The Uplifting Dance Movie

As expected, various, crop-top wearing dancers in strangely outdated but contextually relevant grandpa hats emerged out of the crowd, break-dancing their way through muddy puddles towards center stage. ‘Uhh ye-ar’ said their faces as they gave each other silent, gangsta encouragement, before jumping up onto a conveniently placed fruit stand. I thought, this is great, I feel so uplifted watching this, but you know what would make it even better? If that fruit stand were covered with hundreds of used needles. Nothing says rags to riches like overcoming a choreographed needle bed dance.

The Lucky Charm

A couple of months ago I was walking through Circular Quay with a really good friend of mine. Incredibly hung over, with the brain capacity of a half-chewed Mango pip, we endeavoured to peruse the street markets, because, really, touching things, and looking at them with our eyeballs was about all we were good for that day. Strolling through the stalls, I saw what seemed to be a shop that sold lucky charms. Various animal parts, fluffy bits and bones were strewn across tables and suspended from the roof. Having never seen a rabbit’s tail or anything like that before, I excitedly made my way over to touch it for optimal luck. This will definitely perk me up, I thought, as I reached out to touch the rabbit’s tail, until, oh, no, it was rock hard, and swung around the reveal a tag saying ‘Roo Scrotum’. Let this be a lesson to you: in life, you can never un-touch a ball sack. Not ever. 

The Fairy Tail

Fairy Tail was just a baby tail with no actual body attached.  Whenever she’d go out to the bar for some drinks, her friends would be like ‘hey, F-Tizzle, let’s get CRUNK’. But she really couldn’t drink that much because her tail would only soak up so much alcohol before it just dripped, dripped, dripped off again. Sometimes she’d get embarrassed about all the puddles she’d leave behind, but most of the time she’d just think, hey, I don’t have a heart or a fully functioning brain so what the fuck do I care?

The Smudge

A non-story


Today it's kind of mysteriously dark outside, and people are everywhere I want to be. Which means I have to move. Because two's almost a crowd, and crowds are distracting. So now I am on the couch, people-ended, like a really claustrophobic book. I should be doing things. But the air conditioning is blasting in my face like it wants to burn it off. Work-related; I am thinking about what it's like for a deaf, blind, nerve-ending(less) person to experience travel. Sub-thought; they wouldn't get claustrophobic or feel bothered by aggressive air conditioning. Probably.

Inebriation, Paralysis, Bath Water Toast

One morning my sister was so hung over that she couldn't even move her fingers. She was really like a vegetable with extremely expressive eyes. Anyway, I put her in a bath and tried to get her to eat some toast. But she was practically paralysed, so the toast just dropped out of her mouth and into the bath. A bit later she was eating it in the bath water. I thought this was pretty funny, personally.

The Birthday

A short story

This will be like today. A piece of your pie cheek will be missing, but not really, because it's on top of your head and filled with nails. Then an underwater sperm ghost will fly past, mouthing "happy blupblupday" before it eats a fish. But you wont know about that.

The Old Man

A Short Story

Yesterday, I awoke in a drunken haze to find a creepy old man lying on top of me, dripping his toupee adhesive onto my left cheek. Trapped under this bulging, bolder of pedophilia, I began to spit and gurgle violently in his direction in the hopes that it might reach his hearing aid and electrocute him, or worst-case scenario, he’d just slip and fall-off. Seemingly aroused by my spurting fountain of disgust, he threw his tiny, de-formed, T-Rex hands up behind his head and let-out a loud “Yeeessssss”. But then he had a massive coronary and died. So I just called his wife and asked her to come and pick him up. 

The Kitchen

A short story

Last night, as I was lying in bed, I heard a loud, clanking sound coming from inside the kitchen. So I got up to check it out. I thought, best-case scenario there would be a masked teenager in there for me to stab. So I was particularly disappointed to find it was just my possessed kitchen appliances engaging in some sort of ethical quarrel. “Bla bla bla, Kettle...Bla bla bla, Black Pot”, they screeched at me, as if I cared. But I didn’t. So they both turned on me, scalding me head to toe with boiling hot water. Leaving my mutilated, husk of a body on the tiles, seriously stoked for the next council clean-up.

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.

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. 

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.

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.

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.

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. 

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.

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".