My microwave just said to me, "Enjoy your meal!"

That's a bit bloody optimistic, Microwave. I fucking melted butter in you for 10 seconds. What fucking meal can be made in 10 seconds? Even if I put something in you for like 10 minutes it most likely isn't going to be a meal. You are good for melting, defrosting and heating. That's it! Not really deserving of the meal credit that your polite, however, somewhat passive-aggressive, "enjoy your meal" alludes to - you playing a major role in this extravagant microwaved feast my arse! It ain't the fucking 80's anymore, dude. That bit in Back to the Future 2 where they put a pizza the size of a cracker in a microwave-type contraption and in 10 seconds it turns into a full-size pizza, I admit that was cool. But it is never going to happen, is it? Over fucking promise, under fucking deliver! We no longer hold onto delusional notions that one day we would be cooking all of our meals in you. Microwave cookbooks barely exist anymore. And when do you think was the last time that someone attempted to cook a roast dinner inside of you? Wake the fuck up. Fuck!

Don't you fucking look at me like that Toaster or you will be next...


If God owned a Pogo

...He whispered, "My precious child, I love you and will never leave you, never, ever, during your trials and testings. When you saw only one set of prints in the sand, It was then that I carried you."


Off the top of my head. Ouch.

Things that can be Ginger and contain Ginger:

Ginger. hard-boiled lollies. Chocolate covered. Beer. Pickled. Vinegar. Bread. Cake. Gingernut Snaps. Hair. Houses. Jam. Men. Medicine. Hamstrings.

Things that I have been able to do (but may not be able to now):

Name USA presidents back to 1900.

Name all the Australian Prime Ministers in order.
Recite AFL Premiers back to 1978.

The splits.

All the Lyrics to The Fresh Prince of Bel Air.
Recite the entire "you can't handle the truth" monologue from A Few Good Men.
Recite Nobel Laureates in Economics back until 1964.
Juggle 3 things but not 4.

Be able to list all the books of the bible and who wrote them.

Now time for another

No Clue this time!



DeLorean. Yesterday

Date: Yesterday
How and Who: Online Chat between Nat and Kate.
Where: The Ether

Nat: just found strawberries
Its another Christmas miracle

Kate: where?

Nat: in the fridge.

Kate: ah. gotcha.

Nat: not so much a miracle...more just remembering that i had them there

Kate: yeah i have strawberries and also icecream

Nat: always with the one-upmanship

Kate: just better i guess

Nat: No. i am bored.

Kate: just talking to my sister, will be with you soon

Kate: sweet ass berry

Nat:that could work though i don't like the idea of eating ass berries

Kate: piles, ew. did you see the hand on face blog?

Nat: yup. genius. i wish it was proper summer weather

Kate: yeah, we should be wearing short shorts and sleeping with fans on and eating icy poles

Nat: fucking stoopid mother nature.
she sucks donkey dicks

Kate: harsh

Nat: call it as i see it

Kate: you in a 'fuck you world' mood?

Nat: nah - just bored and can't be arsed doing anything constructive
though i do feel like drinking whiskey soon

Kate: argh. i am not happy with my recent drinking behaviour

Nat: hehe. with all due respect kate, you are a douche bag :)

Kate: i don't need to be told.
i might stick to ginger beer for awhile

Nat: boring

Kate: your mum's boring

Nat: does ginger beer ever have alcohol in it?

Kate: Nah

Nat: why not?

Kate: shrug

Nat: people like ginger beer. they like alcohol and they like beer
thats 3 wins

Kate: you should write a letter

Nat: but to who kate. to who?

Kate: there should be just a general complaint office with some poor bastard reading about everyone's gripes

Nat: thats what friends are for! maybe i will set that office up

Kate: really i am just trying to fob you off

Nat: Nat's Official office of general complaints or Nats department of general complaints

Kate: but you would just complain that you were getting too many complaints

Nat: and I can be the Complaint secretary
and i would wite myself an email
and feel like i have done something about it

Kate: dear secretary, i am tired and am going to have a shower before going to bed cause i get up at six every morning

Nat: please - one complaint per correspondence

Kate: fucking burecrats!

Nat: haha.
go-have your fucking shower

Kate: Talk soon

STOCK TAKE. and guess that poo

I turned 29. I might as well have turned 30. The only advantage of turning 29 is that it is a prime number.

My new theory on all this aging stuff is that 33 is the new 30. If Jesus was allowed to fluff around until he was 33 to achieve something noteworthy, then so the fuck can WE. However, if you want to subscribe to this theory, what you have to achieve by 33 has to be pretty substantial. Reopen the gates of heaven. Cure the ill. Feed the masses. Make the Statue of Liberty disappear. Something magic.

I have many grey hairs on my head (which I do not mind), one grey chest hair (which is sad but I like) and no identified grey pubes (as yet). My age finally
seems to be catching up with my body (I had a 40 year old mans body at the age of 18), however, my maturity could be best described as child-like (and more often described as childish).

I don't have a serious girlfriend. I don't have kids. I don't have any work lined up after the second half of January 2009. I am about 8 kg's heavier than my optimal fit weight.

I have been in love probably three times. Been heart-broken probably twice. Since I was 18 I would have had sex on more days than not. I don't have a dog but my house has a cat. I haven't ever been directly responsible for someone’s death, nor have I been directly responsible for saving someone’s life.

I don't think any of that is great or very pathetic. Yet I am fairly happy. It excites me to think that I have plenty of room for improvement still.

And now for everybody’s favourite game: GUESS THAT POO!

Clue: This is a poo that you will never forget.

Answer in tomorrows post!


The glass is half juicy

I have said it before and I will say it again, if it ain't out of a tittie, it ain't milk. That's right, I am talking to you Soy Milk. Say it. Say it now, I AM JUICE NOT MILK. Say it you little bitch.

And don't think I have forgotten about you Rice Milk. Unless you are wearing the worlds smallest bra on the worlds tiniest titties you can fucking go over and stand with Soy Juice.

Crime Fighting Dogs that I like:
Scooby Doo, Inspector Rex, Brain (from Inspector Gadget), Charlie the wonder dog, and Hooch.
Evil Dogs: Kujo
Lame Dogs:
santas little helper, K9, Snoopy, Lassie and Benji
Dogs that like to Bite Vaginas: This dog



I turned 29 last week. I had a karaoke night of singing and alcohol. My friend Casey took a photo of me singing. Casey Posted that photo on her blog Comeuppence For Tuppence . Her blog is delightful, wry, sometimes a little mean but mostly sweet. The photographic evidence suggest I am not. I present Exhibit A Your Honor.

Really? Fucking hell. I am going to go with distgustingly sexy!

Surely sometimes i look normal.

But mostly not...


Rest in Peace Armitage Shanks

Just wanted to pay tribute to Richard Marsland, former panel operator and co-host of the great radio show/Podcast Get This with Tony Martin, after his sad passing this weekend.

Get This was an under-appreciated, cult-followed Radio and Podcast Gem. The pedantic work of Tony Martin was fabulously contrasted by Ed Kavalee's shambolic approach to preparation and rounded out with the nice-guy comic stylings of young Richard. The Get This Podcast reached 80,000 downloads per episode and was listened to by many of the comic elites, including; Ross Noble, Daniel Kitson, Greg Fleet, Hamish Black and Andy Lee.

Like The Ricky Gervais Podcasts, Get This showed that, every once in a while, radio or podcasts can reach comic and artistic heights comparable to the 'great' stand-up albums like Richard Pryor, sitcoms like the office or comic authors like Douglas Adams. If you can find the torrents of the podcasts, download them like you life depended on them.

Richard was part of Get This and provided me with countless hours of pure comic pleasure. Thanks Ricky M.


Ricky M, known also as Armitage Shanks, Marslando and Marslando Bloom, was always a man with his finger on the buttons. Ricky M was born and sporn on the parklands of the Veale Gardens in Adelaide. Not content to sit around and smoke a fat cigarette, Richard survived in the Gardens on a diet of Farmers Union Iced Coffees and Cherry Ripes. He graduated from Passiona High and proceeded to carve out a career in music and etertainment.

After one evening of DJing a set at An Adelaide Goth club, Marsland caught a bus home as he usually did. Only when he caught a glimpse of Ibiza did he realise he had accidentally caught the Venga Bus and was headed to the Mediterranean Sun.

It was here that Richard allegedly struck up a friendship with Dean Geyer. This relationship resulted in a artistic flowering for Mars Bar. He tried his hand at stand-up and did a tight ten on a hay-bail, performed a cameo in Short Bus and ghost wrote the Women’s Weekly article, Ask Rosie.

Following a falling-out, where Marsland allegedly gave Geyer one right up the bracket, Richard was found drifting artistically. One of his creations of the time was an absurd game called Mingo. It wasn't until a chance meeting with Warrick Capper, who at the time was driving a Triple M Black Thunder, did Marsland reach for the stars again. Richard, Capper, and his long blonde locks became the biggest things in the 80's. They rose up to take on the thugs from the scallop industry. Then, teaming up with a Robot sent from the Future, Karl Stefonovic, they fought off the robotic Armageddon by selling Dixie ice creams. All this from a fat kid from Mordiallic.

Despite living a recluse life-style, Marsland claimed he did not live like Buffalo Bill and in fact live more Like Seagul, and preferred to live in the shadows.

Richard lived a well-rounded life and traveled extensively. He traveled to his spiritual home, Africa, and played a tribute concert to Toto in Soweto, playing five synthesizers, Nick Kershaw style. Despite his constant protest that "something stinks in the state of the Netherlands" he travelled there in 1996 and recalled, as one of the trips highlights, handing a business card to Rex Hunt. This is Dizzy stuff folks.

Richard joins past greats in the great Venga Bus in the sky. He can now be heard moonlighting on God This with Moses Father Ted and Richard on the Buttons.


French Schtick

I feel old but I ain't that old.

When I was growing up we were taught to hate the French. Nobody below 35 knew why we had to hate the French. All we knew was that The Doug Anthony Allstars would sing some harmonised tune at the comedic expense of French national pride and we would gleefully sing along.

This hatred has stayed with me. I wouldn't say it's deep-seated. It's more shallow-seated racism.

Anyway, part of my war against the French, and this is perhaps a war against people who like the French, French culture and the French language, is my ongoing campaign against the French invasion of Australian Bakeries.

Number one on my hit-list is the term "
baguette" when referring to a French Stick. Way back when, culturally backward Australia gets introduced to the baguette from cosmopolitan europeans arriving in Australia via the post-war immigration influx. Because the term baguette was a bit to complicated for the then simple Australian larynx, it became know as simply the French Stick - where "stick" is a pretty close translation to Baguette.

The cultural elite in more recent times would have none of this - The French Stick just would not do. In some form of collective cultural decree the French Stick was no more. The baguette it must be.

Well, I say to you Germaine Greer,
David Malouf and Geoffrey Blainly, I will not. I WILL NOT SIRS.

Now the
French bakery invasion does not stop there my friends. And this needs to be reversed. We need to fight back by not just asking for French Sticks instead of baguettes, the entire bakery frontline is up for grabs.

Shall I introduce you to
Monsieur Croissant? Madame Quiche? Lieutenant Éclair and Marquis Profiterole? No! Make that Mr Crescent Pastry, Missus Savoury Cake, Steadholder Cabbage Pastry and Duke Puff Pastry.

Let's first reclaim the bakeries, then the cafes and then, after we fight and strugle, long after many of us have fallen, our grandchildren may grow up in a world free of Berets. Imagine that.


John, John and Adolf...

Do you remember when you were fifteen and you had those conversations about if you lived in Germany during WWII, or the South in the United States during the 50's, would you just go along with everyone and be a racist bigot or would your inner goodness, humanity and racial awareness shine through all the culturally oppressive attitudes and structures of the time that made almost everyone else a bigot, and lead you to be a righteous dissident?

Well today I had a conversation with a couple of people about the movie Say Anything - you know, the John Cusack, Cameron Crowe late 80's flick. I have never been a big fan of the movie for some reason, despite my affection for many great 80's movies. When my two companions started going on about how much they LOVED that movie I said something along the lines of, "Yeah, John Cusack has really gone down hill, eh?" and quickly tried to steer the conversation towards The Breakfast Club and Pretty In Pink, two movies I am more comfortable publicly endorsing.

I usually consider myself a somewhat contrary person. But if I can't standup and voice my disapproval to a film in front of two people, then how would I go against the SS.

So Nat, that Hitler, eh? He's brilliant, isn't he?

Yeah Nat, don't you just love all that superior race stuff. And I LOVE Hailing. I used to hail cabs all the time, but this, this is so much more fun. HAIL HITLER! hehe...see?

Have you noticed there aren't as many Jews around these days? Its weird. So what do you reckon about Hitler Nat?

Um, yeah...he's, um...I really like his mustache. It reminds me of Charlie Chaplin. Charlie Chaplin is fucking hilarious. Has anyone seen him in Gold Rush. Genius.

Hey, I just got a twiiter message - apparently there is this thing in Nuremberg where Hitler is speaking. Fuck, we should go. Who is in?

**what fucked up parents name their kids Joan and John? With the right accent, they sound fucking the same.***