Wandering about today brought many interesting sights through my eyes, but two stand out as things I didn't need to see.
1/ An absolute nob was walking around with his jumper knotted around his collar...are you fucking kidding me! All it needed was for the jumper to be pastel coloured and I would have freaked out and thought I had somehow been sucked into the movie Animal House. Please somebody stab this man to death!
2/ Looking around the train station whilst sitting and waiting, something caught my eye at my feet. Someone had hacked up a big loogie, which was splattered next to what I'm guessing was a carefully placed, half unfurled - unused! - condom. Oh! how pleasant...
Till next time, find the joy. Someone else obviously did, bareback presumably.
Thursday, 12 June 2008
Tuesday, 10 June 2008
#10 WTF!?!
"Be not afraid of greatness. Some are born great, some achieve greatness, and some have greatness thrust upon 'em."
My old mate Bill’s quote comes in handy at times like these, as written it’s said by an idiot...Really folks, what the fuck is wrong in the seat of Franklin?
For those of you not up with current events in that neck of the wood, Paul Lennon’s resignation caused a recount of his seat. This was from the 2006 state election, when Vanessa Goodwin had her arse handed to her, but took that as a sign she should be in federal politics...and had her arse handed to her again.
Well, long story short, the recast votes gave the seat to Ross Butler...What.The.Fuck.
Ross Butler, some of you will well remember, was principal of NNHS during the 90s.
He was also a cunt.
Really, this man couldn’t teach a prison bitch how to take it in the arse.
Disliked by students and staff, I was fortunate enough to be there for his departure. I’m not a particular fan of violence, and I don’t even know if it’s true, but the rumour that floated regarding his departure (I’ll let those that know it fill you in) from his next position, and indeed teaching in general, brought a smile to my face.
It still does.
Now because he was lucky enough to have ‘big red’s’ redistributed votes land in his lap, he’s gonna be making the big bucks for a while. We’ve always known what a shit judge of character Lennon’s been so it shouldn’t surprise us he chose to have a fuckwad like old ‘Fatneck’ be his third man up...
For those of you living in the region, I pity you.
"Asses are made to bear, and so are you"
WRITERS NOTE: I realize this post is incredibly specific, and it doesn't bother me in the slightest. Also, those thinking this blog will degenerate into political ramblings are kidding themselves...
Monday, 9 June 2008
#9 Things I've learnt part one.
1/ I hate looking like a tourist. It is ridiculous, I know; that's exactly what I am. But there you go. I've learnt it, didn't say I could explain it...
2/ I’m far worse with maps than I thought. This hasn’t been too much of an issue because point 1 stops me from looking until I’m utterly lost...And even then when no one's about.
3/ I like taking photos but don’t really like being in them, mostly because I’m shit at taking them of myself, which also leads back to point 1. I’d ask a stranger to help, but am paranoid they’ll run off with my camera...And I’ll be too lazy to chase them.
4/ Big Brother is much better when everyone talks in British accents I can barely understand...I have no doubt they are just as headfucked as our own contestants, but a few ‘allo guvnah’s and go on son’s! go a long way.
5/ Cunt seems to be considered a much more vitriolic noun this end of the world; I’ve even had people gasp upon my littering a sentence with the c bomb...This pleases me no end.
6/ I’ve just become a fan those free standing swinging seat things. I’ve been sitting here reading pointless webpages and writing this for the afternoon...In the sun. That’s right, I went there.
2/ I’m far worse with maps than I thought. This hasn’t been too much of an issue because point 1 stops me from looking until I’m utterly lost...And even then when no one's about.
3/ I like taking photos but don’t really like being in them, mostly because I’m shit at taking them of myself, which also leads back to point 1. I’d ask a stranger to help, but am paranoid they’ll run off with my camera...And I’ll be too lazy to chase them.
4/ Big Brother is much better when everyone talks in British accents I can barely understand...I have no doubt they are just as headfucked as our own contestants, but a few ‘allo guvnah’s and go on son’s! go a long way.
5/ Cunt seems to be considered a much more vitriolic noun this end of the world; I’ve even had people gasp upon my littering a sentence with the c bomb...This pleases me no end.
6/ I’ve just become a fan those free standing swinging seat things. I’ve been sitting here reading pointless webpages and writing this for the afternoon...In the sun. That’s right, I went there.
Sunday, 8 June 2008
#8 For the love of darts...
Darts is for retards and cunts.
There, I said it.
Ordinarily that’s a bit of a nothing statement. Women's golf/lesbianism, if you will. Here, and I don’t have a clue how, it’s almost a national fucking 'sport'.
I am, of course, rubbish at it. That doesn’t stop me from having an opinion though...
The only saving grace is the drinking time involved, which, in a word; brilliant. That and I can’t remember the last ‘sport’ I played in someone’s hallway at midnight.
My brother loves it...
There, I said it.
Ordinarily that’s a bit of a nothing statement. Women's golf/lesbianism, if you will. Here, and I don’t have a clue how, it’s almost a national fucking 'sport'.
I am, of course, rubbish at it. That doesn’t stop me from having an opinion though...
The only saving grace is the drinking time involved, which, in a word; brilliant. That and I can’t remember the last ‘sport’ I played in someone’s hallway at midnight.
My brother loves it...
Saturday, 7 June 2008
#7 Is that your final answer?
Was watching Who Wants To Be A Millionaire today, as you do, when I was surprised by the question for 50,000 pounds.
Who is the current Prime Minister of Australia?
Remember, this was for 50,000 pounds people...
What's worse is the moron didn't know, so he phoned a friend...
He didn't know either.
This shocking revelation leads me to two conclusions:
1/ There is something seriously wrong with the education of these Britons.
or
2/ It's possible we're not quite as important in the world as we like to think.
The Australian in me thinks they're a pack of deadshits...
----------------------------------------------------------
Next up: Paul Lennon's resignation shocks the world's leaders. Most questioned provided similar answers.
'Til next time, Find the Joy.
Who is the current Prime Minister of Australia?
Remember, this was for 50,000 pounds people...
What's worse is the moron didn't know, so he phoned a friend...
He didn't know either.
This shocking revelation leads me to two conclusions:
1/ There is something seriously wrong with the education of these Britons.
or
2/ It's possible we're not quite as important in the world as we like to think.
The Australian in me thinks they're a pack of deadshits...
----------------------------------------------------------
Next up: Paul Lennon's resignation shocks the world's leaders. Most questioned provided similar answers.
Paul who?
'Til next time, Find the Joy.
Sunday, 1 June 2008
#5 I took a dump at shakespeares' birth house...
...and all I got was this lousy blog entry.
Truth be told, it was the entrance building next door that accepted my waste donation, but who's paying attention anyway??
Well as you can guess this week I paid (and $paid$) a visit to a fellow literary great. (Don't pretend this isn't some of the best shit you've ever read. No? Well fuck you, get out of my house.)
To say the least, his house was rubbish. No coffee, no biscuits; just some tossers banging on about people I care nothing about, which was everyone except Bill himself. Apologies to the lovely old lady entertaining us with tales of poppa Speares' glove making business. You were fantastic.
Walking into the house is fairly underwhelming. Dare I say it, to the untrained eye the place was Boring.
It would surprise you then, to hear the house was positively dripping with excitement...Provided you were the heavily goggled older gentleman standing next to said glove lady. I swear he got the horn and his glasses fogged when she waxed lyrical on the various farm animals and finger holes...
Dirty old fucker.
So, apart from the David Stratton looky likey, we all appeared quite sick of it...Unless you were the fucking American family...who asked questions! Are you kidding me? Who gives a shit about how the fucking hide was prepared before stitching started!
It was around this time I walked out.
This may be my cynical side talking, but I have this sneaking suspicion I'm only going to these places for the souvenir shops...
POST SCRIPT - When the time comes that my birthplace is to become a point of pilgrimage, how 'bout we all just say I was born in a barn. An excuse will be needed for why this was the case, of course. Maybe all the inns were full?? People'd buy that, surely??
Truth be told, it was the entrance building next door that accepted my waste donation, but who's paying attention anyway??
Well as you can guess this week I paid (and $paid$) a visit to a fellow literary great. (Don't pretend this isn't some of the best shit you've ever read. No? Well fuck you, get out of my house.)
To say the least, his house was rubbish. No coffee, no biscuits; just some tossers banging on about people I care nothing about, which was everyone except Bill himself. Apologies to the lovely old lady entertaining us with tales of poppa Speares' glove making business. You were fantastic.
Walking into the house is fairly underwhelming. Dare I say it, to the untrained eye the place was Boring.
It would surprise you then, to hear the house was positively dripping with excitement...Provided you were the heavily goggled older gentleman standing next to said glove lady. I swear he got the horn and his glasses fogged when she waxed lyrical on the various farm animals and finger holes...
Dirty old fucker.
So, apart from the David Stratton looky likey, we all appeared quite sick of it...Unless you were the fucking American family...who asked questions! Are you kidding me? Who gives a shit about how the fucking hide was prepared before stitching started!
It was around this time I walked out.
This may be my cynical side talking, but I have this sneaking suspicion I'm only going to these places for the souvenir shops...
POST SCRIPT - When the time comes that my birthplace is to become a point of pilgrimage, how 'bout we all just say I was born in a barn. An excuse will be needed for why this was the case, of course. Maybe all the inns were full?? People'd buy that, surely??
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