some people already know what this is about

on my way to get whipped and tortured by my usual punisher's the other day, I happened to notice a very interesting sign. oh by the way, to those that know what I am talking about (and you should) stop reading now, cause you already know what I am going to say. But for those that don't, I saw a sign for a psychic exhibition, it didn't bust my fucking balls, more so it amused me. Seriously, a physic fucking exhibition, what the fuck would that be about? First of all, why the fuck would you need a fucking sign? By all means try and get maximum exposure to an event that you are going to host, but when your fucking main demographic can tell what the fuck you are thinking, then c'mon, you don't need a fucking sign! Then again, maybe the people that aren't psychic enough will need the sign as they won't know to read the mind of the creator, therefore, won't know it's on? I don't fucking know, hence I am not a psychic.
The other stupid fucking thing about having a psychic adventure is, wouldn't everyone that went there already know what the fuck was going on? Like you head up to one of your comrades and before you ever say anything they have already mind fucked you with what they were going to tell you when you asked them that thing you were going to ask? So everyone would just be standing around around looking at the next dick cheese goin, umm yep, next, oh for sure, nah, oh yeah, yeah I'm already there (like litterally.)
In the same sense, I always thought it would be cool to be a psychic, you would never really need to make a decision about shit, nor need to know shit, as you already know everything! I'd like to be one now, fuck knows why, I couldn't rob a fucking bank being a psychic, nor could I just get what ever I want, which most of the time involves fucken money, but it would be cool, not quite as cool as being invisible, cause then you could do whatever, like walk into a bank and fucken take all of the money out and then just walk out, and people would be like WTF is goin on here turbo, but you don't need to answer shit, cause they can't see you, let alone understand you. That is why, and maybe just why they have psychic exibitions, just so we never find out...












BTW I'm fucking hammered, of course that isn't why they have them, it's cause they fucking morons

GR8 PL8s U FUKH3D!

Number plates, something that gives your vehicle and ID, they can let a whole system of people and businesses know a little about the car, and in the right kind of business, a little about the driver as well. Easily the biggest system of all is the human race, no one sees your number plate more than the general public themselves, which is why my brain turns to mush when I am left to ponder why you would make a public spectacle of yourself by getting the wankiest, shittiest number plates a person could ever think of.

 

For example, would you wear a t shirt with “(your name here)’s T shirt” or “my short sleeve polo” (actually come to think about it, number plates don’t require grammar, so “myshrtslvplo”) The answer for most people would be, NO. No you wouldn’t, it would be fucking stupid to do such a thing. We either know who you are therefore no need to tell us again, or we don’t, therefore we wouldn’t give a shit, the outcome similar to the one above. This brings me to my point of why would you label your car this way? I would almost have to say that it is worse if it is your car, if your car has number plates that are prefixed by “my” or “our” then seriously, you need help. Let’s try and comprehend what they could actually mean. You are driving your car right? Umm… it is the same car it was when you purchased it? It does have adequate badges reminding you what it is before you step into it? You do actually know what you purchased don’t you? Ok, you know who you are and hopefully you know what your car is, sorry to say this, but people that don’t know you, couldn’t give a fuck if your name is “rob” or “mac” and the general public would be aware by now what a commodore is. Shit, we have it rammed down our throat often enough by that fucking box in our houses. So, why the need to tell everyone all of that useless info? Anyway, as if the car that you have clearly labeled isn’t your fucking car, not that many cars get flogged every single day that society is now feeling the need to write our names on them!

 

Possibly worse, is the person who feels the need to just simply tell us what the car is. At least the last lot of clowns told us something that we didn’t know (albeit, we couldn’t give a fuck) these fuckin idiots are telling us something that we can clearly see for ourselves, so not to be outdone by the monotony of day to day life, you guys are adding to that by telling us a couple of times what model your car is, great, thanks heaps for that champ. I always have a hard time understanding the logic behind these plates, do you often forget what your car is? Do you need to be told 25 times a day what it is, or is it to show everyone that even though it is an extremely average car, that you have a knowledge of automobiles, and to prove it you choose to display said knowledge on the outside of your vehicle a few more times.  Then there are the ones that try and tell you stuff or be witty, fuck me, maybe to communicate with these people properly I need “rage-31” number plates, cause these are seriously fucking stupid. I see plenty of these moronic plates around everyday, namely I saw one the other day that was (abbreviated obviously) why are you second (you can work it out.) on a shitty fucking girls car. I can’t even explain the stupidity of these plate, so I’ll start by trying to answer this insanely profound question as to why I am actually second. It was peak hour on the carpark we like to call the monash freeway when I saw this abomination, me being second wasn’t really an issue, as everyone you could see was stopped, and I wouldn’t really see this drive home as a race, but, the question was, why was I second? First of all dickweed I wasn’t second as there was a few thousand cars on the freeway at that point in time, just as there is every afternoon. The reason I was behind you is because you didn’t let me merge you fucking clown, but the reason for not letting me merge would be purely to come first, wouldn’t it? But then wouldn’t you have to merge in front of every car ever. If in fact he did do that, then he shouldn’t be allowed to have those number plates. Surely he should be able to get a fine for that shit, maybe even jail time! Vic roads give you fines for too low, too loud, what about plain old too fucking stupid?

 

Those two are just the tip of the iceberg, there are a million more stupid plates out there, dumbass sexual reference ones, ones that someone in kindergarten could get laughed at for the complete disregard to anything remotely close to resembling English, ones referring to different modes of transport, fuck, just about all of the dumbest shit you can ever think of has been done. The sad thing is that a lot of people are proud that their car makes a spectacle day in day out, ah well, a lot of people do a lot of silly things, this being one, good on ya, if you like being perceived as a fucking idiot. Obviously you don’t though because you have your idiocy on display all day every day. Just like that tattoo of a dick on your left ass cheek, I believe you when you say you were pissed, promise!

Australian music awards, AHAHAHAHAHA! Yeah right.

Oh, they’re fucking serious, surely they can’t fucking be serious?

Well, they are, and on Sunday night (although I know what they are) had the utter displeasure of viewing the fucking ARIA awards. As with a majority of music awards shows around the world, they reward fads, sales, popularity from their demographic of 12-15 year old females and pre poofter males and in general just lacklustre rubbish. So why watch, well I was fucking hung over, in a relatively good but tired mood, and I really felt like adding my own commentary to a shitty broadcast, (and also, when I stretched all the way, the remote was about 40mm too far away.)

Why would I want to endure such nutsack ripping, ass fuckingly poor programming? As I begin my evening viewing my mind is running all about, contemplating what sort of exploitations that I might witness and it is this thought process which makes me continue watching.

So what are we seeing, well typical bullshit, (I will recite as much as my drunken haze allows me to) I was informed that there would be a special guest on tonight’s show, ohhh, I wonder who this stellar AUSTRALIAN personality may be. WHAT THE FUCK?? PINK, why the fuck would I want to watch an Australian music awards show, only to be punished with a performance by a fucking American performer? Is that the most fucking insane scenario you can comprehend, do they get aussie guests on their shows? (They may, but fucked if I know,) and my best guess would be that they don’t, cause they don’t give a fucking flying fuck about aus performers. While I’m on the subject of Pink, the performance was fucking spastic, her singing sounded fucked and only the backup signers were in tune, and the stage set was lavish as fuck, one would be so inclined to think that this may have been to distract the 13 year old audience’s attention away from the fucking excrement that was being expelled from her mouth. Her image, what the fuck is that, are you supposed to be a bad girl, not like a sexy oh you’ve been a bad girl, but more like a don’t give a fuck oh no you didn’t bad girl, you know, with no regard for the “rules.” This comes off second rate when you have the sound on, because the music is only lyrical content away from hi fucking 5, it just looks and sounds really stupid, and to be honest, is almost an insult to the listener.

That was about the first ten minutes, so off to a good start of you like to take a fucking steaming heap of shit in your ear and your eyes gouged out then fucked in the hole.

Wait a minute, what is this? An artist that actually has talent, isn’t making music for the fucking sake (read money) of it and has an artistic style that is truly worthy of his own feature performance (yes, in place of this entire show) who is this you may ask? His name is Geoffrey Gurrumul Yunupingu, a truly inspiring artist. A blind aboriginal, self taught himself the guitar, upside fucking down as well! Sings in his native tongue and composes some of the most haunting melodies you would ever hear. He is a very humble person who records his music because it is what he enjoys doing, he isn’t a fucking don’t talk to me style celebrity who “we” all so greatly admire. To this man I tip my hat, I admire him in the deepest most sincere meaning of the word. Being as amazing as I have just described he should have just taken a fucken haul home aye? You would have thought so, album of the year, he was beaten by the presets, fuck me, that is fucking insane, a bunch of gay dudes, taking pills in really dark rooms with heaps of other fluro wearing guys, ahh yeah, for sure!

He had decent competition for the male artist, pipped at the line from nick cave, another great artist, and I’m sure one that couldn’t give a fuck about the arias.

And he won independent release, not too bad, and I’m sure he would be stocked, but when you have a fucking moron like that cilmi bird winning every fucking award she was nominated for, surely something is clearly a miss there?

As for the music itself, it is obvious that we are never going to see recognition for Australian metal bands, in any way shape or form, but here is what I would have like to have seen at the arias and why.
Psycroptic have just finished a massive north American festival as well as having completed their new album, which will see a worldwide release, this Tassie band should have opened up the arias with 3 or 4 songs, and definitely had lacertine forest as the last song. I should have hosted the fucken thing, pissed. Then Deez Nuts, a Melbourne band/guy (jj peters) who has also just released a new full length, should have played a 4 song set. Chuck jack the stripper in the mix, Petrol Powered Goon Bag Holocaust, some mindsnare, Hiroshima will burn, fuck I’m dead, bob saget, and of course slabslider and that is what I call a fucking awards night, with music that is worthy of actually receiving awards. Get that up ya pink, this is what the fuck you should sound like if you’re such an angry bad girl and wanna get in a fight!

Sex.. umm, sells?

Sex.. umm, sells?

 

OK, first off, this is more of an adventure rather than an analysis, but it is still an analytical bit about quite possible the fucken funniest thing I have ever seen.

Twas a nice day outside, the sun was out creating a quite pleasant ambient temperature of around 24 degrees, I was on my way home from work, and there was a lot of cold beer waiting to be drank upon my arrival home.

And that I did, running in the door, put ½ a slab into the refrigerator, and grabbed a pre chilled can for my consumption, chucked I tunes on random to create a suitable metallic noise for my ears, and proceeded to sit on my favourite spot outside, on an esky right next to the front door, lit myself a cigarette sat back and embraced this ultra relaxing situation that I had created.

My housemate had just returned home, lets call him CB, so he wondered inside grabbed a brew and chilled out the front as well. Usual conversation then proceeded to follow, what bands are doing what these days, whats coming out soon, how good the black dahlia murder are etc… when out of no where, I get asked, “hey man, you wanna come to a sex show tonight?” I’m like, “well alright, gimme bout 6 more beers and we’ll go have a squiz” and that was that.

So me, a little more than half cut got CB drove to the venue, now to understand the quality of such a place, let me set the scene for you, we live in SE Melbourne, around there, is a place called Dandenong, some of you will know Dandenong, some of you wont, pretty easy to describe, visualise even. Step one, go to you local tip. Step two, get a box, put it over your head, this is you house. Step 3, piss your fucken pants, these are your clothes, knock out your teeth, commit some crime and your pretty much living in dandy!

We arrive, the place looks like it just got rendered, hmm, I though to myself, this doesn’t look half as fucked as what I thought it would. The entrance was halfway up the building, I tried to have a ciggie in the time we left the car, to the entrance, we hear a voice, the most occa shazza voice comprehendible, “ahh, g’day boys, here for the show aye? Come right frew den, oh and sorry larv, no smokin in ere.”  I put out my dart halfway smoked, and entered.

“Go see that lovely blonde at the counter to pay darls,” was the next instruction, I guess by lovely she meant 95, and by blonde she meant white. So that we did, we payed, and took a seat, unbeknown to us that these were the seats for the actual fucking show, two barstools behind a couch. So I began to suss out the situation, there were about 25 blokes in this room, myself and CB being the most youthful, followed closely by a guy that looked to be a ripe old 40, then gradually older from that. In front of us on the couch we had a guy that looked like he just fucking ripped off his life support to be there, and even at the though of a fucking fat, he would need a defibrillator, this, along with our setting had me chuckling to myself already, even the fucken porn on the TV was making me laugh, jeeez, the chick in the movie had been getting pounded in the same posi, at the same rate for around half an hour now, we we’re in the heart of mediocrity now!

Around a minute before the start of our show, the “ladies” we’re introduced by “bazza” who calmly stated the two girls names and continued on his way out the back, and briskly out of the door came the stars of the show. The crowd was equal to that of a family at a funeral, the lights didn’t dim, and the shitty chart music they had playing was as loud and as annoying as ever. I took a few deep breathes to try and contain my laughter, bit my tongue and began to watch the show. WOW, a fucking mid 40’s police officer, and a smack head looking 30 something biker, the creative thinker behind this has clearly earned his leave. They then proceed to dance around this post retirement crowd, trying their hardest to be enthusiastic, but fuck, when your crowd is virtually dead, what can you do? Makes me wonder though, what the fuck would a 40 something yr old lady be doing de grading her self to this level, for clearly not a lot of financial retribution? Fuck, 90% of the fucken guys there look like they we’re lucky to get the money for fuel to get there! They continue to keep up the shenanigan of bad biker girl vs. cop girl, the cop had a whip for some fucked up reason, and in front of our 184 year old mate asked him if he’d like to be whipped, and then hit him on the fucking leg, holy shit woman, do you want a fucken homicide inside this joint, this fucker looks like he’s about to bust his nut off and have a fucken heart attack within 2 seconds of each other, and I’m not sure which one would be first.

This shit went on for a bit, they got their gear off as expected, and they weren’t much chop (no shit aye) one of em asked another old man if he wanted her to take her top off, a vague stare was all that was returned, she tried to ask him again, you know, like a second LOUDER answer, this time she got an “of course” back, in a monotone voice. As the show continued there was a voice emerging from the crowd, there was a middle aged man who looked like he was beginning to enjoy this shit, they took their tops off, and he’d let a loud oooohhhhh yyeeeeaaaahhhh ring out through the room, big mistake mate, well not for him maybe, but as all of this had been going on I constantly was trying to avoid eye contact, because of my constant smile from the hilarity of it all, if I looked at them smiling, they would be sure to come over and do something fucking annoying. Well that’s what old mate opposite us got, they walked over and started dancing around him, a split second after they got there though, he loudly exclaimed something else, but it wasn’t an enthusiastic shriek like before, this was a question, “ey, can you touch?” no was the reply, and the enthusiasm that had previously been a gimme from this bloke, was all but gone, only little oh yeah’s followed that, with him just glancing around the room, he had lost it all.

So this was getting boring, I need a fucking beer more than anything and almost being at the point of not being able to hold my laughing for even a second longer, I was contemplating walking out the door and just pissing myself to relieve myself. Adding to my anguish, the fucken occa chick at the door had decided to come sit with old mate 300 yr old in front of us, (I swear they must get a bonus if someone dies inside the place) she started talking, loud as all fuck, touching him in a flirty way, and then asked him if he liked pussy, what the fuck do you think woman, the bloke is old as a motherfucker, probs hasn’t seen a real snatch in 400 years and you ask him that. I don’t think gandolf could move at that point, weather it is from sheer bewilderment, or just no blood left in his legs? Occa lady continued to harass all of the couch sitters, (perks for getting there early I spose) meanwhile the lacklustre show of the century was still fucking going, the two ladies eventually realised that about 2 people we’re still paying any attention, had a little whisper in one anothers ear and called it a night, with a “fucken grouse show girls” from occa woman, and a brisk walk out the back by our cop and biker, it was all over. I looked at CB, said, out, “yep” quickly walked out the front, lit up a smoke, and pissed my fucking self for the 20 mins back home.

I recommend you blokes attend these shows, as something as piss poor and fucking dismal will never ever likely be seen anywhere else.    

What the fuck have i ever done to deserve WORK?

Work, fuck me, well you have to do it, or fucken go there, but why would people want to endure such a fucking farce, so much so, that it is the greatest part of their adult life?

Yeah alright, everyone needs money and everyone needs that money to live, but my question is, why does it have to be such a cunt of a place to go to?

I will run you through the typical fucken bullshit of an average day at my fucking workplace.

Fuck it, I will in a minute, I need a smoke.

  

ahhh, thats better. Where was I, oh yeah, what a fucking normal work day consists of.

Well I wonder in at the normal time, go outside for a smoke and a coffee, get the usual greetings from co workers, "hey, how are ya" or "whats goin on" to that the normal reply is always "alright" or "not much." I then proceed to boot up my PC to see what kind of things I can get pinged for the previous day, like someone didn't tie their shoelace right, or there is no milk in the fridge, or just in general how much of a fucking idiot I am, and how I am in debt at least 30 blowies because I am still here.

I then proceed to attempt to do some work, oh shit whats this, a fucking interruption, you need something ASAP?? Oh yeah, I love that shit, fucking give it to me, tell me the fucking reason you need something quickly and if I don't do what you say right now, let me know how difficult your job will be, then go on to tell a superior how hard it is to work with me so I can get a "chat" to help rectify this problem. The answer is simple, I DON'T GIVE A FUCK, thats why shit takes ages, thats why I'm fucking rude (by no means as rude as some of my colleagues) and thats why it is difficult! Below I have done a diagram that will sum up in stunning fashion, the above events, so you guys and gals can pretend for a second that you enjoy my work as much as I do.

This kinda thing happens continually during my work day, making it oh so enjoyable, as you can tell. I bet you wish you could trade places with me!

Being the multitalented amazing individual that I am, that is by no means near the extent of my daily duties, there are many aspects to my profession, below are a few examples of what makes my day so great.

I need to hold peoples hands because making decisions I think has been just ruled out for everyone bar me. I don't mean getting questions that are actually limited to a specialist profession, I mean any fucking thing, they range from, where is underscore? How do I print? What files do you need, EPS? That one is always followed up very shortly by, so is EPS OK? (Fuck, you answer your own fucking question, which is in turn answered again by me, then ring to reconfirm what I told you, which you already knew?) Next I'll be holding their fucking hand to take a fucking shit right! All of the above though, is so my dept has had a say in something, which in turn makes it a down right piece of piss when you need someone to blame.

Then there is the actual work, the best way I can describe it is to just copy the infinite remainders of Pi, then submit after 2-3 hrs, then do it all again to change one number, submit, then do it all again to put it back the way it was 6hrs ago, then get the person tell you the only wanted 1/4 written out anyway. That is it, day in day out, my brain slowly melting away to a mush of corporate tripe laden shit. So much so that I find, staring at the monitor with hands placed on the keyboard and just glaring through the glass, the biggest workout my mind gets all day. 

Oh, meetings, they fun, cause you get to look at the wall for a bit, not as interesting as the monitor, but it has a somewhat refreshing feel to it. You know, like if you we're on a tropical island with clear blue water, a palm tree in the middle, an esky full of fucking beer and porn actresses as far as the eye can see bringing you said beer and whatever else you may desire, all the while your kicking back on a banana lounge and for some reason you have a super power, which enables you to just think of something, and then that thought becomes reality? No, hmmm, maybe that’s just my place.

Then there are the corporate types, with their fucking cocksucking followers, but, this is an entirely different story all together...

For now I bid you all a due.

a fucking blog!!!

That's right, I'm the boom of all things that are blog, I have boarded the blog bandwagon with my full fare ticket on the way to awesomisation, express all stops bar alcoholism.

clearly I need to jazz this fucker up a little bit, as it's as bland as Mr turbulls rants on the financial state of Australia. But it will eventually look, well, probably like this, with a pic at the top, maybe.

Just quickly, the point of this blog is to rant and rave about bullshit things that I come across in my everyday  life, (drunk and sober) over analyse the fuck out of them, and then put my own little sarcastic, over enthusiastic spin on them. 

I was writing a book, but I can't be fucked, so this is in it's place, waaayyyyyyy easier, and I don't have write as much all in one go.

well that's it for now, cause I have shit to do, but I will be back with a fucking awesome story about something that has pissed me off in the next day or so.