Been busy doing shit. You know how it is.
I'm moving to a new blog; those I know are welcome to email me for the new site's address.
Kimchithekid at Gmail dot com
I won't be holding back on the new site. No attempts at political correctness; no pacifying the moronic or inept.
Fuck them all.
I'll be back with a fucking sledge hammer.
I believe that banking institutions are more dangerous to our liberties than standing armies. If the American people ever allow private banks to control the issue of their currency, first by inflation, then by deflation, the banks and corporations that will grow up around will deprive the people of all property until their children wake up homeless on the continent their fathers conquered. The issuing power should be taken from the banks and restored to the people, to whom it properly belongs.
Things have been busy lately. In an effort to maintain vagary (blog version 2.0—now does not include personal information), I’ll say this: I have family visiting at the moment and work just gets busier. Lots of fun.
Those of you from outside Australia may not have heard of the Umbilical Brothers. This shouldn't offend anyone ....
I caught a light sneeze (thanks Tori) and got a pay rise, which is good. I actually had a sick day the other day—you know the kind where you are paid to not go to work? Phenomenal; I can't quite get my head around it.
Speaking of heads—internal dialogue; does anyone else get overwhelmed by this? I walk around the city and there is a constant stream of intercranial ranting:
Stop eating that pie you fat cunt! Nice haircut you emo pansy. Oh, for fuck's sake, don't just stop and talk in the middle of the footpath—move off to the side you tourist bastards. I wonder how long he takes to apply his make-up in the morning. Fuck, I hate Courtney Love. Oh, look, that chick is hot! Shit, so's she! Fuck off, I don't want your flyer—that's why my hands are in my pockets. No, buddy! Don't fucking try and proselytise at me, motherfucker. Don't these people have jobs? How the fuck does that kid afford a new Mercedes? Lucky, rich, daddy's little ... Oh, come on people, it's just a little red light—you can see there's nothing coming. Wow, that skirt must be drafty.
Went to another restaurant last night with some friends. It wasn't as posh as the place I went to the night before, and the servings were full size. It was of an entirely different type of restaurant, too--this one was Turkish. However, I spied on the menu, celeriac. To my knowledge, this shit didn't even exist last week. Someone just dug it up and threw it on a plate. I don't know why they bothered--it tastes like dirt.
My mission for today is to avoid celeriac. Funnily enough, after reading the Wikipedia article, I could really go a Bloody Mary right now.
Went to a flash restaurant last night. Uber flash. 600-dollar Versace plates, the wine list went well into the 1000s of dollars—as a result I had a beer. Initially, we thought that wine by the glass was quite reasonable, then we realised that what we were looking at was not a price but a page number. We said, no don't worry about entrees, just bring us the mains. They felt sorry for us and brought us some bread (which was fantastic).
Then the beef arrived.
Little medallions of tender goodness—the key word being 'little'. They floated lonely in a sea of white, with only (and I'm not making this up) a lone potato island (which was a slice of potato, not a whole one), two green beans, one bonsai carrot and one vegetable that I believe was called 'celeriac' to balance it aesthetically on its porcelain canvas. The whole thing was ‘drizzled in jus’, which I think makes the chef seem quite lazy—couldn’t he make the effort to try a little harder than ‘drizzle’?
It's so cold today, my eyeballs have frozen in their sockets and I have to turn my head to track the cursor across the screen. The sun rose at about 6:30, thought 'fuck it, I can't be bothered providing warmth today' and went back to bed. Half an hour later my alarm poked me in the ear and said, 'get up, it's tomorrow'. I opened my eyes--when they instantly froze--and lurched out of bed. Due to my poorly functioning frozen eyes, I completely missed the saber tooth snow kangaroo that was in the kitchen, and ended up walking straight into it. We battled to the death--well one of us did anyway--and I walked into the bathroom and chipped the ice away from the taps. I was assisted in this by my body's spasmodic shaking--my frozen fingers provided a firm grip on the chisel.
The shower was scalding hot, burning my head, but by the time it reached my feet it had frozen into little blades of ice, which buried themselves in my feet; my feet resembled little blue ice porcupines. I called the left one 'spiky'. I'm still thinking of a name for the right.
With this on my mind, I got dressed in the blink of an eye. Unfortunately, because my eyes were frozen, this took quite some time.
And then I wrote this post.
You see, this is just an example of my daily struggle to get ready for work. Shit like this happens all the time. Sometimes the saber tooth snow kangaroo wins and I can't make it to the computer until I have been resurrected.
Oi, all you motherfuckers out there, I have a community service announcement!
What I'm about to say will be hard for many of you to fathom; however, I assure you, it's all backed up by years of research.
I catch the bus to work because I work in a big, shiny building in the city. Driving would take longer and parking would cost $25 bucks a day. I’ve never been a big fan of busses—overseas, I’d always catch taxis—but I’m learning to deal with it. There are some things about busses, however, that make me grind my teeth.
Look at the good Christian girls come to Satan's rescue!
'Stop dwelling crankily on old wounds' was Bishop Anthony Fisher's heartfelt response when asked about Cardinal George Pell's attempt to block the compensation case of a father whose daughters were raped by a Melbourne priest, Kevin O'Donnell, when they were in primary school. One of them has since committed suicide.
A moral authority indeed. Was this God's will?
I had this great idea for a photoshop ... But when I went searching for a suitable picture to start with, someone else had already done it. (Image below borrowed from Facing America.)
Here's a trick guaranteed to fuck with someone's head.
Step 1: Wait for a person to say something--anything at all. (I caught the bus this morning, would you like some tea?)
Step 2: Chuckle (or snicker--your choice) and say 'that sounds like a euphemism for something ...'
Step 3: Wait for their puzzled expression and for them to say 'what?'
Step 4: Chuckle again and say 'think about it ...'
Step 5: Walk away.
Many moons ago, a Chinese friend was giving myself and a friend a lift to a party in his Honda Prelude. It had a 'fully sick' sound system, and my Chinese friend--inevitably--had shocking taste in music. We were just heading down the road and had stopped at the lights outside our local pub while Andy fiddled with his CD player. He found the track he was after and cranked it up. It's raining men started belting out.
'Andy!' I screamed at him over the deafening bass. 'Turn this shit off! Change tracks--for God's sake, do something!'
'What?' he asked and turned the music down two decibels. Now it was only at 128dB.
People I knew were starting to look out the windows of the bar. I slunk down in my seat.
'Andy, dude--change tracks!' said Jim from the front.
'Andy, are you listening to the fucking lyrics?' I said.
He sat there for a minute, then a look of comprehension washed across his face like the shadow of a cloud rushing over a mountain.
'Oh, shit. Shit, man! Shit!'
The lights changed and he peeled off--in front of a car he should have given way to--the music came to an abrupt halt and the CD went flying out the window, glinting rainbows in the sun before it bounced once, twice, then mercifully a benevolent semi-trailer ground it into tiny bits of plastic gayness.
Just a couple of quick things before I rush off:
(Warning: this song may continue to loop in your head long after it's finished)
And check out the best Flash game I've ever seen. This is so addictive, I recommend not clicking the link if you have other things you should be doing...
Alternatively, do it anyway.
... Come home from work positively relishing the chance to sit down and relax, poison of choice in a bottle ready to go, decided that it was far too much effort to use your hands to take off your shoes, and decided that a far better option is to use one foot to remove the shoe from the other foot.
You've done this before and there were casualties, but this time you're confident that everything will work out alright...
Bang! Crash! fuck!
Everything comes falling apart when on your first attempt your foot slips and you slam your left foot into your right shin. The shining blue light between your eyes momentarily disables the part of your brain that controls balance, and you fling your bottle of booze at a wall as you lunge for something to prevent you falling.
The angular desk-type object you grab at leaps aside and laughs at you. You sit in a mangled heap on the floor, vowing to never again attempt taking off your shoes without the assistance of a trained professional.
Somebody told me I was 'contrary' the other day.
'No, I'm not!' I said.
In other news:
It's not big and it's not clever, but I just have to say on behalf of Australians everywhere:
That's not a crop; this is a crop!
Pure madness ...
'Australians are generally gullible targets,' he said. '(The scammers) do very well out of us.'
No, we're not!
Yes, you are.
Oh, yeah. You're right ...
I've noticed a distinct correlation between how cold it is in the morning and how pissed off I feel when I wake up.
Fuck, I'm pissed off today.
Brrrrrrr ...
I bought a burger from Hungry Jacks--it's Australian for Burger King--the other day. They gave me a little scratchie card for a chance to win a 'whopper grand final week'.
The major prize was valued at(up to)$31,387.60(depending upon the departure point).
Alright, I thought and went to scratch the silver shit off. Then I noticed you had to SMS the 'code' to enter the draw--55 cents a message. Whatever happened to the instant 'scratch and win'?
It's a load of bullshit--the marketing team must have been ecstatic. A prize that pays for itself.
Bastards.
I didn't enter the draw--just out of spite. I'm sure I would have won ...
Sounds like the name of an effects pedal popular with Christian rock guitarists ...
Here is a list of Christian Denominations. There are hundreds and hundreds.
Now providing you believe that one of them is not distorting the bible (hypothetically), logically that means that, to some extent, every other denomination is.
Hope you chose the right one.
Barack Obama has been accused of distorting the bible--So what? Isn't that what all Christians do?
And on the other side of the Atlantic:
The Queen says Robert Mugabe is a cunt--Not in those words exactly, but she's right. Mugabe would have to make the top five of any Massive Dickhead list compiled by independent researchers in the world today.
I was in a bar the other day--no really--with two friends of different demographical backgrounds. We were talking to this young sexy chick and for some reason the topic of conversation was vegetarianism; the blonde asked naively, 'what do you call a vegetarian who eats chicken?'
'I know this one!' I thought. Quick as a flash my lips were moving and the words tumbled out:
'A hypocrite!'
No-one got it.
'Isn't it a vegan?' She said.
Oh, for fuck's sake...
I was saddened to hear when I came home from work yesterday that George Carlin had died. George was one of my heroes—I thought he was fucking brilliant. I don’t know what I can say in the ten minutes or so I have to write this, but, whatever it is, it won’t do the man justice.
George thought for himself. He tackled the material a lot of comics pussied away from. He was once arrested at a Lenny Bruce show—as an audience member—for refusing to show a cop his ID. He was the voice of reason, trying to impart something so important to the masses. And that was that they were being fucked. Deeply.
‘It’s a big club … and you ain’t in it.'
I just grabbed the mouse to centre the cursor on the typing field here but the damn thing wouldn't work. Then I realised It wasn't the mouse but my mobile phone in my hand.
I am not a morning person. Whatever the fuck that means. Particularly in winter. I'm alright once I'm up and dressed, it's just the spasmodic shaking caused by extremely frigid conditions in the interim period that I hate. I fucking hate it.
Really, I do.
In the news:
West Australian Pom's bid to sell life falters when bidders turn out to be full of shit
Singapore bans game because of one little Alien-human lesbian sex scene
Not in my backyard--well actually, yes
Bye bye Bill--who do we blame now?
I've noticed Australian newsreaders have started saying 'at the weekend'. This shits me: it's what the Brits say, which is fine for them, but in Australia we say 'on the weekend'.
I also saw an ad the other day where they spoke of frosting on a cake. Sorry, this isn't Kansas: it's called 'icing'.
In some other ways we are becoming more American than Americans.
And they still make the seating on public transport too small. I guess they need the aisle space so fat-arses can get through.
What am I doing? I don't have time for this shit. Go get ready for work.
In the meantime, this is funny, pertinent and salt free. Watch it now.
This is saltier but also funny and pertinent. Now, watch it.
It's with a strange sense of deja vu that I sit down, hungover, to write some crap for this blog. I had to look up the spelling of deja vu—I think I must have killed the brain cell that knew how to spell it. Could not give a shit about the diacritical marks.
It's 12 o'clock. At night.
I'm not dead. Much.
Fuck.
Things have been happening, the sun continues to rise--but don't hold me to that--and I have been thinking a lot.
I have an idea, and it's going to start tomorrow.
The trolls should have moved on by now, but if not, fuck 'em.
Rory runs amok, again.
