What not to do in Australia

Bite my fucking tongue

2008-09-14T23:52:00.002+10:00

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.

Tweaked beach colour

2008-09-04T08:42:00.002+10:00

Prescient

2008-08-20T07:15:00.002+10:00

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.

Thomas Jefferson (1802)

Kicken along

2008-08-19T08:21:00.001+10:00

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.

I woke in the middle of the night, yearning for water. I spied what I presumed to be a water glass next to the bed and took a long draft. Draft was the word—it was not water but some nasty concoction of bottom-of-the-bag homebrew and perhaps a moth or two.

In situations such as this, it is actually possible to leap from a supine position to your feet without transitioning through any other positions. Kind of like a flip book with all the middle pages torn out.

I’ll write something of a decent length (restrain yourselves) soon. For the moment, however, back to the coal mine …

Georgie baby--fuck yeah

2008-08-12T07:42:00.002+10:00

George, you were fucking brilliant.

Punless bear-related title

2008-08-08T08:31:00.002+10:00

Those of you from outside Australia may not have heard of the Umbilical Brothers. This shouldn't offend anyone ....

Intercranial ranting

2008-08-06T07:01:00.004+10:00

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.

And, I never realised when I was a cigarette smoker, how much people hate you. If I am anything to go by, people hate cigarette smokers a lot. (That’s a funny statement—I’m not sure it’s possible to hate something a little …)

Celeriac is stalking me

2008-08-01T07:43:00.002+10:00

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.

Too classy to eat

2008-07-31T07:47:00.003+10:00

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’?

Luckily, I’d filled up on several pints of Stella before.

The daily struggle

2008-07-29T07:36:00.004+10:00

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.

Attention muppets

2008-07-25T08:39:00.003+10:00

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.

Wait for people to exit a lift before you start to walk in. Why is this so fucking difficult? How can you be surprised when the door opens and you walk straight into someone? Has this not happened before? Even fucking goldfish can remember this.
Don't walk backwards in crowded places. Fuck! Turn around before starting to move away from the counter with your hot coffee.
When walking down the street, walk in a straight fucking line. Don't fucking meander all over the place. Turn your head before suddenly darting (or even darting in a fashion that is not so sudden) right and stopping in front of the mobile phone shop. This is particularly relevant if you are carrying an umbrella.
Come to the realisation that pressing the button at the pedestrian crossing is going to make fuck all difference to the time it takes the lights to change. Hitting it multiple times will not make it change faster. Also consider the possibility that one of the fifty people already standing there has hit the button before you. Wanker.
And to the grotty little cunt on the bus with the long fingernail picking shit out of his ear and flicking it at his girlfriend--don't. The person sitting behind you might snap.

If the roos don't get you ...

2008-07-24T07:30:00.002+10:00

Man fights off shark with a chisel.

and

Fuck off. Just fuck off.

When good roos go bad

2008-07-21T08:22:00.002+10:00

Not so cute and cuddly...

Bus etiquette

2008-07-18T08:14:00.000+10:00

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.

People, generally.

Particularly those motherfuckers that sit in the aisle seat so as to dissuade anyone from sitting next to them. Some of them even put their bags on the seat. Well, fuck you arseholes. Every other seat is taken, some little old lady is trying to keep her feet among the masses (which in this case are not yet teeming), but your bag needs a seat all to itself.

Sorry, did I accidentally elbow you in the head as I walked past? That wouldn’t have happened if you were sitting next to the window. You selfish prick!

How dare you have a different point of view!

2008-07-18T07:48:00.002+10:00

Look at the good Christian girls come to Satan's rescue!

Vile

2008-07-17T06:59:00.003+10:00

'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?

Pope's minions decend on Sydney

2008-07-16T07:51:00.003+10:00

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.)

Social spanner #1

2008-07-14T22:30:00.003+10:00

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.

Put the disc to death

2008-07-14T07:46:00.006+10:00

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.

Set some time aside ...

2008-07-11T07:40:00.003+10:00

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.

Have you ever ... #1

2008-07-09T07:22:00.002+10:00

... 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.

Am not

2008-07-08T07:36:00.002+10:00

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 ...

Reality TV is a disease

2008-07-07T07:13:00.002+10:00

Gosh, this is pretty tasteless; even for unreality TV.

Australians were particularly vulnerable ...

2008-07-02T07:22:00.002+10:00

'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 ...

x=y

2008-07-02T06:49:00.002+10:00

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 ...

Beaver on a plate

2008-07-01T07:36:00.002+10:00

Oh, my God! Mark's been eating beaver! There's photos and everything.

Burger bullshit

2008-07-01T07:09:00.003+10:00

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 ...

Christian Distortion

2008-06-30T07:59:00.006+10:00

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.

Christians and Mugabe--Both full of shit

2008-06-26T07:49:00.004+10:00

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.

It's only funny if people get it

2008-06-26T07:35:00.003+10:00

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...

The big club

2008-06-25T07:31:00.003+10:00

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.'

Good on ya George. You're a fucking legend.

Spasmodic morning

2008-06-24T07:41:00.004+10:00

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?

Language police

2008-06-23T08:03:00.002+10:00

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.

You want what?

2008-06-18T07:37:00.002+10:00

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.

Stardust

2008-06-17T07:24:00.002+10:00

It's always nice to find some real news hiding among the detritus.

Hungover again

2008-06-13T10:28:00.003+10:00

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.

Sorry, where was I?

That’s right, hungover.

I have a new job; it’s a pretty shiny one. Had a bit of a celebrate last night—it seemed like a good idea at the time. Went to a bar that was also new and shiny. Big bastard bouncers at the door, dressed in black. Spunky girls walking around with silver trays holding overpriced bar snacks, sorry, tapas. (Has anyone else noticed how trendy nearly every-fucking-place has become? It seems every menu contains the words ‘rocket’, ‘aioli’, ‘pesto’ and fucking ‘jus’. Got any chips?) The toilets looked like they were hewn out of giant block of marble, the taps were motion sensitive—more technology in those bastards than the Voyager space probe. There was a sexy singer who made every song sound like Ani DiFranco, or so I thought; Stu thought she sounded like Shania Twain, which completely fucking ruined it for me. Flat-screen TVs lined the walls. They all seemed to be tuned in to a video hits show from the early 90s. The waitress came and enquired about our food—oh, yeah, it’s good, can we have some more aioli please?

After about 600 beers, we thought we’d better call it a night. I flagged down a taxi, told the driver where I lived, then the bastard went to drive straight past the first right that led directly to where I wanted to go.

‘Oi!’ I said.

He tried the same trick at the next junction.

So, I had to laboriously direct him. He slowed down for orange lights he completely could have made, and the meter ticked on. Initially, I contemplated the usual taxi banter, ‘How’s your night been?’ that kind of shit. Thing is, he didn’t seem like the jovial type, and I really didn’t give a shit about how his night had been. So I sat there, only speaking to direct him, waiting to see if he would initiate conversation. He didn’t.

As we turned into my street, the meter was on $14.80. ‘This will do,’ I said, thinking we’ll just round it up to 15 bucks. He cruised forward until the meter clicked over $15.10. Then he stopped and counted out $4.90 in change.

What a dick.

So, this has been the first exercise in trying to make myself write again. I do it all day at work, but it’s not very creative and I can’t use the word ‘fuck’. I’m also going to try and edit and gradually re-release some of the funnier stuff that used to be on here. We’ll see how it goes.

For lack of a better title

2008-06-13T00:03:00.002+10:00

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.

All car salesmen are...

2007-11-20T08:25:00.001+10:00

I saw this car dealer in a paper the other day and nearly coughed beer out my eyes.

Well, at least he's being up front about it.

This reminds me of the old Doug Anthony All Stars joke:

I went to school with a guy called Michael Hunt... We used to call him...

Fuckhead!

For those of you unfamiliar with DAAS, check it:

And the world still turns

2007-11-12T18:34:00.000+10:00

Photos from Lamington National Park

2007-11-01T10:31:00.000+10:00

What? I thought you were gay!

2007-10-31T07:45:00.001+10:00

The guys from 'N Sync are gay?

No way!

I bet the journalist was very proud, managing to slip in a secret message:

No word from Justin's camp.

Look closer.

Justin's camp.

Yes, he is...

Return to sender

2007-10-26T08:38:00.001+10:00

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.

Grrrr of the day

2007-10-25T09:23:00.001+10:00

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'.

Spell?

I fuckin' told you last time, phone!

S. H. I. T. That's how you spell it, now remember that shiv...

Oh, for duals sake!

What the duck?

And shiv (spell? S.H.I.T) is a word essential to any text message. (Hey grandma, how's shit with you?)

But besides forgetting the important words, it has a bunch that are burnt into its circuits by the factory that I'm not sure are even English.

'Ulickug' is a perfectly acceptable string of letters for my phone, it just sits back and goes, 'yeah, I know where you're going with this...'.

It's probably Finnish for shiv.

Newsflash: Facebook, Myspace—actually a complete fucking waste of time

2007-10-23T10:09:00.001+10:00

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.

Grrrr!

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?

Cat bloggers prepare to be impressed

2007-10-20T10:59:00.001+10:00

Russians do it best.

Advanced Naughtiness

2007-10-19T09:35:00.001+10:00

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.

I'll... I'll smite their heads off

2007-10-16T22:34:00.001+10:00

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…’

Holy shit!

2007-10-15T13:25:00.001+10:00

Do you have a set of enormous balls and you're not sure what to do with them?

Try this.

Sorry for the inconvenience...

2007-10-15T12:33:00.001+10:00

Religist views are on hold today. Today I am completely Bankist.

Fucking banks.

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 Australia.

‘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.

Yep.

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.

The internet is full of shit

2007-10-12T11:26:00.001+10:00

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?

Yeth.

There are about 30 videos. Some have five-star ratings! Some have pages and pages of comments.

Millions of computers linked together bringing the entire acquired knowledge of the human race into our homes.

And this is what we do with it.

More evidence that the world is doomed.

(You so clicked that link, didn't you?)

Unusual headlines

2007-10-11T11:45:00.001+10:00

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.

I find it absolutely astounding that educated people can still cling to religion; to somehow justify it among everything else they have learned.

I'm talking about ALL religion.

Anyway, can't our imaginary friends all just get along?

A list of shit that’s pissing me off… today.

2007-10-09T18:11:00.001+10:00

Fucking lists—why does every muppet on the ‘net feel anyone gives a shit about their top ten brown foods, how many nipple slips the tabloid media print on a per country basis, or how many words they can think of that end in ‘unt’.
Dipshit comments on Youtube from illiterate dipshits—no dude, I don’t believe that you own a Ferrari; you’re far too stupid to have a job.
Australian morons—see below.
American morons—see below.
All this heat and no storm. Bring on the thunder and lightning.
Vista, did I mention Vista?
People that feel all problems can be solved with a bigger hammer.
Not having a bigger hammer. (Try and restrain yourselves people...)
Telemarketers—a problem that could be solved with a hammer.
The evil that is Woolworths and the fact that our fuckwit government doesn't legislate to prevent them monopolising everything, inflating prices to subsidise 'cheap' petrol, and taking over pubs—ripping out live music areas and replacing them with poker machine dens where poor desperate cunts lose everything they have.

Kiss me, I'm dyslexic

2007-10-04T10:20:00.001+10:00

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...

A Sunday past

2007-08-26T16:31:00.000+10:00

Translatomatic—guaranteed to make fuck-all sense

2007-08-03T08:37:00.001+10:00

Jae-ook: We saved 100 000 won by using an online translator!

Bokum: Wicked! Nobody will ever know! Let's go spend the difference on dinner.

Headlines

2007-07-31T07:05:00.001+10:00

Taken from the last linked story:

However, Second Life has no defined central purpose, making its audience ripe for distraction, at least in theory.

I know people whose first life has no defined central purpose.

Anon

2007-07-26T08:24:00.000+10:00

Everything is fiction. Nothing really happened. You can't prove a thing.

More proof...

2007-07-17T08:00:00.001+10:00

...that we are fucked.

I have nothing I can say about this. Just read it and blink.

Yes, we are coming for you, capitalist swine!

What not to do in Err-stralia

2007-07-14T15:23:00.001+10:00

I just went out and bought a couple of new pillows. I glanced at the washing instructions as I stuck them in the pillowcases, and saw along side 'do not tumble dry' the instruction 'do not iron'.

Do not iron.

It's a fucking pillow.

I fuckin' hate this guy

2007-07-12T08:53:00.002+10:00

The dickhead to the left is Nelson Aspen, and I hate him like I hate getting out of bed in the middle of a winter's night.

This bronzed ball-licker is the reporter for all your Hollywood bullshit needs. He's on TV every morning in Australia, so I have had time to ponder exactly why I think this guy is a raging ass-monkey.

An obsequious, vacuous, fucktard, Nelson reports on the vacuous lives of other obsequious fucktards... And it all has no fucking bearing on anything.

I'd just like to say on behalf of all the voices in my head:

Nelson Aspen, you fucking suck...

Ass.

Have a nice day, dickhead.

Ah...do you mind not doing that?

2007-07-10T08:42:00.001+10:00

A Catholic school in Victoria, Australia, refused to enrol a five-year-old because his surname was ‘Hell’. This brings to mind that particular group of American nutters who are lobbying to have the word ‘hello’ changed to ‘heaveno’.

This is more evidence that the world is in fact doomed.

Absolutely fucking astounding.

Now, I hate Hyundai Excels with a mighty anger, but I’m not trying to ban their use (though perhaps that is not an entirely bad idea).

Bring on the flood.

For sale

2007-07-09T07:54:00.001+10:00

Sense of irresponsibility—immaculate condition, best in Australia. Yep, sad to say goodbye but my baby has to go. This sense is in superb condition and comes with many extras including memory loss, remorse, and self-loathing. May accept willpower as a partial trade. Make me an offer.

Localised time distortions

2007-07-06T08:01:00.001+10:00

The alarm went off this morning at seven like it always does. I pressed the snooze button and rolled over.

Bip!

What? Ten past? What's going on?

Snooze.

Bip!

Twenty past? What the fuck? How is this possible, I swear I just blinked.

Then I realised.

Of course!

Aliens!

Aliens were stealing my time—they had to be. What else could explain these bizarre time distortions?

I hit the snooze button, lay on my back and peered out from under my eye lids. I relaxed every muscle (well, not every muscle) in anticipation of springing from bed and throttling one of those pesky time-stealing aliens.

Bip!

Sweet fucking Jesus! Sneaky fuckers, they've done it again! Half past!

Damn!

I'll get the little bastards tomorrow.

(Fragment--consider revising)

2007-07-05T07:58:00.002+10:00

The highway stops just before Gympie; everything after is just a single lane each way stretching off into the distance. It was just after Christmas, so around every fifty Ks we passed another speed trap. The rain intermittently pissed down but we found that at 110 km/h you could have the sunroof all the way open yet let in no rain.

The day wore on and we passed through Bundaberg then Rockhampton. By ‘passed through’ I mean, ‘stopped and stuffed around for about an hour’ in each. At Rockhampton, Brennan took over the driving and I cracked a beer. Tim though this was a good idea also, and so we ended up stopping at desolate spots on the side of the road to piss every 100 km or so. With the engine and the lights off, there was only blackness on the sides of the road, the whistling of the wind and the sound of sticks breaking as Yowies prowled around in the dry dark.

Occasionally the wind would pick up the sound of an engine and a light would appear in the distance. The sound would grow until, tires roaring on the bitumen, a 4WD would break cover then go whistling off into the night, the trees on the side of the road vanishing with the light. And then it was black again. No houses, no other roads, no distant lights. Just us, out under the stars and… 'Sweet Jesus! What the fuck was that? Get back in the car guys, let’s go.'

1000 km from Brisbane, after following the red tail lights of a speeding truck through the tree-lined dark we pulled in to a caravan park in Mackay.

We stayed the night in a cabin that appeared to be made out of cardboard covered in wood print plastic coating. The beds were vinyl and the air conditioner made disturbing gurgling/I’m-about-to-explode noises. Somehow with the application of beer, and salami and cheese sandwiches, we managed to fall asleep…ish.

Someone had switched off the noisy air-con last night so we awoke gasping at around seven AM. I tried to throw myself out of bed but regretted it immediately as I left behind half my skin on the vinyl mattress.

iPhucked-up

2007-07-03T08:11:00.001+10:00

What the fuck is all this hype about the iPhone?

It’s a fucking phone people. A phone.

It does shit that almost any other modern phone will do. My phone plays MP3s, accesses the net, records video etc. I could go out and buy a 32 gig miniSD card if I wanted to outstrip Apple’s 8 gig…

Really, what the fuck?

I hear Apple have already sold half a million of the little iPhucks to half a million iPhuckwits. Lifestyle wankers unite.

This is just another thing I’ll never understand…

Like those fucking lunatics that camp overnight on the street outside the iWank shop to be the first person on their block to be ripped off.

But then why should I be surprised? People are fucking morons—some watch Big Brother, some dress up as Darth-fucking-Vader AND camp out on the street all night for a movie preview, some keep sending money to Nigerian scam artists AFTER the federal police have contacted them and informed them that they are involved in a scam.

Some people spend hours of their time writing shit for a blog that nobody reads.

Really, what chance does the human race have? We’re fucked; it’s been nice knowing you.

Gorilla in the midst of a pensive moment

2007-06-30T12:17:00.002+10:00

A little tribute to the Big Gorilla, for supporting my little program of madness over the years.

If you've ever wanted an answer to the eternal question: Where does a gorilla... ?

Then look no further.

Omar the star box-ar says ‘na’ when asked to get out his ya-yas

2007-06-29T08:18:00.001+10:00

I jumped out of bed at 7am to record my thoughts, but unfortunately I don’t have any. As time is of the essence, and in essence I don’t have any time, I cast an eye over Google news to find out the latest atrocities. Thousands die in Iraq, but not one Big Brother housemate…

I like to play ‘find the pun’ when reading news-type stories. Journalists can’t help themselves. The lamer the pun, the better; ones like ‘Whale sanctuary plan harpooned’, and other such brilliance. So what’s on offer today?

Let’s see.

Well first up we have: Standing ovation for our house of worship—the Sydney Opera House declared a world heritage site. Well that’s just piss poor guys…

Aside from pissy puns, I did notice that:

MUSLIM boxer Omar Shaick was yesterday handed a two-year ban for refusing to give a urine sample because his religion prohibits him from exposing his genitals to strangers.

How’s that for a piss-related segue?

I wonder if this riotous religious rule is written Ten Commandment style:

Thou shalt not show thy balls to another. Do not covert thy neighbours nuts.

Yes, I know I don’t know what I’m talking about—let’s just leave it there before someone cracks a fatwa.

It does seem to have the provision ‘to strangers’—could not the testing officer have taken him out for a beer first, shown him a good time…

That’s right, no alcohol…

Anyway, I like my headline better.

Seven degrees of masturbation

2007-06-28T07:42:00.001+10:00

I would like to apologise.

Yesterday, I used the phrase ‘back in black’, however, upon reflection I realised that at the time I was dressed nearly entirely in blue.

I wouldn’t want to be caught out saying black was blue now, would I?

It’s seven degrees at the moment—or at least that’s what the little widget on my desktop tells me. Freakin’ cold in anyone’s cliché. Stripped off to jump in the shower this morning and I was shaking like an epileptic leaf in an earthquake. The kind of cold that makes your shoulder blades try to burst out your throat.

This is meant to be a sub-tropical climate!

Records have been broken all over the state (predominately BROS albums, with a few Rick Astley ones for good measure). Sorry, what I mean is that throughout Queensland weather stations have been recording the coldest temperatures on record.

It sure makes it hard to get out of bed in the morning—if it wasn’t for a catastrophic build-up of bladder pressure I probably wouldn’t get out of bed at all.

For those of you from cold climates let me qualify my bitching about the cold: most houses in Queensland—including mine—don’t have heating. It doesn’t usually get cold enough to justify the expense of installation, so when I say it’s seven degrees, it’s seven degrees in the house.

Fucking fridge-like! I had to chase a mammoth out of the bathroom this morning.

Well, I’m off to work now to stare intently at a different computer screen for seven hours.

Everyone's a critic and most people are DJs...

2007-06-27T07:18:00.001+10:00

Back in black at the crack of early. The title is taken from a Hold Steady song--don't be accusing me of plagiarism.

Those first two sentences were written without the aid of coffee or my brain.

Anyway, after several weeks of watching this blog cough up blood in the corner, I went out and spent a large amount of money and now we have a wireless network at home. I'm also viewing this through a 20-inch wide-screen and I'm currently not saving to a new 250-gig hard drive. Also, now running Vista with its memory-intensive bells and whistles and paternalistic anti-Luddite technology. It is pretty damn shiny.

What does this mean to you the consumer?

Probably very fucking little--except that if you drop by here weekdays you will find fresh inanity, stupid shit I don't mean, even stupider shit that I might mean, and long run-on comma-separated lists that go far beyond the point of being informative or entertaining, every day.

And it begins once more...

Poor Paris Panics as Pissed-off Prosecutor Persuades Judge to Push for Prison

2007-05-06T07:47:00.001+10:00

A shock move by an L.A. judge yesterday looks set to extricate celebutard Paris Hilton’s head from her own arse. Paris was sentenced to 45 days in jail for violating her parole conditions for an earlier charge: Public moronity with intent to not-give-a-fuck.

Upon deliverance of the judge’s verdict, all was quiet in the courtroom while Paris’s legal representation explained the verdict to Miss Hilton using crayons and a large sheet of butcher’s paper. She was apparently shocked, and asked for clarification in blue crayon. At this stage, insiders attest, Paris was heard to say, ‘But, I’m famous!’ and called for members of her entourage to bring her a fresh chihuahua to dry her eyes.

The judge was heard to respond: ‘Whatever…’.

While in prison, Paris will spend her time making folk art out of paddle-pop sticks, hessian sacks, and her own hair.

Cameras and swearing

2007-04-20T08:49:00.001+10:00

I finally got a replacement battery for the old Canon G2, and am once again armed with a working camera. I keep putting off on going on a photo-taking mission, as part of me (my brain) feels foolish taking photos where other people can see me. I also have a tendency to burst into involuntary fits of swearing at inappropriate times.

The other evening I thought I’d try a few low-light shots outside, and so, balancing against a handy power pole, I waited until a car was driving through frame, then squeezed the trigger. The flash went off, the driver of the car, blinded, drove off the road and into a tree*, and I said some very hurtful things in a loud voice to the camera.

I realised I’d just said some pretty obscene things at high volume out in a public place, so I looked around to make sure no one had heard me. An elderly power-walking couple were crossing the road to avoid me, looking at me like I was a terrorist, as they skirted around the gently smouldering remains of the crashed car.

‘Sorry, guys!’ I called out to them, ‘it’s just that this camera… she’s fucked,’ I said.
‘Help… me…’ moaned the man trapped in the crashed car.
‘We never should have left the gaming lounge!’ said the wife. ‘This world is full of violence!’
‘The government should enact some retrospective legislation to stop people doing all the things we don’t like!’ muttered the man.

I braced myself against the pole, switched the flash off, and waited for another car. The trapped driver managed to kick out his windscreen and climb out of the smoking wreck.
‘I never should have bought a fucking Camry,’ he said.
‘Too, true,’ I said. ‘Camrys are the leading source of road rage in Australia,’ I went on, but then another car drove by and I depressed the shutter. The result looked something like this:

And here is another entirely unrelated photo.

*Certain elements of this story may not have actually happened.

Busted!

2007-04-19T09:36:00.001+10:00

Let this be a lesson to all you goat rooters out there!

What day is it, ey?

2007-04-17T08:02:00.001+10:00

The weather has clicked its heels and become a little brisk in the mornings. By ‘a little brisk’, I mean by Australian standards. I’m sure if you’re from Canada you’d be walking around naked exclaiming, ‘how aboot this heat, ey?’. Funnily enough I’ve never heard a real Canadian say ‘aboot’, but they do sure say ‘ey’ a lot.

I heard a group of Canadian girls holidaying at Airlie Beach in a supermarket talking…

‘Let’s try these, ey?’
‘Look! We told you not to say that anymore, everyone laughs at us!
‘Oh, fuck off, ey?’
‘No, seriously. Cut it out!’

And you could sense there were some repressed ‘eys’ meaning to get out.
Tim couldn’t help himself, ‘you guys are from Canada, ey?’
‘Yeah,’ they said, ‘how did you know?’
‘If you guys are from Canada, you should be great at spelling it, ey?’
‘What?’ They said, blinking in the sunshine that was streaming through the glass doors.
‘You know: Cee, ey. En, ey. Dee, ey…’

They looked at him like he was a fool and walked off.

‘Was that guy retarded? He can spell Canada… big deal, ey?’

Friday... again

2007-03-16T08:37:00.001+10:00

Yay, it's Friday! Dance and cavort!

In other news: You are one day closer to death today.

As you were.

Swissjames located

2007-03-15T08:36:00.001+10:00

He thought he could run. He thought he could hide. He probably thought lots of things I didn't think of.

He thought he had escaped.

He thought wrong...

Think of yourself as a boulder...

2007-03-15T08:04:00.001+10:00

On bureaucratic language...

...Use nouns rather than verbs. Avoid action verbs. They convey movement, and movement is antithetical to the bureaucratic mind. Think of yourself as a boulder standing in the way of your reader’s goal, not as a swinging door through which any dolt can pass.

Brilliant!

Full article here.

Suicidal Cyclist

2007-03-13T08:03:00.001+10:00

Pootling down the road the other evening returning from uni at about 7:30, I turned off the main road near my house onto a side street. This is a narrow little thing with people parked in inconvenient places intermittently down the road; it turns the street into a slalom course...

Annnnyway: I was approaching a roundabout (read: painted lump in the road with a sign sticking out of it) had just looked for oncoming traffic on the right and was about to accelerate through the roundabout when one of those unexpected things happened.

Some complete fucking loony on a pushbike (with no helmet or light) came flying down the hill on the left and cut through the wrong side of the roundabout onto my side of the road. I braked then released, swerved to my right then braked again. The fuckwit cyclist had a big wobble and nearly plowed into the front of my car (he missed by about a foot)then continued up the road with me shaking my head in disbelief shouting after him, 'What the fuck do you think you're doing?'

I don't think he knew.

The lucky fucker. Things could've ended very badly for him if he had encountered someone with slower reflexes. If I hadn't have swerved, he would have gone straight into my windscreen.

Don’t get complacent: drive like everyone else on the road is a complete tool.

Wrong but good...

2007-01-23T17:37:00.001+10:00

I was surfing the internet and found this.

I nearly had contortions.

The car lover side of me says, 'Man are you fucking mad?!!'

Part of me thinks it is really cool though.

Tightarse.

But this is just obscene!

Sunset on an alien planet

2007-01-22T17:52:00.000+10:00

Ever get a fish bone stuck in your throat?

2007-01-22T13:40:00.001+10:00

I get five or so hits a week from people freaking out (I imagine) with a fish bone stuck in their throat.

All due to this post.

And I'll probably get a bunch more after this one. So if you're reading this looking for a solution, I have this to say:

Bad news guys: you're fucked.

Another community service announcement brought to you by WNTDIA.

Pirate photos

2007-01-22T13:13:00.000+10:00

When good bears go bad

2007-01-19T16:08:00.001+10:00

Image borrowed from Jez Sez.

It Lives!

2007-01-19T11:17:00.000+10:00

'Seanism' #1

2007-01-11T11:26:00.001+10:00

I met a couple of Irish guys up at Airlie Beach.

Two very funny bastards.

Try this in an Irish accent:

'Noooo, I don't wash my clothes... I just seem to lose them as I go along--then buy new ones.'

Santa won’t be dressed in red this year

2006-12-18T12:34:00.001+10:00

Santa won’t be dressed in red this year
So take all those that you hold dear
And keep them close, keep them near
‘Cause Santa’s turned it up a notch, I fear.

Santa’s got the shits with all mankind
Shooting each other all the fuckin’ time
So if you’ve done bad shit, you’re gonna find
This Christmas you’re gonna pay for your crime.

He spent his year in Japan, in situ
Mastering the arts of Ninjitsu
He’s got a black belt that wouldn’t fit you
Don’t fuck with Santa or he’ll fuckin’ hit you.

Santa’s back and he’s dressed in black
With throwing knives and ninja stars in his sack
He’s pissed off and he’s gonna crack
He’s gonna give you what you lack

You’d better not shout, you’d better not rat
On Santa or he’ll garrotte your cat
You’d better not point or say he’s fat
Santa will fuck you up and that is that.

Santa wants beer and cookies, not fuckin' milk
And it better be heavy, not mid-strength pilk
And Santa doesn’t like a prying eye
So stay in bed or you’ll fuckin’ die!

So this Christmas try not to be a prick
And hoard your presents like a selfish dick
Help the needy, help the sick
Santa tried the carrot, now here’s the stick.

If you’re an asshole, Santa will beat you down
If you’re a bigot, he’ll go to town
He’ll fuck you up without a frown
He’ll put you in a hospital gown.

I tell you this not to fear or thrill you
So listen hard, while you still do
Have legs to carry you and hope to cling to
If you’ve been bad this year, Santa’s going to fuckin’ kill you!

Alive

2006-11-16T08:36:00.001+10:00

It’s 8:00 in the morning and the wind is whistling past my apartment with an Antarctic fury. It’s cold, but it makes you feel alive.

There’s a smell in the air--a smell of ice and gum trees--the smell of bright light and blue sky stretching up into infinity; the smell of the noise a cat makes when it hunts.

Makes you feel alive.

Or maybe I’m just cold: Picture this: Mawson and his fellow explorers huddled in a tent while the wind howls outside, piling up snowdrifts as high as the walls. They’ve just eaten their last husky; Mawson turns to his hypothermic friend and says through cracked blue lips from behind an ice-encrusted beard:

Fuck yeah! Makes you feel alive!

After the winter

2006-10-09T19:51:00.002+10:00

The surly bird gets the worm

2006-10-05T16:44:00.001+10:00

Image stolen without permission from Canadian Mark.

Declaration of war against the Word paper clip

2006-10-03T11:33:00.002+10:00

If that bloody paper clip muppet thing in Word pops up one more time, I’m gonna fucking have ‘im!

Hovering over your work like an obsequious waiter hungry for a tip.

I warn you paper clip boy: what comes next won’t be pleasant!

I’m going to chuck you in a pit of molten metal. If it fucks up a terminator, imagine what it will do to you.

I’m going to straighten you out and use you to scrape dogshit from the sole of my shoe.

I’m going to beat you flat with a hammer and use you as a Christmas decoration.

I’m going to bend you into a fishhook and drag you behind a boat on a cold winter’s day.

I’m going to use you as a staple to hold together someone’s bowel after an operation.

I’m going to insert you into a punk’s tongue and watch him lick batteries.

I’m going to affix you to the chain of a urinal.

I’m going to pay people to piss on you 24 hours a day until you rust away.

I’m going to melt you down and use you as a filling in the mouth of someone suffering from terminal halitosis.

I’m going to tie you to a bit of string and drag you behind my car as a means of discharging static electricity.

I’m going to use you as a pin to affix a rare South American butterfly to a board.

I’m going to have customs find the butterfly and order its immediate immolation.

iWank

2006-05-17T15:12:00.001+10:00

Disturbing developments have come to our attention here at What not to do in Australia. After much research, and analysis of results, a conclusion has been reached.

Owning an iPod can cause you to turn into a wanker.

Yes, it’s true--by owning an iPod you risk becoming a severe wanker. It is entirely possible that you are already a wanker. A chance also exists that you were a wanker before you bought the iPod.

Before you ambush me with a barrage of one, or even two emails, denying your culpability, let me present the undeniable, unalterable, and unpalatable proofs for my assertion.

First let’s consider the ‘pros’ of the iPod:

It looks cool and is instantly recognisable.
You can dock it in your BMW.
Bono has one.

Now let’s consider the cons:

It’s overpriced.
Lacks many features of it’s competitors, such as in built voice recording and direct from source MP3 encoding, digital line in, ability to support certain file types, battery life, etc…
Shuffle player doesn’t even have a fucking screen.
You have to fuck around with iTunes software to load tracks, rather than have it show up as an external drive, and drag and drop.
You can’t upload from your player.
Bono has one.

Looks pretty simple when you put it like that, doesn’t it? So why would you buy one? What’s that up the back? It looks cool? Well… It looks white anyway. White being a completely impractical colour for something that has to exist within the modern world. Just say, you are in a situation when you need to hide your iPod in your ‘prisoners purse’? I tell you it won’t stay white for long.

I consulted a graphic designer friend of mine on the matter. He owns an iPod, an iBook, one of those Razor phones and a bunch of other trendy shit, and to paraphrase him, he said: ‘Graphic designers like shit that looks cool.’

Buying something because it looks cool? Is this not the province of morons like Paris Hilton? Did you buy the player because you want to listen to high fidelity music, or because you want Jenny at the Gym to see a white rectangle strapped to your arm. If the answer is gym related, I’m afraid you are a wanker.

And what’s this with wearing them in public view? When you see someone with a mobile phone clipped to their belt rather than in a pocket out of sight, what do you think?

Wanker.

Exactly. The same principle applies to MP3 players, or any electronic device worn as clothing. The marketing people are trying to trick you. It is not ok to walk around like a Borg motherfucker, with an iPod on a belt clip, arm band, neck lanyard, or hanging from a pierced nipple. You look like a Fuckwit.

That’s with a capital F.

What you are saying to the world is: ‘I am a dickhead. I care more about what strangers think of me, and my financial position in life, than a myriad of more important issues. I am vain, and masturbate a lot. I am a wanker in every sense of the word, and probably listen to Bros.’

Is that what you want the world to think?

Is it?

What is even funnier is that these people are trying to express their individuality. Even Apple’s slogan is ‘Think different’.

Think Different? Buy the same thing every other westerner on the planet is buying? Pay more for less? Man, that’s fucked up wacky different. And isn’t ‘different’ just a euphemism for retarded?

Or do they mean ‘different’ in the sense that they were the first to come up with the hard drive based mp3 player? Well they weren’t. Creative, had hard disk players years before Apple.

The culture of the iPod, is polluting the great sandy white beach of the Internet as well. Bloggers the world over, mistakenly seem to think that someone gives a shit about ‘what’s on the iPod?’ They make lists, of random tracks that appear on their players and publish them on their blogs.

What the fuck?

Who gives a flying fuck? The time you spent typing out the lyrics to ‘Girls just want to have fun’ could have been put to much better use watching porn, or plotting to kill Bono or something.

So looking over this expose, have you come to the conclusion that you are an ‘iWanker’? What can you do to avoid looking like a tosser of monstrous magnitude? Here a few simple steps:

Buy something else; but if you can’t:
Keep it in your fucking pocket, Macguyver. (See paragraph relating to fuckwits and looking like one…)
Buy some decent quality headphones that are not white.
Start referring to it as an MP3 player.
Download some firmware to make the fucking thing work properly.
Never, I repeat, NEVER, offer information on your listening habits to someone who didn’t ask.
Keep the iPod acronym running on a constant loop in you head.

I. Prefer. Other. Devices.

...

Bush's plane mistakenly shot down by Jesus over Olympic opening ceremony - Microsoft blamed.

2006-05-17T13:17:00.001+10:00

Sorry, just Google baiting.

...

Another Joke from Davros the Destroyer.

2005-11-17T13:26:00.002+10:00

Well this will probably piss a lot of people off...

If you are person who is perhaps prone to being pissed off, read no further ...

What's this?

A shit way to spend Easter.

Thou shalt not worship false Idols!!!

2005-11-14T11:13:00.001+10:00

American Idol has a lot to answer for. In true commercial arse-sucking style it has spawned copycat shows in a myriad of countries--well at least Australia, and if my cynical belief in the sheer 'vaccuosity' of humanity in general pans out, there will soon be one in every country on Earth.

Algerian Idol anyone?

What about Chad Idol?

Columbian Idol? The show where the judges shovel cocaine up their snort holes before announcing, 'Eeetzz crrap!'

Cuban Idol? 'You don't like my song? Well say hello to my leetle friend! (cue sound of manic laughter and machine gun fire ... Oh fuck, I wish ...)

Egyptian Idol? No Bangles songs please.

Djiboutian Idol? Never heard of that one before? Well the capitol of Djibouti is called Djibouti. Shake your bootie In Djibouti.

Haitian Idol? Already resembles Hell--why not go there?

North Korean Idol? And the winner is ... Kim Jong Il! Of course the man is the best at everything--just ask him, he will tell you how things should be done.

Latvian Idol.

Federated-Fucking-States-of-Micronesian Idol...

When will it end?

At last count, it was generally accepted that there are 193 counties in the world. Considering that the top five contestants of an Idol program usually secure record contracts, that's 965 new spurious acts on the market a year.

Sweet Jesus--be afraid, be very afraid.

Those 965 shlop stars releasing a minimum of 10 songs on their debut album brings us up to 9650 songs of which, granted, possibly two don't make you want to insert a chainsaw in your ear to dull the pain.

9648 scheisen hausen (as zee Germans say) songs polluting the already stagnant music market.

Fan-fucking-tastic. I can't wait.

What not to cook &trade : Dogshit Nachos

2005-07-21T17:19:00.001+10:00

Summer time in Korea and it's as hot as that hot roller in the fucking photocopier that always snags the paper, then burns you when you try and remove it, making you jump backwards and hit your head on the bookshelf as you tear out half the paper, causing you to request the photocopier to 'just fucking work, you fucking piece of shit,' just as one of the students' mothers walks into the office.

Warm indeed, and what better summer food than Nachos Korean style--well not exactly Korean style--this is the version they feed to vegan TV evangelists in hell, while simultaneously applying kimchi enemas. Nonetheless, while this is named 'Dogshit Nachos',for personal reasons I am off the dogshit, and will be using a dogshit substitute, if you will, and no, it's not tofu.

Grab all that shit and chop it up--excepting the corn chips. It is probably best to remove any layers of onion that are starting to liquefy, at this stage. Take a tiny bite of one of the chillies and expectorate violently into the sink as you reef on the cold water and thrust your mouth under it. Remembering an inflight magazine's advice on a Thai Air flight, to hold vinegar in your mouth to relieve chili related trauma--gargle vinegar, before coming to the realisation that it doesn't fucking work. Why have I been passing this information on for all these years?

Fry up the onion and two violently hot chillies with some pepper and a wee bit of stock.

Chop up some kimchi and spring onion if you had forgotten to do that earlier, then chuck the kimchi in to join the fun in the fry pan.

Push some of the detritus cluttering your table onto the floor, to make way for the plate you just washed up for the occasion. Arrange chips on said plate like so.

By now, shit should be starting to burn in the fry pan--don't burn it too much, just a little. Take it out and spread it evenly-ish over the chips. Sprinkle chopped spring onion over this layer.

This next step is tricky.

Take a can of dogshit substitute (tuna) and after draining off the oil and removing any bits of dolphin that catch your eye, spread that shit all over the nachos. Take leave of your brain, and forgetting how much chilli you have already added, dice one more, scoop it up with your fingers, and sprinkle it on top.

Now would be a good time to rub your eye.

As your eye begins to inflame, dance around the kitchen like an idiot, contemplate dowsing your eye with vinegar before attaining a moment of chilli-induced clarity--I can see through time! Vinegar in the eye is a very bad idea.

Deftly, as sparks start to grow at the edge of your vision, throw yourself at the sink, instantly attaining a perfect score on the yet-to-grow-popular game of 'Get the handle of a soup ladle up your nose' as you plunge your head among the dirty dishes, and run cold water into your eye for five minutes.

After you have sufficiently recovered, spread as much cheese as you care for over the top.

Bake that motherfucker in a toaster oven, or, if you are posh, a real oven. Find something to prevent your hands from burning as you take it out.

Cast your eyes over your creation in all its glory. That really does look like dogshit now doesn't it? I suggest watching a cheesy horror movie to distract you while you consume this, and sup upon a chilled glass of orange juice to help numb the fire on your lips.

If it's bothering you, imagine how the dog felt.

What not to cook &trade : Aberration Sandwich

2005-06-09T13:01:00.002+10:00

Some weeks ago, I awoke with a killer hangover (much like the one I have now) and ventured out to a new supermarket that was built just behind my apartment, obstructing my view of the mountains. The world was far too bright, and bits of it kept slipping around the edges of my sunglasses and poking me in the eye; it was entirely unpleasant.

I staggered in to the supermarket with its weird Korean trance pop playing and picked up a few things. Lettuce, three radishes (they are the first I have seen in Korea and cost 1500 won ... for three!), and some cut of beef that I grabbed because the guy was hassling me--'What can I get you? What do you want? '
'I don't know. Leave me alone.'
'Do you want this? What about this?'
'Oh, fuck it. That will do.'

Anyway, I barely escaped with my life and headed back home to nurture my hangover. The next day while in class, I was dreaming of what I could make with the contents of my fridge. In my head it was an ethereal delight--a melt-in-your-mouth, gastronomical masterpiece. What I made when I got home looked more like what you see below.

Welcome to What Not To Cook episode #11--Aberration Sandwich.

You will need: bread, mayonnaise, garlic, kimchi, lettuce, a limp radish, a piece of steak, capsicum, havarti cheese, salt, pepper, Worcestershire sauce, hot sauce, sesame oil, and a thirst for adventure.

Slice that grisly piece of meat down the middle, and open it up so it is hinged like a purse. Layer with roughly chopped garlic and kimchi. See that doesn't look too bad--surely this will work ...

Next stuff some slices of havarti in there and splash on some hot sauce.

Close it up, sprinkle both sides with shitloads of pepper and a wee dash of salt. You can use the heel of your hand to push it in there.

Chuck that bad boy in a fry pan with some sesame oil. Those of you in the know may have realised I have forgotten a crucial step here ... There is nothing holding our little steak purse together ...

Ignore this fact, and blissfully unaware of the horror you have unleashed, continue on to the next step.

Arrange your salad ingredients on some bread like so ...

What the fuck is this? Flip the steak, and attempt to make it close up. Realise it is doomed and pull it out of the frypan and onto a chopping board where you attack it with a large knife.

Weaker souls would have given up on this by now, but not our brave crusader.

Stick it back in the frypan and fry the fuck out of it with some Worcestershire sauce.

Considering most of the havarti has liquefied and caked itself to the frypan by now, prudently add some more to your bread. Don't forget the mayonnaise.

Sweet mother of god, what aberration is this? What scatological remains of a foul and feculent beast most horrid?

Scoop the remains out of the frypan and arrange it neatly on your sandwich, like so.

Top with bread, garnish with something green and something red. Stand back and look out on the panorama of mess you have created. Take a deep breath, grab a carton of orange juice, turn on the Discovery channel, and pray they are not showing anything too disgusting while you eat.

This wasn't too bad, except the meat was as tough as a bulldog's ear.

Blast from the past 4#

2004-12-16T14:26:00.001+10:00

I just finished recording the greatest song in the history of time, but I can't log in to Soundclick for some reason, and hence can't supply you with a link...

Anyway...Here is a little musing from deepest, darkest China.

Crap

Date :
Thu, 01 Nov 2001 22:49:02 +1100

Here's a handy hint, it just came to me the other day while I was eating lunch.

Just say for some reason you want to exude an air of contemplation, to let others know that you are a very intelligent person, and give the impression that you are pondering the meaning of existence at this very moment ...

Eat fish. Preferably a Chinese river fish, such as carp, with lots of bones. The facial expressions you pull while attempting to locate a small fish bone with your tongue, all the time keeping your fingers out of your mouth, is sure to do the trick. Your eyes roll back in your head as they glaze over; you stare into the distance and try and envisage the inside of your mouth as you probe and search for that fucking fish bone that you know is still there--despite the fact that you can't find it. This does bare some relevance to the meaning of life, as your life hangs in the balance right now. If you swallow that fish bone and it lodges in your throat you could die; I once heard a story about a woman who swallowed a fish bone that got stuck in her throat and over a period of months caused a tumor, which resulted in her eventual death by asphyxiation ...

Meanwhile, while you scour the mashed fish in your mouth for signs of solid matter and think of that poor lady who died, people around you are starting to take notice. Wondering what it is that is on your mind, they speculate amongst themselves. 'Is he a physicist, working on the intricacies of some new theorem that will change the course of history and the world as we know it? Maybe he is an author, developing a plot that will leave the bard for dead? What if he is one of the select few that really control the world, and is currently thinking of a means to appease the alien invaders from the planet Thorax?

And all the time all you really want to do is spit out the pulp of fish in your mouth that tastes like shit-flavoured mud.

I think it is no accident that by rearranging the letters in the word 'carp', you can spell 'crap'.

Hot Gochu

2004-09-04T19:01:00.001+10:00

Red chilli or ‘gochu’ in Korean, a staple element of nearly every Korean food. They require them in such mass quantities, that during the harvest season, chillies can be seen drying in the sun on the street, the roof, simply every-fucking-where... Oh yeah, gochu is also a cute slang term for penis.

It's all about the gochu...

...and you know this...Man!

I tried to take these pictures on the sly. I feel foolish and touristy taking photos of what, to Koreans, are extremely commonplace things with my abnormally large camera.

A bunch of adjummas walked by decked out in full adjumma regalia: bulletproof perms, sun visors, and loud floral clothes in all the colours of the rainbow... then some more.

They looked at me while I was bent down adjusting the folding screen on the camera, messing with the macro function, trying to get the best angle.

I'm sure they were thinking ‘What the fuck is that guy doing? Is he retarded? It's just a fucking chilli for God’s sake...’

Can you imagine someone back home taking a photo of something mundane like a parking meter?

And matching little car in ‘gochu metallic’

Attack of the killer gochu!

Just to show you that it's not all about the gochu...

Yes, they look cute in isolation, but multiply the numbers and add sugar...

Birthday

2004-08-21T20:02:00.001+10:00

It was my birthday the other day. Apparently. I didn't know this at the time, I always thought that my birthday was in late February just like it has been every year since I was born. Apparently I was wrong.

I was in a restaurant that I frequent often with two friends, Won and Ryan. The woman who runs the restaurant is very friendly and always chats away with us, supplying free extras and even bags of ice that she stuffs down the back of your shirt when you least expect it. My friend Won is from Seoul and for some unknown reason decides to tell her it is my birthday.

She gets very excited even though I do my best to deny it, she literally runs off out the door and down the street. I call Won a bastard and a few other names while Ryan pisses himself laughing, as we watch the ajumma go hurtling back the other way past the restaurant.

Three minutes later she comes huffing and puffing her way back, red-faced and proudly clutching a box of 'choco-pies' (a revolting marshmallow biscuit) and a bottle of Korean champagne.

Oh shit.

For those of you who are unaware of the traditional Korean birthday cheap shitty, sugary, sparkling wine celebratory method, read on.

This lovely lady proceeds to make a cake out of the choco-pies by stacking them on top of each other and inserting 27 matches to use as candles. Everyone sings 'Seng il chuka hamneeda' and I brace myself for the inevitable. The ajumma shakes up the bottle of wine and tries to force the cork out to no avail. I offer to do it for her, sensing an opportunity to turn the tables on my bastard friends, but she is on to me, and is having none of it.

A man in his 40s at the next table offers his services, stands up with the wine, shakes it some more then carefully asks whose birthday it is... Again, I try to fend it off saying it is actually Ryan's birthday, but no one will believe me. I try again, claiming my clothes are new... He pops the cork and sprays the horrible sugar-water all over me, as I try to wrench the bottle away in order to get Won and Ryan. They, however, have done acrobatic maneuvers out the door to avoid getting wet and are so laughing so hard they can't stand up straight.

I then have to go and drink soju with the guys at the next table as they toast my birthday, leaving me suitably hammered when we finally leave. Won and Ryan are still laughing as we walk down the street, my clothes sticking to my skin and reeking of stale wine that smells like sour grapes shat out of a leprous cat.

Scenery

2004-08-19T00:00:00.002+10:00

Enough angry ranting... Here are some pretty pictures.

Typhoon Maemi in Kangneung

The day after

400 fucking stairs up the face of Sorak san

View from Seoul Tower

KyongBok Palace... The photo everyone takes

Anmok Beach the day after Typhoon Maemi

Only in Korea

2004-08-18T23:48:00.001+10:00