Irreverent rants, hungover musings, too much salt...

Sunday, September 14, 2008

Bite my fucking tongue

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.

Thursday, September 04, 2008

Wednesday, August 20, 2008


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)

Tuesday, August 19, 2008

Kicken along

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 …

Tuesday, August 12, 2008

Georgie baby--fuck yeah

George, you were fucking brilliant.

Friday, August 08, 2008

Punless bear-related title

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

Wednesday, August 06, 2008

Intercranial ranting

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 …)

Friday, August 01, 2008

Celeriac is stalking me

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.

Thursday, July 31, 2008

Too classy to eat

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.

Tuesday, July 29, 2008

The daily struggle

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.

Friday, July 25, 2008

Attention muppets

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.

  1. 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.
  2. Don't walk backwards in crowded places. Fuck! Turn around before starting to move away from the counter with your hot coffee.
  3. 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.
  4. 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.
  5. 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.

Friday, July 18, 2008

Bus etiquette

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!

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

Thursday, July 17, 2008


'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?

Wednesday, July 16, 2008

Pope's minions decend on Sydney

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.)

Monday, July 14, 2008

Social spanner #1

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

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.

Friday, July 11, 2008

Set some time aside ...

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.

Wednesday, July 09, 2008

Have you ever ... #1

... 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.

Tuesday, July 08, 2008

Am not

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 ...

Monday, July 07, 2008

Wednesday, July 02, 2008

Australians were particularly vulnerable ...

'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 ...

Tuesday, July 01, 2008

Beaver on a plate

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

Burger bullshit

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.


I didn't enter the draw--just out of spite. I'm sure I would have won ...

Monday, June 30, 2008

Christian Distortion

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.

Thursday, June 26, 2008

Christians and Mugabe--Both full of shit

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

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...

Wednesday, June 25, 2008

The big club

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.

Tuesday, June 24, 2008

Spasmodic morning

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?

Monday, June 23, 2008

Language police

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.

Wednesday, June 18, 2008

You want what?

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.

Tuesday, June 17, 2008


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

Friday, June 13, 2008

Hungover again

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

It's 12 o'clock. At night.

I'm not dead. Much.


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.