March 2007 Archives

Yesterday I was in a conversation with someone, and somehow a conversation between her and her sonwas mentioned.

Child : Mummy, Im a mermaid.

Mother : Honey, You're a boy - you can't be a mermaid, you have to be a mer-man.

*pause*

Child (enthusiastically): Im a MER - NINJA!!

It got me thinking... the idea of an army of mer-ninja's isn't half bad. They could patrol our beaches, saving lives, defending swimmers from sharks and forcing swimmers to stay between the flags. If you don't stay between the flags, you get a ninja star to the testicle, or ovary. Whichever you prefer.

Mer-Ninjas could be the new international force designed to stop illegal fishing in protected waters... *Look! Its an Argentinian fishing vessel stealing protected Patagonian toothfish from Australian and Antarctic waters!! Oh no you don't... Mer-Ninjas attack!!!!* When the fisherman pull up the fishing net, he is met by a mer-ninja sword to the face, the fish are released, and the crew are never heard from again.

Even Greenpeace could get in on the act. An illegal Japanese whaling ship killing whales in sanctuary zones... Mer-Ninjas away!!

Oh, wait on... Ninjas are Japanese, so there is a good chance Mer-Ninjas would have some sort of Japanese heritage too, which means they would probably like eating whale meat for 'Scientific research purposes' such is the penchant of the Japanese.

At least the Mer-Ninjas could have wicked beach parties with the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles and Samuri Pizza Cats. Just hold the anchovies. And make sure Michelangelo doesn't have any alcohol, he gets abusive when he drinks.

Ok, so originally this post was called 'the after sex towel' before it was deleted by my ghey server, but I figured if the site can change, so can the title of the post.

For those that DON'T remember the original post, it involved 3 men-childs, set free on the world... There was much beer, much one handed golfing at the driving range, much hot chilli in Spenny's mouth, much laughing on our part, and much man fun.

As it turned to evening, our thoughts - as boys are like to do - turned to food. Spenny cooked up some special homemade hamburgers, which were immaculate. For those that want the hamburger secrets, I have to inform you all that I am legally bound to maintain the secrecy of the ingredients, but I can tell you the secret patented squishing method for creating the meat patties.

Method : Mash meat and secret ingredients together with your hands. Like, really mash it together. Then wipe hand on hand towel, and sip beer. Mash meat / wipe hand / drink beer. Using your hands, roll meat into little patties, and press down into hot fry pan. Clean hands again on towel, and return to drinking beer. Repeat as needed.

Now, for those with bad numeracy skills, there are three main parts to this skill, mashing meat, cleaning your hands, and then drinking beer.

Now how would you feel if you looked after dinner, at the towel that was being used to wipe your hands clean... and you saw the phrase "After Sex Towel" printed on it. That aint no hand towel... that thing is used to clean up.... after... sex.

Ewww. That towel, that is used to clean things, was wiped on hands that mashed our handburger patties.

Jeepers J. You might as well have wiped our hamburgers on your WAHEY!!!

Speaking more of after sex towels... I have an interesting story to tell you all about that... but that will be revealed over the next few days....

Now, don't get me wrong here... I am definitely not racist, and have nothing against Asians (lots of my friends are Asian!) But I saw something today that really made me sit back and go "what the fat?"

An elderly asian couple were shopping at the Macquarie complex, which is well within an area that is well known for its marked growth within the asian population. Basically it is full of asian food, asian cars, asian boys with asian boy hair and asian girl shoes.

And yet this elderly couple walked around the complex, and when I walked past they were speaking perfect english to one another, with an Australian accent.

Sometimes life throws you a curve ball... sometimes it throws you an asian. Sometimes it just throws you.

Seeing as though I had to waste a good section of my day voting - it was at least ten minutes that would have been better spent rubbing my face against a potato peeler - I figured I would vent share my pain with the world.

Frankly, this is the first election that has actually elicited an intellectual response from my good self. The response went something like this.

"NSW is screwed either way."

Which screw up do I vote for? Debnam, a 50+ grandpa who is FAR too keen to be photographed wearing little speedos, or Iemma, a bland man who could only manage the campaign slogan "There's more to do... but we're heading in the right direction."

Thats like telling the boss "Sorry, that report you asked for is running twelve years late, but I am planning on looking at it again this week." Or just as evil, being photographed in your wedding pics wearing nothing but little underpants with some nasty stains.

But there is one thing that amuses me about this election. All my brothers friends are finally old enough to vote, and find the whole thing a bit of a novelty... but I am getting tired of being asked "Have you voted yet?!!" and "How did it go?!!" as if voting is the new drug of choice for the new civic minded generation.

An actual conversation:

Friend : Did you vote yet?

Me : Yeah...

Friend : Howd it go?

Me : Yeah... totally awesome... Like... there is this massive book with EVERYONES names on it... its just like the book Jesus uses. But his is in colour.

You have to say your name and address (so you don't forget where you live), and then they ask you if you have voted before, just in case you really really love spending a good part of your saturday thinking about people you don't like... and voting repeatedly.

Friend : Yeah, lol.

Me : THEN they give you some oversized paper, and you have to put numbers in boxes and stuff.. I think its some kind of test...

But the real test, is fitting that massive stupid piece of paper for the legislative assembly into the little slot in the ballot boxes. If you don't fold it enough, there is this old man in a chair who gets grumpy, and tells you to fold it again!

Like I said before... NSW is screwed. I'm moving to WA.

Last night I was asked by a girl (who requests to remain nameless) to go out and have a nice dinner and do something romantic. Now, I'm not the most romantic chump on the block. In fact it is probably safe to say that I am about as romantic as mashed potato. I see myself more as the stay at home guy... to be honest, my idea of a great night out is to sit at home, eating junkfood and watching a dvd where one guy gets angry and starts killing everybody with a blunt chairleg.

So we compromised... a night time stroll along the beach, after stopping to grab some food at kfc.

There are some lessons in life that are just beyond me... one of them being that junkfood is just that... 'JUNK-food'. I am happy to report that KFC is now firmly entrenched within my thinking as junk food after last nights events.

We walked in, ordered our food and waited... Normally I don't care what food they give me, as long as it is remotely edible, but she is a go-getter type of girl, who asks for, and gets exactly what she wants. She asked for fresh fries, not the ones that had been sitting in the fries tray, all alone and exposed for the last 30 mins.

It was about here in the night I stopped paying attention to what was going on. But she has eyes in the back of her head... and saw what was going on.

Girl : "Are you just putting those old chips back and re-frying them?"
Pimple boy : "Um... Yes?"
Girl : "Serious? Can we have FRESH NEW chips please?"
Pimple boy: "ahh... ok... yeah."

I thought that 'New / Fresh' chips was a different phrase to 'old reheated' chips. Obviously pimple boy got them confused, and looked rather embarressed that KFC had been caught out, re-cooking food and passing it off as fresh. Especially after their huge campaign about how they really do use fresh foods in their products.

Seriously. Gross. All the chicken tasted pretty average... but hey, at least we had good chips and gravy (and heart disease) right? Needless to say, our romantic stroll along the beach was a little bit destroyed after one of us started getting sick with major stomach cramps. Now, I don't want to go around naming and shaming, but those of you that know me, know that I have the stomach lining of a rodent, and can eat just about anything... most of the time. So it may not have been me rolling around on the sand feeling sick and in pain from infected re-heated Kentucky Fried Chicken.

Alas, old man Kernel Sanders, where have you gone? Would you have allowed those pimply faced teens to get away with ruining your great fast food chicken name?

And Kernel Sanders, also what is with your new hair style. Your new slick logo does not instill in me the trust of Generations past. It looks a little too comb-over. I understand that you have to look good hot girl aliens now Kernel, seeing as your giant head is being beamed out into space from the desert floor, but last time I checked, aliens weren't eating at KFC... Please lift your game.

Your former fan.

Apparently there has been a little bit of commotion in the mother country of our empire about a certain clown... A British childrens television clown, 'Mr Tumble' has fallen from grace and straight into a child sex scandle after he reportedly began his television program by using sign language with the words 'I'm happy to see you!'.

Unfortunately, Mr Tumble was not aware of the subtle variations that occur between sign-languages, and has apparently upset viewers who read his greeting as 'I'm F*cking you!", and not 'I'm happy to see you!'. Oops. Not good for the kiddies at all.

We have all heard of foot-in-mouth disease... Otherwise known as 'Pedpenitusoralia'. Naomi Campbell won the foot-in-mouth award in 2006 after saying "I love England, especially the food. There's nothing I like more than a lovely bowl of pasta." One unlucky reported told Naomi of her gaff, but was swiflty beaten with a shoe, and died shortly after in hospital.

I myself constantly suffer from pedpenitusoriala... once asking a friend about her boyfriend. She told me that they had broken up, and rather than give a few quick condolences, I went into melt down, asking if it was a bad breakup, when it happened, who's idea it was... etc.etc. The whole time in my mind I was trying to dig myself out of the whole, all the while making it deeper.

But this Mr Tumble has fallen into something new... foot-in-mouth is one thing, but hand-in-mouth disease? Digitpenitusoriala? Or is it foot-in-hand disease because he was using his hands for speaking sign language? Pedpenitusdigitalia? It all sounds a little strange to me...

Latest reports state that Mr Tumble was asked by journalists at BBC to explain his 'I'm f*cking you!' comments to children. Mr Tumble allegedly responded by flipping journalists the bird, telling them to 'Go **** themselves' and asking a younger female journalist 'Who's your daddy?' by gesturing the chicken dance.

Mr Tumble says he was misinterpreted.
[from news.com.au]

Well, another Hillsong album recording has come and gone, this time at the largest indoor venue in Sydney - Acer Arena at Sydney Olympic park. And my feet and legs are sore.

Not from all the standing through the live album recording though, especially seeing as though a certain someone told me that it started at 6pm, rather than 5pm, and so my posse were a lesiurely 40 minutes late. We like to make an entrance. Not that the ten thousand odd people seemed to mind. My legs are sore from the reserves football game I played right before album recording.

When we finally managed to drive around the entire Olympic park twice, find a carpark and walk inside to door 83, I got in trouble from one of the ushers. I don't usually drive across the city to get in trouble from seating ushers or hosts, but apparently today was different. I decided to use my phone to attempt to take a panoramic photo of the entire arena full of people, which is apparently a criminal act in section 83.

If I was asian, and sitting in section 84 I could have gotten away with it, and snapped shots all night. I guess it doesn't help being white with a white phone that looks a little too camera-like.

I did manage to snap one panoramic pic at the end of the night, and a couple of other small pics during the recording which didn't turn out. Oh, and I recorded the entire last song they played on my phone as people were leaving... I figured hey, I could record it, because they certainly weren't going to use it... too many empty seats. I'm not sure if I would post the video though, even though its grainy, sounds bad and is from a distance, I would hate to infringe on someone elses copyright.

Anyways, you should see the album 'One' in stores mid year, and if you look closely in the crowd - I'm pretty sure you won't see me. Or if you do, I will be the one being told off by the large Pacific Islander security guard.

There are a few things that I hate in this world... spiders, standing in long lines, bogans, bad drivers, women with shopping trolleys, the list could (and does) go on and on.

But allow me to articulate my hatred of two other entities. Waking up early on a sleepy Saturday morning, and Country music.

Its not that I can't get up early on a Saturday morning, it's more that I just don't like to. And I'm not a musical biggot either, please don't get me wrong, country music has its time and place, namely on long stretches of road driving through the countryside and.. uhh... nope, thats it... country music belongs on the road in the country.

But imagine when two of my dislikes combine voltron style to create a super dislike.

This morning at the ungodly hour of 8am, after a hot sleepless night, my younger sister decideds that she needs a dose of Brad Paisley (a country singer for you normal folk). With her sound system up loud. And her window open. Did I mention that I don't like country music at 8am?

Someday I'm gonna be famous, do I have talent, well no.
These days you don't really need it thanks to reality shows.
Can't wait to date a supermodel, can't wait to sue my dad,
can't wait to wreck a Ferrari on my way to rehab

I am pretty sure that I understand peoples obsession with country music about as much as I understand the science of 'Dark Matter', or why some Americans get so angry when I tease George W Bush. As far as I am concerned country music contains too many nasal twangs, too much alcohol, too many beards, too many grandmas in rocking chairs polishing rifles, too many grandmas with beards, and way too many brothers and sisters running away to start a family.

And do you know what else?

I have it on pretty good authority that they play country music in hell... why the pope hasn't gone public with this information is one of histories great cover-ups. If only the people knew about the dangers of country music churches the world over would be full of people praying for salvation.... Dear Lord, please save me from the music.

If people only know that they played country music in hell.

Perhaps it is the NSW medicinal training program that has let us down, perhaps it is the universities in Australia, or perhaps it is just this particular female nurse friend I have.

Now, don't get me wrong because this particular nurse is a very good friend of mine whom I have known for years, in fact she is like the sister I never had (as long as you don't count my other four legitimate sisters). But sometimes she worries me.

Nurse : What is wrong with you?

Me : Ehh...

Nurse : You don't sound very well...

Me : It's ok, I just have a virus...

Nurse : No, it sounds like a cold to me.

Me : Um, are you serious?

Nurse : Yes.

Me : No, I mean a virus is what causes a cold.

Nurse : Oh yeah, I knew that...

Me : Are you still nursing?

It makes me wonder how many other people she has misdiognosed... "Congratualations! You have AIDS! Oh, wait... I meant your pregnant... I always get those two confused."

P.S. Nurse... please don't hurt me for telling this to the world.

Recently, I seem to be having problems with my shaving mirrors that I keep in the shower downstairs. The problem seems to be that they keep disappearing. Lately, my mirror disappears from the shower within 24 hours of me putting it on the shampoo rack.

I almost feel like there is some kind of angry ghost living in the house, stealing my mirror and hiding it in my brothers underwear draw just to frustrate me. Or it could just be my brother.

And I have a sneaking suspicion that if it were a ghost it would dwell in my brothers room, amongst the piles of dirty clothes, half eaten chocolates, and assorted pieces of paper scattered across the room. Then, if a ghost was the culprit, it would simply pop through the wall from sams DVD collection, into the shower to grab the mirror, back through the wall and into the black hole that is Sams underpants collection.

I'll come back to the mirror in a moment... there are some strange things happening when it comes to my brother Sam and showers. For instance, Sam and I get home from soccer, and got straight to our respective showers. In the time it takes Sam to shower and return to his room, I have showered, been dressed, called and ordered Thai takeaway, walked to the restaurant to get the food, walked home and been halfway through lunch before he finished his shower.

Yesterday, we got home from training, and in the time he had showered, I had showered, dressed, burnt a music CD, and walked to my sisters house. Odd.

But I digress... back to the case of the mysteriously disappearing mirror. Now, the reason I seem to believe that it is a ghost that continually takes my small little shaving mirror, and not a human, is that no rational human being would be so daft as to repeatedly steal a small palm sized mirror for use in Sams room.

Why not? The answer is staring you in the face... quite literally. The answer is mirrors. If you look closely at the pic in this post you will see a massive cupboard, complete with three large mirrors that happen end a few inches above my head. Even when my hair is spiked.

In fact, in the interest of factual accuracy on life of such, I measured them, and found that those three large mirrors gave Sam a total of 15,659cm2 of mirror space. Which out of interest, happens to be just over one cm2 per person for the entire population of Jamestown, North Dakota.

So with that much mirror space, why would sam go around stealing a tiny little shaving mirror that only adds another 113cm2 to his already monstrous 15,659cm2 of mirror space on that wall unit? An extra 113 cm2 is adding less than 1% of additional mirror space. Thats like taking president George W. Bush, slapping some moisturising cream on his wrinkly face and calling him a brand new president... it doesn't make one iota of difference.

There has to be some reason for this theft... I mean, ultimately Sam may be some random type of Bower bird, building a nest out of mirrors to attract a mate (*cough*Laura*cough*), but last time I checked, he didn't have feathers, and he spends too much time looking at himself in reflective surfaces, so all those mirrors would actually have a detrimental effect on the relationship... but maybe thats it!!

Vanity! Maybe he just likes to look at himself... but that doesn't really make sense either. I have far more hair and skin products than him, therefore more likely to be vain (and look better), and I don't run around stealing mirrors... In short, that rules out vanity... in short...

Ahh... it all makes sense now. "In Short". You see, one of the handy little things about that shaving mirror is that it is double sided. One side is a normal mirror, but the other has a type of built in 'magnifying' effect. Maybe the mirror should come with a warning, "Objects in mirror may appear larger than they are.", or even one saying "Don't get your hopes up buddy". Either is fine with me, as long as I get my mirror back.

So it wasn't casper the ghost after all... just my little brother. Case closed.

Its only a few days now until the new Hillsong United studio worship album is launched, and after listening through its tracks, I have to say that its none too shabby... infact, it is quite unshabby. Except for Joels hair. That is shabby. The album is perfectly produced, and quite lovely...

Keep an eye out for this weekend in stores for its launch, and buy two copies, one to keep, and one to give away as an early Christmas present. I hope it does well, and hopefully we see it climbing the ARIA charts towards number one. That is all.

Answer me this,

If someone comes up to you, offers you some chilli in a bottle marked 'Turbo Supercharged', and has a camera on hand to film your reaction, would you be stupid enough to actually stick the stuff in your mouth on the chance that it could sear every last one of your tastebuds?

You would do it? Well, congratulations you are in the same category as my sister, who tested half a teaspoon of chilli, and well... watch and see.

Definitely the best reaction out of all 4 people that tested the chilli. To finish the chilli series, I would give some awards to the following contestants...

Elissa : Award for 'The Most hysterical yelling'.
Spenny : Awards for 'Most head shaking' / 'Causing most laughter' / 'Reddest face'.
Sam : Awards for 'Best bitch slap' / 'Best 'I'm so dang tough' award'.
Steve : Award for 'Wasting my time by not even flinching at the chilli'.
Me : Award for 'Not being stupid enough to try the chilli'

Thus concludes the first annual chilli stupidity trials...

This time, my brother was the victim of the chilli...

Those that know my brother know that he likes to act tough, and nothing is tougher than eating hot chilli... except maybe realising you are in way over your head, racing to the fridge in a desperate attempt to find some cold milk to stop the pain, and then bitch slapping your brother who not only put you up to the challenge, but is also filming it for his website.

It's true. That chilli paste is evil to the core. Hell will be a giant pit of Habanero chilli, that burns your mouth and skin, and when you wipe your face the burning gets into your eyes.

It has its uses though... especially when combined with, oh lets say, one handed golf, a few beers and the complete lack of female supervision. Thats when the chilli starts to come into its own...

Guys do stupid things when their women leave them alone. One of those stupid things happened to be playing pranks on unsuspecting hot chilli victims. Like Spenny.

He had not one, but TWO teaspoons of habanero 'Kill me now' paste... and realised his mistake pretty quickly.

The funny thing came a day later, when i received this message from the victim: "Yeah, you were right... it burned on the way out too. And it STANK! I think everyone at work could smell it."

Good times...

When the nose keeps running, the snot keeps coming. The best way to solve these problems at bedtime is to simply jam some tissue paper up the offending nostril, and lie back and catch some much needed shut eye.

At least, thats what my little sister figured was the best way to stop the snot. Sure, it doesn't have the same appeal as just taking a tablet, or some medicine. And it will never rival Paul Frank for cutness in the sleepware department... But hey, it looks like it managed to do the job.

But can you really look at that kid and honestly tell yourself that our future is in good hands?

Life of such had been offline for over a week now... I noticed something was wrong when my stat counter dipped a little... actually, it dipped all the way to zero.

So I have to give a shout out at this point to my hosting service 'spiderhosts.net', who somehow reset my account, sending me an email with the title 'Your new account has been created'. What new account? Oh, you mean you wiped everything from my OLD account, my files, posts, images and blog software, without warning and without backup.

Oh, and whats that? You don't reply to emails or help tickets either? So that outstanding ticket from September last year... not worth waiting for?

Needless to say, I decided to make the best of a bad situation, start new, and create a new improved life of such dot com. This 'army of me' version has some streamed rss feeds from sites I read regularly (techeblog / jalopnik / lifehacker) to give some auto updated content in the bottom right corner... but there is a tiny bit more.

On the right hand side is a little ajax chat script, allowing users to chat in real time, more a gimmick than anything else, and finally the top is covered with cyber-me's. To keep an eye on things, and make sure you don't all go stealing lampshades.

If you try it, 'Sitting Me (3)' will drool on your ankles, and 'Ryu Me (8)' will haddouken you back to the days of Street Fighter II. So don't even try it.

Anyways, it is good to be back.