Hypothesis: That the Long Pig (human) is an enigma, surviving its own continued attempts to end itself.
SOMETIMES I WISH YOU WOULD ALL JUST BUGGER OFF AND DIE SO THAT THE REST OF US COULD GET BACK TO EATING EACHOTHER IN PEACE!
Saturday, June 23, 2012
Saturday, March 10, 2012
MOTORHEAD ARE GONNA BE PISSED OFF.
I was just watching an advert for 60 minutes today and i think they've lowered their standards for stories. Its a shame because 60 minutes used to be one of the few stand up, serious, informative, well produced current affair programs on tv. Yes there was an over use of Quentin, the spastic boy, to draw in viewers in the 80's but generally its been pretty good.
Now the story that has made me lament the 60 minutes of old is one about a flying fox in Asia, (probably Thailand as they opened the advert by saying "to our youth its a party in paradise destination" and other than Bali, Australian youth seem to choose Thailand as the place to get wasted, "find themselves" and generally act like absolute wankers).
The advert shows some Australian youth hanging from the flying fox over a river. (For those who might not know what I'm talking about, a flying fox is where you have a cable tied between two points and you can slide along the cable by holding onto a bar attached to a wheel that runs on said cable). He lets go of the cable near the shore and the film freezes. The voiceover then says, "A few seconds later...he was dead!" The rest of the advert shows various drunk and sunburnt looking white people with blood pissing out of their heads or passed out on the ground, from using the flying fox and hitting the pebbly bottom of the river which is, obviously, somewhat shallow.
The voiceover bandies on about how our youth are being killed and how nobody in the unnamed asian country seems to care, and about how someone needs to be held responsible, blah blah blah.
You know what? If you're dumb enough to go on a flying fox without checking the depth of the water then the gene pool may be better off without you fouling it up. Jumping off a flying fox near the shore head first is not a genius move and is simply an example of Darwin in action. This is how the species moves forward, this is how we develop. We cut the fat, the idiots fall by the wayside and we move on a smarter and safer race because of it.
There is no room for risk takers in the pride. This is how the rest of us grow stronger. We learn from the failures of the idiots.
Its really annoying that instead of the report being about how incredibly dumb and retarded these kids are, it comes down to finding someone else to blame. It'll no doubt be the Thai government not setting safety standards, or the people who put the flying fox there being evil for not measuring up to western safety standards. It really is shitty reporting.
Unless of course I've read the advert completely wrong of course and then 60 minutes is great.
Oh man...as I'm writing this, I'm also cleaning my ears and it feels so good. Cotton buds really are just ear dildos aren't they. Its amazing how nice it feels.
Not that I know how a dildo feels. I'm a straight bear.
I have wondered about the gay lads though. I've contemplated what they do and how it must feel and I've come to a conclusion. Having anal sex, for the sexee (is that what you call the one being shafted?) must feel like a grog bog. It must feel like you have a load that just won't leave the warehouse. A mouse that won't come out of its hole. A poo that not only won't leave the cavity but crawls back in deeper. And while I can see how passing a log may be enjoyable at times, especially when reading a good book, it ain't sexual...AT ALL.
While we're on the subject of the birds and the birds...I've got some tips for the lesbian girls who might be reading this. Its simple but I'll put it in capitals to make it clear.
IF YOU ARE A GIRL WHO IS INTO GIRLS WHO ARE INTO HOT LOOKING GIRLS...DRESS LIKE A HOT LOOKING GIRL!
You see I thought this would be a pretty simple idea. If you your trying to bag a girl who is into other girls, dress like a hot girl. You're chances have to be better than if you dress like a guy because guess what; lesbians aren't into guys. That's one of, if not the main, point of being lesbian.
I see lesbians that look like guys and I think, "poor bastards. They have the tools but they don't know how to use them. Its a waste because we straight men can't have the lesbians and these manly looking girls, who should have a leg up in this case, are just throwing away their advantage.
I dress like a guy. I know how poorly it works and that's when I'm trying to pick up girls who are supposed to be into guys. How the f*#k is it supposed to work on girls who like girls?
Poor stupid bastards.
Oh hey have you heard about Satan lately. What's he been up to?
Well nothing basically because like god he probably doesn't exist, but did you know his number changed?
No not his phone number.
Recently archaeologists found fragments of the oldest surviving book of revelations, dating back to the 3rd century and written in ancient greek. In this version, (the oldest version) the number of the beast is written as 616...not 666.
Good one satanists. Can't you get anything right?
So I figured as we're supposed to be looking out for the number of the beast as a sort of warning, I might just do a quick google search for the number, just to see what was out there.
1: The comic book company, MARVEL, who publish Spiderman, the Xmen, Thor, Ironman and many more tittles, have dubbed the continuity in their books; Earth 616, meaning that everything that happens in the comics happens in the EARTH 616.
There is even a character at MARVEL who is like Satan, called Mephisto. Could be a lead but I doubt it.
Other than that there was a wiki entry on the number 616. (below)
616 is the 25th member of the Padovan sequence, coming after 265, 351, 465 (it is the sum of the first two of these). 616 is a polygonal number in four different ways: it is a heptagonal number, as well as 13-, 31- and 104-gonal.
That's all I could find which I think is a good thing. After all the number is supposed to harken in the coming of armageddon and screw that. So if there are no entries for 616 and unless you believe that spiderman is the devil, (and let's face it, the 3rd movie was terrible) or that math is from hell (which it might just be) then Satan probably isn't here yet.
Yay. I was so worried that the creature that doesn't exist was going to come and hurt me. Phew.
There's a fly on the wall and I think he's looking at me so I'm going to go now. I need all of my concentration to resist his telepathy.
Oh hey and can you people stop this shit! Its really fucking pissing me off!
Now the story that has made me lament the 60 minutes of old is one about a flying fox in Asia, (probably Thailand as they opened the advert by saying "to our youth its a party in paradise destination" and other than Bali, Australian youth seem to choose Thailand as the place to get wasted, "find themselves" and generally act like absolute wankers).
The advert shows some Australian youth hanging from the flying fox over a river. (For those who might not know what I'm talking about, a flying fox is where you have a cable tied between two points and you can slide along the cable by holding onto a bar attached to a wheel that runs on said cable). He lets go of the cable near the shore and the film freezes. The voiceover then says, "A few seconds later...he was dead!" The rest of the advert shows various drunk and sunburnt looking white people with blood pissing out of their heads or passed out on the ground, from using the flying fox and hitting the pebbly bottom of the river which is, obviously, somewhat shallow.
The voiceover bandies on about how our youth are being killed and how nobody in the unnamed asian country seems to care, and about how someone needs to be held responsible, blah blah blah.
You know what? If you're dumb enough to go on a flying fox without checking the depth of the water then the gene pool may be better off without you fouling it up. Jumping off a flying fox near the shore head first is not a genius move and is simply an example of Darwin in action. This is how the species moves forward, this is how we develop. We cut the fat, the idiots fall by the wayside and we move on a smarter and safer race because of it.
There is no room for risk takers in the pride. This is how the rest of us grow stronger. We learn from the failures of the idiots.
Its really annoying that instead of the report being about how incredibly dumb and retarded these kids are, it comes down to finding someone else to blame. It'll no doubt be the Thai government not setting safety standards, or the people who put the flying fox there being evil for not measuring up to western safety standards. It really is shitty reporting.
Unless of course I've read the advert completely wrong of course and then 60 minutes is great.
Oh man...as I'm writing this, I'm also cleaning my ears and it feels so good. Cotton buds really are just ear dildos aren't they. Its amazing how nice it feels.
Not that I know how a dildo feels. I'm a straight bear.
I have wondered about the gay lads though. I've contemplated what they do and how it must feel and I've come to a conclusion. Having anal sex, for the sexee (is that what you call the one being shafted?) must feel like a grog bog. It must feel like you have a load that just won't leave the warehouse. A mouse that won't come out of its hole. A poo that not only won't leave the cavity but crawls back in deeper. And while I can see how passing a log may be enjoyable at times, especially when reading a good book, it ain't sexual...AT ALL.
While we're on the subject of the birds and the birds...I've got some tips for the lesbian girls who might be reading this. Its simple but I'll put it in capitals to make it clear.
IF YOU ARE A GIRL WHO IS INTO GIRLS WHO ARE INTO HOT LOOKING GIRLS...DRESS LIKE A HOT LOOKING GIRL!
You see I thought this would be a pretty simple idea. If you your trying to bag a girl who is into other girls, dress like a hot girl. You're chances have to be better than if you dress like a guy because guess what; lesbians aren't into guys. That's one of, if not the main, point of being lesbian.
I see lesbians that look like guys and I think, "poor bastards. They have the tools but they don't know how to use them. Its a waste because we straight men can't have the lesbians and these manly looking girls, who should have a leg up in this case, are just throwing away their advantage.
I dress like a guy. I know how poorly it works and that's when I'm trying to pick up girls who are supposed to be into guys. How the f*#k is it supposed to work on girls who like girls?
Poor stupid bastards.
Oh hey have you heard about Satan lately. What's he been up to?
Well nothing basically because like god he probably doesn't exist, but did you know his number changed?
No not his phone number.
Recently archaeologists found fragments of the oldest surviving book of revelations, dating back to the 3rd century and written in ancient greek. In this version, (the oldest version) the number of the beast is written as 616...not 666.
Good one satanists. Can't you get anything right?
So I figured as we're supposed to be looking out for the number of the beast as a sort of warning, I might just do a quick google search for the number, just to see what was out there.
1: The comic book company, MARVEL, who publish Spiderman, the Xmen, Thor, Ironman and many more tittles, have dubbed the continuity in their books; Earth 616, meaning that everything that happens in the comics happens in the EARTH 616.
There is even a character at MARVEL who is like Satan, called Mephisto. Could be a lead but I doubt it.
Other than that there was a wiki entry on the number 616. (below)
616 is the 25th member of the Padovan sequence, coming after 265, 351, 465 (it is the sum of the first two of these). 616 is a polygonal number in four different ways: it is a heptagonal number, as well as 13-, 31- and 104-gonal.
That's all I could find which I think is a good thing. After all the number is supposed to harken in the coming of armageddon and screw that. So if there are no entries for 616 and unless you believe that spiderman is the devil, (and let's face it, the 3rd movie was terrible) or that math is from hell (which it might just be) then Satan probably isn't here yet.
Yay. I was so worried that the creature that doesn't exist was going to come and hurt me. Phew.
There's a fly on the wall and I think he's looking at me so I'm going to go now. I need all of my concentration to resist his telepathy.
Oh hey and can you people stop this shit! Its really fucking pissing me off!
STAY FILTHY
Sunday, January 8, 2012
My name is Dracula and...well...I'm a Vampire...
I'm sitting here flicking through the channels in the cave and have settled on a ridiculously bad film named Sharkboy and Lavagirl. Its not just bad, its attrotious. I have no idea who most of the cast are but Sharkboy, I have noticed, is familiar to me, and then it hits.
Sharkboy is that kid who plays the werewolf in those Twighlight movies.
Though terrible, I actually think Sharkboy is a better role than the werewolf. It has better dialogue and he has some pretty cool powers. Sure he might not turn into a giant dog (he doesn't look like a wolf, he looks like a dog) but he has a cool fin on his back and, hey look...he just grew some sharp teeth.
But you know what really makes Sharkboy a better role? He's not in a movie with a winey, PMSed out cow and a skinny enemic nancy boy who sparkles in the sun.
Yes I have seen the first 2 Twighlight movies. I was tricked into the first one, but watched the 2nd out of some sort of perverse curiosity. I had to see if it was possible to make 2 films that were that bad.
The 2nd was markedly worse. Where the 1st shit on the vampire myth, the 2nd shit on it, scooped it up in a doggybag, marinated it for 4 days, and then served it up with fries and a hot apple pie.
Now when I was a kid vampires were scarey bastards with fangs, some limited mind powers, super strength and they could turn into a FUCKING BAT!!! They were badass, and drank blood, but then they had their troubles. They couldn't eat garlic, so italian food was out, they couldn't go near crucifixs, you could stake them with a "WOODEN" stake (not silver. Silver is for werewolves!!!) and if they went out into any sunlight, even on a cloudy day, they burst into flames and died.
The vampires in Twighlight are of a different, more palitable breed. They don't seem to have problems with religious parafinalia, they can cook with garlic (even if they don't actually eat it), they don't turn into anything furry and/or vicious animals, they're all frozen at the age of 17, and yet none of them are stricken with an eternity of acne, random hard-ons, or (and this is what really makes them unrealistic) none of them seem to have an eating disorder.
Well...unless you include the blood thing...but the main vampires in these movies don't even do that, or at least they don't go around sucking on virgins anymore (well that's not completely true). They drink blood but instead they pilfer it from the hospital, that's right, the red cross.
This is supposed to be okay? Stealing blood from the hospital? So the ads I see on tv all the time asking for much needed blood at your local red cross don't mean anything to these people? Huh...maybe they are evil pricks after all. Its more of a white collar crime this way though I figure, like tax evasion or embezzlement.
But look the worst thing about these much watered down vampires, I'm sure you will agree, is their reaction to sunlight.
I don't know how else to say this but to just lay it out...they sparkle.
There's no burning, no sizzling of flesh, no peeling of skin, not even a blister, or a nasty rash. The Vampires in Twighlight...sparkle.
Huh?
I sat gagging through the second movie and watched as, fraught with the pain of leaving his girlfriend (who is just a little young for him don't you think. The guy is a vampire. He's like 200 years old. He should be going out with senior citizens or at the very least adults...not seventeen year old girls. Its creepy, and I don't mean in the horror sense, I mean in the Pedophile sense) the main "vampire", who's name escapes me now, showing that I have at least a shred of self respect left, decides that he will expose himself to humans, thereby sentencing himself to death at their hands.
There's a problem with that. Nobody would give a shit.
I mean am I supposed to believe that people would see a sparkling kid and that the first thing that would come to their minds would be "Oh shit! Its a vampire! Kill the evil bastard!"?
At best he might raise a few eyebrows. Its possible that their might be some conservative old folks passing by who might just be homophobic enough to sneer at, what to anyone, would look like some stupid kid with his shirt off wearing glitter, lipstick and foundation. Oh and hair product.
Really the author should have just called them something other than vampires because I'm not really seeing the resemblance.
Mind you, this is just another example of how western culture is making everything more safe and easily digestible, like how American football was made vaguely watchable by having girls play in lingere, or how now a packet of nuts has a warning on the label saying "MAY CONTAIN NUTS". I should bloody hope so.
So where do we go from here?
Perhaps I'm a vampire. Yes. I do believe I am a vampire. I'm a vampire for the modern cotton wool, you can't smack your kids, or show pictures of a baby with a penis drawn on the side of its face on facebook, age.
It sucks being a vampire. The life of a vampire is a burden. Too much garlic gives me heartburn. I have trouble sleeping more than 7 hours per night. I will live for a very long time, some 80 or 90 years at best guess, and in that time I shall see the world change. I have watched as my loved ones, mainly my parents and grandparents have died, leaving me emotionally challenged and alone. I have seen the era or good saturday morning cartoons come and go and then come back again.
I can be killed with a wooden stake, just like most vampires, which I think is fairly reasonable proof, and I can't go out in the sun...for more than 15mins...without a hat...a shirt...and sunscreen...or I'll get burnt and eventually, if I'm also genetically predisposed, I may die of skin-cancer.
God its hard living with this curse.
And don't get me started on True Blood.
I'm not sure when Melrose Place became a vampire show but I have to say that I was a lot more afraid of Heather Locklear than I am of any of the characters on True Blood.
Angel is a more believable vampire...and that's saying something.
Anyway...
I don't get riled often but there's something else that has caught my attention of late and its shitting me off a bit. Its the use of the phrase "the old".
Its used mostly, as far as I can tell, to lend a familiarity to things, objects, etc. You might hear people refer to things with the preface "the old", as in the old car, or "the old" house. I'm not talking about when it might be used in a descriptive fashion. These people aren't saying that the car or the house are old as such, only that they hold an affection for these things.
It goes further than that and people are using it to describe things like governing bodies and even concepts. People say things like, 'Oh the old governments doing a pretty shit job ay?' and I've even heard someone say, "the old Philosophy is a bit of a tough nut to crack."
There may be nothing inherently old about these things.
Do you see what I'm talking about?
The straw that broke this camel's back was hearing a guy talking about his newborn at the beach and saying, "the old baby gave the missus a fair time comin' out. Reckon he was draggin his fingers against the sides."
Its a baby...its NOT old! Unless its a vampire baby, in which case it must have been a neuveau vampire like me because it was pretty sunny out.
Stay Filthy.
Sharkboy is that kid who plays the werewolf in those Twighlight movies.
Though terrible, I actually think Sharkboy is a better role than the werewolf. It has better dialogue and he has some pretty cool powers. Sure he might not turn into a giant dog (he doesn't look like a wolf, he looks like a dog) but he has a cool fin on his back and, hey look...he just grew some sharp teeth.
But you know what really makes Sharkboy a better role? He's not in a movie with a winey, PMSed out cow and a skinny enemic nancy boy who sparkles in the sun.
Yes I have seen the first 2 Twighlight movies. I was tricked into the first one, but watched the 2nd out of some sort of perverse curiosity. I had to see if it was possible to make 2 films that were that bad.
The 2nd was markedly worse. Where the 1st shit on the vampire myth, the 2nd shit on it, scooped it up in a doggybag, marinated it for 4 days, and then served it up with fries and a hot apple pie.
Now when I was a kid vampires were scarey bastards with fangs, some limited mind powers, super strength and they could turn into a FUCKING BAT!!! They were badass, and drank blood, but then they had their troubles. They couldn't eat garlic, so italian food was out, they couldn't go near crucifixs, you could stake them with a "WOODEN" stake (not silver. Silver is for werewolves!!!) and if they went out into any sunlight, even on a cloudy day, they burst into flames and died.
The vampires in Twighlight are of a different, more palitable breed. They don't seem to have problems with religious parafinalia, they can cook with garlic (even if they don't actually eat it), they don't turn into anything furry and/or vicious animals, they're all frozen at the age of 17, and yet none of them are stricken with an eternity of acne, random hard-ons, or (and this is what really makes them unrealistic) none of them seem to have an eating disorder.
Well...unless you include the blood thing...but the main vampires in these movies don't even do that, or at least they don't go around sucking on virgins anymore (well that's not completely true). They drink blood but instead they pilfer it from the hospital, that's right, the red cross.
This is supposed to be okay? Stealing blood from the hospital? So the ads I see on tv all the time asking for much needed blood at your local red cross don't mean anything to these people? Huh...maybe they are evil pricks after all. Its more of a white collar crime this way though I figure, like tax evasion or embezzlement.
But look the worst thing about these much watered down vampires, I'm sure you will agree, is their reaction to sunlight.
I don't know how else to say this but to just lay it out...they sparkle.
There's no burning, no sizzling of flesh, no peeling of skin, not even a blister, or a nasty rash. The Vampires in Twighlight...sparkle.
Huh?
I sat gagging through the second movie and watched as, fraught with the pain of leaving his girlfriend (who is just a little young for him don't you think. The guy is a vampire. He's like 200 years old. He should be going out with senior citizens or at the very least adults...not seventeen year old girls. Its creepy, and I don't mean in the horror sense, I mean in the Pedophile sense) the main "vampire", who's name escapes me now, showing that I have at least a shred of self respect left, decides that he will expose himself to humans, thereby sentencing himself to death at their hands.
There's a problem with that. Nobody would give a shit.
I mean am I supposed to believe that people would see a sparkling kid and that the first thing that would come to their minds would be "Oh shit! Its a vampire! Kill the evil bastard!"?
At best he might raise a few eyebrows. Its possible that their might be some conservative old folks passing by who might just be homophobic enough to sneer at, what to anyone, would look like some stupid kid with his shirt off wearing glitter, lipstick and foundation. Oh and hair product.
Really the author should have just called them something other than vampires because I'm not really seeing the resemblance.
Mind you, this is just another example of how western culture is making everything more safe and easily digestible, like how American football was made vaguely watchable by having girls play in lingere, or how now a packet of nuts has a warning on the label saying "MAY CONTAIN NUTS". I should bloody hope so.
So where do we go from here?
Perhaps I'm a vampire. Yes. I do believe I am a vampire. I'm a vampire for the modern cotton wool, you can't smack your kids, or show pictures of a baby with a penis drawn on the side of its face on facebook, age.
It sucks being a vampire. The life of a vampire is a burden. Too much garlic gives me heartburn. I have trouble sleeping more than 7 hours per night. I will live for a very long time, some 80 or 90 years at best guess, and in that time I shall see the world change. I have watched as my loved ones, mainly my parents and grandparents have died, leaving me emotionally challenged and alone. I have seen the era or good saturday morning cartoons come and go and then come back again.
I can be killed with a wooden stake, just like most vampires, which I think is fairly reasonable proof, and I can't go out in the sun...for more than 15mins...without a hat...a shirt...and sunscreen...or I'll get burnt and eventually, if I'm also genetically predisposed, I may die of skin-cancer.
God its hard living with this curse.
And don't get me started on True Blood.
I'm not sure when Melrose Place became a vampire show but I have to say that I was a lot more afraid of Heather Locklear than I am of any of the characters on True Blood.
Angel is a more believable vampire...and that's saying something.
Anyway...
I don't get riled often but there's something else that has caught my attention of late and its shitting me off a bit. Its the use of the phrase "the old".
Its used mostly, as far as I can tell, to lend a familiarity to things, objects, etc. You might hear people refer to things with the preface "the old", as in the old car, or "the old" house. I'm not talking about when it might be used in a descriptive fashion. These people aren't saying that the car or the house are old as such, only that they hold an affection for these things.
It goes further than that and people are using it to describe things like governing bodies and even concepts. People say things like, 'Oh the old governments doing a pretty shit job ay?' and I've even heard someone say, "the old Philosophy is a bit of a tough nut to crack."
There may be nothing inherently old about these things.
Do you see what I'm talking about?
The straw that broke this camel's back was hearing a guy talking about his newborn at the beach and saying, "the old baby gave the missus a fair time comin' out. Reckon he was draggin his fingers against the sides."
Its a baby...its NOT old! Unless its a vampire baby, in which case it must have been a neuveau vampire like me because it was pretty sunny out.
Stay Filthy.
Saturday, December 17, 2011
Friday, July 8, 2011
A Prank A Day Keeps The Bear Away
I don't know if I've mentioned this, but I hate toilet jokes. Jokes about poo, jokes about menstruation, jokes about bodily fluids. I just don't like them. They're crass and disturbing and I'd rather people didn't even mention toilets, much less make jokes about them.
I know that might make me a killjoy or a prude, but its not like I don't like fun. I like to dance. I like the odd drink. I like small animals. I like to drink with small animals. I like to dance with small animals. I like to dance while I'm drinking small animals.
Filthy likes a good party.
I used to go to a lot of open-house parties, literally parties where someone had opened the doors of their house to anyone who wanted to come along, usually some kid who's parents had foolishly gone away and left them in charge. Sounds nuts but it was a pretty tight nit area where I was living at the time and, though there could be anywhere up to 3 or 4 hundred people turn up, things rarely ever got too bad...well...except for the night there was a gang war, but thats another story.
These parties were awesome. Sure some of them fizzled out a bit or were punctuated by too much ABBA but many were a roller coaster of fun fun fun and the pranks were many.
Some of the pranks were perpetrated by yours truly, for which I am not so proud...well only a bit pround...of.
I remember when I was still too young to have a liscence, there was this party where I filled up some poor girl's mother's car with drunk idiots and drove it around and around the block. Every time we came upon the house where the party was at, she would run out and implore us to stop. We would laugh, thinking it hilarious, and take off again.
At another party, there was a huge birdhouse seated upon a tall wooden pole in the back yard. There were hundreds of people milling about, most of them in various states of inebriation. A buddy of mine, a polar bear, and me found a couple of tomahawks in the shed and, to the delight of the assemblage, we began to chop the birdhouse down. When it teetered, we called timber and people jumped out of the way as the structure crashed to the ground and splintered into a million pieces.
There were always people sampling things at these parties, drinks, drugs, etc and I was fine with that, it made for good mischief.
I remember there was this one guy who was so stoned that he sat propped against the side of a house, just completely out of it. My friends and I went to the garden shed, found an old empty petrol tin, and filled it with water. We went to where the stoned guy was and began splashing him liberally with the water in the tin. He hardly moved and looked up at us incredulously. 'What the fuck dudes?' he mumbled.
I showed him the petrol tin and splashed him some more, then my mate, a particularly moody sunbear, started flicking lit matches at the guy.
The matches went out upon contact with the water, but this guy was so wasted that he freaked out. He got up like a rocket and began throwing punches, screaming 'THEY'RE TRYING TO KILL ME! THEY'RE TRYING TO KILL ME!'.
The last we saw of him, he was running away down the street, screaming and calling for help.
Dumbass.
Now we weren't all bad. We had a sort of moral code. Like one night when there were younger kids at a party, chopping up dope in bowls. My mate went over to them, all about 14, and said he knew of a way to make their experience way better.
The kids seemed keen to try anything and so Grouchy went to the kitchen, came back with a carton of milk and poured it into each bowl in turn, filling them up.
The kids didn't stop him, thinking that this was part of some mystical process or something, but they looked worried. Finally, when all bowls were full and the dope saturated, Grouchy said, 'There you go. Can't have cereal without milk. So...you boys into sugar or honey?'
All good fun and nobody got hurt...as far as I know...but not everyone was so kindly with their pranks.
There was a time there when a great mystery had arisen among the party-goers, a mystery so strange and devilish that it confounded everyone. Someone it seemed, was going to these parties and waiting for a moment when everyone was outside. They'd then sneak into the loungeroom, take the VHS machine from wherever it sat (yes this was a while ago), place it on its end, open the slot where the video would normally go, squat over said slot with their pants down, and there...they would take...a shit.
The perpetrator would then wipe any excess excrement from the face of the VHS machine and place it carefully back where he'd found it. A lovely surprise for the owner of the house.
This was happening over and over again, at every party that my friends and I went to and everyone had their suspects. I personally thought it was one of the football crowd. After all they have to start somewhere. You don't just start with date rape, pissing yourself on airplanes and writing your name on hotel room walls in poo. You have to start small.
I'm sure that some people thought it was us. I mean people have an unfair prejudice against bears to start with so it wouldn't surprise me if they thought we were into this sort of thing, which of course we weren't...or so I had believed.
One night, Humphrey, who was a weird bear by all rights, (quiet, he wore a straw hat like he was in a barber shop quartet, and liked to dress in a waistcoat and tie a fair bit) said he was going to talk to someone and left our little sloth of bears to wonder the crowd.
Five minutes later we hear this scream, (which we heard before anyone else due to our far superior bear hearing) and the music died. That was followed by yelling and things inside the house breaking and a minute later Humphrey was ejected from the premises by a large man in a polo top. The man proceeded to wail on Humphrey and our first instinct was to help him. "More opression from the biped slavers" we thought, but then the girl who's parents owned the house stormed up to me and asked if we knew what Humphrey had been doing. We were in the dark but then she described his being caught in the act of shitting in her video recorder and all was clear. Humphrey was the culprit and he'd never said so much as a word to us.
Well we didn't feel such a need to help him after that and went back to our drinks instead. We never saw Humphrey after that but looking back it should have been more obvious. He was slightly unhinged. When we went to the zoo to visit Bogey and Mopey, two of our captive slave brothers, he took great pleasure in going to the butterfly house and stuffing butterflies into his waistcoat pockets, giggling giddily the whole time, until we had to usher him out of there.
And sometimes...just sometimes...he wore a scarf...in the Summertime.
Speaking of toilet stuff...
I was in a unisex toilet the other day which was a little weird but did make me feel quite modern in a way that my ipod does not.
Now I'm not a fan of public movements. I don't much like the smell and it continues to confound me that people find it so hard to press the flush button. You can't ever sit on the seat because its generally covered in urine or some other random forms of DNA and stem cell goop that you'd never purposefully lather your bum with, and so you end up taking up all sorts of yogic positions and contorting your body so as to make a deposit without picking up HepB or Menapause or getting pregnant.
I personally have nearly perfected "the Eagle" and can perch on the rim like a proud raptor for quite some time. Yes...there was one instance where my foot slipped out from beneath me in South America and my bum touched water, but generally its my favorite. From that hight however you need to set up a paper landing pad so as to avoid the inevitable splash.
Another is the human scaffold, single or double handed, where you take up a position as if you are seated a few inches above the actual seat with your hand, or hands, against the wall behind the toilet, holding you up. Its pretty strenuous and if you get stuck with a hanger-on, the muscles in your arms and legs can take a nasty beating.
Then there's "the TeePee" where you basically stand with a leg off to either side of the bowl, but I find my big bear cheeks don't allow the bum junk to pass freely in this position and I HATE having to lick my arse clean in public.
Anyway I have strayed from the point.
I was in such an establishment the other day and this lady was in there with her kids, all of which were small. I'm talkin' maybe waist high or somethin like that. Maybe a bit smaller. So one of the kids is in the stall next to mine, and she's giving it a really good go, grunting and talking to herself, making all the noises of someone exerting themselves, only in a higher tone. Think Tele Tubby.
It was like Pappa smurf snapping one off next door and i was losing it, and then to top it off, when she'd finished, the mother went in to see how she'd done (I'm not sure why. Maybe its a point of contention among mothers these days. "My son pinched a loaf that would feed a whole family." "Oh yeah, well my daughter dropped a stool that that family could all sit on side by side while they ate that loaf". I really don't know, but when the mother went into the cubicle, there was a gasp and then she said, "Oh that's not even funny." She must have flushed the toilet about 5 times in an attempt to get rid of the evidence, all the while the little girl giggled to herself proudly.
I really don't know what it could have been. I've never heard a little girl grunting so loudly when taking a shit before. Usually that sort of thing is the realm of old men.
I have, on occasion, been to the casino near where I live and its the one thing that I've noticed that sets it apart from a lot of night time destinations. The number and sheer fervour of the sounds coming out of those toilets is beyond the imagination and better not heard.
Oh if only my ears were virgin again.
Maybe its the loss of cash, maybe its the alcohol, maybe its the giant steak dinners, I don't know, but going to the toilet in a casino seems to be a harrowing, distressing and painful experience for many.
I'm thinking of getting a colostomy bag...either that or a catheter.
The guy in the flat in front of mine a year or so ago had a colostomy bag. I know this because he used to take great joy in showing it to me. He'd open up his shorts and say things like, "oh oh...almost full again."
The sight of the colostomy bag was bad enough, but he had a hernia smuggled away down there as well. Do you know what that looks like? Its like a tennis ball sized lump of flesh that hangs from your stomach. And don't get me started on the smell...
Eventually he moved out. Seems he took a fall and was laying on the floor of his flat for 4 days in his own filth, calling out to me for help as I went to and fro from my door. Being a modern bear, I always had my headphones on and so never heard a thing. Well...that's what I told his family.
I really don't like that smell and like I said, I can't even talk about toilet stuff without wanting to gag.
STAY FILTHY!
I know that might make me a killjoy or a prude, but its not like I don't like fun. I like to dance. I like the odd drink. I like small animals. I like to drink with small animals. I like to dance with small animals. I like to dance while I'm drinking small animals.
Filthy likes a good party.
I used to go to a lot of open-house parties, literally parties where someone had opened the doors of their house to anyone who wanted to come along, usually some kid who's parents had foolishly gone away and left them in charge. Sounds nuts but it was a pretty tight nit area where I was living at the time and, though there could be anywhere up to 3 or 4 hundred people turn up, things rarely ever got too bad...well...except for the night there was a gang war, but thats another story.
These parties were awesome. Sure some of them fizzled out a bit or were punctuated by too much ABBA but many were a roller coaster of fun fun fun and the pranks were many.
Some of the pranks were perpetrated by yours truly, for which I am not so proud...well only a bit pround...of.
I remember when I was still too young to have a liscence, there was this party where I filled up some poor girl's mother's car with drunk idiots and drove it around and around the block. Every time we came upon the house where the party was at, she would run out and implore us to stop. We would laugh, thinking it hilarious, and take off again.
At another party, there was a huge birdhouse seated upon a tall wooden pole in the back yard. There were hundreds of people milling about, most of them in various states of inebriation. A buddy of mine, a polar bear, and me found a couple of tomahawks in the shed and, to the delight of the assemblage, we began to chop the birdhouse down. When it teetered, we called timber and people jumped out of the way as the structure crashed to the ground and splintered into a million pieces.
There were always people sampling things at these parties, drinks, drugs, etc and I was fine with that, it made for good mischief.
I remember there was this one guy who was so stoned that he sat propped against the side of a house, just completely out of it. My friends and I went to the garden shed, found an old empty petrol tin, and filled it with water. We went to where the stoned guy was and began splashing him liberally with the water in the tin. He hardly moved and looked up at us incredulously. 'What the fuck dudes?' he mumbled.
I showed him the petrol tin and splashed him some more, then my mate, a particularly moody sunbear, started flicking lit matches at the guy.
The matches went out upon contact with the water, but this guy was so wasted that he freaked out. He got up like a rocket and began throwing punches, screaming 'THEY'RE TRYING TO KILL ME! THEY'RE TRYING TO KILL ME!'.
The last we saw of him, he was running away down the street, screaming and calling for help.
Dumbass.
Now we weren't all bad. We had a sort of moral code. Like one night when there were younger kids at a party, chopping up dope in bowls. My mate went over to them, all about 14, and said he knew of a way to make their experience way better.
The kids seemed keen to try anything and so Grouchy went to the kitchen, came back with a carton of milk and poured it into each bowl in turn, filling them up.
The kids didn't stop him, thinking that this was part of some mystical process or something, but they looked worried. Finally, when all bowls were full and the dope saturated, Grouchy said, 'There you go. Can't have cereal without milk. So...you boys into sugar or honey?'
All good fun and nobody got hurt...as far as I know...but not everyone was so kindly with their pranks.
There was a time there when a great mystery had arisen among the party-goers, a mystery so strange and devilish that it confounded everyone. Someone it seemed, was going to these parties and waiting for a moment when everyone was outside. They'd then sneak into the loungeroom, take the VHS machine from wherever it sat (yes this was a while ago), place it on its end, open the slot where the video would normally go, squat over said slot with their pants down, and there...they would take...a shit.
The perpetrator would then wipe any excess excrement from the face of the VHS machine and place it carefully back where he'd found it. A lovely surprise for the owner of the house.
This was happening over and over again, at every party that my friends and I went to and everyone had their suspects. I personally thought it was one of the football crowd. After all they have to start somewhere. You don't just start with date rape, pissing yourself on airplanes and writing your name on hotel room walls in poo. You have to start small.
I'm sure that some people thought it was us. I mean people have an unfair prejudice against bears to start with so it wouldn't surprise me if they thought we were into this sort of thing, which of course we weren't...or so I had believed.
One night, Humphrey, who was a weird bear by all rights, (quiet, he wore a straw hat like he was in a barber shop quartet, and liked to dress in a waistcoat and tie a fair bit) said he was going to talk to someone and left our little sloth of bears to wonder the crowd.
Five minutes later we hear this scream, (which we heard before anyone else due to our far superior bear hearing) and the music died. That was followed by yelling and things inside the house breaking and a minute later Humphrey was ejected from the premises by a large man in a polo top. The man proceeded to wail on Humphrey and our first instinct was to help him. "More opression from the biped slavers" we thought, but then the girl who's parents owned the house stormed up to me and asked if we knew what Humphrey had been doing. We were in the dark but then she described his being caught in the act of shitting in her video recorder and all was clear. Humphrey was the culprit and he'd never said so much as a word to us.
Well we didn't feel such a need to help him after that and went back to our drinks instead. We never saw Humphrey after that but looking back it should have been more obvious. He was slightly unhinged. When we went to the zoo to visit Bogey and Mopey, two of our captive slave brothers, he took great pleasure in going to the butterfly house and stuffing butterflies into his waistcoat pockets, giggling giddily the whole time, until we had to usher him out of there.
And sometimes...just sometimes...he wore a scarf...in the Summertime.
Speaking of toilet stuff...
I was in a unisex toilet the other day which was a little weird but did make me feel quite modern in a way that my ipod does not.
Now I'm not a fan of public movements. I don't much like the smell and it continues to confound me that people find it so hard to press the flush button. You can't ever sit on the seat because its generally covered in urine or some other random forms of DNA and stem cell goop that you'd never purposefully lather your bum with, and so you end up taking up all sorts of yogic positions and contorting your body so as to make a deposit without picking up HepB or Menapause or getting pregnant.
I personally have nearly perfected "the Eagle" and can perch on the rim like a proud raptor for quite some time. Yes...there was one instance where my foot slipped out from beneath me in South America and my bum touched water, but generally its my favorite. From that hight however you need to set up a paper landing pad so as to avoid the inevitable splash.
Another is the human scaffold, single or double handed, where you take up a position as if you are seated a few inches above the actual seat with your hand, or hands, against the wall behind the toilet, holding you up. Its pretty strenuous and if you get stuck with a hanger-on, the muscles in your arms and legs can take a nasty beating.
Then there's "the TeePee" where you basically stand with a leg off to either side of the bowl, but I find my big bear cheeks don't allow the bum junk to pass freely in this position and I HATE having to lick my arse clean in public.
Anyway I have strayed from the point.
I was in such an establishment the other day and this lady was in there with her kids, all of which were small. I'm talkin' maybe waist high or somethin like that. Maybe a bit smaller. So one of the kids is in the stall next to mine, and she's giving it a really good go, grunting and talking to herself, making all the noises of someone exerting themselves, only in a higher tone. Think Tele Tubby.
It was like Pappa smurf snapping one off next door and i was losing it, and then to top it off, when she'd finished, the mother went in to see how she'd done (I'm not sure why. Maybe its a point of contention among mothers these days. "My son pinched a loaf that would feed a whole family." "Oh yeah, well my daughter dropped a stool that that family could all sit on side by side while they ate that loaf". I really don't know, but when the mother went into the cubicle, there was a gasp and then she said, "Oh that's not even funny." She must have flushed the toilet about 5 times in an attempt to get rid of the evidence, all the while the little girl giggled to herself proudly.
I really don't know what it could have been. I've never heard a little girl grunting so loudly when taking a shit before. Usually that sort of thing is the realm of old men.
I have, on occasion, been to the casino near where I live and its the one thing that I've noticed that sets it apart from a lot of night time destinations. The number and sheer fervour of the sounds coming out of those toilets is beyond the imagination and better not heard.
Oh if only my ears were virgin again.
Maybe its the loss of cash, maybe its the alcohol, maybe its the giant steak dinners, I don't know, but going to the toilet in a casino seems to be a harrowing, distressing and painful experience for many.
I'm thinking of getting a colostomy bag...either that or a catheter.
The guy in the flat in front of mine a year or so ago had a colostomy bag. I know this because he used to take great joy in showing it to me. He'd open up his shorts and say things like, "oh oh...almost full again."
The sight of the colostomy bag was bad enough, but he had a hernia smuggled away down there as well. Do you know what that looks like? Its like a tennis ball sized lump of flesh that hangs from your stomach. And don't get me started on the smell...
Eventually he moved out. Seems he took a fall and was laying on the floor of his flat for 4 days in his own filth, calling out to me for help as I went to and fro from my door. Being a modern bear, I always had my headphones on and so never heard a thing. Well...that's what I told his family.
I really don't like that smell and like I said, I can't even talk about toilet stuff without wanting to gag.
STAY FILTHY!
Sunday, June 19, 2011
The exorcism of Filthy the Bear
I think the people who live across the street are serial killers or at least mild psychopaths.
I get up early every morning and head out before the sun comes up, before its even vaguely light, and every morning, as I make a u-turn my lights flash across the front of the house across the street and the people who live there, sitting on plastic chairs, in their carport.
They don't seem to be doing anything, just sitting there staring at me...watching me. Its a little unnerving. Who, in their right mind, gets up before the sun on a cold winter's morning, and sits out the front of their house to watch the street?
I've taken to calling them the Klopeks, after the family of serial killer weirdos from that legendary 80's film "The Burbs". You might remember them; they were killing people and burying them in the back yard.
In the photo below you can see one of the Burbs talking with the Klopek's son, Hans.
The only time that I have met them in the couple of months that I've been here was when one of them, "the wife" stumbled over the road pissed and introduced herself while I was moving in. It was uncomfortable and weird and I've tried to keep my distance since. I sort of get the feeling that they are sitting over there either 1; talking about what a household of arseholes we are and are therefore planning our demise via mulcher or 2; hoping and wishing that we might make contact.
If its "2" they might want to get out more and if its "1" then I might want to get out more. I think they have a dog but I rarely ever see it. I have a dog. Some dogs are big, some small, some happy, some angry, and some...it seems...are posessed.
Check out this article from a Jewish website;
Dog sentenced to death by stoningRabbinical court rules spirit of secular lawyer who insulted judges 20 years ago transferred into wandering dog's body Akiva Novick
A Jerusalem rabbinical court recently sentenced a wandering dog to death by stoning. The cruel sentence stemmed from the suspicion that the spirit of a famous secular lawyer, who insulted the court's judges 20 years ago, had been transferred into the dog's body. Several weeks ago, according to the Behadrei Hadarim website, a large dog entered the Monetary Affairs Court near the ultra-Orthodox neighborhood of Mea Shearim. The dog scared the court's visitors and, to their surprise, refused to leave even after they attempted to drive him away. The head of the court, Rabbi Avraham Dov Levin, denied that the judges had called for the dog's stoning. But one of the court's managers confirmed the report to Yedioth Ahronoth. |
And People think I'm weird. There's a whole religion that has gone bonkers and I doubt there's a bear suit between them.
Getting back to the people across the street however.
I recently took a test to see if I was a psychopath. I'm serious and it was surprisingly easy. You can take the test right now if you like.
Actually...if you're going to do it, get someone to do it with you. Its more fun that way and also if one of you is a psychopath then I would like the other one there to call the police and report it. But don't be paranoid...just be honest.
Ok? Here goes.
Now I'm going to tell you a story and I want you to answer the question at the end of the story truthfully and with as little deliberation as possible.
Ok so a young woman goes to her father's funeral and while there she meets a charming gentleman and falls instantly in love with him. She's never met him before but this is it...the big one...the soul mate. Only problem is she fails to get his details or a phone number. The next day she kills her sister.
Why?
BRRRRIIIIIIINNNNNGGGGGG!
Alright finished?
Ok well I'm sure you came up with a few different answers. Maybe she was so messed up with self hate that she went off the deep end and murdered her sister? Maybe you thought the sister was with the man and the girl got jealous?
Well obviously there is no right or wrong answer and no true answer either but according to experts there is an answer that is a good indicator that you may be a psychopath and it goes a little something like this.
She killed her sister in the hopes that, if the man went to her father's funeral then he might very well go to another member of her family's funeral and so she killed her sister thinking that it might bring her into contact with the man she fell in love with.
I hope nobody ever loves me that much.
Seriously though, apparently when they have asked this question to serial killers they almost always answer the question with that bizarre response.
(Now is when those with a normal answer restrain those with the weird answer and call 000 or 911 or whatever number you use in your locale to alert the authorities)
We were traveling around the country, setting up the tents and putting on our show. We stopped at some big towns but we also stopped at some dinky little smears on the planet as well, and it was in one such speed bump that three of us, including my boss (Rufuss), myself and Zandor the Magician thought we'd hit the local hot spots and have a few drinks.
The tequillas were many and we were all a bit drunk, my boss especially so.
He had the keys to the hotel and when he was at his most hammered he decided it would be funny to run away with them. Zandor and I chased him and crash-tackled him in the middle of the street. We took the keys and headed to the front door of the hotel.
Rufuss eventually got up and started running up the street after us, looking strangely like the terminator from the second Terminator film, you know...the guy who was sort of a liquid metal?
We were desperately trying to get the key into the lock before he got to us but didn't make it in time.
Funnily however, he ran up to us, crashed into me, and bounced off. He fell backward and cracked his head open on the tiled floor.
A pool of blood immediately began to form around his head and he wasn't moving.
Now remembering that we were drunk, it was a confusing time. We checked to see if he was breathing, and he was but we couldn't wake him up. All I could remember was something I'd seen on an old Three Stooges show on TV. I figured a bucket of water might help wake him and so I sent Zandor inside the hotel to find one that we could throw on his face.
Zandor took a while and I was quietly worried about my boss who was losing a lot of blood.
Eventually Zandor appeared with a small bin full of water. I took it from him and asked where he found it.
He said he had found it in the bathrooms.
Knowing that I had to move quickly, I poured the water onto my boss' face, and suddenly realised that water was not the only thing that was in the bin. A couple of small things that at first glance resembled dead mice dropped onto his cheek. They were wet and sort of fury, with long white tails...but they weren't brown...they were dark red...you know...the sort of dark red that you get when blood dries.
I looked at Zandor and asked him why he didn't empty the bin out first, but he was vomiting too loudly to hear.
Rufuss did wake up and we got him upstairs, and after soaking up three t-shirts with the blood that was pouring out of his head we stopped the bleeding. Looking back I realise that we should have called an ambulance but everything turned out fine and but for a headache, he seemed to get over the injury quickly.
The tampons however, took a little longer to get over.
So you know...hygiene is pretty important, and that is what you should take away from this little rant.
STAY FILTHY.
Sunday, May 15, 2011
Tiny is as Tiny Does Sir.
I have this friend who is a tad on the small side. He's not a midget, or whatever the politically correct term for a dwarf is these days, but he is quite short. I guess you'd say he was hobbit sized and I often refer to him as the "halfling".
He doesn't seem to like it very much.
The other day I met his girlfriend and she too is diminutive. They're both pretty much the same size and its sort of cute when you see them together. Its like watching shetland ponies with backpacks. I like to think of them as Shetland People and in that way I don't feel so bad about staring at them. Its more like watching a David Attenborough doco on the tv and that makes me feel better about staring because there's fewer descriminatorial conotations involved.
Its especially interesting to watch how they walk. I never notice it when its just one of them, but when they're together its like their legs suddenly become too short and they shuffle alot. There's even a bit of the Ewok in their strides and I sometimes imagine them with spears fighting the seemingly far superior empire and swinging from trees with wookies.
Did you know that the final battle in Return of the Jedi was originally supposed to be on the wookie homeworld, with wookies instead of Ewoks?
I'm glad it didn't work out that way or everything I just said would have made no sense and I'd have sounded like a lunatic.
Do all short people shuffle?
I would think that being low to the ground would make it easier to lift your feet because you don't generally have to lift them as high as everyone else, but then maybe I'm wrong. Gravity does get weaker the farther from the earth's surface you get, so maybe people who exist at lower heights than normal folk are living under a higher level of gravitational pull.
?
Anyway its strange that these two tweenies got together. If I was short, the last person I'd go out with was someone the same size as me. I'd go out with someone shorter so that I would have a height advantage and look taller.
I select most of my friends based on how their proximity to me will effect other people's perceptions. I hang out with short people in order to feel tall. I hang out with dumb people so that I seem smarter, fat people so that I feel thin, really ugly people so that I feel handsome, pasty people so that I seem tanned...
I once went out with a girl who was flat chested and it made me feel like I had big breasts, which was fun. Quite often I hang out with people with penises and then go home and finger myself.
On the downside however I've started to mensturate and its getting harder to find my g-spot, especially when my blood sugar is low or I'm feeling delicate. But that's your fault not mine!
My dog is short.
He doesn't seem to like it very much.
The other day I met his girlfriend and she too is diminutive. They're both pretty much the same size and its sort of cute when you see them together. Its like watching shetland ponies with backpacks. I like to think of them as Shetland People and in that way I don't feel so bad about staring at them. Its more like watching a David Attenborough doco on the tv and that makes me feel better about staring because there's fewer descriminatorial conotations involved.
Its especially interesting to watch how they walk. I never notice it when its just one of them, but when they're together its like their legs suddenly become too short and they shuffle alot. There's even a bit of the Ewok in their strides and I sometimes imagine them with spears fighting the seemingly far superior empire and swinging from trees with wookies.
Did you know that the final battle in Return of the Jedi was originally supposed to be on the wookie homeworld, with wookies instead of Ewoks?
I'm glad it didn't work out that way or everything I just said would have made no sense and I'd have sounded like a lunatic.
Do all short people shuffle?
I would think that being low to the ground would make it easier to lift your feet because you don't generally have to lift them as high as everyone else, but then maybe I'm wrong. Gravity does get weaker the farther from the earth's surface you get, so maybe people who exist at lower heights than normal folk are living under a higher level of gravitational pull.
?
Anyway its strange that these two tweenies got together. If I was short, the last person I'd go out with was someone the same size as me. I'd go out with someone shorter so that I would have a height advantage and look taller.
I select most of my friends based on how their proximity to me will effect other people's perceptions. I hang out with short people in order to feel tall. I hang out with dumb people so that I seem smarter, fat people so that I feel thin, really ugly people so that I feel handsome, pasty people so that I seem tanned...
I once went out with a girl who was flat chested and it made me feel like I had big breasts, which was fun. Quite often I hang out with people with penises and then go home and finger myself.
On the downside however I've started to mensturate and its getting harder to find my g-spot, especially when my blood sugar is low or I'm feeling delicate. But that's your fault not mine!
My dog is short.
I like short in a dog.
She's managable and easy to take for walks and play with. I also like the fact that it reflects well on me to have a small dog.
Dogs are much the same as cars. A pitbull, much like a Hummer, says "I'm trying to compensate for a small penis", where as a cute little dog, much like a VW Beetle, says "My friends call me the Living Tripod."
Hummers are dead now, which is a bit of a result.
General Motors ended the brand. They said it was due to financial concerns but I'd like to think that it was a conscious effort on their part to do something good for the environment, the economy, the safety of small school children everywhere and to end the vicious circle of dickheadedness that Hummers are an obvious symptom of.
I just hope that Apple takes note and does something about the iphone.
Many of you may know of my disposition toward the iphone.
Just call it a fuckin phone for christ's sake and stop with the "i" crap!!! I call my phone a phone. I don't call it a nokia or a blackberry or whatever because I don't want to sound like a wanker.
Do you call it "my iphone" so that everyone knows you have an iphone? Is it you flexing your metaphorical muscles? Trying to seem cool?
If you must call it an "iphone", man up and call everything by its brand name, or alternatively put an "i" in front of everything so that Apple can have an easier time when they finally take over your life.
I do it. I already call my dog my ipuppy, my shoes my icons, and my car my ivan, which makes it sound cool in a sort of russian sort of way.
Did you see Russia in the Eurovision? Boy bands wouldn't have been round in the old Soviet days. Oh how I long for the cold war when there was a clear and obvious bad guy for the Americans to hate. They don't seem able to make up their minds at the moment and are using crappy reasons to go to war. They'd wage war on Rabbits if they could find a way to make Bugs responsible for a terrorist attack.
Wait a minute!!!
Is that a turbin!?! Don't terrorists wear turbins!?! Is that a gun in his hands!?!
And Australia just seems to suck up their arses. Howard was Bush's little bitch and I've seen nothing to make me think Julia is any different. The problem is that Bush was relatively tall and so is Obama. Howard is short and so is Julia. They should be making alliances with the shorter world leaders. That way they'd look less pathetic and I wouldn't have to feel so ashamed when I see them at G8 summits and the like. Actually, Howard should have hung out with ugly people and dumb people and Julia should hang out with Chopper Reid.
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