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PUSHOVERSI have long been of the opinion that it is very difficult to help those who wouldn't help themselves, for so many reasons, it is like captaining a sinking ship. All the feminism in the world can't save every girl out there (in the free world), and neither can I, even though I am a superhero.
I'm mentioning girls because boys are rotten, made out of cotton, and that can't be helped either. They are beyond reparation, on the whole, and I give up, I can't fix them. So today, we will focus on the female species and her unflinching ability to be stupid, and maybe why this is so.
Women are raised differently to men. Our preconceived ideas about femininty and masculinity come into effect from the moment little baby bundle of joy is thrust into this world and mummy and daddy get their first glimpse of their new bubby boy or girl. The revealing of the gender is perhaps one of the most anticipated aspects of the birth... and it comes along with a lifetime of baggage.
Althought it can't be said that all new dads want boys, and new mums want little girls, it certainly can be said that up until the day the child is born, both parents are contemplarting the possibility of life with a new addition to the family, and as they consider this new addition, they will do so with respect to whether or not it will be a boy or a girl, and along with these thoughts come the first preconceived notions which will affect a child for the rest or his or her life. These are the seeds which grow into destiny.
As babies, girls are cuddled more, and boys are held up on their feet. As they grow, girls will play with a multitude of toys which mirror motherhood, from kitchen accessory sets to baby dolls which piss their pants. Meanwhile, boys get guns and transformers. I certainly think there is nothing wrong with this, the problem is that children are not usually given a choice. That's "just the way it is".
So I guess you should see the point I am trying to make, and it is about time I cut a long story short.
There is no room in society for pushovers, I think that the notion of what I have said here, being that there has been discrepancies in the nurturing or men and women, should be a fairly universal one in this day and age. We are starting to know that this discrepancy is not warranted or helpful. At the same time we are learning to balance the real differences which do exist between the sexes by viewing these differences as a thing which enriches, not suppresses, our society.
So given that we all know this, why are so many women so damn complacent? You can put it to the "patriarchy" or the infrastructure, whatever you want to call it. But in the free world, there is only your choices, and who you surround yourself with. Make your choices wisely.
Eventually these ancient shackes are going to be tossed aside, ladies. You don't want to go with them.
Don't be a pushover, girlies. FRIENDS DON'T LET FRIENDS...Friendship should be some kind of satanic sacrament, consumated by the stabbing of a knife into the back of all concerned parties. I'm not saying that because I went to Catholic girls school, I really mean it. No, of course I don't, but you knew that. I'm going to run with it anyway. Honestly, friends are a valuable commodity, but not in the way you think, because it isn't all about patting eachother on the back.
Nor is it about tolerance, justice, giggles or kittens with squishy pink noses, playfully scratching at you're feet while you gleefully take photos of eachother (WAS). It's a tough job being friends with me, just ask one (presuming one exists). Ultimately, being in da hood wit me is about two things, putting up and putting out. Baha, I made a joke. No, really... keep reading. I promise I won't do it again.
Ohkay, so, we were about to discuss the burden (a-hem) "Sacriment" (maybe a Catholic joke, so it's not funny) of friendship and why I think it is so. First and foremost, it is a common misconception that it should be all about tolerance. I tolerate strangers, I tolerate the weird people on public transport who smell funny that HAVE to sit next to me while rockin' their halitosis my way, and I tolerate my boss. Tolerance isn't for mates because lets face it, if you have to tolerate them, why bother?
Friends don't let friends be vegetarian.
I read that in a butchery.
If you're friends look fat, tell them so by poking them with a tiny fork. It hurts and the little fork will make them look even bigger by comparison than the normal sized forks. Humanity has no time for fat people, so you're doing them no favours by listening to their love troubles over a tub of cookie dough ice-cream. The only thing you're helping by being nice is their access to food. Dr. Phil I don't care if you disagee, you're fat too.
I would expect nothing less from my friends if I had any.
Hug someone you love, kiddies. MISS ME MUCH?So, you or someone you know may have been be a little, absent lately. You may feel SAD because of this. Please feel free to leave your very heartfelt comments on this matter.
I'm not saying it's been me who has been missing, I certainly am omnipotent, and so I can never be truely "gone"... But, alright, it's true. I have been AWOL. Off the radar so to speak, but I have a good excuse. You see...
There is a man who lives in your computer, and in mine. His name is usually Akshobhya, but occasionally it is Steve. Akshobhya is my guy, and he is not a good fairy, nor bad. He is what you would call ephemeral, his wrath only surpassed in it's fleeting by his charm. Quick to giggle and quick witted, he can be the best friend you ever have had (aww I hear you say).
There is one other quality of Akshobhya which sets him apart. He is utterly addictive.
I don't mean in the "omfgijustwannalickyoureyeball" sense (Jade, if you're reading, that was a hilarious story, and one that I won't soon forget). I mean in the brain sucking, mouth drying sense. He is an institution and I have been highly institutionalised.
"WhatTheFuck?", I hear you say. What I am trying to say is that I have been duped by the little guy, with the mischevious wink, Akshobhya, and I found myself unable to do much else but spend my days with him.
So I devised a devilish plot to exterminate the man in order to regain my freedom. It was fairly complicted in design involving "connect four" and a photocopier. Suffice to say he may be taking a short leave of absence, allowing me to return once more in the most stylish of styles.
Well, maybe NOT stylish at all actually.
Rainbow Brite attacks, kiddies. SUGAR AND SPICE AND OTHER THINGS RAGINGThere are just two worthy ways to vent your anger, vengance and rage. You cannot bottle it up, cry it out, write about it, forget about it or avod it without taking something away from the whole experience. Vengance is particularily fulfilling, and until recently I thought of it as my only true outlet, but I was about to discover it is not in fact my forte. Don't get me wrong, vengance is a beautiful thing (and so is forgiveness, but it's as useless as a tit to Elton John). Vengance is calculated and effective. Weilded correctly, sweet vengance will see you smirking over somebody else's spilt milk for a long time. The problem with me is my troublesome conscience. By the time I've planned my vengance, often I will abandon the best laid plans in order to sleep well at night. They say revenge is a dish best served cold, well I find that it's a little too icy, even for me. So I was stuck in a rutt. What use is a plan of attack if you won't use it? I'm ashamed to say I was ready to throw in the towel and quit before I was any further behind... But every now and then, the enemy gets a little too bold. Too brazen and cocky. The enemy approaches our trenches in the belief that there is noone left. They step on the bodies of sleeping men, and they play with their toys, eat their food and fire off a few of their rounds. Still the men are sleeping, tired from battle, weary from the war. Then when the enemy is accustomed to this trench, when they feel as though they can do with it what they see fit, the soldiers awaken and grow angry. And the enemy does not even know, and the weakness turns into a strength. They take one step too far. There is not even time to regret it, infact they may not even remember it. Their hair is ripped from their scalp, and their eyeballs popped out and the goo is squeezed from the inside. Each part of their body is ripped to bits in ways which become so gruesome... that I cannot even begin to describe it, for fear of my space being shut down. So what, I hear you ask, is the benifit of such a rage. Spontinaity and impluse. There's no point regreting what we cannot control, and there are no cold dinners either.
Win-win, Kiddies. DOES THIS LOOK HEALTHY TO YOU?Dreams should be a healthy expression of your subconscious, that is, as healthy as the depths of your subconscious actually are. In the case of me, my subconscious is more like an emotional wasteland, in the middle of which rests a house of horrors.
There is usually some good reason that the subconscious thoughts are not foremost in our minds when we are awake, and dreaming not only brings them into the spotlight, it makes us live through them. This CAN be cool (like being one of those underwater Snorks), however, in general I say let sleeping dogs lie.
I suppose I could be an out of the ordinary person, because most of my dreams are nightmares, and the ones that arent often follow paths so twisted that there is no way I could re-tell the course of events and not look crazier than Woody Allen. To give you a general idea, we are talking about a hotel with waterslides instead of elevators, and yes, you can go up; a cameo appearance by Anna Nicole Smith and one very very large gum tree- large enough to dwarf a whale.
And what's with dreaming about the exact opposite of what you want to happen?!? Like dreaming that you are stuck at the house of some bitch you hate, and you realise she lives in a guilded palace of a house, and not only that but you are stuck with a guy you hate too, and to top it off you're forced to watch Liverpool vs. Liverpool in the soccer and I HATE soccer. I don't even know the rules of soccer so how can I watch it in my dream... weird.
Then there are waking dreams, generally they come on busy Monday mornings, and you dream that it is Sunday, and you sleep in and fuck up the whole day. But even worse are the Sunday dreams that it is Monday... so you get up early for nothing. It's like a subconscious practical joke.
I'm sure this is not even interesting to anyone, but I am sitting here, around 9am, bleary eyed and my head is throbbing. My brain has kept me on edge all night and I can do nothing except wonder why. Maybe I'll go back to insomnia.
Sweet dreams, kiddies. DON"T TRY THIS AT HOME, OR DO... WHICHEVER
THE CHURCH OF INSANITYWe have all experienced the odd religious nut once in a while, but have you ever considered that the rhetoric they preach is in fact a reality that they feel they have live with, day and and day out?
It's a heavy burden knowing that you are going to have to experience an apocolyptic war. I mean, none of these nutcases can tell you exactly when the apocolypse is going to be (and all who have tried have gotten it wrong thus far), but you would swear by the way they are terrified that it's going to be tomorrow.
So tomorrow, the forces of darkness and evil will be fighting it out in a bloody battle for your soul, demons and angels walking among us carrying big guns, and stuff. Add to that the fact that if you haven't accepted the right religious extremeism and incorporated all of their idiosyncracies into your daily life, you might just find yourself on the wrong end of the devil's pitchfork, literally. Then you get to burn in hell...
Confused? Scared? Maybe you'd like to relax your mind with some Yoga. As long as you don't open the gates of Hell, that is. Yes, for those of you that did not know, Yoga opens the gates of Hell. By clearing your mind and using the hypnotic breathing patterns of the heathen Indians, you are effectively allowing the passage of demons into your body, and thus opening the gates of Hell. Symptoms include levitation and evil behaviour. If your symptoms persist, please, see your doctor.
Now you might think I am talking crazy talk, but I am only telling you what I was told by someone who knows this first hand... well, kind of. You see, my source once went to Catholic School, and the Catholics (being in league with the Devil as they are) encouraged the Devil to posses young children by warping their minds with Yoga. The consequences of this involved my source along with several of his peers (apparently, of course), to levitate right of the ground in the middle of the school yard, thanks to demonic possesion.
Still not convinced? Consider the rest of the religious nuts and their "proof" of God's power (read: weirdness).
Hurricane Katrina was sent by God to wipe out the evil "Preacher's", and all those who haven't seen the true path in the U.S. South.
Western Medicine is a tool the Devil uses to keep his minions in the dark concerning the true healing powers of a healthy Christian soul.
Simply being a good person is not enough to get you into heaven, and all those who do not fear God and believe in Jesus in a particular way will burn in hell, even Mother Theresa (especially because she was a Catholic).
If you open your heart to Jesus you will be able to speak in Tongues. Like jibberdy-whispery-gobbeldy-crap that is highly spiritual, and although noone on Earth will be able to decipher it, you will be "cool".
I think the message here is that there isn't really anything wrong with Yoga...
I think religious nuts should be treated as mental patients, because if they were carrying on about any other subject they would be hospitalised, or at very least heavily medicated. Just because they are religious nuts does not mean they are not simply "nuts". Lets get over the political correctness and face the fact that these people are extremely delusional. Even if you are willing to believe in God, you cannot possibly argue that every single religious nut out there is right. There are factions from every walk of life, with varying levels of sanity.
Let's just try to tell them to shut them up next time they start preching to us in the street, maybe if nobody listens they will go away.
 God bless, kiddies. GETTING AWAY WITH MURDERInterestingly, I have been out of the game for a while now. I don't really know why that is interesting, except to say that it makes for words on the page.
Today I would like to talk to you about office supplies.
I know you're probably thinking that office supplies are about as dull as lawn bowls in summer... well actually that does sound steamy now that I mention it... literally steamy of course, nothing tawdry about it.
Anyway, office supplies come in many shapes and sizes, and considering the volitile and often inescapeable nature of the desk space environment, I thought I'd give a few insiders tips to combating the mundane and surviving the unexpected.
Sitting at a desk is a job of great dexterity and skill, and a few wry steps, or wistful thinkings if you will, can have you quickly put to work on some other task more akin to that four letter word "work". If you wish to stay at your desk and write blogs, let me fill you in.
What you need to do isqute simple: the best and most diligent way to having time to yourself at work is to finish all your actualy duties really really quickly, and then to spend the rest of the day with your completed paperwork sprawled out in front of you with an accompanying furrow on concentration on your forehead. Of course, this may only work if you are indeed capable of working at the speed of light, if not you may be more interested in this next tip.
For emergency moments when you need some R and R at work, try "cleaning your computer screen" when the boss is watching- or my favourite, wiping down the buttons on your keyboard. It takes a split second to appear busy with that, and it doesnt require anything but a tissue.
Another good way to escape work is to pretend to be on an important call... however don't forget to pick up the line you are pretending to be receiving an important query on, lest it start ringing in your ear.
A paperjam is another great way to spend 10-15 minutes... and if your printer is anything like a printer it shouldn't be too hard to arrange, simply print something absolutely vital and BAM, paperjam.
There are of course plenty of other ways to look busy at work, however none seem to be as effective as actually typing away at your screen, simple and oh so useless... I am such a waste of space.
P.S. If my boss is reading this... I don't usually waste time at work... honest.
P.P.S. To all those who were thinking I was going to tell you how to get away with murder... shame on you. You'll just have to wait for my book to come out. Sheesh.
IDENTITYWho has seen Identity? HANDS UP NOW!
*MOVIE SPOILER*
The cast of this movie represent the split personalities of a murderous madman, and they are all vying for control of his overweight and incarcerated body. I thought it was an interesting concept. And since I have ideas block, I have decided to borrow this concept, and give you the low down on my would-be split personalities... and who I think would win in a fight.
THE NERD
The nerd in me has existed on many different levels; The brainiac, the reject and the eccentric. Through her I have lost more friends than I care to count, but maybe gained a few more worthy companions later in life. Hate her or embrace her, it doesnt matter; She has possibly the biggest influence on my life (science student). Too bad she isn't friends with motivation.
THE JADED YOUTH
Possibly not my most positive influence, she sure keeps things complicated. This would be the woman to see about a bar fight. She is also in charge of drinking, smoking and all of my destructive habits. The list of which I will not bore you with.
THE VIXEN
Far from existing on the surface, the vixen ramins mostly hidden, just like an iceberg she is deceiving. Unlike an iceberg she isn't made of ice. The longer I have to get to know her, the more I like her... But she isn't all about dressing up, there is some substance there.
THE EXTROVERT
Most people refer to themselves as an introverted extrovert, or an extroverted introvert. The extrovert in me thinks they should just pick a side. Of course I'm not saying that she is out there gettin her speak on all day long. But when she goes to bed it's not because she has been bludgoned by introversion.
THE SOCIOPATH
She is a little girl, who steals lollipops from babies when no-one is watching. Then she pushes their pram over, and curses the company who made such a flimsy baby transporter. Most of the time she is grounded for being naughty and is nowhere to be seen.
THE SNAG (Sensitive New Age Girl)
This girl has a vunerability which no amount of self confidence can remove, and a strength which no amount of invincibility could improve.
FIGHT - DingDing
The Jaded Youth is marching about the ring like China in a bullshop (if you get that joke I pity you). The Extrovert, never one to disapoint the crowds, makes a flashy appearance and proclaims her upcoming attempt to squash Jaded like a bug, making her a pile of sticky goo on the floor... but Jaded's had her weetbix and before Extrovert can get through but 1/5 of her speech, she feels a stabbing pain in the liver... A pain Jaded Youth is all too familiar with causing. Exit Extrovert.
From this point Vixen enters the ring. Quietly ferocious and quite out of Jaded's league, she manouvers her heel to perfection and plants one black patent leather stilletto straight between Jaded's eyes. Vixen then looks around for some more opposition... And find Sociopath.
In the corner stands a little girl with a knife. Sociopath tilts her head to the side and lets out a small giggle... Vixen simply runs her fingers through her hair a bit, and the two opponents size eachother up. Before Vixen can make a move, sociopath has pre-empted every possible plan of attack and eliminated the chances of Vixen scoring. Before she knows it the odds are against her and while the punters boo and hiss, Sociopath gets her rampage on and Vixen is in ribbons on the floor.
Unbeknownst to all, Nerd has been here for 3 hours figuring out the exaxt dimensions of the ring. Using her best estimations of the probable movement patterns of Sociopath, she gets jiggy with some zero-G wrestling moves and the little girl goes down like a boner in parliment. There is no beating cold hard logic... or is there...
Climbing into the opposite corner (and looking remarkably like yours truely), the very presence of the Snag is like cryptonite to the logical powers of Nerd. The laws of physics fail, the crowd turns nasty, the sky falls and a beacon of light emerges above Snag's head. The powers of emotion are stronger than those of reason or physical strength. Nerd is afraid at first, of these strange events... everything is changing.
Snag walks over to Nerd and whispers in her ear. As she hears what is being said, Nerd becomes enlightened also and together, they decide that there can not be only one winner. They were none of them equally skilled, and where wuold we be without Vixen? They resolved unite their talents and vices and stick together.
Love conquers all, kiddies. WASTE OF SPACEI... [hurt] people who would hurt themselves, then they won't have it on their conscience [love] you. Yes, YOU =P [hate] people who whinge about not being accepted for being different, and then criticse everyone else who isn't the same "different" as them [hope] next years Australian Idol is subject to terrorist attack [crave] misbehavior of all kinds [regret] ever having regrets. =|What a trip out [care] not [always] change my clothes several times before I go out [feel alone] when I am around people who suck [listen] to anything I like, no "scene" points [hide] from confrontation when it counts [write] things I pull out of my ass [breathe] . [play] with people's lives [miss] - don't really miss anything [learned] I am usually right [feel] tired, common and worried [search] for people who can string together a few coherant phrases, sentences are a plus [know] stuff. If i told you your brain would explode [say] stuff to get a reaction [fail] in the eyes of many [dream] like i'm on LSD [wonder] who would win in an eating comp... Casey Donovan or Claudia Schiffer on a binge [want] alot of things I could never express [worry] about having to get up in the morning, I'm serious I hate it [wish] this quiz was less boring [argue] not with eveyrone I disagree with, only with those who would understand the argument [need] distractions [have] heaps of bad habits [think] ... [believe] in fate [try] but not too hard MY CHEMICAL ROMANCE TOURS
THAT'S RIGHT... MY CHEMICAL ROMANCE IS COMING TO TOWN
STARTING YOUR OWN CULTI don't know why I have never thought of this before. The simple notion of being a cult leader... Not to be confused with those psuedo-cult "phenomenons" such a Coca Cola, Che Guevera, Pulp Fiction or Andy Warhole.
I'm talking about being an apocolypitic visionary. A self proclaimed messiah executing total financial, spiritual and sexual control over the masses. Well maybe not sexual control, we can possily eliminate that hallmark of cult life from my new super-cult. Where others have failed I will succeed. Selecting only the best aspects of cults and religion, just watch me.
Undoubetdly a hot topic this year is Scientology. Certainly I have the narrative qualities which would render me as accomplished a leader as L. Ron Hubbard, whose cupboards are certainly not bare. All I need to do is write up some stories of myself as a war hero and medical marvel, nobody will bother to check the facts once they are well within my iron fists. And with stars like John Travolta and Tom Cruise along for the ride who could disagree that Scientology is the cult of now.
Taking a leaf out of a slightly less read book, the Order of The Solar Temple has had some very well to do followers also. Without a doubt the well educated are a group I am most inclined to indoctrinate, to give me a sense of personal satisfaction from the accumulation of followers, for there is no sport to be had in recruiting already raving madmen. No point building a utopia with them, either. Neither would a little history go astray, and with footing in the Knights Templar, I think that's just the right amount of mythology and fact.
Essential to the operation of both the aforementioned cults, and to many more, is a belief in the extra terresterial. Whether joining them or fearing them, the powers of these unearthly beings are not to be underestimated.
So... I will call my cult "Utensilism".
I shall form an "alliance" with the "aliens", they will give me "intelligence" that others will undoubetdly find unintelligable, yet all will take my word on it. I will need a +5 charisma amulet, and with my best powers of persuasion I shall convince everyone to pay me inordinate amounts of money to build not a spaceship, but a transmitter, which is much easier to fake (here's where it helps to have wealthy followers). I will do this single handedly by utilising my secret knowledge of alien technology.
Next, I shall convince all involved of the vices of being idle, by spewing some kind of falsified concern for the overpopulation of the planet etc. In doing so I will never have to work a day in my life. By simply giving each member one simple task in life they will never be without purpose or industry. For example, stamp licker and egg whisker. Thus the name of my cult, Utensilism.
Finally, I will not resort to the usual finale of mass murder/suicide... Apart from the obvious reasons for avoidance of this path (becoming a fugative for one, and the whole conscience thing), I choose to end aquaintance with my followers in a much more subtle manner. I shall tell them that the only means to my prophisised end is to wait for future contact from the extra terrestrials, and in the meantime to spread the word. They will be re-educated in the powers of hyponsis and fraud to aid them on their mission as prophets.
I shall release them back into society as wealthy, charismatic individuals and sit at home while my big fat pay cheque rolls in. I know I'm not the first one to dream this dream, but we have yet to see a prominant female cult leader.
Look into my eyes, kiddies. SORRYThat last blog I wrote was terrible, don't bother reading it. My condolances to those who have already done so
I'll do better next time, kiddies. HYPNO HIPPOI have been doing a little undercover research into the shadey world of hypnotism.
Report follows...
= H Y P N O T I S M =
= The Discovery.
Watching Good Morning Australia with Bert Newton on a small black and white set in the back room of a decrepit Vietnamese resteraunt on a Tuesday morning (NEVER mind why I was there), munching on some stale fortune cookies, I began to wonder why ANYONE purchased the overpriced, inferior products advertised throughout the show in the form of monotonous and repetitive infomercials. I realised that NO-ONE in their right mind would purchase that crap. I figures that the type of people at home watching these shows, generally the unemployed single mothers and unwashed fat guys (etc.), would not ordinarily buy such expensive items (although undoubetly they might buy such useless items).
= The Hypothesis.
"SO, what's the deal?", I said to myself in the best voice-over voice I could muster. Given the repetative nature of infomercials, and the style of speech used, I wondered if people were being hypnotised into buying these products. And if that was true, what other shocking things would emerge from the disembowled seedy underbelly of the hypnosis underground...
= The SHOCKING Truth.
I needed to go deep undercover for this one. So after aquiring myself a small boy of questionable ethnic background, I promised him a fresh spray can if he would pose as my son for the sake of science. He agreed with a glint in his eye, and with that I headed off to the nearest trailer park in search of a suitable crowd with which to mingle in order to discover just what's been going on.
Day 1
Moved into decrepit caravan dwelling surrounded by similarily decrepit caravan folk. Instantly observed that these people had alot of "stuff", however none seemed usefull and most contained dirty pools of water and lay sunbleached on the grass. Made 1 friend (Bev) by waiting in ambush en route to communal toilets. Am invited to watch Bert's GMA tomorrow morning in Bev's caravan.
Day 2
The things I do... Spent the morning with Bev and her stinky dog. There was no conversation, just television. After suggesting that Bert's show SUCKED ANUS, was cursed at in the very Springerest of fashions. Consequenty I left, suspicions confirmed.
Day 3
Must try to mend bridges. Go back to Bev's and watch daytime TV.
Day 4
Stay home watching daytime TV.
Day 5
Stay home watching daytime TV again. Am suddendly very overweight and unemployed. My name is now androgenous and is spelt with 3 letters. I have food on my shirt. Ooo.. and egg sheller... now THERE'S a useful idea.
Day 6 AM
Wow I can make chocolate mousse in seconds with the MAGIC BULLET... and I need is cream and chocolate... mmm creaaam.
Day 6 - PM
Fortunately I was attacked by the small boy I kept. He demanded his chrome. After violence errupted the television was destroyed and I was forced to comply.
Day 7
Saw myself in a mirror. The rest is too horrible to recount, I was nearly under the control of the AM TV... After massacring everyone in the trailer park (out of kindness, of course) I go home.
= So?
Well, I may not have achieved the proof of my hypothesis in the way I set out to do so, but there you have it. Watching daytime TV is a major link in the self perpetuating cycle of poverty. Not that I care, and not that you didn't already know that... But on a serious note, I think hypnosis plays a part in everything I have spoken about.
For a laugh check this "BLACK OPS" Hypnotism out, kiddies. LAZY TARDSJust because the article below is long, doesn't mean it's not worth reading. Don't be lazy, it makes me cry. REAPER OF REWARDSParked in a secluded drive opposite one of Hollywood's hangouts
for the pretty young things...
Awkwardly, I awoke in the backseat of my car. Stretching out my neck and repositioning my vertibrae, I checked the time; 4:17am... It won't be long now, until it is finished. I crack a window and dutifully engage myself with a lit cigarette.
The streaky rearview mirror and rain soaked back windscreen provide me with an adequate angle as I await my first glimpse. It's not my first time, but my palms are sweaty - and as my heart beats irregularily, I see her.
As she steps out into the dismal night, the rain is falling down in stinging sheets. She stumbles down the gutter, her rain soaked hair obscuring her face. It doesn't matter, I can sense Paris Hilton has what I want.
I sping into action like a bobcat... and I am out of that car faster than you can say fast. As I approach, I notice two large bodyguards flanking Ms. Hilton, but I care not. I continue to persue her, approaching faster now.
I reach into my pocket, searching for my instrument. Grasping what I am after, I quickly expose the contents of my pockets, as I am now within two meters of her.
Instantly she stops. I have been spotted! Ms. Hilton stumbles backwards, appearing startled for a moment, but she quickly regains her composure. Suddenly, she approches to within an arms reach of me and takes the pen from my hand, slurring, "Whoochhall I make-out too?".
I assume she means the autograph. I smile a secret smile. "Diablo", I say.
Quickly she scrawls down her name on my carefully chosen stationary, and as a finishing touch Ms. Hilton smeared her lipstick over the autograph, although it looked more like a monkey devouring a wrapper. I thank her, and quickly exit the street before her security guards save me the trouble.
Back inside my car now, I go straight for the glove box. Rubbing my hands together first, partially because of the cold, but also to savour the moment, I pop open the compartment. Dozens of autographs similiar to the one I have in my hot little hand jump straight out and fall all over the passenger seat.
The sum of my life's work... contained within this car. I stuff every last slip of paper into my pockets. Trying to remain calm, I start the car up and head towards the rendezvous point. I stall it, and let slip a foul word. Not to worry, I tell myself, pretty soon my luck will change. With that, I start the car again and head off into the night in a cloud of exhaust fumes.
5:47am and I reach my destination a few minutes early. Nobody seems to be here yet, so I exit the car to take in the sunrise and the scenery. The Morning Star is hanging low in the sky and I smile to myself again. The carpark at Centrelink is positively deserted at this hour, which is the main reason why we chose this meeting place.
At 6:00am on the button I spy my commrade. Approaching slowly down from the sky, the Morning Star engulfed me completely, until I was in a place which could only be described as heaven.
I was in a large white room, the ambience of which was so vibant and inviting one need only to imagine the very definition of warmth and welcoming and it would appear before you before you could finish your train of thought.
I had been here before and I was certainly only intrested in leaving as soon as possible.
As he approached, I felt myself shudder. Seeing the face of the Devil's going to do that to you. Sensing my fear, he let his head tild downwards, and letting out a small chuckle, he obscured his face from me.
"Have you what I require?", I don't think his lips move, and the sound is coming not from my mind, but somewhere deeper. The words feel like fire.
Falling to my knees, I struggle in flames as I produce dozens of autographs, made out to Diablo.
"Here.. all for you, just as you asked", I cry out. "Rove McManus, The Hoff, the entire cast of General Hospital, the hosts of The Man Show, Rex Hunt, all the contestants of Miss Universe along with Trump, they're all there and more, on the soul paper". I sob bitterly, burning up in his presence.
The Devil smirks and as he does my body is doused of the illusionary flames which plagued it. And as I fearfully look up, I feel the stinging sensation of ...nothing but rain. I am drenched infact.
I put my face to the bitumen and sigh, a fair trade, I suppose. The souls of damned celebrities traded to the devil once more.
I get back into my car, utterly pleased with what I have done. Tonight I will reap the rewards, I thought. After all, I haven't traded MY soul. And as reward from the devil, I will be given the satanic inspiration to complete my life's work.
After all, Blogs don't fall from heaven, kiddies. ROACHES AND DECEIT
You can see the plotting...
Cockroaches are a remarkably hardy animals, able to withstand brutal environments that we as fallible humans simply cannot. It is for this reason that cockroaches are so disgusting, like fingernail fungus or orange chest hairs Nuclear holocaust, and the resulting nuclear winter are no match for the mighty roach, who is likley found hunkering down in an abandoned microwave living off stale pizza whist reveling in it's own glorious existance... Pfft Why is it that God has forsaken us with such a creature It's like Ghandi said, if there were no cockroaches there would be more food for the homeless people who have nothing to eat except roaches and their poop. Mass extermination of the cockroach would not only be fun, it's helpfull, too. Yay In order to kill the roach, first we need to be, the roach. Eat what they eat, and go where they go... First stop, squashed under a shoe This experiment requires a large shoe and a willing human sacrifce, if you can't find one a kicking and screaming one will do nicely. Then all you do is SQUASH them. Notice how people don't crunch as nicely? That's a shame Next - to the kitchen! The hypothesis which I am going to put to experiment this time around is that cockroaches are NOT infact creatures of oppourtunity, but roaches of deceit. Exhibit a) a tasy muffin - chocolate, my favourite, encased in the box, on the top shelf Exhibit b) crunchy stale sultanas lying on the floor of the pantry You can see where this is going my pretties, as I am such a jeeeenios, I have uncovered the truth, and that is that roaches are deceitful chocolate smugglers. Time to hit them where it hurts. Not only will mass extermination save the homeless, it will ensure the safety of my muffins and it's great practice for world domination... All I need now is a plan As I mentioned earlier, it is an unfortunate truth that the cockroach is a Survivor. Rob, Amber, and the roach. And it's going to take more than my shoes to wipe out the population by bedtime Strategy is the key here, but herein lies the problem... how does one exact a strategy of doom over a vast scale on something as incoherant as a cockroach. I can't very well declare war and then arrange to meet on the battlefield. No, this is a war I must take to every kitchen, every bathroom cupboard, into the bottom of every suitcase in the name of every chocolate muffin. I need a better plan And then it hits me. I will simply constructan enormous chocolate maze and entice all the roaches with chocolate muffins (specifially MINE, because they seem to like them best)... and then we simply play the waiting game, those roaches will be led of into the fires of Mt. Doom faster than a bunch of unattended Lemmings Problem solved... now if you will excuse me I have to get back into my cell. Steer clear of danger, kiddies LOVE GAMESBased on "10 things every single girl must own"
By Amy Spencer Read the original article HERE.
SO here it is, as I had intended...
1) A fabulous photo of YOURSELF
Remind me again, why? Oh right, so that the guy doesn't "forget" how hot you are while he's getting his beer. If your lucky enough to actually be hot, you won't need it, otherwise, let him drink that beer and you should keep the lights off, at least until he is blind drunk.
Also, if the photo is super great, and your not, that is NOT a good thing.
If you must have a photo on your refigerator, make it something interesting, like that time you went to Amsterdam... any good conversation starter. He doesn't need to see a photo to know what you look like.
2) A pretty pair of heels to walk on...
Shoes are nice but lets not delude ourselves, men do not care as much as women. As long as your well dressed within the parameters what constitutes a heterosexual female, your set to do just fine. Not to say that nice shoes don't help... But there are more important things a single girl can wear to increase her appeal, like underwear that doesn't come up above her jeans, and jeans that don't go down below her ass. If you want to look great, go to the hairdressers regularily.
4) A great pickup line... and a way to blow 'em off
I think what this is trying to say, in a retarded way, is that you need confidence. You need to be smart enough to know that pick-up lines only work in gay bars. If your going to go out looking for men, you also need to be prepared for the kind that just want to take a living, breathing woman home to screw (and in some cases, not so living and breathing).
Don't go for the first drunk schmuck to stumble your way. Just tell him to fuck off. In my experience, the one they suggested, "Sorry, I don't think the guy I'm seeing would appreciate it." never works. Usually this line is met with responses like, "That's what they all say," or even worse, "Where is he tonight," or, "That doesn't mean we shouldn't have some fun, babycakes". These responses are annoying, especially if you DO have a boyfriend. Just tell them to fuck off, who cares if they think your a jerk.
5) A six-pack of good bottled beer
If he's coming over make him bring the damn beer. Or wine...
6) Bathroom reading
"Oh my gawsh, this WHO magazine is three weeks old! Well, I'm not coming back here again." Just ridiculous. If you want to show your love for entertaining literature, find somewhere else to display it, like a BOOKCASE. Also, statistically, having no reading material in the toilet means less time per pit stop, thus increasing time spent doing things that actually matter.
As a side-note, if your trying to get rid of a man, "Right to Life" bi-monthly should do the trick, left next to the can.
7) A business card
This is possibly THE most retarded thing I have ever heard. "After the age of 18, it's no longer cute to scrawl your first name and phone number on a napkin and hand it to a man who wants to call you." ...Well, it's certainly not as freaky as a dating buisness card.
Also, mobile phones are a funky new technology, it's like a phone and a phone book in one! If your prospective man doesn't have a mobile phone, tell him to call Centrelink and get a job. Then, leave.
8) Earplugs
This is just getting ridiculous now...
9) A straight male friend on your speed-dial
Yes, friends are important. Straight OR gay, since when was MSN not all up on the gayness.
People that post on the same forum as you don't count...
10) A condom
Yeah sure, I guess. Don't take one on the first date lest you be tempted to use it, thinking that it's the begining of a long and loving relationsip. It won't be.
Kids these days... WAIT for sex, at least a little while.
Lucky in love, kiddies. HOW TO DIE A SPINSTERThis article is a sobering piece, demonstrating the depths women will sink to, just to bang that man. It is a feature article from...
MSN Dating & Personals
Suddenly Single
10 things every single girl must own
By Amy Spencer Sure, you've got the perfect shade of lipstick and the little black dress... but is that all you need? Hardly. 1. A fabulous photo of yourself We all have that photo: The one where your smile, hair, and (let's be honest) bod all come together in one sexy little package, whether it's that snapshot from your hike in the Grand Canyon or that cocktail party photo where you're dressed to kill. Post that sucker at eye level on your fridge so your male guest can't help but notice it as he checks out if you have beer (see item #5). What he says: "Is that you?" What he means: "Daa-aamn, girl, you're hotter than I realized!" Keep a digital version handy so you can email it to online suitors or blind dates who want a glimpse of the goods beforehand. And never, ever throw it away—when you're 80-something it'll serve as an instant reminder that back in the day, you were a total dish! 2. A pretty pair of heels Admit it. You feel like Maria from West Side Story (You feel pretty, oh so pretty…) when you slip on a pair of nice heels. The good news is that these days, you can transform virtually any outfit to make it on-the-town ready by adding heels to a skirt, jeans, cropped khakis, whatever. And no, they don't have to be towering stilettos, even a pair of 1-inch kitten heels will make you stride a little more confidently. (Added bonus: The taller you are, the more cute men you'll be able to see around the room.) 3. An Eminem CD What's one of the first places a guy peruses when he walks into a woman's home? Her music collection. Good for you if you have an extensive one. But if all he sees is a stack of girl bands (say, the Indigo Girls, the Go-Go's, Joni Mitchell and the Bridget Jones' Diary soundtrack), he's going to panic. Balance out your collection with one CD, any CD, by Eminem and you have no idea how relieved he'll be. It shows you have an open mind and aren't easily offended—and that's music to any man's ears. 4. A great pickup line... and a way to blow 'em off In this post-chivalrous period, we can't always depend on guys to initiate contact, so prepare thyself with one simple, non-cheesy icebreaker to lay on that cutie who's making his way to your area of the bar. Our favorite: "Hi. Having fun?" (Though a friend of mine has recently taken to asking well-dressed men, "Hetero, homo or metro?") And in cases when a guy initiates contact and you're not interested, better have a better blow-off than "Ummmm, no... " Our suggestion: "Sorry, I don't think the guy I'm seeing would appreciate it." Sure, it's a lie, but it'll let him down easy—without destroying his ego or making him think you're a jerk. 5. A six-pack of good bottled beer A prepared single girl is ready to host and toast at any time. If you want to make a guy-guest feel at home and your girlfriends feel special, skip the mass-produced swill and go for microbrews like the exotically-named Smuttynose Shoals Pale Ale from Portsmouth, New Hampshire or the grandfather of microbrews, Sam Adams Boston Lager. 6. Bathroom reading What man doesn't appreciate finding interesting reading in his sweetie's bathroom? So instead of tossing out your magazines when you're done reading them, toss them into a basket by the toilet. No need to go overboard with a stack of Sports Illustrated (if you don't follow sports, that would just be weird), but consider Newsweek or even Cosmopolitan (hey, this may be the only time he's a captive audience and can learn a few things). Or, just buy a book that's made for the bathroom, like Schott's Original Miscellany by Ben Schott ($10.17 at amazon.com) so he can learn a few things about shoelace lengths and sign language while he passes the, uh, time. 7. A business card After the age of 18, it's no longer cute to scrawl your first name and phone number on a napkin and hand it to a man who wants to call you. So if your job doesn't provide a card or you'd prefer one with your personal email address and phone number on it, then have some made at your local Kinko's. The very budget-bound can get 250 full-color business cards for free from vistaprint.com if you don't mind the company's logo on the backside of the card. Hey, it's better than nothing. A napkin he can lose. A card he'll file and keep. 8. Earplugs Ah, there's nothing sweeter than a man who wants to cuddle up with you in bed for a long night's sleep. Unless — SNZZGGHGHRRJJZZZ! — he snores so loudly you can't get any sleep. Prepare thyself for surprise snorers with a pair of earplugs stashed in your nightstand. (2 pairs of Mack's brand self-described "snore-proof" plugs sell for $2.79 at cvs.com.) 9. A straight male friend on your speed-dial Every girl knows she needs a gay male friend she can go to for fashion advice (a personal Queer Eye for Your Closet). But when it comes to relationship advice, you need another source. While your female friends may have good intentions, if you really want to know if you should call that guy, save the guesswork and go to someone who's been there, done that. 10. A condom Hey ladies, you know the drill by now. If you want to be able to have spontaneous fun of the bodily kind, you have to prepare for it yourself. You can't always count on him to have something in his back pocket—or a 24-hour drugstore on the route home. (Your new mantra: If you don't want it to break, you buy it.) Amy Spencer writes relationship and lifestyle stories for Glamour, Maxim, Real Simple and other publications. She would like to thank her straight male friend for advising her on some of the essential items she was missing. -
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wtf. KIDS WITH KNIVES
PLAYGROUND EARTHI've decided that the single most sinsiter force in existance is that of...
B O R E D O M
You were young and oh so in love, the apple of your eye was in the palm of your hand (and probably in several other places, too). So why did it all end? Boredom.
You were caught looking at unsuitable websites at work. Sure, your a smart guy, infact you have all your TPS reports up-to-date, but now your going to lose your job. Why has the boss forsaken you? Just because you were bored.
Yesterday was the last day of your life, today you are a ghost. There was nothing keeping you here in this world, you were suffering from a crippling case of boredom. It was all too much...
Despite my best attempts at blogger rehibilation, here I am writing this sub-par blog (and there you are reading it). The butterfly effect of which will bring the iron curtain crashing down again - resurect the Berlin Wall and cause a tsunami in Melbourne. All because I was bored.
Anyway, unless your missing some chromosomes you get the point. Boredom is fully ghey.
IRAQ has the right idea, they can't finalise their constitution until they're all good an' entertained by watching the latest Idol spin-off Iraq Star. No time to participte in the possible outbreak of civil war when your watching people who can't sing get slagged on television.
Think about how many kids would drop out of school if it weren't for playtime. Playtime kept me sane (well, sort of). No wonder office environments are a breeding ground for disgruntled maniacs, there's just not enough enjoyable stuff (apart from that guy who's looking up things he shouldn't).
Ever the realist, I'd like to propose some workable stratagies to maximise the fun for you kids at home, work, school or uni.
1. Happy Hour at work or school, where everyone just goes nuts... photocopying their own asses etc.
2. Everyday when the mailman comes, he should deliver a joke, singing telegram style.
3. Try lounging around... underwater for that Snorks twist.
4. McDonalds playgrounds large enouh for even the biggest kids.
5. Bring back bloodsports, like Gladiators (for you xo).
If none of that works, we could just try slipping some MDMA into the water supply.
Remember to play with your toys, kiddies. SCRAMBLED EGGSME: So, you just put them in here under alphabetical order of the surname. *does some examples*
HER: Ok, I see, easy!
ME: Alright, have fun with it.
HER So... this one goes under, um... "Z"? ME: *raises an eyebrow* Let me have a look. Nope, the surname starts with "S", what were you looking at?
HER: Oh, up here... *points to letterhead*
ME: No, that's the place where the letter came from... And that's an "X" for X-Ray.
/me bangs head into a brick wall...
ME: Well, all students are a billing code 5, but not all billing code 5's are students
HER: *blink*
ME: Um, well lots of other people get a billing code 5 too...
HER: Oh, ok, and all students are a 5?
ME: YES! See? easy!
5 mins later...
ME: So what billing code do you want to use?
HER: Like a 5 or a 1?
ME: Yeah, which one?
HER: Well they're not a student, so... 1?
ME: Um, well you see all students are a billing code 5, but not all billing code 5's are students.
HER: Yeah...
ME: So, this person is a 5 too, even though they're not a student.
HER: *blink* You jsut told me 5 mins ago that students are a 5?
ME: Yeah, this person is a 5 too... oh never mind.
/me gives up, wonders whether she can chew gum and walk at the same time...
ME: Alright, so when you want to lock the door you have to push the left side out.
HER: *pulls left side in*
ME: No, push the left side OUT.
HER: *pushes the right side out*
ME: No, the LEFT side... OUT.
HER: *pulls right side in again*
/me gets up and does it, slamming her head with it until unconscious... RETURN TO NORMALITYSo, it's only my first night back after my stint in blog addiction rehab, and already I am going into convulsions after the Blog Gnomes took my maiden post. I am so infuriated I had to call my counselor. She told me I should take a deep breath, count to three, and go and learn how to use a yo-yo. You can only imagine what I told her... or not.
So needless to say, I don't even own a yo-yo.
I want to share with you my experiences of the real world. Surveying society is something every internet kid should get out and do once in a while, it allows you to notice certain subtleties in the social fabric of which we each constitute one more decorated square. By learning what the overall theme of the quilt is, we can better understand ourselves, or some shit like that.
Personally, I prefer the Freudian approach to phychology, simply because it's more interesting, but that's not what I'm here to talk to you about. I have stumbled upon a dirsturbing niche in our patchwork quilt. Incest happens!
And I can prove it... Just look at Guy Sebastian.
I'm coming back to town...
"CATCH THAT SPHERE! YOU ASS!"
Conan O'Brian is a goofy redheaded sex bomb of hilarity (yet he is neither taller, nor blonder than God =P). You may remember him from such high quality television as, "Interview with an Arnold Schwarzenegger impersonator" and, "That time they filmed a that toy car driving around the studio". MAN THAT WAS THE SHIZNIT!
Without a doubt Conan rocks my socks, and my 141cm rear projection TV, more than any of his competing american late-nighters.
In his time Conan's seen and done all that an American hero should, he's been a bell-boy at church, succesfuly navigated high-school (by no means an easy feat for a tall gangly redhead) graduated from Harvard without getting arrested for drug abuse, yet not so infamously he's also been a saucy corporate infomercial star.
While he was a writer for Saturday Night Live he wrote a sketch called "Nude Beach". The word "penis" appeared in it 42 times, in both spoken and song form.
He's also writen for the Simpsons, and you may recall the musical jamboree that was "Marge vs. the Monorail". That was him. His production company, called simply "Conaco" has produced both his show and that other one, "Lost"... You may have heard of it. He's also turned down a hot sexy woman on Robot Chicken. AH, the stylings of Conan.
So, in conclusion, is there anything Conan CAN'T do. The answer is no. |
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