You idiot

It occurred to me recently that every now and again my mind begins to wonder and I lose track of what I'm saying. It occurred to me recently that every now and again my mind begins to wonder and I lose track of what I'm saying. The other day someone came up to me and told me that every minute a pedestrian gets hit by traffic 3 times. You idiot I thought as I repeatedly tried to shove the turnip up my nose so that I could remain in my happy place. Why not just get off the road ya fool. If you get hit by a car on a busy street you don't do it twice more in the same minute. Then it dawned on me, There must be a way for the backstreet boys to reunite so that I can have my sandwich and Paddy's pecks.... hard.... johns... a little... squishy...

Wearing a sock and just a sock

My laundry hates me. Every time I walk in there I start being harassed by annoying voices saying things like "Honey, while your in there can you take the washing out?" and "Honey, I think I left my nostril hair trimmer in the bathroom, you're closer than me can you get it?" or "Honey, next time we're out in public, you mind not trying to grab grandmas nipple just to see the true effects of wisdom?" People don't get the interest that I have for life. Worried that Life was beginning to take hold of my balls and trying to see how many time it can twist them 360 degrees before I say ow, a fun game that Life had watched me play several times with my girlfriend, she said ow after 4 times, weak, I sat thought then murdered my next door neighbor for playing tennis. Hell hath no fury then a man who suddenly realises the female body is supposed to be different from his own.

To da Beat yo

I love rape. I mean Rap. It's great. It makes us intelligent. So much so, that every youth in the world, especially the ones who are not popular, can now have the access to drugs, sex and weapons to become the popular kid in Kindergarten. What a great way for the nerdy kid, who likes books, taking baths and repeat episodes of The Brady Bunch to walk into school and rhyme, "Yo yo yo, you skinny little ass, gonna tell yall a story bout a kid sitting in mass, he didn't like the priest, he didn't like his style, he didn't like the way that his poo fell in piles" Then belt his teacher over the head with a baseball bat that has nails sticking out of it. I mean, wow, not only has the kid learned what similar syllables sound like, A feat most grown up rappers still can't master (I'm looking in your direction Will Smith ans Shaquille O'Neal) but he has also managed to gain the respect and fear of his peers. Then that kid could wear bling. Huge razor blades from sharpeners, Lead from Pencils. The possibilities are endless, Let there be popularity for the nerdy kid called Paddy. Let him, have all yall bitches. Then, let him make songs that openly disagree with gays and beating up your mum then have people say, Oh it's ok that hes a dickhead who lets his broom handle molest him each night, he had a bad childhood. No he didn't. He was the greatest rapper that the idiots in Mrs Kruger's (A nickname given to her after an unfortunate baseball bat incident) class has ever seen. YALL.

Women Scare me

Ever wondered why people go on rampages shooting it up. Killing the innocent. Yeah, you might think, "Oh, I know, they must have just watched one of Jerry Bruckhiemers films making them tip over the edge to insanity where, no, not even the devil could keep his emotional stability" Yesterday however, I found out why. Angry women. AHHHHHHHHHHHH. Yes I know, these are the people we should fear on a regular basis, not only on a regular basis, but on a monthly basis. Everyone should hide from people like this. Run. Run as though you are being chased by paparazzi through a tunnel in France. I used to wonder what made people gay. Now I know. They are not born that way. No. They are scared of angry women. So, I hereby make a vow. I will stand for them men in our community who are oppressed by women who are made angry through life. I will stand for justice in a world where the uterus reigns supreme. I will stand.... if the missus lets me.

Group Work? Works for Paris, so why not me?

It may seem to you, reading this, that I am a non worker leeching off the masses so that I don't have to do work, simply sit around wating for sexually explicit situations to arise so that I can whip it out, get it over and done with then say something like "Rightio, now you better put yours away too if you know what I mean..." Then they look at me and "say", oh yes, and quickly put their wallet away as we pay for our subs. But I am a workaholic. I am a team player. I take risks. Last week, I told the boss they were awesome and that the boob job was really working for them. Dave seemed impressed and a little flattered. So therefore, it makes me angry when someone isn't pulling their weight. I tend to start to yell, scream and belch the alphabet. I want to take their arms rip them off, then use this jagged bits of bone to stir my tea. I hate these people and to be honest, the world would be a better place if they stayed in Tasmania. Last night, my cat ate it's own vomit.

The Hills are alive, with the sounds of suicide

It occurred to me recently, as I stood atop the cliff face pondering my empty.fulfilled existence. If I was to force elmo into the Snuffleupagus, that you could possible make a muffleupagus that says cute things, but is ugly as all hell so would force people to run into walls with the sole purpose of smashing their brains all over the ground so that when five year olds would come along and say"yummy jelly"other people would stand around and laugh at the ignorance of the young. Obsessed with my own Ideas of sexuality I came down from that mountain with a new beginning that I knew would make me famous. I would become the new Doctor Phil. No, I don't have the accent. No, I'm not a doctor either, but hey if baldy jones over there can make a living of crap that nobody listens to really, then I can too. I can tell people what to wear, what to eat, what to do in case of fire, and yes afterwards, they will sleep with me as well. I will release books, which will make people want to come on my show and sleep with me. I will release tapes which will make people want to bonk my brains out and YES, if I have to be a parasitic celebrity, sucking the blood out of an already famous talk show host, then yes, I will do it. It's what makes me an individual.

Mother Dear, What is that Intoxicating Aroma?

Have you ever wondered what this infatuation we have with meeting other people on the Internet is all about. The other day I was chatting up a bloke, pretending to be a model from a k-mart catalogue when all of a sudden I decided that at this moment in time, would be the best time, to sing the chicken dance song. In my house, a cheer arose, people began to dance, people began to sing. Buts were shaking, people were deciding that "Yes, Life is worth it and no matter what anybody says, I will live. I'm gonna pay back my loans, I'm gonna refuse to rob charities and shoplift from op-shops, I CAN DO IT!" Around the world, speeches were written, people began to dance in the street, "What is that enchanting noise?" And chickens? They began to lay eggs. Did they care that some pervert farmer was coming to look only where gynecologists fear to look, NO. They were quite unanimously sexing up Rooster boy in the back of the pen with their seductive moves. Ahh, I hear you say, but what of the schmuck that sits on the computer, wondering why all the ruckus outside. The man that will be bitterly disappointed when I turn on my web cam and show him my left nostril that has the finest of man hairs growing out of it. What of him. Despair. Nausea. Depression. All he See's is this:

Na Na Na Na Na Na Na

Na Na Na Na Na Na Na

Na Na Na Na

Da Da Da Da

Na Na Na Na Na Na Na

Na Na Na Na Na Na Na

Na Na Na Na

Da da da da

De de deeeeeeeeeeeee

de deeeeeeeeeeeeeee

de deeeeee deeeeeeeeeee

de de de deeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee

de deeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee

de deeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee

De de de deeeeeeeeeeeee

de deeeeeeeeeeeeeee

de deeeeee deeeeeeeeeee

de de de deeeeeeeee deeeeeeeeeeee

de de de de de

na na na na

(return to start)

My Heart Fills with Joy

It's occured to me that some people are violently stupid. Thier IQ is so low that when you ask them a question like, Hi, wheres the station? Thier Heart fills with joy to the point where thier head explodes and you are covered with bits of brain and skull. If one of those bits of skull happens to land in your eye , well then, good luck. You are spending your day wandering araound with a dflated eyball, bashing your head against homeless people in the hope that that will take away the pain. But it Dosn't. Instead it makes it worse. Now you are wandering araound with a bad eye, an open skull, a dead bum and all you can think about is buying a big mac meal as, oh yes, this could only get worse. You decide to infatuate this by tring to deal with a Maccas chick who dosn't no how to count and out of pure frustration you break both your legs. Well. Isn't life a stinker. But hey, at least nt you are in the proper frame of mind to make proper fim productions like Miami Vice and Jurassic park 5 - Help I've got a Hangnail.

Creative minds think a lot, now spanks please

I don't get why girls hate me. Is it my genuine sexuality? Is it the way I talk? Is it the fact that after I first meet them I go home and call them with Barry White playing in the background as I pretend to narrate a porn flick? Upset, I entered myself in a spelling bee where once again I was confronted by a bunch of whiny little bastards who insist on wanting to affiliate themselves with directors of movies that focus their story lines around kids in the ghetto who can't write poetry but that's OK, because their teacher is fresh out of uni and wants to help them to write poetry then call them with Barry White playing in the background as they pretend narrate a porno flick, that rhymes. Damn creative thinking. Creative thinking gave me the inspiration to buy a dog, now I only have one testicle. Creative thinking gave me a reason to take a a bus, then I got squirrel gripped by the decrepit ninety year old. Creative thinking gave me a reason to run for president, then I got raped by the artist formerly known as Lindsey Lohan (now known as Larry Bighelm). Got a dollar, I've got a date with a bus and the seat reserved for the elderly and the retarded.