Life sure is an adventure

I was in the shambles, locked into the muddled lack of clarity which is to walk with the uncharitably steadfast folk of the sun-dried tomato lovers. 

Relentless they were about their passion. 

To be dried was an honorable and committed willingness to be altered. To accept a concentrated effort toward the experience enhancing power of dehydration. Something that is only achievable or even possible in a post moist existence. Moist, moist, moist, not to stay, but as mere lillypad on the hop across the stream. Although streams and dryness do not have a whole lot in common, so perhaps saying a mere sandal in the journey from flip flops to covered shoes would be a more apt metaphor. Depending if you're from a country that calls them 'flip-flops' or 'thongs'. Plus you wear those to the beach, damn it, more wetness. 

Yet dryness is no where near the whole story. To be sunned was to bask in the literal glow of the very giver of life to all creatures and living beings, organisms and bacterial outbreaks of existence on the spinning stone we call home, and to honor man's most important and greatest achievement, the discovery of the sun. The very thing people used to think was a mere practical joke born from a god hellbent on testing willpower to not look at and yet ability to notice freakishly huge things of unquestionably and unstoppably powerful reality living in spheres of relentless heat that are in the sky. But of course the sun turned out to be a little more than that. You know, UVs, or something. Plus the beings that literally birth other beings also play a part in giving life. Yet the sun remains natures most natural giver of life, because how can you be natural if you're not part of nature? Artificially dried - no please. 

Although again that wasn't the whole story. There is still a third important ingredient to this tale of committed broke gone for and arrived at execution, we still of course must isolate the lost penguin in then Antarctic, which is the tomato. Because it's good on pizza, which has cheese, which is yum. You can't just sun-dry anything and be happy. Sun-dried warthog rectum is only good with tabasco, for example. Where as sun-dried tomato can be pared with a whole spectrum of hot sauces. 

Also the Antarctic is ice right? Damn more moisture. Please don't think these metaphors soaked in wetness are in anyway disparage or minimize my recognition that dryness is key to these peoples belief system. 

Yes the sun-dried tomato lovers were insistently tirelessly passionate people. And I was tasked with walking with them. 

Or so I thought. Turns out we just happened to be walking the same way for a few blocks. Life sure is an adventure man. 

Free name tags

The combat was sloppy 

I'll give you that 

Really awkward too 

That's unquestionable 

But awkwardness matters not 

When sloppiness is at hand 

For the awkward are damaged

The sloppy merely lazy

Well, damaged too 

I mean almost everyone lost at least one limb

That's damage in my book

One guy just a hand 

But it WAS his favorite hand 

Surprisingly, that wasn't his writing hand 

Or perhaps it's not surprising

Now that I think of it 

He WAS one of the sloppy ones

Awkward too

Especially after his hand was gone

He was crying 

Bawling really 

Saying stuff like 'my hand, my hand, my hand' 

Alright

We get it 

You've lost your hand 

Stop whining 

I almost cheered when you finally got speared

Pathetic 

All of them 

So your families and homes are gone  

It's no reason to fight sloppily 

Anyway 

So they're almost all dead 

So we need new recruits

So who wants to be a new member of the PTA? 

Free name tags! 

Time for some heroics

I'm at a carwash right now, having my car washed by experts, because I'm not an expert. 

Oh and lazy. Really lazy. Especially when it comes to huge physical ordeals like washing a car. 

Did you know sometimes when you wash a car you end up getting your feet wet which can be rather uncomfortable, sometimes REALLY uncomfortable? And discomfort can lead you on the fast track to unpleasantness, sometimes SERIOUS unpleasantness? At least until they dry out or you change your socks? So yeah, leave the car washing to the pros people! Don't try and be a hero.

Speaking of heroes, something super heroic just happened to me. I was sitting here and one of the staff came to give me my keys back, only he had mistakenly thought a different car was mine - he assumed that the huge outback jungle faring pick up truck utility ute was mine! 

This thing has a big flat back part, which is designed for moving and shifting things, sometimes relatively big things. Things that can only be moved or shifted by this vehicle if someone lifts them both in and eventually out of the flat bit. Which would take muscles. 

This thing also has one of those big plastic snorkels attached, which I assume is because the vehicle is a fan of snorkeling, which often puts you face to face with all sorts of scary sea life, and possibly even creek life, which occasionally has mud! 

This behemoth is also rather large. Which says out loud 'I'm not a small car chosen specifically to make parking, negotiating small spaces, and stuff like staying in the same lane easier, therefore my owner isn't scared of those things'. 

Plus it has a back seat, which says 'I have friends, possibly even a family!' 

And a tow ball thing, for towing shit, boats? Teenage boys standing on garbage can lids holding onto a flimsy rope? Oh and rails, which are for, um, railing against injustice? 

And the guy thought it was mine! Wow, its probably the manliest thing I've ever achieved.  

But nope, I'm the tiny little hatchback you asked three ladies about before sheepishly asking if it was mine. It might not be manly, but I'll tell you this, when I'm in a lane, I'm frequently within that lane for almost all the time I'm trying to be! 

Alright, I think my car is nearly done, now for the real challenge, there are puddles out there people, can I get in without getting my socks wet? Time for some mother fucking heroics. 

Sooooo useful

My life was in danger, grave, grave danger. Like a leaf in the wind, only in a really gravely dangerous way.

Which is very different from graveyely dangerous. Which is when you're in grave danger of running out of gravy. Which can be horrific, but not as bad as this situation I'm talking about where my life was in danger. Which had absolutely nothing to do with gravy.

I was sure I was to be dead in any moment. But then an angel appeared, ironically out of a gravy boat filled with gravy, even though outside of that this story has nothing to do with gravy.

'There is only one solution - a single way to save your life' declared the angel 'and it requires you to know your windmill is spinning at the exact speed you desire it to be'.

'What?' I responded.

But it was too late; the seemingly cryptically unhelpful angel had disappeared back into the gravy in the gravy boat, which of course is completely unimportant to this story.

Angry, frustrated and terrified for my life I lashed out and hurled the gravy boat at the wall, where it exploded into the wall spectacularly sending gravy boat bits, and even gravy, all over fucking everything, although that's not at all important to the story.

But then, as the gravy began to drip and roll down the wall, something remarkable happened, in what could only possibly be described as a completely random slight coincidence, the gravy mess spelled out a few words on the wall. They were as follows:

- If your windmill is spinning so damn fast that the blades are a blur, and because you didn’t see them you stuck your hand in and had it got chopped off, but you weren’t sure what it was that cut your hand off, so you leaned in to try to hear if a poltergeist was there somewhere and had your left cheek and nose chopped off, and then you lost your girlfriend. Not because she was chopped up in the blades, but because she was superficial and doesn’t want to date a one hand, one cheek, no nosed freak, then your windmill might not be spinning at the exact same speed you desire it to be.

- If your windmill is currently half way to Peru having been swept up in a tornado, and the tornado is on its way to Peru, and because, you know, tornados always have cows spinning in them, and so there’s a good chance you have a cow caught up in your windmill blades, then your windmill might not be spinning at the exact same speed you desire it to be.

- If when you bought your windmill, if you were in a store somewhere, and you saw this sweet windmill for sale, which seemed to satisfy all your wildest windmill wishes and yearnings, only when you looked at the price tag it seemed too cheap, so you asked the cashier why it was so cheap, and he looked you dead in the eye and said ‘because that windmill is CURSED! CURSED TO NOT BE A RELIABLE SPINNER, CURSED I TELL YOU, YE HE YE HE, YE HE YE’ and even though his cackling cry was eerie and evil sounding, his eyes held a warm sad truthfulness to them, then your windmill might not be spinning at the exact same speed you desire it to be.

- If you've been fighting with your windmill over what to temperature to set your living room air-conditioning thermostat at, and you got your way, but you know your windmill to often be petty and vindictive when it loses an argument, your windmill might not be spinning at the exact same speed you desire it to be.

- If your windmill is not spinning at all, but you’d like it to be spinning, then your windmill might not be spinning at the exact same speed you desire it to be.

Despite the fifth one not making any sense, I now knew how to tell if my windmill was not spinning at the exact same speed as I desired it to be, and my life was saved! Saved like a leaf in the wind, only in a really safely safe way. And I think that's the important part of this story. Leaves man! Soooo useful.

Not like stupid gravy.

Let’s tear this shit down

Sometimes you wake up from an epic dream where underwater missiles the size of sky scrappers have been launched against nations across the world, land soldiers are already on the ground shooting people, the entire internet has been erased and worst of all, in pet stores, due to rising import costs brought on by the enormous war that's just begun, the brooms cost $370 - each. Each!

And when you say 'let me see that' and pick one up, you knock the whole supply over and are suddenly paying for all sorts of scratched up brooms which means you can’t afford to buy one of the many cute kittens they have swimming in the fish tanks.

Then you think to yourself, has the world gone mad?

Then you realize the answer to this question:

 It fucking has.

And that makes you feel way better.

Oooh, silky

I find that if you walk into the middle of a busy suburban mall during the weekend lunchtime rush and bellow in your richest, silkiest, most operatic resonance possible:

'CONVOLUUUTED' 

Immediately after the most wonderful and amazing things often take place. Such as, but certainly not limited to:

- Hearing awkward muttering, the most pleasant sounding of all the mutterings. 

- People thinking you're a tad off, which is an accurate assessment. How often do you get to have strangers accurately judge you? Probably hardly ever, unless you're in the Klu Klux Klan, but who wants to be in a group that can't spell 'clan' right? 

- Discovering an empty mall, giving you a clear sign that it's time to hedge all your equity derivative suburban mall stocks. 

- Meeting people named 'convoluted'. There are a remarkably large number of them, most tend to be young males, and they have delightful senses of humor 'ha ha, yeah I'm convoluted, you fucking dickface' they'll often say. It's really quite delightful, normally it takes me ages to reach a level of friendship with people to playfully tease each other, but these kids named convoluted seem to fall right into it. 

- Having people say 'I think it's pronounced "incredulous"'. 

- Realizing that no one seemed to even notice, which is a clear sign you're a ghost, or possibly need to see a vocal coach. 

Yes the great outcomes are practically endless. The only flaw is that with so many great possible outcomes, picking your favorite may get .... Wait for it.... Ready? 

Convoluted! 

Ha ha. Wait, what does convoluted mean again? 

I hate it

I had to do something I really truly hate today: 

I had to..

Wait before I say what it was, I need to reiterate, this is something I REALLY hate. Like you know how some people hate like, I don't know, what do normal people hate? Constellations they can't identify without a telescope? Rocks hidden in rock candy that's painted like rock candy so people don't know it's rocks? Gays? Whatever it is other people hate.

I don't hate those these things obviously. I hate the thing I'm about to name that I had to do: 

I had to... 

Wait before I say it I just want to reiterate that I really didn't mean anything by that 'gays' thing. The joke is that no one ACTUALLY hates any of those three things. But then some people do hate gays for some weird reason. Who cares who people love and fuck? I say hate them all equally. But I also really, really hate this thing I had to do today: 

I had to be the bad guy in a relatively minor matter even though I was in the right one hundred percent. 

I fucking HATE that! 

You know, that's like what parents have to do three thousand times a day. Holy shit I never want to be a parent. 

Having to do stuff like this makes me feel like my soul has been jammed into a rusty washing machine full of nails and spiders and put on spin cycle. Which if really happened would suck, because in this scenario, much like another game I can think of, soul beats nails, nails beat spiders, and spiders beat soul. Plus you'd have to rust out your washing machine and those can be costly to replace. 

The point is I don't want to think about things I hate anymore today, so here are things I DONT hate. 

- The theory of relativity. 

- The role generosity plays in a healthy society. 

- Accuracy in health care diagnoses. 

Yeah that's better. Good stuff is good. And if people make me do this shit again I'm totally putting rusty nails in their washing machine. 

And thank fuck for that

'And remember kids, no one has ever been sent to the principles office and/ or detention for trying on a hippo for gym shorts?' 

Well what a great program that was. Full of great lessons for kids, adults and even the time of life ambiguous. 

I think gym classes around the globe are going to have a lot less people of all ages saying 'I can't play dodgeball today coach, I don't have any gym shorts'. And thank fuck for that. 

But more than that I'm happy for the hippos. We've finally found a good use for them. Wow, gym shorts! Who'd have guessed? 

You just never know where your usefulness will be discovered. The options are literally endless: gym shorts, gym shirts, gym socks, gym sandals, gym slacks, gym soccer balls, gym ceilings, gym salad dressings, salad sock dressings, gym ceiling salads, gym giant lake dwelling African mammals, the navy, or maybe even something requiring physical dexterity. 

Literally endless. Unless you're a gym junkie in which case - give it a fucking rest, we get it, you have better abs than us, but we can't take selfies in the mirror of our shirts pulled up showing off our superior personalities you dicks! 

And thank fuck for that. 

Tolerance on Strike

Like a strike force hired to strike fear into those struck with a weird desire to strike out against their oppressors who rose to power when they learned to harness the power of lightening strikes - winter has struck my current home of Sydney Australia. 

It may only technically be autumn, but make no mistake, winter is here, I mean get this, the past couple of days it's been so cold that wearing shorts has been, at best, tolerable!

And as a short wearer who has been forced to tolerate this only tolerable weather I've learned something - tolerating stuff ain't that bad. In fact its very tolerable. 

This is interesting because in the modern world of outrage junkies, PC prisoners, and close minded assholes everywhere we are constantly hearing about people and their utter fury at other people being furious at different  people for having thoughts alternative  to their own, and how this fury is utterly intolerable, especially the middle furious people I think, or maybe it's the original furious people. It's hard to keep up. 

Well normally I stay away from hot button issues, but it occurred to me that if you don't like hot button issues don't hang out in bakeries in the morning, where frankly the hot buttons are delicious, especially with butter, and I like bakeries, and given the brisk crispiness of the air, and my new understanding of tolerance, I'm going to go ahead and tolerate a couple of things I previously found intolerable, to set an example of tolerance. 

I already totally tolerate all the regular things people find intolerable, but here is my new list of things I now tolerate which I think up until now had never known what it felt like to be tolerated by anyone:

- Things glued to things that are traditionally only stapled or paper-clipped together, such as legal papers, film scripts or gay couples. 

- Forms of dance where the dancers are expressing themselves through alternatives to dance, such as ballet, the tango or the war on terrorist insurgents hiding in the hills above communities unaware of the true belief systems of the 'nature scientists' they have welcomed to their town with warm smiles, Tuesday night drink specials at the local tavern and in two cases permission to accompany their daughters to the home coming dance.

- Canadians.

Yep the world just got injected with a huge steaming pile of tolerance people. Next step compassion! Which I'm looking forward to, but frankly first it's going to have to get a lot colder than this. 

What are you waiting for?

Let's face it, you occasionally smell like a bakery, you only catch limos when you go to see ballet, you're often dazed at the thought of hall lined with bows and arrows, you still regularly get zits but only on your left earlobe, you've long lamented the truth that gazebos can be enjoyed by anyone, you wait for bated breath for definitive proof that navy blue was invented by the navy, you're adamant that valor oozes pretentiousness in just the perfect doses, you truly believe that the best street artist of all time was 'Carvin' but you tell everyone you think it was 'Surplus Meet' because you like to keep Carvin just for yourself, you only go to church to light candles and feed your otherwise dormant pyromania, you're adamant that architecture appreciation can't be taught or learned only felt within, you think air-conditioning systems have their own aura, and you've never been to Mongolia but you're open to the possibility of going one day - clearly, clearly you're destined to one day run a small candy store dedicated to foreign, rare and ol'timey candy options. 

So what the fuck are you waiting for, I've got a sweet tooth Goddamn it, and I want a fucking caramel goolah right now!!!

Enthusiastic for the Opportunity

He was enthusiastic about songs with the word 'opportunity' in them. 

'I'm really enthusiastic about songs

with the word "opportunity" in them' you'd hear him say whenever someone asked him why he was acting with so much enthusiasm since a particular song came on the radio 'and this song that's playing now has the word opportunity in it' he would add, not wanting to leave any doubt that this was the reason he was currently acting enthusiastic. 

'Some people might hear me say that I'm enthusiastic about songs with the word opportunity in them' he'd continue if pressed 'and if they didn't know that the song currently playing had the word opportunity in it they could potentially think that this was my base level of mood, devoid of any recognizable enthusiasm, and then a song like "opportunity knocks" by Klimate, or "Never Missed An Opportunity" by Sunny Salvation might come on, and they'll all get all excited and be like "ooohhh ooohhh,  this is one, watch Ben, he's totally going to get enthusiastic" and I'll have to be all like I ALREADY WAS ENTHUSIASTIC YOU MOTHERFUCKER, THE LAST SONG WAS "Oh oh oh opportunity" by Flight Patrol DONT YOU FUCKING KNOW ANYTHING?' 

'Getting mad can dampen your enthusiasm' he'd add, in case you didn't already know that. 

Although Ben wasn't always like this. 

'Yep "Opportunity, Don't say no to me" by Spiral Farm. September 15th 1993 11:29pm'. He'd reply in flash when asked if he'd ever failed to show enthusiasm for a song with opportunity in it. 

If you were lucky he'd then tell the whole story. 

'My parents had kicked me out of home after they discovered it was me who had broken into the house, while they were away for the weekend, and I was supposed to be at my friend Johns place. And I had not just stolen all the valuables, but to make it not look like an inside job I'd also burned all their sentimental stuff, shat in three pairs of shoes, left a deadly snake in my little sisters room which resulted in her spending three months in hospital and also left a porno magazine lying around where I'd photo shopped my moms head onto every asshole, and my dads face onto every penis head, and my school principals head over all the heads. I still have no idea how they found out it was me. There was probably evidence in my room but I'd totally warned if anyone went in there I'd punch them. 

With no where else to go I went to my girlfriends place, and when I looked in the window she was watching TV with her parents, I mean like if she'd known that I'd been kicked out of home this would have totally been incentive and when I screamed at her about it, hardly using any threats, she said "go cool off for a while, then come back and we'll make up and go to bed", seriously, cool off? What a bitch. After I'd been kind enough to sometimes use protection when I cheated on her so I didn't give her anymore STDs. So I of course dumped her on the spot. 

Then, and worst of all, on my way back to my car I nearly tripped on a broken bit of sidewalk, and if someone had have seen it could have been totally been embarrassing. Right then an old man came out of his house. And he didn't mock me at all, but that made me suspicious. So I punched him in the neck. 

So I get back into my car seething. "Why is everyone treating me so bad today?" I thought. Then I turned on my car radio. It was 11:29pm. "Opportunity don't say no to me" popped on. "I DONT HAVE ANY FUCKING ENTHUSIASM FOR THIS SONG RIGHT NOW" I screamed. Then it hit me. That's why everyone was treating me bad today. Cause normally I loved that song. So I declared then and there "I will never not have enthusiasm for this song again!" and then just to be sure I added "make that any song with opportunity in them just to be safe". 

Yep, from then on he always got enthusiastic when a song came on with 'opportunity' in them. The rest of the time he remained an utter piece of shit of a human being. But two and a half minutes every couple of weeks is better than nothing right? 

That's Bold, Super Bold

I've made a bold decision, so bold in fact that if iPhone notes, which l am writing this on, had a bold button I'd totally press it. That's bold man. Because when you're talking fonts there is no misrepresentation involved, the bold button means nothing but BOLD!

Wait there should be. Presenting my new font - misrepresentation - want to show sarcasm with italics? Well we'll underline that shit. Want to highlight a section with bright red so it's not missed? Well we'll underline that shit. In fact we'll underline everything! Except, yeah you know where this is going, stuff you WANT to underline. You've been misrepresented motherfuckers.

Although in a world where everything is underlined the un-underlined becomes the new underlined. That's right people, I don't care how hard you want to misrepresent yourself using my exciting new font misrepresentation, because if there is one thing I know about misrepresentation it's that it's utter flawless, the font that is, but the action? Well that's impossible to pull off no matter how hard you misrepresent.

The point is, I'm ready to be bold. And the way I've decided to do that today is this - if I can't draw it, then I'm not allowed to think it. Boom. Cause no one can accuse you of misrepresentation when using visual arts.

Let's try this - I'm thinking of thinking about a perfectly normal looking man, only he's wearing sunglasses even though it's not clear if it's night or day, it's ambiguous, really really ambiguous ...

Boom I drew it - so I'm allowed to think it.

Let's go again - I'm thinking of thinking about a really, really super giant man punching a very normal, average regular sized flamingo...

Boom, I drew it so I'm allowed to think it. Hell Yeah!

Let's go one more little one, I'm thinking of thinking about the entire world's collective consciousness inhaling a sigh of high and mighty opportunity leaching merriness while unsettled hippopotamus thoughts go all rouge and attack the insulated forgotten cave wars all looking back at us through an open window....

Boom, I drew it so I can think it. Hell motherfucking yeah. I can draw goddamn anything, so I can think anything, maybe even a perfect, misrepresentation free, bow topped conclusion to this blog...









Boom. Nothing ambiguous about that.

An Outrageous Antiquity

I have a New Life Goal: 

Do something outrageous enough to get an entire picnic thrown at me, people and all. 

And then I can throw something at whoever the assholes were who thought it was ok to throw people! People for fucks sake. I mean for shame. Yeah you! 

Sure whatever I did was outrageous. That much I admitted to up top. But I assume whatever it was I did didn't happen at the picnic, because those are places for family fun, and friendship feelgoodness, not outrageous antics. And even in my most outrageous moods I would never disparage that beautiful picnic code. 

So whatever I did was enough to get you to carry an entire picnic set, possibly including things as diverse, cumbersome and heavy as picnic tables, picnic baskets, picnic red and white checkered table clothes, picnic bugs, picnic spilled soda right into the picnic sandwiches which are now picnic gross, picnic weather, the picnic softball game, the picnic one kid who spends too much time in left field picking his nose to pick up the ground-drive to pick off his picnic dad at picnic third base like he deserves for being too picnic competitive for a picnic game, the picnic dip, the picnic pan-flute band, the picnic fear of sunstroke, the picnic spider who won't be seen all day and hitchhike home in an only half eaten container of picnic potato salad, and even picnickers - all the way to wherever it is I did this outrageous thing. And that can't of all been easy to carry. Half eaten potato salad for example sometimes gets an icky residue on the outside. 

So whatever I did it was probably pretty outrageous. But still you're throwing people? For shame. So yeah, I'm throwing something back at you. I've got all sorts of fun, unique and worthy ideas of things I could throw at you in return too, such as: 

- Fruit! 

- Possibly even a fruit known for being juicy! 

- Or a vegetable that sometimes gets confused as being a fruit.

- Fruit Juice. 

- A fruit smoothie. 

- An entire Cannes film festival major studio yacht party including, but not limited to, directors, actors, sponsor provided alcohol, producers (executive and regular), models hoping to bang a producer hoping to get a role, the grip who will pretend to  be a producer and end up banging the models, a script supervisor to point out that I never mentioned what sex these models are, or what sex the grip is, so it can't be sexist, a few topless girls, a bag of Doritos, the boats steering equipment, and fruit for cocktails. 

- A fruit salad.

So yeah, if you're the one who ends up throwing the picnic at me, you better watch out, cause what I'm throwing back is going to be epic, and possibly even partially fruit related. 

PS. Any tips on outrageous antics I could pull? The best thing I've come up with so far is hiding spiders in people's potato salad.