The Old Lady

A fucking short story


A while ago, I noticed a little old lady sitting in a stairwell. She didn't bother anyone necessarily. She'd just sit there, basking in her pained-expression... caressing her dirty left foot... flicking various unwanted toe-crack related materials onto the ground. Obviously we never spoke. I would just climb over her, clutching my belongings, staring intensely at some ambiguous point ahead. Till one day she strategically placed her slipper on the stair, so that I fell, and ruptured several crucial tendons in my ankles, rendering me completely immobile and disgustingly desperate. These days we chill-out on the stairs together, massaging each others feet and screeching harmoniously at passers-by...completely content in our gauntlet of judgement.

Identifying a Sensitive New Age Troll

Some are self-explanatory.

Please braid my hair 

Some will wipe their sludge all over you, dare you try and escape.

Ragh?

Others will trap you in their labyrinth of fragility. Frequently throwing razor-blade parties and drafting suicide notes amidst a sea of bleeding, like-minded Sensitive New Age Troll pity-pals.

I want to violently weep on your chest when we make love, Lauren. 

New Amusement Park Ride Labelled Sponsored Slaughter

                                                  



COLOURED-CATASTROPHY CENTRAL-- Disney's newest roller coaster, Sponsored Slaughter, opened this spring, following extensive research done by the Morgues Are Fun Association. 


Spokesperson for the association, Sherry Tyler, reported "The majority of amusement park goers just want to plummet to their death. Last year, 67,000 people died here. Typically you'd think that'd deter your average person from getting on board...but what we found was quite the opposite. In fact, we've been operating Sponsored Slaughter around the clock. Mainly for the parents wanting to gently shove their entire families onto the ride".


Maintenance man, James Stewart, added "I breeds the cats that live in the gears. Grrrrrrrr".


Wet 'N Wild are said to be designing a rapid drowning ride to compete.
     

Fake-Tanned Chicks Gone WILD

Census Report Nation's Singles All Middle-Aged Souls

THIS CRUEL WORLD-- The 2011 Census, conducted nationwide a month ago, revealed that whilst both Australia's "old" and "young souls" were married, or in a serious relationship, middle-aged souls were all still single, boring, and basking in their despair.


Reincarnation Therapist, Dr. Caesar Pythagoras Morpheus said, "People naturally gravitate towards older souls. Their silent complexity is terribly hypnotic...like a fine wine you'd drink and pretend to understand. Young souls, on the other hand, attract mates with their radiating positivity. They're just like a walking anti-depressant...constantly smiling about retarded things like oozing jam and steaming compost heaps. Then we're left with the middle-aged souls who float somewhere in-between. Neither fun or wise. They basically possess all the personality of a badminton shuttlecock. Yeah, they don't even want to date each other. It's really quite sad".


Middle-aged soul, Simon, said something entirely too mediocre to take note of.


The Australian Government suggested middle-aged souls engage in risky behaviour, like running with scissors, to speed up the process.

Retro Word of the Day

Festy: (a.) Bad, disgusting, undesirable, revolting. Backconstruction from verb "fester".




"MAN, your eyebrow acne is festy"

The Tooth Fairy

A short story


One tantalisingly cold night, I awoke from my sleep, only to find the Tooth Fairy digging her petrified, thousand year old, unkempt claws into my gums. "WAUGH DA FAULLK", I exclaimed, as she jammed my mouth open with a jack...frequently chuckling and stabbing me up the nostril with the tip of her magical, theft-driven wing. Disorientated and slightly brain damaged, I commando rolled off my bed, in search of a housemate, a robust man, or an exceedingly ugly pet. To my dismay, the Tooth Fairy was already ten flaps ahead of me...hovering at the end of the hall, licking her fangs and swinging my severed, nerve-endings around the top of her head, like a lasso. "I GERKVV UP", I said, choking on the ramifications. And with that, she just made a high pitch buzzing sound...pegged an obligatory, glittered dollar at my temple, and flew away. Which obviously made it all worthwhile. So I returned back to bed, clutching my dollar, and fell asleep in a blood-stained, linen sea...totally and utterly satisfied. 

Good friends, Pterodactyls, dreams coming true.

Recently, a good friend of mine said if she could be anything, it'd be a pterodactyl...so she could soar through the sky, and poop all over everyone below. I thought this was pretty funny, personally.

Filed under:  Pterodactyls:     true story:     her decision is both crazy and completely rational:         wiggidy-whack:      why don't these tags work

Restaurant's Resident Creeper Finds Self-Esteem in Deep-Fried Plate of Goo

Bromance Weekly

Pile of Elderly Patients Yet Again Trapped Under Crochet Rug

Time-out Teaching Children Self Defence and Not Much Else

BOOGIEMAN CENTRAL-- New studies reveal that Australian children sent to their room to "think about what they've done", learnt self defence in a fun, interactive way... but not much else.


DOCS worker Anne Cummings initiated the study after discovering the bruises commonly mistaken for child abuse were in fact the result of full body combat with various bedroom terrors. 


Timmy, aged 6, said "I just kept hitting the Boogie Man with my Fisher and Paykel phone till he crawled back under my bed", adding "can you please buy me something scarier then these dinosaur pyjamas...I'd really like to catch some quality Z's".


DOCS suggested parents should compare children to other siblings as an alternative form of punishment. 




Filed under:        dolls that come to life:    nobody likes a party clown:    ghosts:     boogie man:     wetting the bed:     why don't these tags work

Ostrich Seriously Sick of Sticking Own Head in Sand

That's it. If I ever find the bogan that started this trend, I'm going to fly-kick him in the trachea. I don't even know why I do it anymore. Every time I slot my noggin beneath the earth's filth-ridden crust, I hope to God something new and interesting will materialise. Here, let me just...nup, see, just the same old fucking beige, fragmented silica. Have you ever voluntarily dumped a bucket-load of gritty sand in your eyeballs? If I had hands, I'd probably just scrape it out and get over it...or cut myself and call it a night. The point is, if you're responsible for this monstrosity... you now know what I look like. Let's fight motherfucker. I'll be beside this body of water. Waiting.  

Retro Word of the Day

Jerk: (n.) A foolish, rude, or contemptible person.


"I cannot believe you spat on my toothbrush, you fucking jerk".

Frostbite Got You Down?

Warm up this winter with these five toasty tips

1. Heat rises. Strap yourself to the ceiling with some 3M™ Repulpable Heavy Duty Double Coated Tape and enjoy a good night's sleep.


2. Pull up a stool and make friends with your toaster. If the radiating heat doesn't suffice... stick a metal object inside for some quality 'time-out'.


3. Stop shaving and grow a dense coat of fur. 


4. For fun the whole family can enjoy, get creative and ask an art teacher about constructing a model volcano. 


5. Men are always warm. Chanel your inner trollop and throw yourself at anything with a penis. 




Filed under: Winter :    I am both disappointed in you for having written this and me for having read it :   why don't these tags work

The Psychic

A short story

I visited a psychic this one time. She assured me I would fall deeply in love with an albino moon tanner from The Netherlands and we'd bare a tribe of drooling mini me' s. She also said he'd be incredibly destitute and totally intimated by my ambition... but not to worry 'cause my priorities will change and I'll be more than down to shack up in his corrugated box of unwavering love. We'd probably just lick each other clean or something... and listen in to the conversations of passers by, for entertainment.

Naturally, I've taken on her prediction as infallible and have adjusted my selection criteria accordingly.

Shit Kicker's Dying Wish To Kick More Shit

Katie Garner, daughter of Brian and Mary Garner, died in her home on Iandra Street, Concord, NSW, Thursday morning, May 26. The deceased leaves behind absolutely no one to mourn her untimely death. 

An inside source reported "Katie requested a photocopy machine be set up at the foot of her bed so that she could continue to perform her subordinate tasks whilst we flicked through our many leather-bound books, and remained looking terribly important". 

Katie's funeral service will be held at St Ambrose Church at 2 o'clock Saturday afternoon.   

Filed under :   obviously made up: reception:  brutal:  potentially going 'postal'
why don't these tags work

                          .                      

The Cat

A fucking short story


Once upon a time there was a cat who was locked indoors all day. My sister was like "Bobbeeeeey, come here and watch this scary movie with me", but the cat was like "OMG, that shit is lame". So my sister pulled rank and made him. At first the cat just sat there, psychotically staring into the distance, wide eyed and hissing... till my sister screamed "Seriously Bobby, shut the fuck up, what's wrong with you"? So I wasn't particularly surprised when the cat flipped out and called upon his ghost friends to teach her a lesson. Just then a family of floating white sheets came down the stairs, making eerie 'woooooooooooooooooooooooo' sounds. Then they just stood there and hovered all ghost-like. But it was a fucking short story, with barely an ending, so that was it.

Commuter Waits Silently For Racist Taxi Driver to Get a Grip

Wish-list Item #1

When I was young, people were always giving me dolls... the beautiful-optimistic-roll-model type. Not the multifaceted-personality-plus-stab-you-in-your-sleep type. Shame. They're way cooler. 

Filed under: who the fuck takes photos of this shit:   still, where can I get me one:

this is totally retarded but I still kinda like it:    why don't these tags work

The Student

A short story


Discontent with the standard three hour allocated Clay Construction class at ACU, I abandon my trowl and chicken wire and endevour to hit up the infamous Burwog (Burwood) for a refreshing beverage and perhaps the odd piece of 'razzle-dazz' to boost ones fair fugz saturday night ganga attire.
Mulling round the centre, stroking items one couldnt afford...depression on the rise...I turn to exit that oh so generally mundane shop that claimed to sell pants, feeling somewhat confused as I zig zagged my way through a sea of pleather and what seemed like a Texan's dream tassle explosion. To my sheer delight the entrance was blocked by my good friend Claire... striking a pose like she was auditioning for the Madonna film clip VOGUE with her Maybeline sporting pals, Kristie and Sarah. Managing to keep the mass of masticated fruit and yogurt down, I proceeded to greet this woman whilst she simultaneous stroked her shadow... consumed in the awe and narcissism that was her. Minutes passed as the three combed my appearance with their beady unforgiving eyes, frequently persing their laquered lips whilst attempting to maintain some sort of obligatory verbal exchange. Now, I am aware that this day, like most, I had taken all of fifteen minutes to shove my three wisps of hair into some sort of doo...slammed some powder on my beak and left the house satisfied I wasn't entered Australia's Next Top Model... thinking my 'natural' look would suffice. Perhaps I was wrong.  Perhaps I should have emptied a bottle of ivory tinted coloured cement on my head and spent two hours perfectly structuring my lashes into symetrical  black fans resembling that of a theme park gateway entrance. But alas, it was too late. Kristie ritualistical stroked her fringe ever so methodically over the circular pigmentation on her cheek. Her eyes darting side to side as she checked no one had spotted it. Sarah carried the forced conversation as Claire, closely followed by her fucked up tuff of a pony tail and her beloved shadow made their way to any sort of reflective surface for a prep talk, a motivational speech or an affirmation, no doubt. I left in a spot of bother as I recalled memories of these girls from their youths and wondered what fleecy, tasty chop-like animal had become of them.

5 WTF Friends You Wish You Had

Anti-Brush Rhyme

Have you ever been BRUSHED?

Brushed so hard that you can’t believe it?

A brush so brut, baby I aint deceivin’

BRUSHED!

Man, don’t make me crash tackle you to the ground

BRUSHED!

Let me break it down

Don’t be scared brushy

I know that you’re busy

I'ma give you some options

Just listen a minute

When you need to send a message

And you don’t have the time

Remember the words to this anti-brush rhyme

Have you ever been BRUSHED?

Brushed so hard that you can’t believe it?

A brush so brut, baby I aint deceivin’

BRUSHED!

Man, don’t tell me your fingers have frostbite

BRUSHED!

Let me break it down

We could use my trusted carrier pigeon

Yeah I’ve trained him good

He hardly poos at all

Coz I feed him bullshit for food

Have you ever been BRUSHED?

Brushed so hard that you can’t believe it?

A brush so brut, baby I aint deceivin’

BRUSHED!

Man, throw a paper airplane at my head

BRUSHED!

Let me break it down

If you’re a verbal kinda guy

Lets connect via cups & string

Service coverage aint a problem

Plus you could always hear me sing

Have you ever been BRUSHED?

Brushed so hard that you can’t believe it?

A brush so brut, baby I aint deceivin’

BRUSHED!

Man, don’t tell me your tonsil fell out

BRUSHED!

Oh yeah, brushed

By the big Brushtacular

BRUSHED

Wass happenin’ Brushy

Emo Balances Out Nickname With Optimistic Drawing

Judging a Book by it's Phone Voice

Disclaimer: The above image is not Brad Sayers. However, I'm sure he'd look somewhat similar...judging by his low, guttural phone growl.

Ugliest Woman In Sydney Becomes Dinner For Gluten Intolerant Locals

Possessed Lawn Mower Proves Terribly Photogenic

The Fetish

A short story 

So it was your normal thursday night events... I was squatting over James' thorax defecating on him, as he wished. It was quite the spectacle... as it has been known that I seem to have contracted a rather severe case of the some-what taboo bacterial infection; gastrointestinal disruption. Having suffered from the yellow river squirts in its entirety for approximately seven days now, I began to regret having taken The All-Bran Challenge, due to a myriad of un-pleasant subsequent symptoms manifesting themselves in my rectal region. Having quite the self proclaimed budget minded father... seemingly being on a never-ending quest to snatch a barg; toilet tissue is purchased solely for its economic value... which in turn, to my detriment, has created chronic chafe and anal bleeding. Luckily for me, James is deeply in love with me (of course) and regularly proffesses his desire to "have all of me". As he became increasingly aroused he would attack my rear like there was a dollar up there and he were an Ethiopian child in need of a bamboo shoot or various witchetty grubs for necessary vitamins and minerals. Once we had finished our primitive sexual expression, I endeavoured to hit up his bathroom for some quality maintenance slash home medical attention. Resembling a morbidly obese duck with piles, I woddled across the floor and into the hall, only to bump into Yasmin's oaf Popeye like Jaw (his ex). Looking dishevelled and abnormally muscular, she threw herself on me like a fly to shit... I couldn't get rid of her...until her over-powering toxic perfume Eau da Stale Spinach caused temporary blurred vision and eventual suffocation. Lying on the floor un-conscious, exposing my newly acquired largish B-rack and vaginal stubble (complete with a selection of discoloured in-growns)...I slowly regained consciousness to find Popeye towering over me...un-impressed to say the least.   




Disclaimer: Most of the above did not happen on thursday night. 

Mildly Attractive Female Forced to Consider Sex Change Post Chop-Happy Hairdresser

Disclaimer: Medium hold gel not included

Explosive for men

The Himalayas

A short story

Yesterday, as I was getting ready to ski my way down the slope…(my eyes fixed on an ill-tempered, sabotage-driven squirrel, flinging pinecones from a nearby wheelbarrow directly into my path) I was taken by surprise when an unidentified white haired paw reached around from behind and gave me a nipple cripple. “What the fuck”, I exclaimed, quickly swivelling around. A large ape-like beast stood still in the snow. It was The Yeti!

Drooling and murmuring, but mostly drooling... The Yeti tugged at my nipple so hard, my eyes began to well. Now, I know what they say about assumptions, but I’m almost certain his massive erect Yeti sword meant he was down to hold hands and just be good friends.

So I farted in front of him to seal the deal. 

We remain loyal pen pals to this day.

Identifying A Bum-Raping Sorcerer

Some are self explanatory 

Some are so mysterious...all communication is non-verbal (the 'open gown, reveal phallus' kind of non-verbal)

Other bum-raping sorcerers hit you over the head with a branch

Or latch onto your back with their giant fingernails, lest you escape

Did you know Swedish bum-raping sorcerers were this cute? I didn't. 

The Make-Up Bag

Dear Jessi-Cat,


I hear you've misplaced your silvery bagged mobile 'face'. Not to worry...you are definitely still remotely attractive. I can hardly notice those three black hairs protruding from your left nostril mole... or your ordinarily cleverly camouflaged eyebrow acne. And before you ask, I was most certainly not flicking coins at your big black circles, whispering secret wishes, then flinging myself over the office dividing wall. Anyhow, guess I'll just keep checking the 'Lost Property' box at reception for you. 


P.S.
There is no Lost Property box at reception. 


Sincerely, Not A Friendly Friend.

That Dude

I used to date this dude named Frank. He was nice. Nice and weird. I knew this once he'd entered me and muttered "You've got no idea how long I've waited for this day". I was impaled VIA the groin by my very own stalker. Looking back, I don't know why we dated. Perhaps it was his soft hazel eyes that danced melodically over my skin. Perhaps it was his stature; tall and claiming. Or perhaps it was the premature balding patch that reflected moon beams directly into my retina... causing a temporary stimuli overload, episodic epilepsy, followed by a subsequent gap in time. 


Here's hoping.

The Illustrator

Absorbed in a less then picturesque Derwent-coloured hell...I begrudgingly attempted to sketch yet another train scene. Making windows appear 'less square' and bellies 'less toned', with the less than adequate materials provided and a deadline of two-thirds-of-fuck-all. "MUSH", they would say. "Draw faster! Draw better! Include those seventy three wrinkles on her hand!" Distressed in reception, I dreamt of scenarios such as sling-shotting a musty leather-bound textbook entitled "Exploitation 101" at their cashed-up craniums, or perhaps hosting a sing-a-long to "Let the boat people in, they draw good for cheap".

Dear Copper Deep Sea Diving Helmet

Who designed you?


Sincerely, Drowning.