I'm glad I don't write a 'Dear Abby' advice column because then even the birthday song becomes a request for advice:
'Happy birthday to you, happy birthday to you, happy birthday Dear Abby'
'Wait wait wait, seriously you’re going to throw one of those at me now? Give me a break for fucks sake, how dare you try to make me work in the middle of my birthday song!''
'No no, it’s nothing, it's just the song'
‘Oh it’s just the song, it’s just the song, now help me, right?
‘No, not at all’
'So why do you have to include ‘Dear Abby’? It's supposed to be my day off!'
'That’s just how it goes, I swear, everyone gets 'dear' and then their name’
‘So you're saying everyone is trying to take my job now, ‘Dear Steve’, ‘Dear Phillip’, ‘Dear Dramquilla’ and you're telling me this on my birthday, very classy, thank you, and I'll remember this every year too, because you told me during my birthday song, thanks a lot you cunt'
'Um Abby? Are you sure you're qualified to give 'advice' to people?'
No sir, not for me one little bit. I guess what I am really asking is this - is your name really ‘Expert’?
Thursday, January 19, 2012
Thursday, January 5, 2012
Some very good advice
On how to….. Wait for the excitement….. Fix a fridge!
Cricket, for those who don't know, is an awesome game. In its best variety, known as ‘test cricket’, a match lasts for five days. Some of the awesome elements included in this sport during these five days are:
- Long periods where seemingly nothing happens
- Heavy drama that to many looks like people just standing around
- The daily tea break
- Ducks (seriously)
- A player position known as ‘silly mid off’ (also ‘silly mid on’!)
- Another known as ‘the night watchman’ (that sounds like a superhero!)
Don’t you just love it? Ha ha, I put a question mark as if you may not!
One way to put it is that if sex is a super fast-paced game that lasts for 90 odd minutes, then test cricket is like spending five days in bed with a beautiful new lover mixing up long periods of cuddling and staring into each others eyes with regular unplanned moments of passion. Plus cool helmets.
A less erotic (and therefore less awesome) way to describe cricket is that it’s just like baseball only with way different rules and tactics and with way cooler helmets (cricket ones have face masks!)
So you can imagine my frustration, anger and desire to rip heads off little girls dollies when yesterday I was lying in bed, alone, watching the cricket, smack bang during one of the mesmerizing long period of seemingly nothing happening, when abruptly my electricity went out! NOOOOOOOOOOOOO.
First thing first - locate the problem (some of you may have already guessed that it will end up being the fridge). I made a quick guess that it was probably the fridge, but only after I had made sure that no power points were overloaded, that nothing was on fire, that I had scratched my head until I had blood under my fingernails, and had looked around. Looking around of course being a euphemism for fifty times looking past your houseguest's chest who is wearing a see-through singlet and no bra, all the while pretending to be checking all the lights and appliances that are located behind her. And eventually making the discovery that her breasts are lovely and your other houseguest has actually checked the appliances, and god bless braless boobs in see-through singlets. That may in fact be the best sentence in the English language.
Note to self: write a book named ‘god bless braless boobs in see-though singlets’.
Having played around with the fuse box (note to self: next time don’t use a wet coat hanger) I came to the expert opinion that the problem was either the fridge or some other unknown problem. I had to pull the fridge out of its cupboard to confirm; horribly this required finding screwdriver.
If you're like me you have several tools in your house, consisting of a tool set given as a gift ten years ago that is always missing the exact parts you need for whatever you need to fix, and a screw driver you've had since stealing it from your dad 22 years ago to fix a skateboard.
I have a special 'tool draw' where I personally put the tools after every use, so my tool draw was full of plastic bags, light bulbs for lights I no longer own, and indistinguishable bits of moldy food scraps that I’ve been promising to clean out for years and will eventually do so the day I ultimately decide to sell the place, upon when I’ll think 'that's much better, I should have cleaned that 17 years ago'.
I found the toolbox in the spice cupboard and went to grab the screwdriver set. Last time I needed tools the much-needed wrench was missing from my toolbox but it was back today, laying uncomfortably in the spot the much needed screwdriver should have been. The other screwdriver was discovered after literally a five-hour search, conveniently in the cutlery draw under 12 forks.
It was finally time to unplug the fridge and it turns out (and this may surprise some of you) but it WAS the fridge that was the problem. It is now sitting on my balcony and I am hoping that it drying out may stop what ever was shorting out the electricity. It’s the best repair idea I can come up with.
The lessons are:
- I probably need a new fridge
- This cricket game is going along awesomely but
- I would actually prefer five days in bed with a new lover
Cricket, for those who don't know, is an awesome game. In its best variety, known as ‘test cricket’, a match lasts for five days. Some of the awesome elements included in this sport during these five days are:
- Long periods where seemingly nothing happens
- Heavy drama that to many looks like people just standing around
- The daily tea break
- Ducks (seriously)
- A player position known as ‘silly mid off’ (also ‘silly mid on’!)
- Another known as ‘the night watchman’ (that sounds like a superhero!)
Don’t you just love it? Ha ha, I put a question mark as if you may not!
One way to put it is that if sex is a super fast-paced game that lasts for 90 odd minutes, then test cricket is like spending five days in bed with a beautiful new lover mixing up long periods of cuddling and staring into each others eyes with regular unplanned moments of passion. Plus cool helmets.
A less erotic (and therefore less awesome) way to describe cricket is that it’s just like baseball only with way different rules and tactics and with way cooler helmets (cricket ones have face masks!)
So you can imagine my frustration, anger and desire to rip heads off little girls dollies when yesterday I was lying in bed, alone, watching the cricket, smack bang during one of the mesmerizing long period of seemingly nothing happening, when abruptly my electricity went out! NOOOOOOOOOOOOO.
First thing first - locate the problem (some of you may have already guessed that it will end up being the fridge). I made a quick guess that it was probably the fridge, but only after I had made sure that no power points were overloaded, that nothing was on fire, that I had scratched my head until I had blood under my fingernails, and had looked around. Looking around of course being a euphemism for fifty times looking past your houseguest's chest who is wearing a see-through singlet and no bra, all the while pretending to be checking all the lights and appliances that are located behind her. And eventually making the discovery that her breasts are lovely and your other houseguest has actually checked the appliances, and god bless braless boobs in see-through singlets. That may in fact be the best sentence in the English language.
Note to self: write a book named ‘god bless braless boobs in see-though singlets’.
Having played around with the fuse box (note to self: next time don’t use a wet coat hanger) I came to the expert opinion that the problem was either the fridge or some other unknown problem. I had to pull the fridge out of its cupboard to confirm; horribly this required finding screwdriver.
If you're like me you have several tools in your house, consisting of a tool set given as a gift ten years ago that is always missing the exact parts you need for whatever you need to fix, and a screw driver you've had since stealing it from your dad 22 years ago to fix a skateboard.
I have a special 'tool draw' where I personally put the tools after every use, so my tool draw was full of plastic bags, light bulbs for lights I no longer own, and indistinguishable bits of moldy food scraps that I’ve been promising to clean out for years and will eventually do so the day I ultimately decide to sell the place, upon when I’ll think 'that's much better, I should have cleaned that 17 years ago'.
I found the toolbox in the spice cupboard and went to grab the screwdriver set. Last time I needed tools the much-needed wrench was missing from my toolbox but it was back today, laying uncomfortably in the spot the much needed screwdriver should have been. The other screwdriver was discovered after literally a five-hour search, conveniently in the cutlery draw under 12 forks.
It was finally time to unplug the fridge and it turns out (and this may surprise some of you) but it WAS the fridge that was the problem. It is now sitting on my balcony and I am hoping that it drying out may stop what ever was shorting out the electricity. It’s the best repair idea I can come up with.
The lessons are:
- I probably need a new fridge
- This cricket game is going along awesomely but
- I would actually prefer five days in bed with a new lover
Tuesday, January 3, 2012
For need
I'm feeling perfect
Like a horrible concoction of lies
My glass full of past mistakes
The tambourine in rhythm
Yet not my hand clapping
Where has all my effort gone
A deception of my long planned undoing
I need nourishment for my truth
A positivity revolution
Just jam
Sing in my alcohol taunting voice
Any distraction from reality please
And listen to the ruthless crunch of insanity
At least I'm not a hypocrite
Just another thing I hate myself for
As always
Forever
My own regrettable choice
Like a horrible concoction of lies
My glass full of past mistakes
The tambourine in rhythm
Yet not my hand clapping
Where has all my effort gone
A deception of my long planned undoing
I need nourishment for my truth
A positivity revolution
Just jam
Sing in my alcohol taunting voice
Any distraction from reality please
And listen to the ruthless crunch of insanity
At least I'm not a hypocrite
Just another thing I hate myself for
As always
Forever
My own regrettable choice
Friday, December 16, 2011
Sleep tight your filthy motherfuckers
‘Sleep tight’ I said to her ‘unless you’re cool like me, in which case sleep loose mo-fo’
‘What are you calling me a slut?’ She angrily responded
‘At what point did I say slut?’
‘You called me loose?’
‘No I didn’t, I was making a joke, and also the word loose does not necessarily connote the vagina’
‘Oh now calling girls a slut is a joke to you?’
‘Yes that’s exactly what I said, and it is a joke, and it can be a funny joke in the right circumstances, but that was not the joke at all, the joke was that most people say sleep tight and I wanted to say the opposite, hence the wonderful joke sleep loose…. Mo-fo, which, you know, is short for motherfucker, but more…. Hip’
‘So I am a slutty motherfucker now?’
‘Yes, yes, ok I will allow it, you are a slutty motherfucker’
‘Well thanks for fucking being honest’
‘You’re welcome’
It was the best hang gliding trip ever. Fucking hang gliding.
‘What are you calling me a slut?’ She angrily responded
‘At what point did I say slut?’
‘You called me loose?’
‘No I didn’t, I was making a joke, and also the word loose does not necessarily connote the vagina’
‘Oh now calling girls a slut is a joke to you?’
‘Yes that’s exactly what I said, and it is a joke, and it can be a funny joke in the right circumstances, but that was not the joke at all, the joke was that most people say sleep tight and I wanted to say the opposite, hence the wonderful joke sleep loose…. Mo-fo, which, you know, is short for motherfucker, but more…. Hip’
‘So I am a slutty motherfucker now?’
‘Yes, yes, ok I will allow it, you are a slutty motherfucker’
‘Well thanks for fucking being honest’
‘You’re welcome’
It was the best hang gliding trip ever. Fucking hang gliding.
Thursday, December 8, 2011
How sickening!
Oh my god people, OH MY GOD, I don’t want to alarm you, but…….
I’ve got the flu!!!!
Well, or a cold, or you know a pandemic of phlegm emergent bacteria having epic orgies in my nostrils. I can never tell the difference between those three.
Of course this is actually no reason to be glum because being sick is fun! Most people think that having the flu is all bad and reason for tearful concern, but that’s not true, there are in fact lots of positives. Such as:
- Microscopic bacteria are breeding rapidly using my nose hair as a filthy swingerclub cum stained bed, which makes up for any of my own sexual inefficiencies.
- There are still idiots who think you get the flu from being cold so it's fun to pump the heat and ask if you can breathe on their face? 'Sure - I'm not cold', ‘really, ha ha, bloooooooowwwww’
- Coughed up phlegm has an awesome way of oozing towards the sinkhole that is always fascinating and wildly satisfying to observe. And
- You can have epic masturbation marathons, throwing the used tissues about the room with gay abandon, and far from being disgusted your roommates will merely feel sympathy for your endless discomfort.
Hooray!
It's not all fun though. Awww, I know just after I proved it was. Fuck I am a disappointment.
I know this is going to bring up some bad memories, because it happens to all of you all the time too, but there is the annoyance that the good medicines are now kept behind the counter at the pharmacy because scum bags buy them to make meth to sell to school children, and if as a guy with long hair you even attempt to purchase these you will be treated like a child killer. Yep malelonghairism, one of the most roaring forms of prejudice plaguing the world at the moment. With the well known hate group slogan of ‘I don’t hate men, I just think if they have long hair they kill children, and probably are a little greasy and therefore don’t deserve the good cold medicine’. HEY HATE GROUP – that’s not a catchy slogan, so suck on that for an insult.
I've tried everything to convince them that I am sick enough to warrant the pills I used to be able to buy when I was twelve with no questions asked. I’ve tried telling the truth, I have tried making up symptoms so my cold seems worse, I have tried taking used tissues into the pharmacy to prove I'm sick but all three of those ideas gets the same response - 'get your disgusting seamen away from me'. And for some weird reason I get the same response when I make up symptoms at the sperm bank. Another obvious flaw with having the flu is that you find yourself talking too much about your bodily fluids. Stupid disease.
But I'm not complaining instead I'm hopped up on an overdose of crappy over the counter meds and using my extra time in bed to study bacteria mating habits, and writing better malelonghairism slogans:
- Not as neat as it could be
- Gel wasters
- Now how can I tell if my wife cheated on me with a dude or a girl just by the foreign hairs I find in our bed?
- Ha ha wind hates you
Hell yeah if I ever go bald and turn on my own kind I am SET!
I’ve got the flu!!!!
Well, or a cold, or you know a pandemic of phlegm emergent bacteria having epic orgies in my nostrils. I can never tell the difference between those three.
Of course this is actually no reason to be glum because being sick is fun! Most people think that having the flu is all bad and reason for tearful concern, but that’s not true, there are in fact lots of positives. Such as:
- Microscopic bacteria are breeding rapidly using my nose hair as a filthy swingerclub cum stained bed, which makes up for any of my own sexual inefficiencies.
- There are still idiots who think you get the flu from being cold so it's fun to pump the heat and ask if you can breathe on their face? 'Sure - I'm not cold', ‘really, ha ha, bloooooooowwwww’
- Coughed up phlegm has an awesome way of oozing towards the sinkhole that is always fascinating and wildly satisfying to observe. And
- You can have epic masturbation marathons, throwing the used tissues about the room with gay abandon, and far from being disgusted your roommates will merely feel sympathy for your endless discomfort.
Hooray!
It's not all fun though. Awww, I know just after I proved it was. Fuck I am a disappointment.
I know this is going to bring up some bad memories, because it happens to all of you all the time too, but there is the annoyance that the good medicines are now kept behind the counter at the pharmacy because scum bags buy them to make meth to sell to school children, and if as a guy with long hair you even attempt to purchase these you will be treated like a child killer. Yep malelonghairism, one of the most roaring forms of prejudice plaguing the world at the moment. With the well known hate group slogan of ‘I don’t hate men, I just think if they have long hair they kill children, and probably are a little greasy and therefore don’t deserve the good cold medicine’. HEY HATE GROUP – that’s not a catchy slogan, so suck on that for an insult.
I've tried everything to convince them that I am sick enough to warrant the pills I used to be able to buy when I was twelve with no questions asked. I’ve tried telling the truth, I have tried making up symptoms so my cold seems worse, I have tried taking used tissues into the pharmacy to prove I'm sick but all three of those ideas gets the same response - 'get your disgusting seamen away from me'. And for some weird reason I get the same response when I make up symptoms at the sperm bank. Another obvious flaw with having the flu is that you find yourself talking too much about your bodily fluids. Stupid disease.
But I'm not complaining instead I'm hopped up on an overdose of crappy over the counter meds and using my extra time in bed to study bacteria mating habits, and writing better malelonghairism slogans:
- Not as neat as it could be
- Gel wasters
- Now how can I tell if my wife cheated on me with a dude or a girl just by the foreign hairs I find in our bed?
- Ha ha wind hates you
Hell yeah if I ever go bald and turn on my own kind I am SET!
Tuesday, December 6, 2011
335am I must be glowing
I haven't blogged much recently. I have been traveling, I have been writing a novel again for the first time in a few years and being reminded that I am not happy unless I am writing a novel, even if no one will ever read them.
It is the middle of the night and I am an epic age from sleeping, and I dont care that, that makes no sense.
I feel like it is time for me to start getting back to being honest, writing what's on my mind, and not caring so much if what I write is funny, or original, or so weird that it counts as art in my strange mind.
I have started fantasizing about being in a relationship again. This despite those being a rare find for me, a desperately painful and frustrating thing to maintain and a guaranteed angrily broken heart at the end. As usual the stories my friends share with me about relationships they are in and those they hear about are 100% stories of things that I can't help but feel would make me want to murder someone, most likely myself, yet I am finding myself thinking 'I could put up with that'. I am nothing but a hopeless romantic.
'I miss having someone to be pathetically sweet too' I thought moments ago.
'She's already had a proper sex life, I could never be with someone who has had that when I haven't' I thought moments ago.
I want to be more honest in my writing.
I spend way too much time on internet dating sights these days.
I am going to publish my book 'the embarrassing memory murderer' about my endless life of humiliation some way or another in the next few months and oh my god is that going to open eyes to a life like mine. Yet do I really want people to know the truth?
I have thirteen minutes of battery on this laptop left, I need to publish post soon or get mad at myself for constantly telling myself what I want to do more of yet never do.
Yes I do want people to know the truth, but is it going to be cathartic or an exercise in narcissism?
I am moving to Canada, is this right?
Perhaps, but perhaps not. I want the odd 'yes' in my life please.
I have just renovated my apartment and it is brilliant, but it is not leaving me with the desire to stay. I think this is good. I want to chase dreams fearless again.
I am now on reserve battery power. I can't be fucked to get my charger. I can't sleep. I can't be fucked to hook up the DVD player on my new TV so I have something to watch. I want to read but it makes me want to write and I can't write if my computer is out of battery.
I want to have a girlfriend asleep next o me to watch breathing and cuddle for warmth and affection. If I have a girlfriend I can't move to Canada unless I take her with me. If she can come she is probably not pursuing her own passions. I could never date someone like that. If I stay for a girl then I am someone like that.
Now it's six minutes. This blog may not cure all my doubts and fears after all. Maybe I should have worked on my new novel instead of writing this. No one will ever read those anyway and that is too horrific to imagine. I wish I had time to edit this, I know there will be something I regret.
Hey maybe I will end up with a humiliating story I can write about in a future non-fiction book. Humiliation is awesome for a writer. .
Three minutes left.
I want to get more honest in my blogging.
I hope I can find a girl to start my proper sex life with.
If she is anything like the girlfriends I hear about we're all fucked.
I dont like this as an ending but now time.
It is the middle of the night and I am an epic age from sleeping, and I dont care that, that makes no sense.
I feel like it is time for me to start getting back to being honest, writing what's on my mind, and not caring so much if what I write is funny, or original, or so weird that it counts as art in my strange mind.
I have started fantasizing about being in a relationship again. This despite those being a rare find for me, a desperately painful and frustrating thing to maintain and a guaranteed angrily broken heart at the end. As usual the stories my friends share with me about relationships they are in and those they hear about are 100% stories of things that I can't help but feel would make me want to murder someone, most likely myself, yet I am finding myself thinking 'I could put up with that'. I am nothing but a hopeless romantic.
'I miss having someone to be pathetically sweet too' I thought moments ago.
'She's already had a proper sex life, I could never be with someone who has had that when I haven't' I thought moments ago.
I want to be more honest in my writing.
I spend way too much time on internet dating sights these days.
I am going to publish my book 'the embarrassing memory murderer' about my endless life of humiliation some way or another in the next few months and oh my god is that going to open eyes to a life like mine. Yet do I really want people to know the truth?
I have thirteen minutes of battery on this laptop left, I need to publish post soon or get mad at myself for constantly telling myself what I want to do more of yet never do.
Yes I do want people to know the truth, but is it going to be cathartic or an exercise in narcissism?
I am moving to Canada, is this right?
Perhaps, but perhaps not. I want the odd 'yes' in my life please.
I have just renovated my apartment and it is brilliant, but it is not leaving me with the desire to stay. I think this is good. I want to chase dreams fearless again.
I am now on reserve battery power. I can't be fucked to get my charger. I can't sleep. I can't be fucked to hook up the DVD player on my new TV so I have something to watch. I want to read but it makes me want to write and I can't write if my computer is out of battery.
I want to have a girlfriend asleep next o me to watch breathing and cuddle for warmth and affection. If I have a girlfriend I can't move to Canada unless I take her with me. If she can come she is probably not pursuing her own passions. I could never date someone like that. If I stay for a girl then I am someone like that.
Now it's six minutes. This blog may not cure all my doubts and fears after all. Maybe I should have worked on my new novel instead of writing this. No one will ever read those anyway and that is too horrific to imagine. I wish I had time to edit this, I know there will be something I regret.
Hey maybe I will end up with a humiliating story I can write about in a future non-fiction book. Humiliation is awesome for a writer. .
Three minutes left.
I want to get more honest in my blogging.
I hope I can find a girl to start my proper sex life with.
If she is anything like the girlfriends I hear about we're all fucked.
I dont like this as an ending but now time.
Tuesday, November 15, 2011
This is one of THOSE blogs - Asia
You know the ones, where your blogger blogs about stuff he or she is up and he or she happens to be out on one of his or her regular adventures and instead of telling you about all the awesome stuff he or she is up to he or she instead is all about weird shit? We all know THOSE blogs.
Here is some weird stuff I saw on just one single day in a small Taiwanese fishing village.
- They had skin care products named after the horrifically plastic surgery deformed Australian minor celebrity for a long ago reality show and banging a rock star – Sophie Monk. Are you kidding me? Tag line – ‘you too could look deformed’.
- They had KKK brand white fungus drink – tag line ‘Sophie Monk is white so we won’t bash her, but man she looks deformed’.
- I saw a dog wearing a diaper/ nappy. Tag line – ‘For the owner who wants to show their love with cruel selfishness’. That would make some mean deformed dog poo
- They have a condom design named ‘hard shell’ – tag line ‘for when you really, really don’t want to feel it’ but if your banging Sophie Monk I recommend shoving them in your eyes.
Wow, Taiwan is full of awesome and amazingly friendly people, but they sure are mean about that Sophie Monk. Although I don't blame them, she is pretty deformed.
Here is some weird stuff I saw on just one single day in a small Taiwanese fishing village.
- They had skin care products named after the horrifically plastic surgery deformed Australian minor celebrity for a long ago reality show and banging a rock star – Sophie Monk. Are you kidding me? Tag line – ‘you too could look deformed’.
- They had KKK brand white fungus drink – tag line ‘Sophie Monk is white so we won’t bash her, but man she looks deformed’.
- I saw a dog wearing a diaper/ nappy. Tag line – ‘For the owner who wants to show their love with cruel selfishness’. That would make some mean deformed dog poo
- They have a condom design named ‘hard shell’ – tag line ‘for when you really, really don’t want to feel it’ but if your banging Sophie Monk I recommend shoving them in your eyes.
Wow, Taiwan is full of awesome and amazingly friendly people, but they sure are mean about that Sophie Monk. Although I don't blame them, she is pretty deformed.
Thursday, November 3, 2011
So very generous
Sashimi is a dish, or meal, or pet food that is served, as far as I know, in many Asian countries. Essentially what sashimi is, is an attempt by a restaurant or chef to warn his diners that he is in fact suffering from a severe form of Alzheimers rendering him to mentally think he’s living in the year 4386 BC, which of course is a good few years before some teenagers invented fire so they could light their farts. As YOU know a couple of centuries later someone once put a sausage on a stick and held it in front of the fiery fart and proclaimed ‘if you remove the smell of Zorgs ass, this would actually taste better than raw flesh’ and cooking was invented.
Sashimi chefs have never heard of such a wonderful thing. So instead they serve people a plate of raw fish flesh. Incidentally I once wrote a novel called ‘raw fish flesh’ it was about a man deserted on a tropical island who died because he wouldn’t eat raw fish flesh ‘That’s freaking disgusting’ he bellowed as mermaid tried to force some into his mouth as he descended towards death from malnutrition. This man was based on my idea of what I would do if I were deserted on an island and the only thing to eat was raw fish flesh. Yes I would rather die than eat raw fish flesh – even if living meant I could bang a mermaid.
My point is - ‘Hey chefs, cooking exists, I know – we have a goddamn toaster oven in our hotel room, its cost us twenty bucks at the store just up the road. Also don’t cook fish, that stuff is freaking gross and stinks as bad as anything on earth, I’d rather eat a Zorg firey fart hotdog’.
The things is that as rare Westerners that visit the small fishing town of Chenggong our contact in town organised a special feast for us, and people from all over town came to meet us. And I was able to do something that every traveller dreams of, rudely rejecting a locals generous gift.
Actually it wasn’t as bad as that. They served us all sorts of things, and the rice and chicken were great, and the duck really needed more time in the oven, but was ok, and they kept making us drink. They made us drink a lot. They have a strange yet wonderful way of drinking here, they all take a small cup and you are not allowed to have a sip unless you toast it to someone else who has to drink. And when you are the strangers everyone wants to toast you, and when you are gullible you let them make you believe that you are never allowed not to finish the cup (which they always immediately refill for you – back to the top) and that the first time you toast with a new person you must drink three whole cup fulls.
We all got really, really drunk. With no language familiarity I tried to seduce the girls with my eyes, taking the opposite approach Goshie took the opportunity to straight out ask for dirty sex acts, enjoying the freedom of knowing they knew not a thing he was saying, and thirty painful hours later Epi was in hospital with severe food poisoning.
Blood tests confirmed that the cause was, drum roll please, Sashimi! It’s freaking disgusting stuff, but I was willing to let him feel that way, I cannot not say thankyou to generosity and free beer. I just wish these generous types would introduce the chef to fire.
Sashimi chefs have never heard of such a wonderful thing. So instead they serve people a plate of raw fish flesh. Incidentally I once wrote a novel called ‘raw fish flesh’ it was about a man deserted on a tropical island who died because he wouldn’t eat raw fish flesh ‘That’s freaking disgusting’ he bellowed as mermaid tried to force some into his mouth as he descended towards death from malnutrition. This man was based on my idea of what I would do if I were deserted on an island and the only thing to eat was raw fish flesh. Yes I would rather die than eat raw fish flesh – even if living meant I could bang a mermaid.
My point is - ‘Hey chefs, cooking exists, I know – we have a goddamn toaster oven in our hotel room, its cost us twenty bucks at the store just up the road. Also don’t cook fish, that stuff is freaking gross and stinks as bad as anything on earth, I’d rather eat a Zorg firey fart hotdog’.
The things is that as rare Westerners that visit the small fishing town of Chenggong our contact in town organised a special feast for us, and people from all over town came to meet us. And I was able to do something that every traveller dreams of, rudely rejecting a locals generous gift.
Actually it wasn’t as bad as that. They served us all sorts of things, and the rice and chicken were great, and the duck really needed more time in the oven, but was ok, and they kept making us drink. They made us drink a lot. They have a strange yet wonderful way of drinking here, they all take a small cup and you are not allowed to have a sip unless you toast it to someone else who has to drink. And when you are the strangers everyone wants to toast you, and when you are gullible you let them make you believe that you are never allowed not to finish the cup (which they always immediately refill for you – back to the top) and that the first time you toast with a new person you must drink three whole cup fulls.
We all got really, really drunk. With no language familiarity I tried to seduce the girls with my eyes, taking the opposite approach Goshie took the opportunity to straight out ask for dirty sex acts, enjoying the freedom of knowing they knew not a thing he was saying, and thirty painful hours later Epi was in hospital with severe food poisoning.
Blood tests confirmed that the cause was, drum roll please, Sashimi! It’s freaking disgusting stuff, but I was willing to let him feel that way, I cannot not say thankyou to generosity and free beer. I just wish these generous types would introduce the chef to fire.
Sunday, October 30, 2011
Where have I bloody well been?
Catch up part one
As some of you may know I am in Taiwan at the moment. My plan was to write a blog everyday as a travel journal of sorts, well actually my plan was to write a blog informing you all that I was morphing this blog into a daily travel journal and then start writing a daily travel blog, but not only did I not get around to writing that blog I have yet to get around to writing a single one of my daily blogs. And I’ve been gone ten or eleven days already, that’s almost a full week.
You know the story, I missed the first couple of days while acclimatising to strange surroundings, then I put off starting because I didn’t have the time to get it all done, and then the longer I put it off the longer I needed to pull it off, and so on and so on. Yep that’s how much fun this trip has been already!
Well I still want to write this journal thing damn it, and I just can’t catch up, so here is a catch up on what’s been happening so far.
I hate fishing, it’s a cruel and boring sport, so when my best mate Goshie, the famed fishing journalist, invited me to go on a fishing exploration trip I said ‘well if I don’t have anything else much happening then I’ll come'. Of course I thought I WOULD have lots going on then and it would never happen.
Then it turned out I didn’t have much on, as I have no real job and my latest book is taking longer than I thought to get to the bookstores, so the trip was booked. Plus there barely are bookstores anymore, what did I think was going to happen taking on this career? I should have stuck with something safe, and guaranteed to stay a relevant part of everyone’s lives, like being a newspaper journalist, or radio announcer.
Then Goshie got a bad ankle injury and the trip was at least mentally canceled.
Goshie decided an hour later that his ankle was ok and it was back on.
Two hours later Goshie decided that not only was his ankle fucked but so was his elbow from walking on crutches and it was back off.
I watched a little TV while he changed his mind four or five more times. I think the Big Bang Theory was on during part of this time, and this is a show I like but don’t love, so it was a satisfactory wait, but not exhilarating. Man I need a freaking holiday from all this mild satisfaction damn it.
Tension is built to unprecedented levels but in a shock conclusion to anyone who didn’t read above that I am in fact in Taiwan, the unthinkable happened, truly unthinkable, and if you think about it just about anything is ‘thinkable’ so this thing must be insanely hard to think, wait for it - the trip was called on and we left.
We meet Goshie’s fishing mate, Epi, at the airport and fly off, and 25 hours or so later we arrive in Taipei, a huge metropolitan city full of everything anyone could desire, but because we’re on a fishing trip we choose not to get a comphy hotel and instead get a bus, then a train, then hire a car working south, with stunning coast on one side and towering mountains on the other. It is really gorgeous.
We finally reach our destination, Chenggong – a tiny fishing village where we’ve come to fish. I hate fishing, but I love traveling. This is going to be interesting.
Also I should point out that the universe is trying to tell me something at the moment, I don’t know what, but it keeps showing me little clues. Maybe it’s telling me that the trip might get canceled, hmmm, hmmm, wait no, we’ve satisfied that cliff hanger already, wait, check this out for a cliff hanger, in our next installment someone will be in hospital! Really! But who? Oooooohh, cliff-hanger!
It’s Epi!
Damn it, I ruined it again. Wait, but how? Oooooh cliff hanger.
As some of you may know I am in Taiwan at the moment. My plan was to write a blog everyday as a travel journal of sorts, well actually my plan was to write a blog informing you all that I was morphing this blog into a daily travel journal and then start writing a daily travel blog, but not only did I not get around to writing that blog I have yet to get around to writing a single one of my daily blogs. And I’ve been gone ten or eleven days already, that’s almost a full week.
You know the story, I missed the first couple of days while acclimatising to strange surroundings, then I put off starting because I didn’t have the time to get it all done, and then the longer I put it off the longer I needed to pull it off, and so on and so on. Yep that’s how much fun this trip has been already!
Well I still want to write this journal thing damn it, and I just can’t catch up, so here is a catch up on what’s been happening so far.
I hate fishing, it’s a cruel and boring sport, so when my best mate Goshie, the famed fishing journalist, invited me to go on a fishing exploration trip I said ‘well if I don’t have anything else much happening then I’ll come'. Of course I thought I WOULD have lots going on then and it would never happen.
Then it turned out I didn’t have much on, as I have no real job and my latest book is taking longer than I thought to get to the bookstores, so the trip was booked. Plus there barely are bookstores anymore, what did I think was going to happen taking on this career? I should have stuck with something safe, and guaranteed to stay a relevant part of everyone’s lives, like being a newspaper journalist, or radio announcer.
Then Goshie got a bad ankle injury and the trip was at least mentally canceled.
Goshie decided an hour later that his ankle was ok and it was back on.
Two hours later Goshie decided that not only was his ankle fucked but so was his elbow from walking on crutches and it was back off.
I watched a little TV while he changed his mind four or five more times. I think the Big Bang Theory was on during part of this time, and this is a show I like but don’t love, so it was a satisfactory wait, but not exhilarating. Man I need a freaking holiday from all this mild satisfaction damn it.
Tension is built to unprecedented levels but in a shock conclusion to anyone who didn’t read above that I am in fact in Taiwan, the unthinkable happened, truly unthinkable, and if you think about it just about anything is ‘thinkable’ so this thing must be insanely hard to think, wait for it - the trip was called on and we left.
We meet Goshie’s fishing mate, Epi, at the airport and fly off, and 25 hours or so later we arrive in Taipei, a huge metropolitan city full of everything anyone could desire, but because we’re on a fishing trip we choose not to get a comphy hotel and instead get a bus, then a train, then hire a car working south, with stunning coast on one side and towering mountains on the other. It is really gorgeous.
We finally reach our destination, Chenggong – a tiny fishing village where we’ve come to fish. I hate fishing, but I love traveling. This is going to be interesting.
Also I should point out that the universe is trying to tell me something at the moment, I don’t know what, but it keeps showing me little clues. Maybe it’s telling me that the trip might get canceled, hmmm, hmmm, wait no, we’ve satisfied that cliff hanger already, wait, check this out for a cliff hanger, in our next installment someone will be in hospital! Really! But who? Oooooohh, cliff-hanger!
It’s Epi!
Damn it, I ruined it again. Wait, but how? Oooooh cliff hanger.
Monday, October 17, 2011
The truth about what is about to come, fuck you rapture
Apparently some crazy religious coot has predicted the end of the world again this coming week, and while crazy old coots are rarely wrong I for one think that our impending death is only a small part of the upcoming week that we need to give serious thought about. And as a crazy young coot I am in the perfect position to predict what’s going on. Here are MY predictions for the IMPORTANT stuff that’s going to happen this week. Take THAT old man!
A volcano on a small island of Indonesia will erupt; no one was hurt as it will be the first volcano to erupt soapy water. It is shall become the world’s biggest slip n slide!
Hell Yeah! We should go!
A man will attempt to eradicate starvation in Africa by collecting all pickles picked out of cheeseburgers, and all tofu picked out of Asian food, and sending it over.
Wow that’s gross, in protest I say we all agree to refuse to call cheeseburgers ‘cheeseburgers’ until the other ingredients get the same billing as the cheese!
Double chins will be renamed ‘chin scrotums’ or ‘chotums’ for short.
Damn it, now I wish I had a double chin, where can a guy get a friggin’ cheeseburger around here?
Someone will cook some lamb in New Zealand!
I think I’d make a good parent of a lamb. 'Where's the toilet?' You’re standing on it. 'Where's dinner?' You're standing on it. Well… good luck.
War will once again break out between Israel and Palestine, although both sides will agreed that the only weapons allowed are feathers, a spokesperson will say 'we’re going to laugh about this feud one day any way, why not laugh during it too'
That's awesome I can't wait to see Spielberg’s movie adaptation of the events, I hope it stars me, can any of you teach me a Palestinian accent?
A man will try to impress a horse by telling it ‘I knew your mother before she was glue’
That’s smart of him; if he said ‘before she was dog food’ it may have been upsetting.
Politicians in political settings will do something disappointing
Wait, WHAT? I thought politicians were flawless I'm shocked, damn it the whole world could be about to fucking end, oh my god. We better enjoy ourselves this week; this could be our very last chance to do certain fun activities that in my opinion are most enjoyable when shared between a man and a woman. DAMN YOU POLITICIANS! I bet they’ll even ruin the volcano slip n slide!
A volcano on a small island of Indonesia will erupt; no one was hurt as it will be the first volcano to erupt soapy water. It is shall become the world’s biggest slip n slide!
Hell Yeah! We should go!
A man will attempt to eradicate starvation in Africa by collecting all pickles picked out of cheeseburgers, and all tofu picked out of Asian food, and sending it over.
Wow that’s gross, in protest I say we all agree to refuse to call cheeseburgers ‘cheeseburgers’ until the other ingredients get the same billing as the cheese!
Double chins will be renamed ‘chin scrotums’ or ‘chotums’ for short.
Damn it, now I wish I had a double chin, where can a guy get a friggin’ cheeseburger around here?
Someone will cook some lamb in New Zealand!
I think I’d make a good parent of a lamb. 'Where's the toilet?' You’re standing on it. 'Where's dinner?' You're standing on it. Well… good luck.
War will once again break out between Israel and Palestine, although both sides will agreed that the only weapons allowed are feathers, a spokesperson will say 'we’re going to laugh about this feud one day any way, why not laugh during it too'
That's awesome I can't wait to see Spielberg’s movie adaptation of the events, I hope it stars me, can any of you teach me a Palestinian accent?
A man will try to impress a horse by telling it ‘I knew your mother before she was glue’
That’s smart of him; if he said ‘before she was dog food’ it may have been upsetting.
Politicians in political settings will do something disappointing
Wait, WHAT? I thought politicians were flawless I'm shocked, damn it the whole world could be about to fucking end, oh my god. We better enjoy ourselves this week; this could be our very last chance to do certain fun activities that in my opinion are most enjoyable when shared between a man and a woman. DAMN YOU POLITICIANS! I bet they’ll even ruin the volcano slip n slide!
Thursday, October 6, 2011
I hate you science, you fat bastard
Cause how often do you get to make fun of people in a hypocritical way?
Monday, October 3, 2011
Tuesday, September 27, 2011
Don't ruin those girls, you bastards!
I’ve been thinking a lot about fame the past couple of days. As a famous author I am well on my way to being famous, I mean consider this list of places I have been recognized by adoring public:
-In an elevator.
- On the street.
- In a mall.
Sure, it’s only happened three times total, but those are the three most popular places for humans to be! Scientists claim that at any given point of time 79% of people on earth are either in the mall, in an elevator or on the street, and I have been recognized in all three of those spots, that’s got to mean something right?
Yes it does, it means I am well on my way to fame. Need more evidence? Well consider this true story - there is a TV show called ‘How Do I Look’ on American TV somewhere. The concept of the show is that they find people who secretly hate how a friend of theirs dresses and instead of having a quiet word, or realizing the best people are individuals who dress the way they do because they like it that way, and don’t need to follow fashions just to hide any personality they can, they get you to ambush them with camera crew and fashion experts and force them to become just another sheep in the latest unattractive and uncomfortable trend that is out there.
One of the suggestions they give as to why your friend may need a make over is that she may dress ‘nerdy or geeky’. How the fuck dare you ‘How Do I Look’ the nerdy/ geeky girls are some of the hottest fucking girls out there, how dare you try and get them out of their comfortable Converse and into ridiculous heels so they constantly walk with bleeding ankles, crushed toes and looking like thery’re always trying to take a turd. There are far, far, far too few of these girls as there is, don’t take them away from us.
I only know about this because they are about to film several episodes in Australia and they contacted me yesterday to tell me that ‘saw your photo and I would love to consider you as an accomplice’ and that in accomplices they are looking for ‘STYLISH FEMALES’!
Yes, me me me, according to them I’M a stylish female, So much so they want me to go on their show to show it off, hell yeah!
Also today I was approached by a newspaper to take part in their ‘asking people on the street if they are working on anything at the moment that they had put off to spring to start working on’ feature.
I was able to give them this direct quote in response to their question – ‘No’. And because of this delightful insight into the human condition I gifted them they felt they needed to also take my photograph, as clearly people would need to put a face to the name of this amazing ‘no’ person.
Fortunately as of the past couple of days I am rocking my – ‘I’ve had a lot of acne around my mouth recently so I haven’t been shaving at all in a vain attempt to hide it even though my beard doesn’t grow in some of these pimple spots but I feel like the more going on the less people will focus on the zits’ - full beard. Hell yeah!
So yeah, I’m pretty famous. And this is getting concerning. You see last night I was watching TV and for the thirteenth trillion time a television journalist mentioned that a celebrity that was now dead was having some of their former work used in a way that would mean right about now the dead celebrity would be ‘turning in his grave’.
This raises several questions:
1. Who invented this cliché and why is it so popular?
2. I prefer to sleep on my side or stomach, but they always place you on your back in a coffin, I sure as hell HOPE I get to turn in my grave?
3. Why does it take a misuse of your legacy to cause this, and what happens to side sleepers who aren’t celebrities?
4. Whenever a girl says 'don’t put words in my mouth' I always think 'really, what do you want me to put in there, something sexy, like my t-shirt, that’s weird?’
5. What the hell happens to celebrities who are cremated, can they not have their work exploited later or do we need to coin a new phrase?
The answers to these questions are as follows
1. It’s popular because unimaginative journalists are jealous of the coiner ‘Bob’, a necrophiliac who was famous in Victorian times for sodomizing recently deceased aristocrats.
2. No, you’re dead you idiot. Plus you don’t want to be buried. Plus you’re not really famous you were using sarcasm and irony above.
3. They get really, really badly decomposed, and teenagers use their house later in life to throw parties where ‘immoral acts’ take place, it really is sad.
4. If you’re going to eat my t-shirt, can I then sodomize you?
5. We need a new phrase, go coining crazy Dave, I believe in you!
Yay – coining time:
If they are in an urn we can say they must be ‘farting in their pot’.
If they were dumped in the ocean we can say they must be feeling like they’ve been ‘washed up a whales bum’.
If they were spread over a field we can say they must feel like they have ‘been blown up the nose of a person with a cold who then sneezed them into a salad bar sadly lacking in a sneeze guard causing a customer to complain that the lettuce is dirty that earns them a free voucher for a free diet coke upon next visit.’
If they were intentionally snorted, Keith Richard’s dad style, we can say ‘had a really weird son.’
If their partner had their ashes enclosed into a dildo she masturbates with daily we can say they must be ‘feeling like they sprung a leak during orgasm.’
The lessons are:
- Before I die I’m going to have two toes removed bury one and cremate one, just to figure out which feels right.
- If urination is not in your top four ways of removing urine from your body then you must be awesome.
- I think tomorrow I might remove some hair from my body, but which part, mmm mystery.
- I hope I find a partner one day who will dildo up my ashes.
- If I spring a leak I hope there isn’t some dude there licking it up.
And now so I don’t end with a disgusting imagery here are some more looks that ‘How Do I look’ thinks need to be repaired.
1. Sporty Tomboy needs to go Glam!
2. College grad needs a professional look! Or Stuck in her high school look and she’s in her 30’s!
3. Comic-Book Nerd.
4. Every day is Halloween with her quirky style!
5. She loves to wear “Little House on the Prairie” style dresses (long and patterned dresses).
6. Forever in hand me downs.
7. People who lost weight but still wear their big clothes.
8. Earth Mother.
9. Dresses like a kid.
10. Granola girl needs to go Glam!
What they really mean of course is:
Change your
1. Most guys dream 2. Fun 3. Individualistic 4. Super fun 5. Beautiful 6. Poor yet trying 7. Never says this is good enough until they reach their goal 8. Caring 9. Fun 10. Healthy
Friend into a high maintenance, boring, lives beyond her means, gives up early, stupid sheep.
Fuck you ‘How Do I Look’ I hope you all die, and are wearing such stupid tight clothes you CAN’T turn in your grave!
Then I hop Bob pays you a visit. Ahhh, necrophilia, you’ll NEVER be disgusting imagery!
-In an elevator.
- On the street.
- In a mall.
Sure, it’s only happened three times total, but those are the three most popular places for humans to be! Scientists claim that at any given point of time 79% of people on earth are either in the mall, in an elevator or on the street, and I have been recognized in all three of those spots, that’s got to mean something right?
Yes it does, it means I am well on my way to fame. Need more evidence? Well consider this true story - there is a TV show called ‘How Do I Look’ on American TV somewhere. The concept of the show is that they find people who secretly hate how a friend of theirs dresses and instead of having a quiet word, or realizing the best people are individuals who dress the way they do because they like it that way, and don’t need to follow fashions just to hide any personality they can, they get you to ambush them with camera crew and fashion experts and force them to become just another sheep in the latest unattractive and uncomfortable trend that is out there.
One of the suggestions they give as to why your friend may need a make over is that she may dress ‘nerdy or geeky’. How the fuck dare you ‘How Do I Look’ the nerdy/ geeky girls are some of the hottest fucking girls out there, how dare you try and get them out of their comfortable Converse and into ridiculous heels so they constantly walk with bleeding ankles, crushed toes and looking like thery’re always trying to take a turd. There are far, far, far too few of these girls as there is, don’t take them away from us.
I only know about this because they are about to film several episodes in Australia and they contacted me yesterday to tell me that ‘saw your photo and I would love to consider you as an accomplice’ and that in accomplices they are looking for ‘STYLISH FEMALES’!
Yes, me me me, according to them I’M a stylish female, So much so they want me to go on their show to show it off, hell yeah!
Also today I was approached by a newspaper to take part in their ‘asking people on the street if they are working on anything at the moment that they had put off to spring to start working on’ feature.
I was able to give them this direct quote in response to their question – ‘No’. And because of this delightful insight into the human condition I gifted them they felt they needed to also take my photograph, as clearly people would need to put a face to the name of this amazing ‘no’ person.
Fortunately as of the past couple of days I am rocking my – ‘I’ve had a lot of acne around my mouth recently so I haven’t been shaving at all in a vain attempt to hide it even though my beard doesn’t grow in some of these pimple spots but I feel like the more going on the less people will focus on the zits’ - full beard. Hell yeah!
So yeah, I’m pretty famous. And this is getting concerning. You see last night I was watching TV and for the thirteenth trillion time a television journalist mentioned that a celebrity that was now dead was having some of their former work used in a way that would mean right about now the dead celebrity would be ‘turning in his grave’.
This raises several questions:
1. Who invented this cliché and why is it so popular?
2. I prefer to sleep on my side or stomach, but they always place you on your back in a coffin, I sure as hell HOPE I get to turn in my grave?
3. Why does it take a misuse of your legacy to cause this, and what happens to side sleepers who aren’t celebrities?
4. Whenever a girl says 'don’t put words in my mouth' I always think 'really, what do you want me to put in there, something sexy, like my t-shirt, that’s weird?’
5. What the hell happens to celebrities who are cremated, can they not have their work exploited later or do we need to coin a new phrase?
The answers to these questions are as follows
1. It’s popular because unimaginative journalists are jealous of the coiner ‘Bob’, a necrophiliac who was famous in Victorian times for sodomizing recently deceased aristocrats.
2. No, you’re dead you idiot. Plus you don’t want to be buried. Plus you’re not really famous you were using sarcasm and irony above.
3. They get really, really badly decomposed, and teenagers use their house later in life to throw parties where ‘immoral acts’ take place, it really is sad.
4. If you’re going to eat my t-shirt, can I then sodomize you?
5. We need a new phrase, go coining crazy Dave, I believe in you!
Yay – coining time:
If they are in an urn we can say they must be ‘farting in their pot’.
If they were dumped in the ocean we can say they must be feeling like they’ve been ‘washed up a whales bum’.
If they were spread over a field we can say they must feel like they have ‘been blown up the nose of a person with a cold who then sneezed them into a salad bar sadly lacking in a sneeze guard causing a customer to complain that the lettuce is dirty that earns them a free voucher for a free diet coke upon next visit.’
If they were intentionally snorted, Keith Richard’s dad style, we can say ‘had a really weird son.’
If their partner had their ashes enclosed into a dildo she masturbates with daily we can say they must be ‘feeling like they sprung a leak during orgasm.’
The lessons are:
- Before I die I’m going to have two toes removed bury one and cremate one, just to figure out which feels right.
- If urination is not in your top four ways of removing urine from your body then you must be awesome.
- I think tomorrow I might remove some hair from my body, but which part, mmm mystery.
- I hope I find a partner one day who will dildo up my ashes.
- If I spring a leak I hope there isn’t some dude there licking it up.
And now so I don’t end with a disgusting imagery here are some more looks that ‘How Do I look’ thinks need to be repaired.
1. Sporty Tomboy needs to go Glam!
2. College grad needs a professional look! Or Stuck in her high school look and she’s in her 30’s!
3. Comic-Book Nerd.
4. Every day is Halloween with her quirky style!
5. She loves to wear “Little House on the Prairie” style dresses (long and patterned dresses).
6. Forever in hand me downs.
7. People who lost weight but still wear their big clothes.
8. Earth Mother.
9. Dresses like a kid.
10. Granola girl needs to go Glam!
What they really mean of course is:
Change your
1. Most guys dream 2. Fun 3. Individualistic 4. Super fun 5. Beautiful 6. Poor yet trying 7. Never says this is good enough until they reach their goal 8. Caring 9. Fun 10. Healthy
Friend into a high maintenance, boring, lives beyond her means, gives up early, stupid sheep.
Fuck you ‘How Do I Look’ I hope you all die, and are wearing such stupid tight clothes you CAN’T turn in your grave!
Then I hop Bob pays you a visit. Ahhh, necrophilia, you’ll NEVER be disgusting imagery!
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