And now signs that the bottom of your cannon may need a scrub

I know what your thinking, 'I own an awesome cannon, but how do I know if the bottom may need a scrub?'

Fear not, my fellow canon owners, by which I assume I mean all of you - here are some very simple signs that have the ability to signify to you that it is time to get down and scrub that beautiful cannon bottom of yours:

- it's a really old cannon
- your cannon was a gift from an new foe who was a former friend until you discovered all his gifts had a part of them that needed scrubbing
- your cannon is currently half submerged in a mud-rat riddled swamp
- you're a not currently a clean freak
- you've never sworn your allegiance to the master of the under cleaners, by which in mean you tip your maids poorly
- you have a filthy mind, and your cannon is imaginary ha ha, like anyone has a dirty mind and yet doesn't have a real cannon
- you like to bounce dirty balls on the floor in your cannon room
- you're a believer of the phrase 'smile at a partridge, smell a brown sided tree, never meet a bald witch, and the bottom of your cannon probably needs a scrub' and you've been smiling and smelling when you should have been meeting
- the rest of your cannon needs a scrub - I mean who ONLY scrubs the bottom
- the bottom of your canon looks dirty

How did you all fair? Ya scrubbing or not? I'm not, my canon is spotless. I HAVE sworn an allegiance to the master of the under cleaners, that's right she's real! So you better start tipping your maids right you bastards!

An experiment of cleanliness in all it's extravagant excellence

I have made a decision, right now, to write a clean blog. A totally, completely, unquestionably clean blog. A blog completely absent of filth, controversial themes, naughty words, or even my usual favorite, downright psychotic imagery.

‘Why the fuck do you want to do that?’ I hear you ask.

And I must say, please don’t think swear words at me, I mean normally you can think any sort of swear word you want at me, dick, cunt, shithead, cocksucker, hemorrhoid ravaged anus – you can think any or all of these things in my direction, anytime. I don’t care at all; they are all devoid of any crudeness or ability to offend to me. I see and hear billions of words all the time, I really don’t give a shi.. I mean crap, about which is which. Except today. Because today, and right now, I am going to write a clean blog (I first misspelled ‘write’ with the incorrect ‘right’ which tells me that my sub-conscience thinks this idea is on the ‘correct’ or maybe even ‘write’ path. Wait if ‘right’ means ‘correct’, shouldn’t we also be able to substitute ‘write’ with ‘wcorect’?)

‘Why?’ I hear you ask.

And I must say thank you, for editing your question down to its bare essence, devoid of the type of curses and swears often used in such times. And thanks to your well-asked question, I will now tell you why.

You see, as some of you may know, in the past couple of weeks, after a three or four year absence, I have made a sudden and triumphant return to the world of stand-up comedy. And it was during my last set, in the midst of play-acting a wonderfully accurate portrayal of medieval Great Brittan, while highlighting the history I assume my ancestors have with fucking pigs, that I thought to myself 'oh, fuck, I'm doing really dirty shit again'. My two sets the week before this set, just to give one more example, had been highlighted with an in depth discussion of bloody diareah. And I didn’t mean to set down that rocky highway. I’m not a shock comedian who forces laughs with grossness rather than wit, I’m a pre-ordained future comedic genius, so I should be able to get laughs without referencing shitting chicks, to give another example of the filth I have been talking about.

Now, just to be clear, I am not denouncing this material. Did I enjoy bloody dirareh? Of course. I bloody enjoyed the hell out of it. I squeezed it for all the hilarity I could ooze from it, and it was vivid, and relatable and funny and fun to do. Am I done with bloody dierah? Of course not, I have a lot of bloody dierah in my future - possibly even in my comedy - zing. Bloody direaheah got laughs, and so you can sure as hell trust that bloody dierah will return to my act. However the point is I don't want to just be the bloody direaheah guy. Apart from anything, I just can't spell that damn word no matter how many times I try.

In my fear, and desperation to re-launch with a bang, I shied away from my more clever, subtler, wittier, more absurd and surreal type of humor, which I actually prefer way more, and instead decided for some reason to just be the grossest human being possible, with a threat that if the audience didn’t laugh I may make them shake my hand after. But then, having started down this path, I am finding my journey back into the irreverent territory I dream of is becoming way harder to find that I hoped.

 Which brings me back to this blog. It's time, at least in the short term, to work on some cleaner, less visually revolting material. It’s time to just to really see if I can remember how to write things based around absurdist takes on what are usually very tame or even typically mundane experiences. And I'm sure that old muscle of mine will shift into gear, and any second from now, I’ll think of something very routine and I'll suddenly let fly:

Remember the last time you ate a carrot and you tried to convince yourself for a little while that by not peeling it you were doing both yourself and the carrot a favor - and that just because the outside of this carrot was the very part of the carrot which was adjacent and even squirming it's way through the dirt, doesn't mean that it can't get properly clean. And how you’re pretty much sure that any worms that came and said G'day to the carrot over the course of the carrot’s growth period were surely not the same ones who just a day early were helping to decompose a rotting skunk carcass. And even if they were, worms don't eat skunk scrotum and then wiggle over to the carrot patch and spit it on the carrot. And even if they do, why would spat up dead skunk scrotum be any different to wash off than dirt? I mean it might be? Maybe spat up skunk scrotum has gone through a physical metamorphosis allowing it to penetrate the skin of a carrot in a way rendering it unable to be washed off? I mean how much do you really know about worm spit or skunk scrotum, let alone the combination of them both? But still, would peeling it help? Maybe the entire carrot is now infected. It almost certainly is. So why go to all the effort to peel it, I mean who has the time? And besides why didn't who ever bought these carrots, instead buy the pre-washed pre-peeled ones - your roommate must be a cheap bastard, but you've noticed that when you buy the pre-washed pre-peeled ones, he doesn't complain - he eats them with not even a suggestion of why the spat up skunk scrotum ones are his purchase of choice. You'd think if those were the ones YOU chose you'd at least say something right? So maybe he knows something you don't, maybe he's actually broken down the science of it and concluded that your suspicions are in fact correct and all carrots are absolutely riddled with all types of worm spat up animal scrotums, and therefore peeling IS irrelevant and yet pre-peeled and washed does save you a couple of seconds of cleaning off the very removable dirt grime, but still you knew this you bastard roommate and you never told me? Plus why the hell do we still eat so many carrots around in this apartment? I heard scientists have retracted their claim that these things are good for your eyes anyway. Fucking scientists.

In my fantasy I would reach the end of the observational section of this beautifully clean and filth free typical day to day problem with eating a healthy vegetable, and then after getting all the facts out of the way, as I have done above, all the undeniable observational truths which we all live with every time we eat a carrot, I would then, just to blow people’s minds, now get that clean yet cheeky muscle to tighten and bulge and add a bunch of now made up facts about trying to eat a carrot. Stuff that not everyone experiences, and yet can totally imagine, because of how subtly witty I slide it in, almost like I’m still talking about the stuff we all know about, making you think maybe you do actually think about this stuff also, possibly even with a satirical bent or even ironical flashes, furthering the experience of a typical carrot eating in a comedically heightened way.

But alas my muscle sits weak. Fuck me, I can’t think of god damn hemoroid ravaged anus thing. Oh fuc… I mean screw it. I guess I'll leave it merely with the observational facts, and just be happy with myself that I fulfilled my wish and wrote a piece with not one filthy joke. Oh, and if possible, come check out some of my stand-up, I have a feeling I am going to book a lot of gigs soon, either that or I’ll totally make the booking people shake my hand. I might even talk about bloody diar.. direah, dirarg – jesus fucking Christ that word is a cunt to spell.

It's time

It's time for me to start posting some shit again, or re-start, or continue after a long break, like a starting again from a previous ending, which wasn't really an ending, meaning it's not really a start, but you know, hello everyone!

Point is, as the above line above can attest to, I need to just start damn blogging and tweeting and other shit again, and not care so much about doing something brilliant. I mean obviously I am brilliant, but I can't be brilliant every damn second damn it, that's just asking too much. Especially seeing as I can't seem to stop doubting every god damn thing my brain thinks of these days.

Truth is that I have had a bit of a rough time recently, and haven't been in the mood. But I am not here to talk about that, I am here to get back to being the weird, funny, crazy, borderline schizophrenic, flawlessly spelling blogger you people deserve.

So here are some random thoughts I had yesterday - with a promise of more of this to come:

I find a great mood elevator is to sing lullabies to lilies that you find in strangers personal back yard green houses, because it proves that you can be both sweet and stealthy at the same time, plus you get to find out their policy on shooting intruders, and it's knowledge that's power, not guns.

You can't put the toothpaste back in the tube but you can put horse semen in a tube sock, leave it in the forest and laugh at the first chipmunk who wants to be a hipster beanie wearer - it's a sick not a beanie, idiot!

See, I'm still a goddamn nut job, let that fun back out of my brain again please Dave. 

Because

I wanted to, that’s why. I saw the banana peel on the ground and I thought to myself:

 ‘Hey, that banana peel could simply stay on the gross disgusting sticky floor.

OR

It could deny my sanity a chance at redemption by being put into the peanut bowl with a lurid mission to creep out the next legally blind man who wants a peanut, knows where the peanut bowl is well enough to get his hand in it, knows that putting your hand in a peanut bowl is one of the best ways to acquire peanuts, and is probably not going to have a life threatening heart attack from discovering the banana peel instead of peanuts, an assumption which would be based on my knowledge of his general health, stress levels and family medical history and reliant on the fact that he knows where my peanut bowl is and wants peanuts, solid? Well it better be fucking solid, I’ll tell you that much’.

Once you have a thought like that your whole day is just guaranteed to be swell. All because of that banana peel. Thank you.

Oh god no

Sometime in the next twenty-four hours, depending on which time zone you are currently in (I recommend a southern hemisphere one in existing conditions), I am going to do something quite disgusting, something really gross, unscrupulous and filthy, the kind of thing a depraved crack head would do to lick a stomped on crack rock off a urine soaked sidewalk. Just really despicable, contemptible, and repulsive to the level of ghastly, the kind of thing that would make even three week old road kill throw up. 

Yep, I am going to turn 37. Oh Holy Hell.

I have no idea how this happened, I have no idea who to blame, I am sure someone out there is laughing maniacally at my pain, my shame and (Crane? – No. Brain? –no. Haim? – no. Game? No. Sane? – no, wait, ooh ohh ooh) and saying jokes like ‘get a cane’ (ha ha, rhyme sought, rhyme nailed) – but it’s not funny assholes.

I am not however going to dwell on this horror right now; there is nothing for me to gain (keep it rolling rhyme king). 36 was anything but tame, in fact at times it was quite insane, and there is no one to blame, but at times it was lame, um, um, and I figured I may as well talk about the ups and the drains? (Ok, after a series of genius rhymes that was just pathetic, for shame – ohh wait, I’m back!)

The truth is my year aged 36 had some of my lowest lows of all time. Low like falling in a well, and then digging a deep hole, and then needing to pee and realizing ‘oh I’m sitting in the only possible toilet’. But in this very same year I had some of my highest highs. High like collecting many, many helium balloons and tying string to them and floating up into the sky, and then lighting my shirt on fire creating heat which made me fly even higher, and then needing to pee and realizing ‘oh the whole world is my toilet now bitch!’

Now, as a very famous person, I am sure that you’ve all already read about all the major and obvious ups and downs of my past year in the tabloids, I don’t read that crap myself, but I assume they have at least hit the obvious high and low points. So here I will let you guys, my readers, my fans, exclusively in on the lesser known highs and lows of the year that I was 36:

Low – Being told that only around 18% of the population routinely labeled me ‘omnipotent’.

High – Learning the meaning of the word ‘omnipotent’.

High – Discovering a brand new planet right here in our very own solar system!

Low – Being told that apparently ‘Mars’ was ‘already’ discovered.

Low – Catching lots of colds for some reason.

High – Curating my first exhibition of awesome influenza art.

High – Completing a total of seventeen challenges related to the omnipresent influence of our lord and savior the honorable ‘Goat King of the Western Institute of the Honor Cabinet in Bargain String Episodes’ and advancing to the ranking of ‘Curd Flock’.

Low – When our lord and savior the honorable ‘Goat King of the Western Institute of the Honor Cabinet in Bargain String Episodes’ was arrested for running some sort of a ‘cult’ – it was bullshit too, there is no way he had time to run a cult, he was ALWAYS on the compound with us. Fucking cops.

Low – Getting a job as a Gondola captain and being laughed at for the stripy shirt, which was a little harsh seeing as I chose to go pantless in an attempt to make people laugh.

High – Nearly getting into a fight but having it end when I said ‘don’t get shirty with me’ and making the guy laugh instead of punch me. Ha ha, I just came up with that on the spot too – ‘don’t get shirty’, brilliant. Feel free to use it to stop your next fight.  

High – Learning I have been given the gift of generosity in gift giving.

Low – Discovering my life has not yet been green lit for a sequel, apparently the studio is still waiting to find out ‘foreign box office’. Come on guys, sometimes it’s about quality not box office!

Low – Being ‘Shhhhd’ by a gourmet chef at an outdoor box-collecting extravaganza right as I was about to brilliantly collect my fourth box, completely extinguishing the joy from my amazing achievement. 

High – Re-coining ‘Siamese twins’ as ‘symmetry stuck togethers’.

High – receiving unanimous unadulterated praise for my underarm sausage frying technique.

Low – Getting chosen only third in a spontaneous urban tractor tracing competition.

Low – Being told that if I ever lose both of my testicles in a severe letter opener accident, and choose to replace them with fake balls made out of bells then I may jingle when I walk.

High – barely even losing a part of even one testicle.

High – The continued success of my ‘rules of summer for alpha seagulls - a program to make sure everyone gull gets a French fry’ program.

Low – Except in Cape Town South Africa, those alpha gulls are selfish pricks.

Low – Estimating the dilapidation of the farcical mean operational excellence quotient of grenadine gyration opulence, but getting it wrong by a margin of 0.34564567%

High – Eating a donut.

Man what a year. Some deep down lows, like falling off a cliff and landing on the ground badly breaking both legs and needing to pee, only to discover that peeing on two badly broken legs doesn’t alleviate the pain at all. But some super up highs, like climbing a cliff and not falling off and needing to pee and discovering an anthill to pee in the hole of.

So here is to a great year of being 37, I don’t know what’s going to happen, I just hope it’s not as god damn bland as last year. 

I concur

'I concur' - answered the luffer.

The luffer had just been asked a fair and yet difficult to answer question, a question that could not help but ladle it's own fair dose of surprisingly hard to deny logic, and wicked motive, dripping from the lips of it's arrogant deliverer - 'luffer, do you feel that soap deserves to be rubbed on sweaty testicles just because it's such a slippery and hard to get a grip on bastardy product'?

'I concur' - answered the luffer.

In some ways a strong use of language, in other ways a weak use of language, cheeky, non-committal, and yet confident, and stiff spined, sure and uncorrupted, upsettingly so some said.

What they didn't know though, was that in that moment, when 'I concur' rolled off the the luffers sweet firm tongue, the luffer was actually in two minds.

It had seen its own fair share of sweaty balls, you see.

Up to me to fix yet another problem, with an obvious solution

Once again it's left up to me to fix the world, ok here goes:

Problem: Rappers are always trying to tell people they are actually intellegent and that they want respect for this.

Rappers also always spell their own names in their songs; it’s the S to the N to the double O double P.

Solution: Hey rappers name yourself something really hard to spell, and still spell your name in your songs, that’ll show people you’re intelligent rappers.

Introducing:

MC Absorbent

Lil’ Pharmaceutical

Martyr Mannequin

Sauerbraten Subterfuge

DJ Euthanasia

Chateaux Succinctly

Dr. Ricocheting off a Rudimentary Reminiscent Sacrilegious Rendezvous MC Jnr

Now, actually write some lyrics that don’t seem to have been written by a horny, violent, uneducated, misogynist 12 year old, and respect is on your way. That, or just bang Taylor Swift, that’ll probably work too.

Please note: 

1.     Yes I did have to Google ‘hard to spell words’ to write this

2.     I actually like some of those names, copy write, David Tieck 

3.     I miss-spelled 'intelligent' above, did you catch it

4.     I can spell my name too, T to the I to the motherfucking E  to the C K motherfuckers

5.     I also get accused of Misogyny sometimes, nice to have you in the club Rappers, I don’t deserve it though, so how do I get out of this club?

6.     Apparently Taylor Swift doesn’t actually put out, so good luck

Then there is this...

My end of year list of best end of year lists

-->

It's the end of the year and you know what that means? Severe depression about failing to achieve what you hoped to in the past year, by which I mean it's time for every TV Show, Magazine, Newspaper, Website, Radio Show, and Park Soapbox Monologuer to reveal some form of 'best of' 2013 list - and yet, only right here at ‘Ok, intriguing: Hell Yeah! Fleeting Forever’ - will you find the list of the 'best' best of lists, and as the only person in all media to provide such a unique list, you can be damn sure this is a list so good it deserves it's own ‘best of best of lists list’ where it will take out number one in a power list of only the people cool enough to not do a cliché ‘best of list’, but instead a ‘best of best best of lists’ - i.e. only me- yep - that list would include only one person, me, and therefore be less of a 'list' list - and more of a declaration of a genius monopoly - but I don't do presentations of well deserved 'truly monopolizing genius' awards - so instead enjoy this - my list of the top ten best of 2013 lists:

10. ' Bread and Spread Magazine' and their ‘Top Ten Spreads for 2013 Breads’. Let’s face it, who didn't shed a tear when they saw that Countypool Dreamsted Home Crafted Orange, Lime and Cranberry Sweet Marmalade’ was finally knocked off the top spot by something called 'peanut butter'?

9. 'Cars, Cars, Cars, Cars, Cars, Cars and Bobsled Radio Show' – and their ‘Top 6 Other Forms of Transportation We Probably Should Have Put In Our Magazine Title Instead of that Universally Hated 5th 'car' list’. I know it was controversial, but if you ask me 'walking with aid of a walker' - IS a vehicle, and therefore deserving of its 'special mention slot'

8. 'Sarcasm Magazine' – and their list of ‘Lines in Speeches By Politicians Considered at the Time to Obviously be Sarcastic that Turned Out Weren't Actually Sarcastic’, with top spot going to their truly brilliant expose on Senator Bill Crunes 'I've spent dozens of nights working in a soup kitchen' speech – after it turned out he wasn’t being sarcastic, and he'd actually genuinely spent 23 nights working in soup kitchens, sadly one less than would be required before he could accurately use the plural of the moniker ‘dozen’ plural, and yet twenty three more nights than anyone had could possibly have guessed, you know with Crunes being a dickhead and all.

7.'Rolling Stone Magazine’ and their annual top albums of the year - putting Kanye West's Yeezus on the list,  ha ha, just when you think Rolling Stone is becoming irrelevant and they out sarcasm even Sarcasm Magazine.

6. 'Photoshop.com' for their annual 'Did We Do It, or Was is it a Hack Plastic Surgeon?' - and once again making us all both laugh AND spew with their bonus 'both' pics.

5. 'CNN' - for their ‘Biggest Stories of the Year’ - Once again top spot went to a SAD story. That's a million years in a row. Who'd have guessed? Mind blowing.

4. 'Cream Cheese Battles - the reality show' for naming 'Better than a bagel? Arguable, but not Provable' their number one episode of a pretty epic year, who would have thought upon first viewing that 'Toast for Most' could have been beaten? No one, that's who. let alone the truly marvelous 'Bread is Scared' which was simply marvelous TV . Seriously, fuck me if you've got a brain then get the box set, brilliant stuff.

3. 'Spread and Bread Magazine' and their list of ‘Great Spreads Our Rivals 'Bread and Spread Magazine' Ignored This Year’. People say that it's bad form to highlight the mistakes of a rival - this list showed it can also be hilariously inspirational. Seriously ‘Bread and Spread’ how did you miss ‘Nutella!’

2. 'Home and Garden but Let's Face it Mostly Garden' on Sirius radio - and their list of ‘Things in 2013 Purchased for the Home that Ended up in the Garden’, for being the only end of year list to have the balls to mention 'plants'.

1. ‘Plants.com’ for their ballsy 'Things in 2013 We Liked Better Than Plants' list, and their more than ballsy, and yet very honest list, with a top three of 3. Abandoned Warehouses 2. Countypool Dreamsted Home Crafted Orange, Lime and Cranberry Sweet Marmalade 1. Let’s face it, basically everything.

-->Special note must go to Chucky - the 2:34pm soap box monologuer at Lexington Park in Bratwerst Mongolia for his monologue on 'The Top Ten Signs You Think Too Much About Various Types of Bread and Possible Things Upon Them you Might Spread' - I'd have given you top spot if I could Chucky, but it's just not a pure ‘list’ if you monologue it - sorry mate. Plus fuck you – I fucking am not 'clearly keen.'

Have a great 2014 people, I'm now gonna go introduce some Nutella to bread, ha ha, be scared bread, be very fucking scared!  

Lessons from flying

Sitting in the middle seat between two strangers for my fourteen-hour flight from Los Angeles to 

Sydney in economy last night kind of sucked
 

I didn’t enjoy it when it was discovered that, after making a guy stand up, and a couple of other people move around, and then getting set up with my stuff under my seat, and books in ready, that it turned out I was in the wrong middle seat…

I wasn’t having fun when it then took me ten minutes, sitting on the floor next to the emergency exit, to find my boarding pass in the plastic bag medley that had become my carry on luggage (my lone flash of class) after I was forced to check mine for weight issues, all while feeling epically watched, and judged, and in the way, and moronic, while trying to find it…. ,

Joy did not wash over me when it then turned out someone else was in my actual middle seat…. and he was wearing noise canceling headphones so he couldn’t hear me asking him to move, and his eyes apparently didn't work… so I stood there for a few moments gesturing like a fool who got on the wrong plane….

Relief was had when I ended up just volunteering to take blind headphone guy’s seat, and the steward agreed I could, and then we took off and the food came, and was surprisingly good, even after my first choice ran out before I could get to it, so I demolished it….

While not having fun discovering that my new seats headphone jack didn’t work, so if I wanted to listen to a movie properly I’d have to switch back to my original seat, and you know put out a stranger in the wrong for my personal benefit, something I am incapable of doing….

Did I mention how classy my plastic bag carry on bag medley was yet?

In other news:

Crying baby right near me- check
Genuine death fearing turbulence - check
Epic long, long wait to for the turbulence to stop so I could eventually piss and ease my kidney ache - check

NyQuil time

Good result, decent amount of sleep, not sure how I fared during this time in my mission statement of: 'Don't make my seat partners pissed off they got me instead of who they should have gotten, that asshole behind me who actually seems really quiet and I don’t think has had to pee once'

I fared badly at this mission when I finally went to the toilet again after holding on for as long a freaking possible and they started breakfast service while I was in action, and started right in my area, which meant I couldn’t get to my seat until food had been put down, and I’d had to yell across my choice, and then had to make the guy who got the aisle seat get up holding his food tray and coffee, and headphones while I stumbled getting into my seat under my tray without spilling shit….

I decided to have a slight break from an insane need to not have strangers upset at me for very little, and instead stopped for a minute to fantasize about catching someone on the plane reading one of books and loving it, and reading sections to their seatmate because they couldn’t help but share it  - and I was in these fantasy clouds of joy when

'You ever r b’ said my aisle seat mate
'What?' I replied
'Be r?'
'What?
'Ben rrr a?'
'What? Oh oh oh oh have I been to Australia before? Yeah I’m from there actually, do you need any advice, um I ca….'
'NOOOO, I said DO .... YOU .... HAVE ... A PEN I CAN BORROW?'

Oh fuck I'm such a tool….

But then…. After ten minutes or so…. of feeling like a bad hearing loser… I hear to my right, from my window seatmate:

'Do you have a pen I can borrow?'

Yes, I heard him clearly, the FIRST TIME.

'No worries I replied'

I pulled out my pen, and handed it to him with zero embarrassment necessary - I've truly never felt prouder of myself! Joy!

And so I’m back in Sydney for a little while everyone, and kind of liking it so far. Flying is awesome.

And now a message from my pillow from this flight

‘Holy Christ this Dave guy drools, and I mean DROOLS, he fucking slept face down on me for hours, soaking me half way to the core, and then spinning me over to do the other side, it's not Christian, it’s disgusting, how can anyone possibly drool that much, how can anyone wake up, with a trail of drool from their pillow to their mouth, just wipe it across their face and go back to sleep again without caring about how fucking gross that was, and then sleep in the same way straight away again, KNOWING how much fucking drool was coming out. SICKENING. They should call him Droolie McDrool. I would NEVER want to sit next to that gross motherfucker on a plane'.

Thanksgiving - Reasons to be thankful from the mind of Dave

It's thanksgiving America - yaayy - but if you having nothing to be thankfully for it can be really lonely- but I am here to save you - here are some reasons you may not have thought about to be thankful!!! You're welcome America. 

Every time you eat a sunflower seed you deny a sunflower the chance to live, and the sunflower is the most joyful flower, which is good if you're happy hating scum.

If you're George Clooney there's a better than average chance you've recently had sex with someone I haven't had the pleasure of.


If you're shopping and they say 'if you need to ask the price you cant afford it' what they mean is you don't deserve to be able to afford it.

If you enjoy playing guitar then there is a good chance you are not addicted to raping teddy bears.

Most terrorists can now be swayed to not commit a suicide bombing with a custard filled chocolate krispe kreme.

If you know a girl for more than 2 years before drunkenly asking her to fuck then these days you can know there's a good chance its not true love.

Due to recent technological advancements moldy donuts now taste better than an old ladies unnecessarily used tampon.

If you grind up mosquitoes in a jar they make an excellent alternative to jam on an English muffin.

I you are a drink and in my mouth right now then you're finally on your way to fulfilling your preordained destiny.

These days if you have no kids but try to pick up kids after school anyway their parents rarely thank you for your generosity.

This year Black colored greyhounds finally are secretly delighted by the color confusion.

If you're an alcoholic you can regularly enjoy naps in strangers gardens.

There's now a third number to consider when your going to the toilet. Number 3 - when you diarrhea out your bellybutton.


Happy Thanksgiving America!!!!!!

My new invention

Sick of not being able to eat salted nuts while using your computer in case you get salt on your keyboard? Um - ready, here's my new invention - Saltless Salted Nuts! #nailedit 

Keyboards and salted nuts can finally live in harmony once more #yourewelcome 

Your last minute Halloween costume advice is here

Great news - It's not too late to spend your Halloween in what is sure to be deemed the hottest, sexiest, coolest, most original, best, awesomest, hottest, sexiest costume out there. Not only that I right now are giving you, my awesome readers, exclusive and brilliant advice on how to pull this costume off with such specific perfection that people will be all like 'wow, you nailed it'.

That's right people - this years hottest costume IS.... ME - that's right you can go to your Halloween party dressed as David Tieck.

Here are some exclusive tips on how to be me right:

- I wear crazy and colorful mismatched socks, mostly because I am too lazy to bother to find matching ones

- I wear converse shoes, unless I am too lazy to tie shoelaces, which is almost always

- I have a dark and bitter soul, but it's painted pink!

- Please don't imitate me and yet change me, keep the slutiness in the chest, not the genitals please 

- I like silly t-shirts 

- I only ever cry from the left eye, make sure your tear marks reflect that 

- Have I ever pooped my pants as an adult? Yes I have. Just saying. 

- I hold my beer can in my RIGHT hand, my vodka drinks in the left, and for some reason always have three drops of urine on my underpants

- I like terms such as 'mongoose face', 'candle degenerates' and 'cunt' use them haphazardly yet with caution, especially 'candle degenerates' 

- If there is one thing I love it's TV remotes - but I don't love just one thing, I'm not a psychopath, mix it up 

- I have lots of psychopathic thoughts, make sure you do too - be creative, no one likes a psychopath who is all cliche

- I have insomnia eyes, if you're not willing to skip sleep for the accurate look then being punched in the eyes can do the job

- I only ever tan my back - I don't want to prematurely age my face, I'm not an idiot

- I'm covered in bruises from walking into things idiotically 

- I desperately NEED to go to space one day, you MUST too

- Not enough to like work towards it though of course, I am too lazy to tie shoelaces for Christ sake, don't embarrass me by making me look all.... Worky

- I never, ever repeat myself, ever

- Did you think I was going to follow that by repeating myself for a cheap laugh? Shame on you, you disgust me

- I often have snot in hair 

That's about it! Have a great Halloween as me! Don't embarrass me please!

Oh oh, 

- I am very easily embarrassed oh and 

- I have a dark and bitter soul, but it's painted pink!

See what I did? Ha ha, I repeated myself even though I said I never do, ever, and I did it just for a cheap laugh! Ha ha! 

Oh oh, 

- deservedly embarrassed

- too lazy to care 

- can someone organize that space trip for me please? I really wanna go.