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.