Disordered Thoughts and Curmudgeonly Ramblings
No more cheese before bed for me…
Some kind of worm, at least 800 metres tall, impossibly thin but with a trumpet-like mouth stands over the city, screaming “I HAVE FOUND YOUR GOD!! I HAVE FOUND YOUR GOD!!” The ground starts to shake as a hundred metre tall tsunami – black as night – appears on the horizon and the crowds start to flee. “HERE COMES YOUR GOD!!” shrieks the worm…
Don’t you love those dreams that make you wonder just what the hell is going on in your subconscious?
It was Pringles
Player one sings the ingredients list of a food product to a randomly selected piece of Bach. Player two tries to figure out what the food product is.
God damn we’re a sad bunch ;D
Recipe time!
Follow these instructions to create the drink sensation that’s sweeping the nation – the Peanut Twenty-One-Hundred!
Ingredients: A 250ml to 500ml bottle of Coke (diet, zero, vanilla, whatever strikes your fancy really). A packet of peanut M&Ms.
Method: Drink (or otherwise dispose of) one fifth to one quarter of the Coke. Drop five to ten peanut M&Ms into the bottle. Enjoy the show (and clean up any mess). Once the Coke has turned an unearthly shade of brown, drink it (carefully). When finished, eat the chilled and marinated M&Ms from the bottom of the bottle.
This recipe bought to you by the Foundation for the Worst Possible Things You Can Ever Put into Your Body.
No, it’s not Will Ferrel!
Allright, that’s it. No one bother uploading anything to YouTube ever again, because no matter what it is, it will never be more awesome than this.
…I’ve seen it’s face,
Have a terrible sore throat. Am limiting communication to text and short, pithy muttering. Sound surprisingly like Rorschach.
Tune in tomorrow for 40 ways to spell ‘Jukambal’!
Cam-ell-eri, Camel-Duahi, Camelleri, Camilerei, Camlerey, Cammealroy, Comleroy, Cum-milroy, Cumilri, Cummeroy, Cummilroy, Gamilaaray, Gamilaroi, Gamilray, Gamilroi, Ghummilarai, Gumilori, Gumilray, Gumilroi, Guminilroi, Gummilray, Gummilroi, Gunnilaroi, Kaamee’larrai, Kaameelarrai, Kahmilaharoy, Kahmilari, Kahml Duhai, Kamilarai, Kamilari, Kamilaroi, Kamilary, Kamileroi, Kamilrai, Kamilroi, Kamu-laroi, Kamularoi, Kimilari, Komleroy, Koomilroi.
I hope this has been enlightening. Please come again.
Yes, it’s Harry Potter doggerel. I can only apologise. To everyone.
…I wrote it down in order to get it out of my brain.
When you’re walking home from work and an appalling piece of doggerel appears fully formed in your brain like an apparition of a rhinestone studded, cheeseburger scoffing Elvis, what can you do except write it down somewhere to get it out of your head? So here we go (brace yourself – this is a bad one).
Mouldy Voldy, afraid of death,
Terrified by his final breath,
Show him a boggart and he will behold,
His very own body, lying there cold,
Riddle, oh Riddle, oh Riddle named Tom,
His father a muggle, his mother long gone,
Hater of half-bloods because he’s ashamed,
That the blood of a muggle runs strong in his veins,
I’m sorry. I’m so very sorry.
An attempt at channelling the style and spirit of Warren Ellis
In reference to this monstrosity…
Fabes: I am surprised they could afford the materials for this project, after getting ripped off $15/month for playing WoW to begin with….
Me: Well it looks like they’re university students so their government is probably paying them all sorts of grants to get up late, play Warcraft into the early hours of the morning then occasionally stumble into class where their lecturer asks “What are you doing for your big design project?” and they mutter out “… uh.. design… project… raid… caverns of num-yabisc… Warcraft….” and they then have no choice but to build some crappy hut with $12.50 worth of plywood claiming that the shitty design and finishing is so it resembles structures in the game and isn’t because they had zero time to work on it between carrying out mass raids and shovelling microwaved mac and cheese into their drooping maws while ogling at 3D models of elf maidens in armour so skimpy that it wouldn’t stop a mosquito let alone the axe of an orc on wolfback who probably carries mosquitoes with him anyway as a consequence of bad hygiene and all the blood he wears as war paint the bastard.
(This is an attempt at sounding like Warren Ellis. If he ever finds out about it he may well hunt me down and kill me đŸ™‚
(Oh, and the guys who built the thing obviously put a great deal of thought and effort into it – I’m just being evil for humourous effect)
Your weekly dose of art nonsense
Midland Line: The muttering of commuters, the smell of stale beer and the soft snoring of drunks.
Clarkson Line: The whoosh of automatic doors and the yells of people trying to be heard over the traffic.
Fremantle Line: The clinking of wine-glasses, the smell of sea air and the tangled dreadlocks of surfers.
Mandurah Line: The whoosh of automatic doors, that new car smell and cries of “We have to take a bus the rest of the way?!”
Thornlie Line: The muttering of commuters and the grey hopelessness of the pre-dawn.
Armadale Line: Jungle drums and muffled screaming.
Sharing the love
“Where do you live?”
“Innaloo”
“Well, better than Upper Swan“
