a fun game concerning babies. I try to spot the cute girls caring for a kid, and then look for wedding rings. If none is apparent I assume that there is no chance on earth anyone would ever have a baby out of wedlock and conclude this girl must be a nanny. Then I lust over her for a brief little while before asking myself ‘do girls who become nannies share my same staunch determination to NEVER EVER become a parent’. Usually the answer is whispered back to me ‘actually she probably loves kids and if you ever had sex with her she’d fish your used condom out of the trash and drain it out into herself’. Now I loathe her for tricking me into being attracted to her, and for highly immoral sperm stealing. Then I make funny faces at her kid, because kids always love me and can’t help wanting to play with me. It’s the kind of rollercoaster ride that shouldn’t be possible from a beverage, and yet coffee comes through!

As for this coffee I am drinking right now? Well I am not enjoying it at all. Spring has really hit today, and it’s far too warm to enjoy a warm drink. I am going to keep it up though, I really want to burn off my spleen hair.

How can you be so cold?

This past week, as part of my life goal to have endless adventures to make up for the chronic lack of physical affection I receive the from fairer sex, I went on a vacation based around studying, identifying, discussing, and basing happiness around the various states of frozen and horribly sometimes unfrozen water. Yep, I went to the snow.

Skiing in Australia is a particularly strange pastime. The fact that our continent is one enormous inhabitable desert surrounded by hot sunny beaches all under a hole in the ozone so harsh that if you try and moon a car full of teenagers your butt cheeks instantly sprout a farm of skin cancers leaves snow sport enthusiasts in an understandable state of utterly expecting that the tiny hills we almost ironically call the ‘Snowy Mountains” will have the perfect skiing conditions all the time.

The reality of course is that we have two main categories of “snow”
- Solid bricks of ice and
- Melted hills of slush.

Of course this is if you can find either of these in between the thousands of rocks, trees, and full fields of mountain side grass. This leads to much discussion on where to find the best “snow”.

“Should we try the Excellorator?”
“Nah too icy, what about the Front Valley Quad?”
“Nah too slushy”
“Um you know those are the only two options in Australia right?”

Of course I am being far too harsh here. I for one, having grown up enjoying these hills many a time, know what to expect and love it for what it is, and I have many extra ways to enjoy our subpar yet still awesome alpine hills. These include:

- Risking my enjoyment, health and safety all in the name of fashion. On this trip I bought a whole new outfit based around a grape and grey colored ski parker. Now on this particular trip the first and last days were so hot people literally skied in t-shirts, but the three days in-between were freezing cold, enormously windy, and jumped between relentless rain and blizzards. I had brought with me a much needed neck warmer to pull over my mouth and nose so I could survive the horror of going up a chair lift exposed to nature trying to beat your spirits to death, but alas the one I brought was bright red and clashed with my new color scheme so instead I just braved the pain. This was smart; my lips are now so crippled with crusty dryness and bloody splits that if I blot them with a tissue it looks like I have kissed a man’s collar with ruby red lipstick. Being a heterosexual man is so awesome.
- Inventing ad campaigns. This ones for you owners of beach resorts – simply put a webcam on a chairlift and patch the feed of people finding out what it feels like to have 58000 tiny grains of ice hit your face at 234km per hour every 3 seconds, and put the caption ‘this is a holiday, are you retarded?’
- Becoming a “Goodsamarabunny”. I know this makes me a little weird, but when I see a six year old sitting in the snow, balling his or her eyes out because they are lost, can’t figure out how to get their skis back on, and don’t have a clue where their parents are, I like to help them rather than ski past yelling wooohoooo. I know this makes me weird because pretty much everyone else takes the wooohooo option. Then in the chairlift line they look at me with eyes saying “stay away from little kids you pedophile”. Then YOU help them asshole! Then again my beanie shaped like a cute bunny may have given the wrong impression. Still I am officially a hero.
- One chairlift in the resort of “Blue Cow” has an area you can’t ski in because it is inhabited by the endangered snowy mountain pygmy-possums, an animal so stupid that it chooses to live in a rare snow covered area full of people rather than the endless isolated forest surrounding this hill. By riding this chairlift I assume I saved this animal, I am officially a hero.
- I also help out cute girls who have fallen down. I am officially a hero.


Oh I almost forgot, at the snow there is also super fun sport. Two main ones in fact:

1. Attempting to sit on every single patch of snow you can find anywhere on the mountain, with special keenness to sit on snow near chairlifts, flat sections, and ridges. A sport also known as snowboarding.
2. Standing around in the snow waiting for snowboarders who are sitting down, making relentless fun of snowboarders for always sitting down, and getting frustrated at how much time you spend standing in snow waiting for snowboarders who are enjoying yet another sit down. A sport also known as skiing.

Both of course are high paced and soaring adrenaline Olympic sports.

Snowboarding is judged by how many times on one day you can sit in snow and either un-strap or re-strap your board to your feet. The lowest number ever recoded is 2,454. If you can’t get into six figures you can forget about the Olympics. Another fun event is the ‘How much snow in your bum crack does it take before you snap and punch the mountain’.

Skiing is judged by how few blisters you can develop walking fifteen meters in horrible ski boots. World record fewest is 2,454. If you can’t get into six figures you can forget about the Olympics. Another fun event is ‘how badly can you twist your knee without requiring reconstructive surgery’.

I am of course a skier, because I am not stupid, and I love blisters, especially puss filled ones. But also because it’s immensely fun, challenging, beautiful, and adventurous, all things I love. In fact having just arrived back a couple of days a go I am already trying to figure out how to go back in the next few weeks. If you are a cute girl you should come with me, we’ll make fun of snowboarders together, then at night I’ll make you hot chocolate, and we can cuddle by an open fire, and when the moment strikes I’ll kiss you with my crusty dry bloody split lips. I am officially a hero.

A solution to a world wide problem

I am pretty sure that if you collected all the pickles I've picked out of cheeseburgers and all the tofu I have picked out of Asian food then we could make a hell of a lot of people a really gross meal.

I.E.

Africa or something

How your life is at risk from a newly discovered yet very common disease

I don’t like to get too political or socially aware on my blog, but this week I have been given access to some exclusive scientific research about a very real disease that you may currently be suffering from unaware, and/or very well may be put ting your life, and the lives of all the people you know and love in danger every single day.

‘LSB’ or ‘Lazy Scum-Bag’ is a condition that scientists have now discovered to be the root of why so many drivers seem unable or unwilling to use their car’s indicator, blinker or as perpetrators call them 'why do they have that weird stick next to my steering wheel in every car I drive?'

Suffers of LSB have been seen across the world failing to indicate while doing the following:

- turning left
- turning right
- changing lanes
- parking
- trying to hit dogs and
- while using roundabouts with 74 cars approaching from every direction

Sound ghastly? It is, but here is where it gets extraordinarily scary - LSB’s have be known to fail to indicate even when there are other cars around that need to know the LSB’s plans before navigating their own situation in the safest way possible, also when pedestrians are in the facility possibly about to walk exactly where you are planning to turn under a cloak of false safety from the car lights suggesting it is planning on going straight and not turning at all, and yes, even when there is no one around but they are still legally required to use their blinking tool.

Good…. GOD.

This despite activating said indicator requiring nothing more than moving a finger two inches from where it already is, or should be!

Every day more and more people develop the symptoms suggesting the early stages of LSB, and once it takes hold life, as they know it, is nothing but hell. As one long suffer of LSB described the ordeal of his horrible affliction:

'Using my blinker requires me to move my finger two inches! Fuck that I'd much rather kill a kid!'

LSB has been noticed by experts for many years but always discounted as not being a real condition due to sufferers simultaneously partaking in activities that are dangerous and/or annoying despite in these cases it requiring MORE effort than treating their fellow drivers with respect.

Activities like

- Honking horn at someone for doing something they themselves do guilt free
- Tailgating despite the car in front already going the speed limit and the fact tailgating is most likely to slow them down now that they have been put in danger
- Not kindly allowing someone into your lane, and then giving them the finger when you force them to force their way in

For years experts have thought these activities were merely caused by people being 'selfish' and 'total assholes' mostly because they are, that's why LSB caught scientists so off guard, because in terms of effort it is the opposite the regular behavior of the LCB. One expert was recently quoted saying:

‘Turns out even total assholes are capable of getting diseases, wow we’re in luck, maybe they'll also get Hodgkin’s Luphoma, that's a real thing right?’

If you are sufferer of LSB not all hope is lost. Help is out there, counseling can help, losing your license for a DUI has been known to minimize the regularity and there are also full cures, such as:

- Jumping off a balcony
- Putting your head in oven and slow roasting it like beef brisket
- Going to a hospital and seeing a crippled brain damaged kid who was hit by a car that didn’t indicate and then explaining to his parents exactly why moving your finger two inches is too hard
- Getting blinded by shards of glass after crashing into a kitchen appliance store
- Thinking to yourself 'I’m a dangerous fucking douche bag, is this how I was resided? Yes, I guess it's time for a parental/self murder suicide’

If a slower approach is more your style you can also simply start moving your finger 2 inches occasionally. If you're not ready to do it in a driving situation start at home, you'll find all sorts of benefits, cans of soda can now not just held but also opened, TV channels can be changed with a remote, and you can point at things and say to someone exciting things like 'was that pot plant always there?'

Sadly of course, most LSB suffers will never seek help as one of the symptoms of LSB is a condition known as ‘LYNDAW’ or 'like you've never done anything wrong' which is a weird tick like response LSB sufferers will spew once having it pointed out that moving ones finger 2 inches is not big that big an ask seeing as it saves lives.

‘Like you've never done anything wrong!’ They'll yell.

Yes sadly, in the LSB mind, the fact that there are few flawless humans in the world justifies anything they may do wrong themselves, despite how possibly catastrophic the result and the available simple solution.

So sad.

So if you meet a LSB sufferer give them a hug, they're suffering, then tackle them to the ground and steal they're car keys, just caused they're diseased doesn’t mean they should be allowed to kill us.