The guys from 'N Sync are gay?
I bet the journalist was very proud, managing to slip in a secret message:
No word from Justin's camp.
Yes, he is...
Do not check your mail; it’s only going to make things worse.
It’s 2007 and everyone wants some of your time. How can you possibly keep up? Every day it begins again. People send you things they expect you to read. Banks post you fifty-page booklets explaining the finer points of some fantastically boring yet legally binding contract. Insurance companies want you to understand they care, foisting glossy lifestyle infotising on you. You really should get down to the transport office to renew your rego but first you must deal with your email; read and reply—or else it snowballs.
The phone rings.
‘Are you happy with your current service provider?’
‘Can’t you find a better job?’
Beep. Text message.
‘Bro, u gotta check out this shit on eBay.’
You try to reply, but there is a knock at your door.
‘Hi, I’m here to talk to you about my homeboy, Jesus.’
‘Sorry dude, I’d love to talk to you but I’m a bit behind on my information assimilation for today. I have to read and reply to all my Facebook messages.’
‘Damn! That’s what I forgot,’ says Sheepeyes and runs off.
‘Hey buddy, wait! You forgot your bible!’
‘You keep it bro, I’ve got heaps…’
You put it with your display pile—books you wish you'd read, Dostoyevsky, Kafka and Bertrand Russell.
Shit, something else to read.
Posted by R at Friday, October 26, 2007
The sun is shining, the weather is sweet (thanks Bob); what could possibly be pissing me off today?
My phone never remembers what I teach it. It's a pretty fancy phone, it had a good education, but its short-term memory is fucked.
It never remembers my fucking name--it always comes out as 'Rosy'. And it never remembers how to spell 'shit', always coming out as 'shiv'.
Posted by R at Thursday, October 25, 2007
Facebook to be full by 2009—what happens when there is no-one left to sign up?
It dies, and I for one will cheer.
No more inboxes full of emails like:
Obscure vaguely recollected acquaintance from the distant past has added you to their friend list.
No more BACN (God, I hate that term. What does it stand for anyway? Boring Arse Crap Network?) from bored people with nothing better to do, assuming you’re just as bored as them.
Blah has sent you an e-drink. To receive your e-drink, simply fill out this three-page form. And now this one. Finally, are you interested in any of our other useless time-wasting non-existent products?
Note: if you send me a drink, it better be a real one. Pictures of beer just piss me off.
Like this one.
And another thing, for what nefarious purpose is Facebook building up its huge intelligence network?
How do you know this person?
Fuck off! I’m not telling you—none of your fucking business Facebook!
And then the other person gives the game away: Err…we went to school together…
Shudddup man! Damn, don’t tell them that! Sheeeeet, that’s The Man, and now The Man knows. Farrk, why did you go and do that for?
I know how I know you; you know how you know me—what business is it of anyone else?
Australian censors have decided that this new game, Soldier Of Fortune: Payback, is too brutal for public consumption and, therefore, will not be sold in Australia.
Bugger, it looks good...
While it's not something I'd let young children play, I think people aged 16 and up should be able to handle it. Besides, isn't this the same stuff we've been getting in Rambo movies and the like for years?
And there are plenty of other games with heaps of gore, and some of them that are, potentially, a lot more psychologically damaging. Ever played Doom III? That is one scary fuckin' game. I almost filled my apartment with kittens--that I gave birth to--while playing late at night in a darkened room with my headphones set to 'stun'.
Kind of like this guy:
I've been playing these kind of games for years, and I've not killed one person. Not one!
But of course there have been some bad eggs in history.
Hitler flies into a rage after being unable to complete the waterfall level in Sonic the Hedgehog 2 and punches himself in the head.
Manson developed a severe case of 'screen eyes' after playing Halflife non-stop for 72 hours--he was eventually forced to stop after headbutting his monitor and breaking it while screaming, 'you're all hacking, cheating aim-bot-using cunts!'
Jong-il with his Pac Man clan the 'Il Brotherhood'--currently ranked 14 253 in the international Pac Man guild.
Kim Jong-il in gaming attire. Taking a rest during the world Pac Man championships. Jong-il was knocked out in round 2 of 200--still claims he was at a disadvantage as the Americans are naturally better at running away from ghosts in the dark while eating everything.
Posted by R at Friday, October 19, 2007
Noah got home from the pub late. ‘Why are you late?’ demanded his wife.
Noah rolled his eyes, ‘it’s bloody God again.’ I ran into him down the pub and he wasn’t in a good mood. He kept ranting about wiping all he had created from the face of the Earth—rain for forty days and forty nights—you know how he gets…’
‘Yes dear, we could do with some rain.’
‘Are you listening too me? Just wait, there’s more. He wants me to build a giant fuck-off boat—out of gopher wood.’
‘That’s nice dear.’
‘Christ woman, make some sense. I’ve been building shit for nearly 600 years and I’ve never heard of bloody gopher wood. And I bet it’s fucken expensive!’
‘Yes dear, don’t forget the Forsden-Smythes will be coming over for your birthday dinner.’
‘Damnit, you know I don’t like those pretentious hyphenated-named tossers! Besides, that’s the day God’s chosen for the kick-off. My fucken birthday too, It’s not everyday you turn 600 you know! Bloody God! He can be so small minded. Lord only knows what kind of father he’ll make.’
‘Would you like some tea?’
‘No, I don’t want any bloody tea! I’ve gotta build a fucken boat—seven days to build a big-ass mother fucker of a boat—out of some non-existent wood! And why does he always want shit done in seven days? How the fuck am I supposed to rest on the Sabbath?’
‘Well, you better do what he asks dear, he’s not pleasant to be around when he gets in one of his moods.’
‘I know, I know; you’re right as usual. But, God—he can be so unreasonable. And boy was he pissed tonight—I don’t know what’s got his goat—he came over and slurred in my ear:
I love you man. I love you. I do, you know. I just want you to know that, man. I love ya… But them (God gestured wildly with a bottle at the rest of the bar); they’re all cunts. And, I’m gonna smite them. I’m gonna smite their heads off…
‘And then he told me to build a boat or he’d smite me too! He drew me a little plan on a napkin—the boat's gotta be 300 cubits by 50 wide by 30 high—that’ll make it about 138 metres long…’
‘What’s a metre dear?’
‘It’s about two cubits and eight centimetres…’
‘What’s a centimetre?’
‘Damnit woman, I’ve got a boat to build, I can’t explain everything! Anyway, you know how God is with maths? He wants me to put two of every animal on Earth on it. Two! Christ, do you know how many species there are, wife?’
‘Well, last time I googled it dear, there were about 1.4 million documented, with an estimated 20 million as yet unnamed.’
‘Yes, well… God reckons we can fit it all onto a 138-metre boat.’
‘Did you tell him he was dreamin’?’
‘He passed out after handing me the plan for the boat—anyway, do you know how much food we’re going to need for our 40-million-odd creatures? A shit load, that’s what! Which brings me to another point—who’s going to clean up after them? Not me, I can tell ya that now!’
‘Don’t worry dear, you’ll work something out…’
‘Well, I’d better: seven days to fell and cure all the timber, build the giant floating zoo, cover it with pitch inside and out—we’ll have bloody giraffes stuck to the ceiling—round up two of every animal on Earth, find enough food for everything for 40 days and nights and someone to clean up after them…'
‘Bloody God! And on my fucken birthday too…’
Posted by R at Tuesday, October 16, 2007
Religist views are on hold today. Today I am completely Bankist.
Forgot to pay rent on Friday so I roused my hungover self out of bed and drove down on Saturday morning. My landlord was born before time began, so I can’t pay rent over the ‘net, but instead must physically present myself at a branch of the bank itself.
This particular bank doesn’t open on Saturday—as I found out when I went down there. Fuggit, I’ll go on Monday, I thought, and that’s what I did.
Now previously, I had fronted at the bank weeks ago and foolishly thought I could simply pay rent using EFTPOS (Electronic Funds Transfer Piece Of Shit)—much as you would at any other business in
‘No, sorry we don’t offer that service,’ the teller told.
‘But... You’re a bank?’
‘Yes, but we don’t offer that service. You’ll have to go back outside and withdraw it from the ATM…’
Yes, and pay the non-Communist bank withdrawal fee of $2.50 or $10—whatever it is these days. Oh yeah, then line up again.
But that was all in the past, I was prepared to accept the rort to minimise the inconvenience, just pay rent and get the fuck out of there.
If you are not already shaking your head, you should be…
Today, the entire inner city population was in the same branch of Suncorp. The only park left was a disabled one, so after parking I had to lurch off like I was retarded. The security guard could see I was an angry cripple, so he just let out that deep breath he had taken, then went back to massaging his gut.
I fronted the ATM. ‘Now, I don’t like you and you don’t like me. Just give me my fuckin’ money and we won’t have to deal with each other for two more weeks.’
‘Get fucked,’ said the ATM.
No amount of swearing could convince the machine to accept my card, so I lurched back to my car like an irate Verbal Kent and drove down the road to the Communist Bank. This involved several sets of lights, doing a u-turn around a roundabout, parking the car in a car park and walking back to the bank. I strode up to the single ATM and tried to feed it my card. Nothing happened—even more swearing didn’t help.
A little message was flashing in orange on the screen:
This ATM is temporarily out of service. We apologise for the inconvenience.
I blinked at the machine as the synapses started to stretch and snap in my head.
It’s fucking Monday morning, shit should be working. What do I pay all these stupid fucking bank fees for? The inconvenience?
I glanced in the bank but the que stretched off into the distance. Looking around, I spied a hotel across the road. The gaming room opened at 8.00 (yes, 8am), you can surely bet their ATM would be working.
I secured the necessary funds, drove back down the road, parked in The Boonies waited in line for an eternity while people did shit really slowly—I swear I’ve seen dead snails move faster. Then paid rent.
It only took an hour.
Posted by R at Monday, October 15, 2007
Surprise, surprise: I'm fucking astounded again.
This link here (which you should not click) will take you (if you click it--which you shouldn't) to a YouTube search page listing videos of Australian toilets flushing.
Videos of flushing toilets. For people that need to see the Coriolis effect with their own eyes.
Is this scienth stuff real?
Two things caught my eye today; both eyes in fact.
Enterprising Aussie doctor saves an Italian man's life with the contents of his home bar.
Funnily enough, the article (in a UK publication) makes a point of explaining that an 'off-licence' is called a 'bottle shop' in Australia. I'm not sure they need have bothered--all the Brits have been here anyway, and you can surely bet they've been to a bottle shop...
In other news, a religion arbitrarily changes its rules to allow for space travel.
This in particular made me chuckle:
...it is virtually impossible to face Mecca continuously in a craft travelling at such high speed.
A CANBERRA mortgage broker who wrote a $360,000 home loan to a 20-year-old unemployed, dyslexic and homeless man has been ordered to pay $31,000 in compensation to the borrower.
There's going to be a stampede of dyslexic people with home loans wanting compensation now.
I just went into the bnak to apply for a cerdit crad, they took advantage of me; I didn't konw what I was singing...