Hey lovely people,
I am really enjoying blogging based on your suggestions, and I encourage you to keep offering me inspiration!
I'll write about anything you can imagine and/or challenge me with, and I think I am going to develop an internet talk show based on your suggestions and my 'magical questionnaire' so keep the ideas coming please :)
Oh plus I need a new roommate if anyone wishes to join me in my mission of craziness. Let me know if you're keen or know someone who may be. The crazier and artier you are the betteier, plus kitties super more than welcome!
Wednesday, March 3, 2010
Tuesday, March 2, 2010
An aphrodisiacstical inspiration
What are your aphrodisiacs?
Some real things that turn me on include
A cute butt with visible panty line
Short skirt long socks
A girl on stage, especially rocking or being funny, it is far more intense than beer goggles.
Virginity
Smiles
Side boob or underneath cleavage
Vulnerability
When she makes the moves
Originality
Watching someone paint/make art (actually this may be my biggest, it gives me shivers)
Having my back lightly rubbed or touched
Cuddles
Longing glances
Small boobs no bra in loose fitting tops
Boobs in button up tops
(On rare occasions) hippy chicks with no bras and underarm hair
Pubic hair (which I used to despise until it became so popular to remove, just never have a landing strip please, I fucking hate those things)
Being watched
Tattoos
Youthful energy and spirit of discovery
The word 'moist'
Girls in Converse chuck taylors or all-stars, or other interesting shoe choice (sneakers are always way hotter than heels)
Lave (that feeling when you first see a stranger and are attracted to them in a way that is beyond lust, a feeling they are supposed to be in your life, some misdiagnose this as love at first sight, but Lave is a wonderment of desire, expectation, nervousness, suspense, warmth, hope and anticipation, and is too wonderful a thing to me passed off as love at first sight)
So Inspired by Michelle’s suggestion that I write about one of her favourite words ‘aphrodisiac’ here is a true story by Dave
I was around 26 at the time. I was still working a real job, making lots of money, spending frivolously, and being miserable as all hell.
I had just bought a magnificent apartment, with sweeping views over all of Sydney, which was going to be my dream pad. Everyone who saw it said the same thing to me “this is going to be a fucking chick magnet” (turned out to be completely false. And really do you want a girl who wants you because you have an awesome apartment? The answer is of course yes, as long as she wants you merely for sex, and then wants to tell her friends and acquaintances of the view they could see while I fucked them).
Anyway, this was enticing to me, because at this stage of my life my love history was fucking pitiful. I had had three short term girlfriends of less than two months, all equal parts unsatisfying and heartbreaking.
I still believed at this time that love would be my savior. I believed finding this elusive yet magical gift would be the inspiration and the support to finally climb my way out of the depression I had been wading through for more than a decade. (I was right too, only it wasn’t love for a girl which did it, it was love for art and being creative).
Was my new apartment going to be the thing that sealed the deal? Well in truth I had other things going for me now too. I had gotten fitter than I ever had been before, and was looking trim and athletic. I was wearing suits everyday, and to be honest looked fucking good in them. And for the first time in my adult life my face was not riddled with horrible acne. Quite frankly I was the most attractive I had ever been or probably ever will be. And girls seemed to be noticing. I still didn’t have the balls or the conversational skills to talk to them, but things were looking way better for me.
So on one fateful day, while on lunch from work, I am to meet my interior decorator at an up market furnishing shop. And there she was.
This was Lave in all its pure glory. I saw her from across the room, our eyes met, and we exchanged a longing glance and a warm smile. She was simply gorgeous, short, petite, with beautiful dark hair, and a cute all cheek and teeth smile, dressed all in black and stunning. Lave, the most powerful aphrodisiac outside of loneliness.
My decorator turned out to be very late, and for the next ten minutes or so as I looked around the store the two of us exchanged glances and smiles regularly.
I have no idea how to approach girls. I still don’t, but back then it was more fearful to me than standing with one foot off a cliff edge. I despise small talk, I don’t like partaking in it, I find it tediously boring, and even more than that when I am in the midst of it I ‘feel’ boring, and feel like I am being judged as boring, and I have always wanted nothing more to considered interesting.
Yet fun, fascinating, exciting, compelling conversation can’t be planned or directed, it has to come organically. It is one of life’s great cruelties along with the possibility love can exist in extremity even when unrequited, and the bullshit that life goes fast when you’re having fun, and slow when you are not. Fuck you life.
.
I have never known how to find a balance in this, the old just say ‘hello’ is bullshit, because if you don’t have anything after you come across as a fucking tool. Even to this day I can walk on a stage, ask for a suggestion of anything at all, and use that to almost immediately be funny, and maintain this for a thirty minute show, yet I have not the slightest idea how to be interesting to someone I have approached, without coming off as trying too hard, or pretensions, or sleazy.
This is all to say what happened next is just a phenomenon. We simply began talking. There was no one of us approaching the other, there was no awkward hellos and exchange of names, it was like the first few minutes of meeting a stranger had just been removed, and we moved right on to the enjoyable bit.
I have no idea what we talked about, just that I was enthralled, and then shattered when we both realised that we had been talking for around twenty minutes when it felt like seconds (fuck you life) and it suddenly occurred to her that this type of thing is what gets people fired.
A couple of days later I returned to the store. I bought a ridiculously overpriced cutlery set off her just for an excuse to talk to her again (see I am still trying too hard, and I STILL do this sort of thing, it really is hard being a guy), and we ended up talking for so long we both should have lost our jobs. As we parted I asked her out, something I am terrible at, and usually would panic over for days or weeks, before making a pathetic attempt at it (these days I usually use the self fulfilled prophecy of purposely doing it awfully, in drunken texts or emails, so that when they say no I can blame my pathetic approach rather than my looks or personality, it’s a lovely lose lose game I like to play with myself).
For the record in my entire life I have only ever asked out one girl in the proper traditional sense of being in person with her and saying ‘want to go out with me’ with said girl responding in the positive. I have had it in reverse once, and every other girl I have been with in anyway has begun with drunken hooks ups, and in a couple of rare cases successful drunken texts. Actually come to think of it, the one time this worked I had soberly gone up to a girl and asked for her number (only literally over two years after I first begun crushing on her, and with fifty or sixty times buying shit off her just to see her, why I think this will work I will never know), point is I asked this girl out and she said yes. Which was fucking brilliant.
We went out for dinner a couple of nights later. Making fun interesting conversation with her came more easily to me than with anyone else I have ever spoken to. We talked about all sorts of things, and in that way where we were both being entertaining and enlightening. She told me that she basically hadn’t been on a date in six years, and to someone like me, with such a pathetic dating history, she couldn’t have said anything sweeter.
How does a guy know he really truly likes a girl, that this could be love, that she could be the ‘one’? It is when he is with someone he is so attracted to that he doesn’t even think about having sex with her, because sex is actually of inconsequence to where his hopes are souring.
This was where I was. In all reality I had had such a strong and intense boner since we had been talking that I had pre-cum soaked into my jeans in what could have been a really fucking embarrassing ‘did you piss your pants’ way if I had not had a jacket to tie around my waste, yet I hadn’t thought of making love to her for even a second, I was too busy soaking in every wonderful bit of information which came out of her mouth.
We held hands as we walked to my car. Neither of us wanting the night to end we agreed to move on to my new, still completely unfurnished, hell yeah bachelor pad (fuck no furniture and I already have a girl back here, this really is going to be cool).
The fact that there was no furniture again didn’t bother me, because I had no intention of trying to get her into bed. I didn’t want to, I was thinking long, long term with this one, and sex could wait.
We had a drink, and starred into each others eyes. Spontaneously we hugged. She held me with a tight squeeze, and I felt at home. (I am a hug LOVER by the way, and I have had far too few). We held each other for a long time, just wanting to be close.
When we eventually pulled apart she had a strange look on her face.
“I have to tell you something” she whispered
“What” I replied, suddenly fearful
Some ums and ahhs, were exchanged until I said “just tell me”.
“What is the worst thing you’re thinking right now?” she asked
“That you already have kids” I eventually replied after a long silence (already having kids is a definite deal breaker for me)
She laughed, from the tension breaking surprise she found in my answer. Then she turned to sadness “it’s actually worse than that” she said
My mind started racing, what could be worse? All sorts of bizarre and twisted scenarios began to play in my mind; there was one obvious one though which I couldn’t even fathom.
“I already have a boyfriend” she eventually confessed.
I was crushed. I would rather she had have said “I was born a man and still have a penis” I would probably have offered back “I don’t like cock, but I am willing to try and learn for you”. But a boyfriend! This was non-negotiable.
This was the end of the road. I wanted to cry, I wanted to hold her, I wanted to escape, I wanted to erase the last few days from my memory, I wanted to do that superman dealy when you fly around the world fast enough to change shit. I wanted reality to not exist. But it did.
We hugged one more time, and she got a cab home, refusing my offer of a lift.
A few months later I received a random text message from her, and we hung out again, and became friends. In the end she played an integral part in my artistic awakening, and I will always love her for this. We still talk from time to time, she eventually broke up with that boyfriend, and found someone new and better than him, and for the first time in my life I was happy for someone I once wanted to have found love with someone other than me. And she is full of love and happiness for me having climbed out of my depression and my dedication and successes so far in my artistic pursuits.
Which is all to say, I miss Lave. I hope to meet you again soon.
Some real things that turn me on include
A cute butt with visible panty line
Short skirt long socks
A girl on stage, especially rocking or being funny, it is far more intense than beer goggles.
Virginity
Smiles
Side boob or underneath cleavage
Vulnerability
When she makes the moves
Originality
Watching someone paint/make art (actually this may be my biggest, it gives me shivers)
Having my back lightly rubbed or touched
Cuddles
Longing glances
Small boobs no bra in loose fitting tops
Boobs in button up tops
(On rare occasions) hippy chicks with no bras and underarm hair
Pubic hair (which I used to despise until it became so popular to remove, just never have a landing strip please, I fucking hate those things)
Being watched
Tattoos
Youthful energy and spirit of discovery
The word 'moist'
Girls in Converse chuck taylors or all-stars, or other interesting shoe choice (sneakers are always way hotter than heels)
Lave (that feeling when you first see a stranger and are attracted to them in a way that is beyond lust, a feeling they are supposed to be in your life, some misdiagnose this as love at first sight, but Lave is a wonderment of desire, expectation, nervousness, suspense, warmth, hope and anticipation, and is too wonderful a thing to me passed off as love at first sight)
So Inspired by Michelle’s suggestion that I write about one of her favourite words ‘aphrodisiac’ here is a true story by Dave
I was around 26 at the time. I was still working a real job, making lots of money, spending frivolously, and being miserable as all hell.
I had just bought a magnificent apartment, with sweeping views over all of Sydney, which was going to be my dream pad. Everyone who saw it said the same thing to me “this is going to be a fucking chick magnet” (turned out to be completely false. And really do you want a girl who wants you because you have an awesome apartment? The answer is of course yes, as long as she wants you merely for sex, and then wants to tell her friends and acquaintances of the view they could see while I fucked them).
Anyway, this was enticing to me, because at this stage of my life my love history was fucking pitiful. I had had three short term girlfriends of less than two months, all equal parts unsatisfying and heartbreaking.
I still believed at this time that love would be my savior. I believed finding this elusive yet magical gift would be the inspiration and the support to finally climb my way out of the depression I had been wading through for more than a decade. (I was right too, only it wasn’t love for a girl which did it, it was love for art and being creative).
Was my new apartment going to be the thing that sealed the deal? Well in truth I had other things going for me now too. I had gotten fitter than I ever had been before, and was looking trim and athletic. I was wearing suits everyday, and to be honest looked fucking good in them. And for the first time in my adult life my face was not riddled with horrible acne. Quite frankly I was the most attractive I had ever been or probably ever will be. And girls seemed to be noticing. I still didn’t have the balls or the conversational skills to talk to them, but things were looking way better for me.
So on one fateful day, while on lunch from work, I am to meet my interior decorator at an up market furnishing shop. And there she was.
This was Lave in all its pure glory. I saw her from across the room, our eyes met, and we exchanged a longing glance and a warm smile. She was simply gorgeous, short, petite, with beautiful dark hair, and a cute all cheek and teeth smile, dressed all in black and stunning. Lave, the most powerful aphrodisiac outside of loneliness.
My decorator turned out to be very late, and for the next ten minutes or so as I looked around the store the two of us exchanged glances and smiles regularly.
I have no idea how to approach girls. I still don’t, but back then it was more fearful to me than standing with one foot off a cliff edge. I despise small talk, I don’t like partaking in it, I find it tediously boring, and even more than that when I am in the midst of it I ‘feel’ boring, and feel like I am being judged as boring, and I have always wanted nothing more to considered interesting.
Yet fun, fascinating, exciting, compelling conversation can’t be planned or directed, it has to come organically. It is one of life’s great cruelties along with the possibility love can exist in extremity even when unrequited, and the bullshit that life goes fast when you’re having fun, and slow when you are not. Fuck you life.
.
I have never known how to find a balance in this, the old just say ‘hello’ is bullshit, because if you don’t have anything after you come across as a fucking tool. Even to this day I can walk on a stage, ask for a suggestion of anything at all, and use that to almost immediately be funny, and maintain this for a thirty minute show, yet I have not the slightest idea how to be interesting to someone I have approached, without coming off as trying too hard, or pretensions, or sleazy.
This is all to say what happened next is just a phenomenon. We simply began talking. There was no one of us approaching the other, there was no awkward hellos and exchange of names, it was like the first few minutes of meeting a stranger had just been removed, and we moved right on to the enjoyable bit.
I have no idea what we talked about, just that I was enthralled, and then shattered when we both realised that we had been talking for around twenty minutes when it felt like seconds (fuck you life) and it suddenly occurred to her that this type of thing is what gets people fired.
A couple of days later I returned to the store. I bought a ridiculously overpriced cutlery set off her just for an excuse to talk to her again (see I am still trying too hard, and I STILL do this sort of thing, it really is hard being a guy), and we ended up talking for so long we both should have lost our jobs. As we parted I asked her out, something I am terrible at, and usually would panic over for days or weeks, before making a pathetic attempt at it (these days I usually use the self fulfilled prophecy of purposely doing it awfully, in drunken texts or emails, so that when they say no I can blame my pathetic approach rather than my looks or personality, it’s a lovely lose lose game I like to play with myself).
For the record in my entire life I have only ever asked out one girl in the proper traditional sense of being in person with her and saying ‘want to go out with me’ with said girl responding in the positive. I have had it in reverse once, and every other girl I have been with in anyway has begun with drunken hooks ups, and in a couple of rare cases successful drunken texts. Actually come to think of it, the one time this worked I had soberly gone up to a girl and asked for her number (only literally over two years after I first begun crushing on her, and with fifty or sixty times buying shit off her just to see her, why I think this will work I will never know), point is I asked this girl out and she said yes. Which was fucking brilliant.
We went out for dinner a couple of nights later. Making fun interesting conversation with her came more easily to me than with anyone else I have ever spoken to. We talked about all sorts of things, and in that way where we were both being entertaining and enlightening. She told me that she basically hadn’t been on a date in six years, and to someone like me, with such a pathetic dating history, she couldn’t have said anything sweeter.
How does a guy know he really truly likes a girl, that this could be love, that she could be the ‘one’? It is when he is with someone he is so attracted to that he doesn’t even think about having sex with her, because sex is actually of inconsequence to where his hopes are souring.
This was where I was. In all reality I had had such a strong and intense boner since we had been talking that I had pre-cum soaked into my jeans in what could have been a really fucking embarrassing ‘did you piss your pants’ way if I had not had a jacket to tie around my waste, yet I hadn’t thought of making love to her for even a second, I was too busy soaking in every wonderful bit of information which came out of her mouth.
We held hands as we walked to my car. Neither of us wanting the night to end we agreed to move on to my new, still completely unfurnished, hell yeah bachelor pad (fuck no furniture and I already have a girl back here, this really is going to be cool).
The fact that there was no furniture again didn’t bother me, because I had no intention of trying to get her into bed. I didn’t want to, I was thinking long, long term with this one, and sex could wait.
We had a drink, and starred into each others eyes. Spontaneously we hugged. She held me with a tight squeeze, and I felt at home. (I am a hug LOVER by the way, and I have had far too few). We held each other for a long time, just wanting to be close.
When we eventually pulled apart she had a strange look on her face.
“I have to tell you something” she whispered
“What” I replied, suddenly fearful
Some ums and ahhs, were exchanged until I said “just tell me”.
“What is the worst thing you’re thinking right now?” she asked
“That you already have kids” I eventually replied after a long silence (already having kids is a definite deal breaker for me)
She laughed, from the tension breaking surprise she found in my answer. Then she turned to sadness “it’s actually worse than that” she said
My mind started racing, what could be worse? All sorts of bizarre and twisted scenarios began to play in my mind; there was one obvious one though which I couldn’t even fathom.
“I already have a boyfriend” she eventually confessed.
I was crushed. I would rather she had have said “I was born a man and still have a penis” I would probably have offered back “I don’t like cock, but I am willing to try and learn for you”. But a boyfriend! This was non-negotiable.
This was the end of the road. I wanted to cry, I wanted to hold her, I wanted to escape, I wanted to erase the last few days from my memory, I wanted to do that superman dealy when you fly around the world fast enough to change shit. I wanted reality to not exist. But it did.
We hugged one more time, and she got a cab home, refusing my offer of a lift.
A few months later I received a random text message from her, and we hung out again, and became friends. In the end she played an integral part in my artistic awakening, and I will always love her for this. We still talk from time to time, she eventually broke up with that boyfriend, and found someone new and better than him, and for the first time in my life I was happy for someone I once wanted to have found love with someone other than me. And she is full of love and happiness for me having climbed out of my depression and my dedication and successes so far in my artistic pursuits.
Which is all to say, I miss Lave. I hope to meet you again soon.
Monday, March 1, 2010
There there there there
I really am a sweet guy.
Like when I see someone I know who is upset I'll go up to them and rub their shoulder and gently say 'there there'.
I think if you're basically a decent human and you care about someone, and they are facing a hard moment or situation, the very least you can do is have the compassion to say a pretty random, irrelevant and clearly unhelpful word two times in a row.
Some guys out there are mean sadistic scum, yes I have seen them, and when they try to comfort someone in pain they will offer merely a singular 'there'.
Those motherfuckers. One more 'there', right after the last 'there' to expand their 'there' into a 'there there' and the person suffering may have discovered in their love the strength and fight to overcome their problem. But they can't bring themselves to do it.
And really, in a 'there' world there is little hope for peace, happiness and understanding.
I can sense some of you are upset at realizing this sad truth, but because I am a sweet guy I offer all of you a warm heartfelt 'there there', ahh now isn't that better?
Like when I see someone I know who is upset I'll go up to them and rub their shoulder and gently say 'there there'.
I think if you're basically a decent human and you care about someone, and they are facing a hard moment or situation, the very least you can do is have the compassion to say a pretty random, irrelevant and clearly unhelpful word two times in a row.
Some guys out there are mean sadistic scum, yes I have seen them, and when they try to comfort someone in pain they will offer merely a singular 'there'.
Those motherfuckers. One more 'there', right after the last 'there' to expand their 'there' into a 'there there' and the person suffering may have discovered in their love the strength and fight to overcome their problem. But they can't bring themselves to do it.
And really, in a 'there' world there is little hope for peace, happiness and understanding.
I can sense some of you are upset at realizing this sad truth, but because I am a sweet guy I offer all of you a warm heartfelt 'there there', ahh now isn't that better?
This week on the real housewives of Iran
‘What do you mean my brother saw your cheek?’
“It was an accident I swear, there was a big gust of wind that blew my headscarf slightly off my cheek, it was just for a fleeting moment’
‘Fuck you, you bitch whore, get outside so I can stone you to death’.
Next week on the real housewives of Iran find out which of your favourite housewives daughters gets raped and killed after it was discovered a boy had had an impure thought about her.
“It was an accident I swear, there was a big gust of wind that blew my headscarf slightly off my cheek, it was just for a fleeting moment’
‘Fuck you, you bitch whore, get outside so I can stone you to death’.
Next week on the real housewives of Iran find out which of your favourite housewives daughters gets raped and killed after it was discovered a boy had had an impure thought about her.
Saturday, February 27, 2010
What do you really want, like really really?
Ahhhh, the question I ask myself four hundred and ninety times a day.
The reality is, that the answer is, to this question is, while the soda does fizz (ok you've lost the rhythm you loser)
I want to use my creativity to do things which have never been done before
To cross over the fine line between cliche and originality
To entertain in the fleeting moment, and ultimately create something which resonates in a way that it will last forever
To be unique
And you know eventually use this to accumulate wealth and sex on demand, or at least have some people say 'ah yeah, that was good en that'
How about you?
The reality is, that the answer is, to this question is, while the soda does fizz (ok you've lost the rhythm you loser)
I want to use my creativity to do things which have never been done before
To cross over the fine line between cliche and originality
To entertain in the fleeting moment, and ultimately create something which resonates in a way that it will last forever
To be unique
And you know eventually use this to accumulate wealth and sex on demand, or at least have some people say 'ah yeah, that was good en that'
How about you?
Friday, February 26, 2010
Please baby, let me be your elixir
Forgetting, what went on?
In the morning
Don’t let go of me
Flirting with home
Not sure how to make it happen
Can’t be fucked with obstacles anymore
Where is my impulsive possibility?
I know what I don’t want
But I don’t know what I need
There will be happiness
There will be sadness
I will be chasing
But there shall be no elixir for me
Coincidentally on this day that I research the word 'elixir' Kirstie Alley has launched a new weight loss drug which she is calling her 'Elixir' - her perfect cure for fatness.
Ah we can only dream, but I couldn't bring myself to make fun of her for it. I was a fat teenager and still have horribly fluctuating weight, and it's hard.
But in news of more importance, officials have said that recent developments in the war in Afghanistan have caused significant setbacks to both the Taliban and Al-queda
In related news Kirstie Ally's last trip to the buffet officially eradicated an entire breed of pig
Oh damn, what happened? Can I simply not control myself?
By the way, while researching Elixirs I made some surprising and startling discoveries
- Death is now considered the leading cause of chronicle scary no longer living in that alive sense syndrome. If your eight year old daughter is sleeping with a guy named ‘death’ it’s officially time to worry.
- If you have a neighbor with a barky dog, here is what you do. Go to ....Korea...., eat a dog, race home and burp real solidly in the dogs face. It will either stop barking or burp your cat back in your face.
- It turns out in a world where racism is tolerated if you find yourself in a battle to the death with a dragon you MUST have tequila to get it up to pork some slut
- Turns out cuddling a pillow is a poor alternative to the real thing - a sex doll. A girl would be nice too, but you have to be realistic
- Alcoholic snotty tissues doesn’t make them right, unless there are a lot of hard to approach cute girls at the party (this one doesn't even make sense to me, but I trust my research)
- I know its tempting but avoid licking babies burning from artificially created lightening strikes, its dangerous (ahh a return to sanity).
In the morning
Don’t let go of me
Flirting with home
Not sure how to make it happen
Can’t be fucked with obstacles anymore
Where is my impulsive possibility?
I know what I don’t want
But I don’t know what I need
There will be happiness
There will be sadness
I will be chasing
But there shall be no elixir for me
Coincidentally on this day that I research the word 'elixir' Kirstie Alley has launched a new weight loss drug which she is calling her 'Elixir' - her perfect cure for fatness.
Ah we can only dream, but I couldn't bring myself to make fun of her for it. I was a fat teenager and still have horribly fluctuating weight, and it's hard.
But in news of more importance, officials have said that recent developments in the war in Afghanistan have caused significant setbacks to both the Taliban and Al-queda
In related news Kirstie Ally's last trip to the buffet officially eradicated an entire breed of pig
Oh damn, what happened? Can I simply not control myself?
By the way, while researching Elixirs I made some surprising and startling discoveries
- Death is now considered the leading cause of chronicle scary no longer living in that alive sense syndrome. If your eight year old daughter is sleeping with a guy named ‘death’ it’s officially time to worry.
- If you have a neighbor with a barky dog, here is what you do. Go to ....Korea...., eat a dog, race home and burp real solidly in the dogs face. It will either stop barking or burp your cat back in your face.
- It turns out in a world where racism is tolerated if you find yourself in a battle to the death with a dragon you MUST have tequila to get it up to pork some slut
- Turns out cuddling a pillow is a poor alternative to the real thing - a sex doll. A girl would be nice too, but you have to be realistic
- Alcoholic snotty tissues doesn’t make them right, unless there are a lot of hard to approach cute girls at the party (this one doesn't even make sense to me, but I trust my research)
- I know its tempting but avoid licking babies burning from artificially created lightening strikes, its dangerous (ahh a return to sanity).
Thursday, February 25, 2010
A TRUE olympic hero!!!!
Now this is what the Olympic spirit is really all about :)
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=S8WFehBtUYg
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=S8WFehBtUYg
Tuesday, February 23, 2010
Consider the meaning of life – ANSWERED
Find something or someone you love with all your heart and pursue it or them with every fiber of your being.
It doesn’t matter what it is, a hobby, a sport, a girl, a boy (pedophiles have dreams too, boom-tish), and man, a woman, a creative outlet, a desire to find one god damn transsexual willing to sleep with you without then asking for money to put towards her eventual vagina, a game, finally figuring out how solve a rubics cube (you throw it at the head of the tool who bought it, then force them to put it in the trash – solved), figuring out how to un-hook a girls bra (and I don’t mean physically, that’s easy, I mean metaphorically, as in getting into her soul sexually in a way which will have her start inviting other girls into bed with you).
Keep it up till you reach the inevitable point when you discover no matter how hard you try you’ll never manage to have it quite the way you want and need and fantasise about it.
Once you have reached this point it is important to get bitter, and it is key now to form some hate.
It doesn’t matter what you hate, the government, the banks, people who out of all instruments choose to learn the tuba, an ex (in this instance stalking is a must), religion, the colour yellow (especially mustardy yellow), guys who look at their abs in the mirror in public (stabbing is recommended here), hate itself (although this one will send you on a spiral of loathing which will ultimately kill you, so it’s not recommended as a ‘perfect’ meaning of your life, full of adventure? Sure, but perfect no), girls who think having a leathery tan is attractive, people who finish sentences with ‘ya know what I’m sayin’ (stabbing is again recommended, if they are too good a friend to stab then buy them a mustard coloured shirt and guilt trip them into wearing it regularly).
Of course bitterness and hate would be meaningless if they didn’t manifest themselves in some hard core horribly annoying habits. Some that others going through this phase have chosen include – correcting other people’s grammar and spelling, starting dictatorships in third world countries, believing that Julia Roberts is an extremely beautiful and talented actress, faith that its still sensible to wear high heels even while they are making the back of your ankles bleed (although I love to run my hand down a girls sexy shapely leg, sensually slide her heel off her foot, then have a nice chew on that band-aid that’s always back there, before tonguing out the scab like a chocolate chip in ice-cream, mmm sexy), a desire to wake up really early, or a bizarre old lady panty stealing habit.
These are obviously just the most cliché and overused ones. I recommend a more twisted and strange one, like refusing to look at any more bestiality porn, or building a hell yeah good collection of other people’s toe nail clippings (best place to find them is on the bathroom floor behind the toilet).
This is a very important stage, so don’t you even dream of fucking skipping it. This is the meaning of life god damn it, of course some bad bits are required (remember you are using the same body that has you utilising the same parts of your body for sex and urinating, it’s about balance).
After the bitter stage (if your not in jail for stabbing a guy with great abs, or in a secret war with the CIA over the blind eye you turn to drug trafficking in the country you are a dictator of) it’s time now to form a new love or passion, and once again pursue it with every fibre of your being.
Or just start seeing prostitutes regularly.
Both work fine.
Along the way there are two questions you will inevitable ask yourself yet be baffled
by –
1. If I go out wearing no pants and an old man looks at my bits, am I the pervert or is he?
2. Is it really good luck to have a pigeon shit on your head?
The answer to these questions are as follows –
1. Neither, the pervert is a society which has twisted our minds to think that the human body is something to be ashamed of. The only way you can get around this is to walk down the street proudly showing your penis or vagina (depending on which one you have, I recommend having a vagina, its way easier to talk others into playing with those)
2. No, it is however very good luck to have a human randomly shit on your head. Think of the skill it would take, to leap above you in a ninja gymnastic hurdle, while pulling down their pants and projectile shitting with the accuracy to hit you in the head (if they just drop it from a tree it doesn’t count).
Little know facts about the meaning of life –
- Along the way you are going to want to castrate numerous selfish drivers, and your inner monologue will tell you that ultimately this is wrong, ironically in this rare situation it is your inner monologue which is wrong, and castrating them, stabbing them in the face, decapitating them, pouring gasoline on their backs and lighting them on fire, or any combination of these are all fine and well respected.
- Getting a boob job for merely cosmetic reasons is always a bad idea
- If you have either a boob job or if you have not got a boob job, it is your responsibility to try and convince a man named David Tieck that your choice is right, David recommends letting him see and touch them as often as possible so he can form the best possible well informed conclusion
- Clearly sex is very important to the meaning of life, without it the condom industry would collapse, costing dozens of people their jobs, seriously, you want that on your head? That people lost their jobs because you wouldn’t fuck enough? How dare you.
It doesn’t matter what it is, a hobby, a sport, a girl, a boy (pedophiles have dreams too, boom-tish), and man, a woman, a creative outlet, a desire to find one god damn transsexual willing to sleep with you without then asking for money to put towards her eventual vagina, a game, finally figuring out how solve a rubics cube (you throw it at the head of the tool who bought it, then force them to put it in the trash – solved), figuring out how to un-hook a girls bra (and I don’t mean physically, that’s easy, I mean metaphorically, as in getting into her soul sexually in a way which will have her start inviting other girls into bed with you).
Keep it up till you reach the inevitable point when you discover no matter how hard you try you’ll never manage to have it quite the way you want and need and fantasise about it.
Once you have reached this point it is important to get bitter, and it is key now to form some hate.
It doesn’t matter what you hate, the government, the banks, people who out of all instruments choose to learn the tuba, an ex (in this instance stalking is a must), religion, the colour yellow (especially mustardy yellow), guys who look at their abs in the mirror in public (stabbing is recommended here), hate itself (although this one will send you on a spiral of loathing which will ultimately kill you, so it’s not recommended as a ‘perfect’ meaning of your life, full of adventure? Sure, but perfect no), girls who think having a leathery tan is attractive, people who finish sentences with ‘ya know what I’m sayin’ (stabbing is again recommended, if they are too good a friend to stab then buy them a mustard coloured shirt and guilt trip them into wearing it regularly).
Of course bitterness and hate would be meaningless if they didn’t manifest themselves in some hard core horribly annoying habits. Some that others going through this phase have chosen include – correcting other people’s grammar and spelling, starting dictatorships in third world countries, believing that Julia Roberts is an extremely beautiful and talented actress, faith that its still sensible to wear high heels even while they are making the back of your ankles bleed (although I love to run my hand down a girls sexy shapely leg, sensually slide her heel off her foot, then have a nice chew on that band-aid that’s always back there, before tonguing out the scab like a chocolate chip in ice-cream, mmm sexy), a desire to wake up really early, or a bizarre old lady panty stealing habit.
These are obviously just the most cliché and overused ones. I recommend a more twisted and strange one, like refusing to look at any more bestiality porn, or building a hell yeah good collection of other people’s toe nail clippings (best place to find them is on the bathroom floor behind the toilet).
This is a very important stage, so don’t you even dream of fucking skipping it. This is the meaning of life god damn it, of course some bad bits are required (remember you are using the same body that has you utilising the same parts of your body for sex and urinating, it’s about balance).
After the bitter stage (if your not in jail for stabbing a guy with great abs, or in a secret war with the CIA over the blind eye you turn to drug trafficking in the country you are a dictator of) it’s time now to form a new love or passion, and once again pursue it with every fibre of your being.
Or just start seeing prostitutes regularly.
Both work fine.
Along the way there are two questions you will inevitable ask yourself yet be baffled
by –
1. If I go out wearing no pants and an old man looks at my bits, am I the pervert or is he?
2. Is it really good luck to have a pigeon shit on your head?
The answer to these questions are as follows –
1. Neither, the pervert is a society which has twisted our minds to think that the human body is something to be ashamed of. The only way you can get around this is to walk down the street proudly showing your penis or vagina (depending on which one you have, I recommend having a vagina, its way easier to talk others into playing with those)
2. No, it is however very good luck to have a human randomly shit on your head. Think of the skill it would take, to leap above you in a ninja gymnastic hurdle, while pulling down their pants and projectile shitting with the accuracy to hit you in the head (if they just drop it from a tree it doesn’t count).
Little know facts about the meaning of life –
- Along the way you are going to want to castrate numerous selfish drivers, and your inner monologue will tell you that ultimately this is wrong, ironically in this rare situation it is your inner monologue which is wrong, and castrating them, stabbing them in the face, decapitating them, pouring gasoline on their backs and lighting them on fire, or any combination of these are all fine and well respected.
- Getting a boob job for merely cosmetic reasons is always a bad idea
- If you have either a boob job or if you have not got a boob job, it is your responsibility to try and convince a man named David Tieck that your choice is right, David recommends letting him see and touch them as often as possible so he can form the best possible well informed conclusion
- Clearly sex is very important to the meaning of life, without it the condom industry would collapse, costing dozens of people their jobs, seriously, you want that on your head? That people lost their jobs because you wouldn’t fuck enough? How dare you.
Are you trying to buy my book (thankyou so much)
If you are I appreciate it more than I could possibly express.
However just to make things hard (small time publishing sucks)
Don't buy it on Amazon. Turns out to sell my book on Amazon I have to pay for it to be shipped from Melbourne in me in LA, then I have to ship it to Kentucky, then they have to ship it to you, then they take like 60% of the price, leaving me with about a $25 loss every time I sell one, which I was willing to cop for a while (I really want people to read this thing - plus most people who read it seem to really like it, I've sold about a thousand and gotten mail from probably 150 people telling me how much they loved it, which is by far my favorite 150 letters and emails ever!!!! and I was hoping for that word of mouth dealy) but for now its just too much.
However, in November last year I instructed book sellers to drop the recommended retail price in half, down to 15.99 (Aussie dollars - cheap!) and already, only four months later I have finally found a company who have taken this on board! Yay, how good are book sellers!!!
Below is their link (not sure if they ship world wide, I think they do, but they don't make it obvious on the site, I mean seriously, how good are book sellers!!!!)
So I hate pitching myself, but regardless I have complete respect for people who support independent artists, and I personally have a dedication that when (if?)(please god!) I make it I will be doing all I can to help other artists get their work out there, it was the whole goal of Fleeting Forever when I began it, unfortunately I don't have any pull to help anyone really yet, but I believe that the problem with the arts across all genres is the talent no longer rises to the top, because the business side is so tough, and creative minds don't work well at this. Anyway, the point is there is a lot of unfound talent out there and I want to find it and expose it. Which is all to say a purchase of my book hopefully will lead to helping others too.
Fuck I feel like an asshole for saying that.
Some people really like my book, I'd like you to also.
Thankyou.
Oh, and tell me about talent you know about that isn't getting exposed, best way for us all to help each other is to talk about each other :)
http://www.boomerangbooks.com.au/Losing-My-Virginity-52-Times/David-Tieck/book_9780980468502.htm
Oh also if you're in Australia all book shops can at least order it in for you, most Borders and Angus and Robertsons have it, some independent book shops have it, some Dymocks have it, and if they are charging above $15.99 ask if they can check with the distributors on the cost, because that is the correct cost.
Plus I wanted to make the price an even $32 when it was released and now an even $16, because its time the 99c madness ended, but they wouldn't let me. Revolution is a slow process :(
The meaning of life is coming later today, and it will change your LIFE!!!!!
However just to make things hard (small time publishing sucks)
Don't buy it on Amazon. Turns out to sell my book on Amazon I have to pay for it to be shipped from Melbourne in me in LA, then I have to ship it to Kentucky, then they have to ship it to you, then they take like 60% of the price, leaving me with about a $25 loss every time I sell one, which I was willing to cop for a while (I really want people to read this thing - plus most people who read it seem to really like it, I've sold about a thousand and gotten mail from probably 150 people telling me how much they loved it, which is by far my favorite 150 letters and emails ever!!!! and I was hoping for that word of mouth dealy) but for now its just too much.
However, in November last year I instructed book sellers to drop the recommended retail price in half, down to 15.99 (Aussie dollars - cheap!) and already, only four months later I have finally found a company who have taken this on board! Yay, how good are book sellers!!!
Below is their link (not sure if they ship world wide, I think they do, but they don't make it obvious on the site, I mean seriously, how good are book sellers!!!!)
So I hate pitching myself, but regardless I have complete respect for people who support independent artists, and I personally have a dedication that when (if?)(please god!) I make it I will be doing all I can to help other artists get their work out there, it was the whole goal of Fleeting Forever when I began it, unfortunately I don't have any pull to help anyone really yet, but I believe that the problem with the arts across all genres is the talent no longer rises to the top, because the business side is so tough, and creative minds don't work well at this. Anyway, the point is there is a lot of unfound talent out there and I want to find it and expose it. Which is all to say a purchase of my book hopefully will lead to helping others too.
Fuck I feel like an asshole for saying that.
Some people really like my book, I'd like you to also.
Thankyou.
Oh, and tell me about talent you know about that isn't getting exposed, best way for us all to help each other is to talk about each other :)
http://www.boomerangbooks.com.au/Losing-My-Virginity-52-Times/David-Tieck/book_9780980468502.htm
Oh also if you're in Australia all book shops can at least order it in for you, most Borders and Angus and Robertsons have it, some independent book shops have it, some Dymocks have it, and if they are charging above $15.99 ask if they can check with the distributors on the cost, because that is the correct cost.
Plus I wanted to make the price an even $32 when it was released and now an even $16, because its time the 99c madness ended, but they wouldn't let me. Revolution is a slow process :(
The meaning of life is coming later today, and it will change your LIFE!!!!!
Monday, February 22, 2010
Answering life’s big questions
What is the reason cats and rabbits have the same feet when one climbs trees, and the other burrows in the ground?
Great question – one which has baffled scientists and evolutionists for thousands of years. Fortunately I have access to secret documents never before seen by humans.
You see a few thousand years ago kitties and bunnies were one creature known as a hlizer. The hlizer was the cutest creature on earth, and beloved by all. (humans that is, the other uglier animals like pigs and cows fucking hated them, and to punish their ill thought we started eating the fuckers).
At some point however, the hlizer became restless with being merely the cutest and most loved animal ever seen, it wanted to spread its wings (not literally, yeah right like a hlizer had wings, what will people make up next) and it wanted to dig below the ground and climb high into the trees. So the hlizer leadership group came together and decided hlizers should branch out (again not literally, they wanted to climb trees not become them, come on people) and split into two different animals, the bunny and the kitty.
The agreement was written on secret documents, with certain rules which could not be broken. The hlizer was already the cutest animal in the world, and they did not wish to lose this title (the sneaky chicken was trying to sneak in here so the hlizers had us eat those fuckers too, tricky they were) so it was decided that in their pursuit of burrowing underground and climbing trees cuteness could not be sacrificed, and as a super cute element of the hlizer, the paws were not allowed to change in appearance, only in function.
To make sure this took place a system of selective breeding took place. The old saying ‘to breed like bunnies’ is actually a morphing of the old old saying ‘to breed like hlizers’ and referred to not bonking like maniacs, but selective breeding where only the cutest of the cute were allowed to spread their seed (nice way of saying cum in each other).
Over time however, a resistance to the selective breeding grew. Especially in the new bunny populations. ‘hey I might not be the cutest, but I am still cute, let me breed god damn it’ (another way of saying cum in each other) bunnies were heard saying in underground speakeasies.
Eventually the rebels made the move and broke the ancient hlizer agreement, and started fucking more like rabbits are more known for in more modern times more. They knew not what they were doing, and soon a wild and ugly rabbit population developed around the world, no where near as cute as the selectively bred bunnies, which we now know of as domestic or pet bunnies. Still oh so cute.
The kitties too had a resistance and some break away non-selective fucking, but after the disastrous practise created the Mexican hairless, the resistance was squashed, and the kitty gene pool remained mostly pure and cute as, well as a kitty.
Thousands of years later we can all just be proud and happy to know, that thanks to a few smart, and dedicated hlizers, who were willing to make the tough decisions, to this day we are blessed to be able to keep bunnies and kitties, including their cute little paws, in our very homes. Plus eat burgers with bacon and sides of deep fried chicken fingers (not actually fingers, I mean seriously, who names a food and thinks 'I know lets have the fuckers think they are eating a body part that this animal doesn't even possess!').
And who said organized religion was wrong? (which is a question completely unrelated, and even I would have to say in the most part yes organized religion is wrong, but you know, people (or hlizers) coming together for a common good can still work!)
Why do you never see baby vultures?
Great question, and again, because this time thanks to my relationship with the Macy’s family I have the answer which has been a tightly guarded secret for decades.
You see when Macy’s, Nordstrom’s, Myer, Harrods and other large department stores hire a girl to work their make-up counters they have a dilemma. In order to sell vast quantities of make-up they need to somehow figure out how to get their staff to convince clients that covering their faces with so much make-up that they look like middle-aged whores who moonlight as circus clowns is the way to go.
They tried a number of methods to achieve this. First they said to the staff ‘hey want to tell the customers to keep whacking on make-up till they look like fucking freaks’ and the staff said ‘hell no, I could never be so cruel’.
Then they tried saying ‘what if we give you a bit of commission’ which worked a little bit but still had staff saying ‘you really don’t need to have the lipstick go well past where the lip turns into skin’.
But then someone had a genius idea – ‘we’ll stick baby vultures up the staffs asses’ he screamed at a meeting. ‘Are you fucking retarded’ came the reply by his manager, a man soon to be fired for this very statement (because of using the word ‘retarded’ in an un-PC way, although it turns out he may well have been fired soon for nearly costing the company the use of the amazing baby vulture technology).
Testing began at once, and baby vultures were inserted into make-up counter girl’s asses, and it worked amazingly. Not only were these women now willing to cake themselves in ridicules amounts of make-up themselves, they were now happy to take even natural beauties and convince them that they could never quite be attractive if a human eye saw even a patch of her human face skin, and they did this all while being snotty yet smiley. It truly was genius.
Unfortunately one side affect was when the now full grown vultures climbed out of the make-up girl’s ass they would be ugly and angry, and unable to acquire normal employment these vultures instead turned into dirty scavenges.
By the way, while I am a vocal supporter of male to female anal sex, I think it should be avoided if you ever find yourself being intimate with a department store make up girl. Unless of course you want your dick bitten off, but then you may have other issues you’d like looked into.
Little known facts about answering life’s big questions
- It’s way easier if you merely stick to the obvious truth and don’t feel the need to embellish or invent
- It’s harder than throwing a rock at a passing catholic school bus but its easier than proving Christian heaven to Muslims
- It’s slightly more rewarding than forcing a toddler to wear a purple hat
Tomorrow I distinctly and completely and helpfullyely define the meaning of life, yes, I know, how good am I?
Great question – one which has baffled scientists and evolutionists for thousands of years. Fortunately I have access to secret documents never before seen by humans.
You see a few thousand years ago kitties and bunnies were one creature known as a hlizer. The hlizer was the cutest creature on earth, and beloved by all. (humans that is, the other uglier animals like pigs and cows fucking hated them, and to punish their ill thought we started eating the fuckers).
At some point however, the hlizer became restless with being merely the cutest and most loved animal ever seen, it wanted to spread its wings (not literally, yeah right like a hlizer had wings, what will people make up next) and it wanted to dig below the ground and climb high into the trees. So the hlizer leadership group came together and decided hlizers should branch out (again not literally, they wanted to climb trees not become them, come on people) and split into two different animals, the bunny and the kitty.
The agreement was written on secret documents, with certain rules which could not be broken. The hlizer was already the cutest animal in the world, and they did not wish to lose this title (the sneaky chicken was trying to sneak in here so the hlizers had us eat those fuckers too, tricky they were) so it was decided that in their pursuit of burrowing underground and climbing trees cuteness could not be sacrificed, and as a super cute element of the hlizer, the paws were not allowed to change in appearance, only in function.
To make sure this took place a system of selective breeding took place. The old saying ‘to breed like bunnies’ is actually a morphing of the old old saying ‘to breed like hlizers’ and referred to not bonking like maniacs, but selective breeding where only the cutest of the cute were allowed to spread their seed (nice way of saying cum in each other).
Over time however, a resistance to the selective breeding grew. Especially in the new bunny populations. ‘hey I might not be the cutest, but I am still cute, let me breed god damn it’ (another way of saying cum in each other) bunnies were heard saying in underground speakeasies.
Eventually the rebels made the move and broke the ancient hlizer agreement, and started fucking more like rabbits are more known for in more modern times more. They knew not what they were doing, and soon a wild and ugly rabbit population developed around the world, no where near as cute as the selectively bred bunnies, which we now know of as domestic or pet bunnies. Still oh so cute.
The kitties too had a resistance and some break away non-selective fucking, but after the disastrous practise created the Mexican hairless, the resistance was squashed, and the kitty gene pool remained mostly pure and cute as, well as a kitty.
Thousands of years later we can all just be proud and happy to know, that thanks to a few smart, and dedicated hlizers, who were willing to make the tough decisions, to this day we are blessed to be able to keep bunnies and kitties, including their cute little paws, in our very homes. Plus eat burgers with bacon and sides of deep fried chicken fingers (not actually fingers, I mean seriously, who names a food and thinks 'I know lets have the fuckers think they are eating a body part that this animal doesn't even possess!').
And who said organized religion was wrong? (which is a question completely unrelated, and even I would have to say in the most part yes organized religion is wrong, but you know, people (or hlizers) coming together for a common good can still work!)
Why do you never see baby vultures?
Great question, and again, because this time thanks to my relationship with the Macy’s family I have the answer which has been a tightly guarded secret for decades.
You see when Macy’s, Nordstrom’s, Myer, Harrods and other large department stores hire a girl to work their make-up counters they have a dilemma. In order to sell vast quantities of make-up they need to somehow figure out how to get their staff to convince clients that covering their faces with so much make-up that they look like middle-aged whores who moonlight as circus clowns is the way to go.
They tried a number of methods to achieve this. First they said to the staff ‘hey want to tell the customers to keep whacking on make-up till they look like fucking freaks’ and the staff said ‘hell no, I could never be so cruel’.
Then they tried saying ‘what if we give you a bit of commission’ which worked a little bit but still had staff saying ‘you really don’t need to have the lipstick go well past where the lip turns into skin’.
But then someone had a genius idea – ‘we’ll stick baby vultures up the staffs asses’ he screamed at a meeting. ‘Are you fucking retarded’ came the reply by his manager, a man soon to be fired for this very statement (because of using the word ‘retarded’ in an un-PC way, although it turns out he may well have been fired soon for nearly costing the company the use of the amazing baby vulture technology).
Testing began at once, and baby vultures were inserted into make-up counter girl’s asses, and it worked amazingly. Not only were these women now willing to cake themselves in ridicules amounts of make-up themselves, they were now happy to take even natural beauties and convince them that they could never quite be attractive if a human eye saw even a patch of her human face skin, and they did this all while being snotty yet smiley. It truly was genius.
Unfortunately one side affect was when the now full grown vultures climbed out of the make-up girl’s ass they would be ugly and angry, and unable to acquire normal employment these vultures instead turned into dirty scavenges.
By the way, while I am a vocal supporter of male to female anal sex, I think it should be avoided if you ever find yourself being intimate with a department store make up girl. Unless of course you want your dick bitten off, but then you may have other issues you’d like looked into.
Little known facts about answering life’s big questions
- It’s way easier if you merely stick to the obvious truth and don’t feel the need to embellish or invent
- It’s harder than throwing a rock at a passing catholic school bus but its easier than proving Christian heaven to Muslims
- It’s slightly more rewarding than forcing a toddler to wear a purple hat
Tomorrow I distinctly and completely and helpfullyely define the meaning of life, yes, I know, how good am I?
Friday, February 19, 2010
Rickshaws, hell yeah I did
I knew a guy named Richard Shaw once.
His parents, who had emmegrated from Sweden to Australia shortly before Richard was born, had never heard of the totally fucking awesome Asian transportation vehicle of extraordinary kick assnessous so they felt no shame at all when they began calling their son 'Rick'. In fact they thought they were doing him a favor, as this sounded more Australian to them, and they had been given a lot of grief over their own names 'Svenashlergan' and 'Svenuanabergenshlergenflurgen'. Sadly these traditional Swedish names have even all but died out even in native Sweden because of teasy bully cock heads who terrorized them from a gutless distance via the internet with cruel taunts like 'hey Svenuanabergenshlergenflurgen need any more 'urgen' rhymes in your name!' Sure, while a super cleaver taunt, its nothing short of gutless and douchey (ha ha, those clean vaginas), and to all of our detrement these names were even mostly taken out of the many great works of Swedish literature we all adore. Fuck you bullys.
So his parents were unaware, but Rick Shaw's happiness was a ticking time bomb ticking away about to tick one time too many so that if you had like a form with a question asking 'Is Rick Shaw happy?' with a box that was labelled 'yes' an another labelled 'no' you'd soon be able to quite accurately tick the box next to 'no' as in the time bomb of his happiness had ticked one tick too many and he was no longer a happy little camping enthusiast. Or happy in general, non-camping related at all.
That's right, two horrible things were to take place.
1. A hilarious episode of Seinfeld, where Kramer and Newman strapped rickshaws to homeless men with disastrous results, was about to hit the airwaves, starting a rickshaw loving obsession which swept Australia like some fucking enormous sweeping type device which wasn't scared of being bitten by snakes and spiders and sharks and crocodiles (ever notice how bitey things often have names which start with 'S' so fuck you crocodiles) and everyone with two legs, and who weren't so mentally challenged that they were institutionalized were doing everything they could do drag a rickshaw down the street and when rickshaws couldn't be located you better believe they'd make do with a 'Rick Shaw' - that poor motherfucker (he didn't actually fuck mothers, this is just a weird expression).
2. In a cruel twist of fate, as puberty hit all the boys, including Rick Shaw, and Rick was to discover himself to be blessed with nothing short of a tiny little pathetic penis - that poor motherfucker (see above to find out whether I am actually suggesting Rick fucked his mother - actually come to think of it I don't know if he ever fucked his mother, its not like he would have told me! Who knows, maybe one day he said 'Mom, puberty has come and gone and my penis still looks like a two year olds, no one will ever have sex with me, boo hoo' and his mom may have responded lovingly (lyingly) with 'sure they will, penis size is no where near as important to girls as boys think it is' and then he might have said 'would you sleep with a boy with a tiny penis' and then she may have been like thinking 'if I say no then I might fuck him up for life, maybe its my motherly duty to literally fuck him, you know to keep his confidence up')
(Seriously Dave, you're blogging about rickshaws and you turn to incest humor? Yes David I fucking am, perhaps I have some deep hidden mommy scars and some twisted fucking sexual perversion, so give me a break motherfucker, no not literally motherfucker, I am not a sick freak like Rick Shaw!!!!!)
So Rick was named after a physically demanding transportation device which had become super popular in Australia where he lived and he also had a tiny penis. He was not happy. Tick that box I was talking about if you must. He had a huge decision to make.
Should he
1. Follow the traditional path of the small penised (and small IQ'd, and small confidence in ones true masculinity) and buy an unnecessarily huge car, or powerfully engined car knowing that his fellow small penised comrades would now have his back, but he would face a life time of teasing for being called 'Rick Shaw' and driving some huge SUV fucking thing.
or
2. Embrace the rick shaw in his Rick Shawness, and get around that way, but then in no way warn girls he dated about his lack of penis size because they couldn't tell from his mode of transportation so when he finally got them into bed they'd just laugh in his face at his tiny penis.
Obviously both these options sucked balls (not in the literal fun way). And sadly Rick chose option
3. Have another suicidal dude pull his rickshaw off a cliff with him riding in back, killing him painfully.
Poor motherfucker (how dare you tarnish his memory by suggesting I mean this literally).
The point is rickshaws are awesome.
Other reasons why rickshaws kick ass
- Awesome tongue twisters like 'don't get sore because of the whore rick saw from the rickshaw
- Because when car guys refer to a cars horse power, they don't mean the power a horse can develop when running, they mean the power a horse generates while cumming, yes a car with 300 horse power has the same power as a 300 horse orgasms, those car guys really do have sick minds
- Its a dude pulling you, how is that not cool?
- If I started an abortion contortion show would you come via rickshaw, hell yeah you would
His parents, who had emmegrated from Sweden to Australia shortly before Richard was born, had never heard of the totally fucking awesome Asian transportation vehicle of extraordinary kick assnessous so they felt no shame at all when they began calling their son 'Rick'. In fact they thought they were doing him a favor, as this sounded more Australian to them, and they had been given a lot of grief over their own names 'Svenashlergan' and 'Svenuanabergenshlergenflurgen'. Sadly these traditional Swedish names have even all but died out even in native Sweden because of teasy bully cock heads who terrorized them from a gutless distance via the internet with cruel taunts like 'hey Svenuanabergenshlergenflurgen need any more 'urgen' rhymes in your name!' Sure, while a super cleaver taunt, its nothing short of gutless and douchey (ha ha, those clean vaginas), and to all of our detrement these names were even mostly taken out of the many great works of Swedish literature we all adore. Fuck you bullys.
So his parents were unaware, but Rick Shaw's happiness was a ticking time bomb ticking away about to tick one time too many so that if you had like a form with a question asking 'Is Rick Shaw happy?' with a box that was labelled 'yes' an another labelled 'no' you'd soon be able to quite accurately tick the box next to 'no' as in the time bomb of his happiness had ticked one tick too many and he was no longer a happy little camping enthusiast. Or happy in general, non-camping related at all.
That's right, two horrible things were to take place.
1. A hilarious episode of Seinfeld, where Kramer and Newman strapped rickshaws to homeless men with disastrous results, was about to hit the airwaves, starting a rickshaw loving obsession which swept Australia like some fucking enormous sweeping type device which wasn't scared of being bitten by snakes and spiders and sharks and crocodiles (ever notice how bitey things often have names which start with 'S' so fuck you crocodiles) and everyone with two legs, and who weren't so mentally challenged that they were institutionalized were doing everything they could do drag a rickshaw down the street and when rickshaws couldn't be located you better believe they'd make do with a 'Rick Shaw' - that poor motherfucker (he didn't actually fuck mothers, this is just a weird expression).
2. In a cruel twist of fate, as puberty hit all the boys, including Rick Shaw, and Rick was to discover himself to be blessed with nothing short of a tiny little pathetic penis - that poor motherfucker (see above to find out whether I am actually suggesting Rick fucked his mother - actually come to think of it I don't know if he ever fucked his mother, its not like he would have told me! Who knows, maybe one day he said 'Mom, puberty has come and gone and my penis still looks like a two year olds, no one will ever have sex with me, boo hoo' and his mom may have responded lovingly (lyingly) with 'sure they will, penis size is no where near as important to girls as boys think it is' and then he might have said 'would you sleep with a boy with a tiny penis' and then she may have been like thinking 'if I say no then I might fuck him up for life, maybe its my motherly duty to literally fuck him, you know to keep his confidence up')
(Seriously Dave, you're blogging about rickshaws and you turn to incest humor? Yes David I fucking am, perhaps I have some deep hidden mommy scars and some twisted fucking sexual perversion, so give me a break motherfucker, no not literally motherfucker, I am not a sick freak like Rick Shaw!!!!!)
So Rick was named after a physically demanding transportation device which had become super popular in Australia where he lived and he also had a tiny penis. He was not happy. Tick that box I was talking about if you must. He had a huge decision to make.
Should he
1. Follow the traditional path of the small penised (and small IQ'd, and small confidence in ones true masculinity) and buy an unnecessarily huge car, or powerfully engined car knowing that his fellow small penised comrades would now have his back, but he would face a life time of teasing for being called 'Rick Shaw' and driving some huge SUV fucking thing.
or
2. Embrace the rick shaw in his Rick Shawness, and get around that way, but then in no way warn girls he dated about his lack of penis size because they couldn't tell from his mode of transportation so when he finally got them into bed they'd just laugh in his face at his tiny penis.
Obviously both these options sucked balls (not in the literal fun way). And sadly Rick chose option
3. Have another suicidal dude pull his rickshaw off a cliff with him riding in back, killing him painfully.
Poor motherfucker (how dare you tarnish his memory by suggesting I mean this literally).
The point is rickshaws are awesome.
Other reasons why rickshaws kick ass
- Awesome tongue twisters like 'don't get sore because of the whore rick saw from the rickshaw
- Because when car guys refer to a cars horse power, they don't mean the power a horse can develop when running, they mean the power a horse generates while cumming, yes a car with 300 horse power has the same power as a 300 horse orgasms, those car guys really do have sick minds
- Its a dude pulling you, how is that not cool?
- If I started an abortion contortion show would you come via rickshaw, hell yeah you would
Life would be better if there was more stuff like AIDs
Cause think about it, AIDs is the one thing you can give to as many people as you want without losing it yourself. Imagine if some good things were like that! We'd all have shit loads of good stuff. And imagine if the good stuff had to be given with sex, like you could give people money without losing any yourself and all you had to do was have sex with them without a condom. Or you know happiness, or creativity, or cheese. Oh my god, you could give lots of cheese without sacrificing cheese by making love, that must be what heaven will be like.
Tell me about it
So you know as a writer in the past four years I have written about 3 or 4 million words or so of work, only 3.98 million of them unread by anyone, but I have yet to ever really have writers block (I think I sucked some writers block god's cock in a past life, I'm not proud of it, but you do what you have to do) but what I am facing a little right now is topic block.
So who (seriously you dyslexic loser - 'here', not fucking 'who', the word you want is 'here') here is the deal, name me a topic, a word, a suggestion, a thought and I will write something about it. Just let me know what and I'll rock it out!
By the way, why are models so freakin tall? I have never met a guy who wants a girl to be taller than him, so by my calculations models should average five foot two!! (ps I love girls way shorter than me who are ridiculously hot, call me babys)
Ps I hate the use of the word 'baby' to mean 'girl I'd like my cock in'
Pps Why do so many writers write shit as if everyone feels the same as them
Ppppps did I mention 'why are models tall' and 'I like short girls yet'?
So who (seriously you dyslexic loser - 'here', not fucking 'who', the word you want is 'here') here is the deal, name me a topic, a word, a suggestion, a thought and I will write something about it. Just let me know what and I'll rock it out!
By the way, why are models so freakin tall? I have never met a guy who wants a girl to be taller than him, so by my calculations models should average five foot two!! (ps I love girls way shorter than me who are ridiculously hot, call me babys)
Ps I hate the use of the word 'baby' to mean 'girl I'd like my cock in'
Pps Why do so many writers write shit as if everyone feels the same as them
Ppppps did I mention 'why are models tall' and 'I like short girls yet'?
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