Friday, May 20, 2011
Thursday, May 19, 2011
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
Monday, May 16, 2011
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.
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.
Sunday, May 15, 2011
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
Wednesday, May 11, 2011
Tuesday, May 10, 2011
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.
Thursday, April 21, 2011
Sunday, April 17, 2011
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.
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