Wednesday, August 31, 2005
From now on, I encourage all new bloggers to do the same thing. And a hearty welcome, welcome, welcome back to Darlene!
Hi! I'm F! You might remember me from such words as 'fraggle', frump', 'fiftieth', 'flange', 'often', 'indefatigable' and 'ineffable'!
Me on my summer holidays. Do you like the way I have my hair?
Now I'm sure it might sound to you like my life is all fun and frivolity, but that's not the case. In fact, lately, I've been wondering - what's the point? Why am I here? Why me? Why am I asking this at all? Why? Why?
I mean, think about it. I'm not like my neighbour E, a show-off if there ever was one. Not only is he the most commonly-used letter in the English language, but he also has a mathematical constant named after him!
And I'm not crude and vulgar, like my sister A. No shame with that girl - she's the first letter in the alphabet, and she'll take all comers!
Then again, I'm not exotic, like that floozy V. (Yeah, I'm talking about you, V. You start the word 'Vanity' for a reason!)
And Q - that Q - yeah, he might be amusing and good for a bit of a laugh. Oh, he appears in all the popular words, like 'Quid' and 'Quack' and 'Squib' and 'Quiddity' and 'Quagmire' and 'Queen' and 'Aquaman'; not to mention 'Quern', 'Quill', 'Quail', 'Quiquaequod' and 'Quaquaversal'. But when you need a useful word, he's nowhere to be seen!
Nope. I'm just an ordinary, boring old letter. Nothing at all important about me. I might get to make a cameo appearance in the occasional, minor preposition. And I've appeared in a few important algebraic equations - I don't mind saying. But really - why should I bother?
There are mornings when I wake up and stare across the vista of the alphabet, wondering ... I look out over the ovular contours of G; across the humps of H, and the egotistic spike of I - right down to the far horizon, where W and Z reside. They glimmer brightly in the distance, beckoning me. And I wonder - are there other letters out there, yet to be discovered?
Are we really alone as letters? Is it just me and 25 others? Or is there an infinity of letters out there to be discovered?
I remember one of you humans once wrote a novel omitting use of the letter E. That seems to me to be a pointless waste of the resources of language. Shouldn't you be out there, breaking new ground, discovering new letters, new resources? If you have new letters, then surely you would be able to put me and my brothers and sisters in new, exciting, exotic combinations of words hitherto unused.
I don't know. I don't even know why I'm writing this. I'm giving up. From now on, I'm resigning my place in the alphabet. I'm sick of being a letter.
From now on, I'm going out into the wide, wide world. I'll see if I can get a job. I'm sure there are plenty of things the letter F can do. Maybe I can work as a tree. Or a walking stick. As you might say, I'm fucking off.
Monday, August 29, 2005
I imagine tweedy-jacketed old men roaming the corridors and plucking leather-coated books from dusty shelves; small ancient ladies thumbing their way through encyclopaedias, peering at the spider-like print through bone-rimmed glasses. And in some far corner, a forty-volume Slovakian translation of Shakespeare collapses on a child and it is only one hundred years later that they dig him out and find that he has become an old man.
And then there are the capitalists; important looking gentlemen in suit and ties and power-suited blonde women, striding purposefully behind desks and shouting words like 'growth' and 'market' and 'bonds' and 'potential' over the phones; customers running through the vertiginous rows of books after that elusive copy of The Wealth of Nations or The Road to Serfdom. Gunfights break out in the magazine stall over the last copy of The Onion or The Spectator. Customers corner staff and demand items; and the cowering staff have no chance but to supply them.
But there is a real Borders, too. I've been there. People sit up one end of the store and sip lattes, while at the other end, people browse lackadaisically through the magazine section.
There are pictures of Che. Apparently, there's a new Che autobiography out. All of Michael Moore's books are there, too.
Lost, my eyes filled with tears, I confronted a staff member.
"Don't you have motivational weekends?" I asked her. "Don't you have team building sessions and group spirit? Please tell me that you follow the law of supply and demand!"
"Oh no," she explained. "All the staff here are quite alternative. We're all from Melbourne Uni, and we're all into art, and stuff."
"But what about your bosses? Your managers? Aren't they capitalists? Aren't they ... American?"
"Oh, no," she said. "I really like my boss. She was a member of the Riot Grrrls."
I didn't know who the Riot Grrrls were, but then, I didn't need to know. Devastated, I left Borders that day. I had thought of them as a haven from the awful alternative subculture that had ingested the rest of Melbourne. But no. They had succumbed too.
They were all a bunch of ... hippies!
Sunday, August 28, 2005
GROGBLOGGING: Who was there?
Rachel, Bridie, Aaron, Russell, Robert, Chris, Nick, Burnt Karma lady (I'm sorry, I've forgotten your name!), Ben, John, Bruce, and more.
"I had to somehow describe to the German police, in German, about this guy masturbating in the airport."
You want a real report? I don't know, I'm not the person to ask, I was only there at the time. Go read some of the other bloggers. I have a headache. Gah!
Friday, August 26, 2005
Tuesday, August 23, 2005
Monday, August 22, 2005
Melbourne isn't so bad, job wise. It just depends what sort of a job you want. If the prospect of serving whining customers and guzzling fat bastards amuses you, you could do worse than take a resume around to some cafe-rich area, like St Kilda or Carlton. And hey, if things get bad there, you can always pour a coffee over the customers head.
On the other hand, you could try an office job. Office jobs suck cos, though you're on the computer all day, you're not allowed to use the net. Then again, office jobs rock, because you can usually USE THE NET ANYWAY and nobody will find out. Forbidden internet is the best internet.
I know a guy - we flatted together, actually - who needed to get a job, so he took his resume around to several St Kilda cafes, and in two days he got a job. And when I first moved to Melbourne, I took my resume around to all the temping agencies I could find. And I got jobs. Okay, most were shit jobs. Most were data entry, of one sort or another. Once, I remember I was typing up comments from a survey of a major Australian company. I found myself typing up some guys suicide letter.
Definitely you should do work that you like. If digging holes is your thing, so be it. If you like building ships, hey, whatever floats your boat. Me, I'd like nothing better than to sit around churning out bilious, foam-flecked rants on this blog and get paid for it. But you've got to be realistic. Who gets paid for churning out bilious, foam-flecked rants? Oh, wait, there's Phillip Adams. Is his position up for grabs...? Some people call Tim Blair the right-wing Philip Adams. Hey, maybe in the future, everyone could be Philip Adams for fifteen minutes ...
When you're working, of course, you've got to keep it all in perspective. Vanessa Perspective would do nicely:
"How am I today? It's 6:30am, I got three hours of sleep, and now I have to deal with you douchebags. I'm gung-ho as fuck."
"I couldn't help but overhear and I just wanted to say that yeah, the skirt makes your ass look fat. Also your face makes your head look stupid."
"Sir, I'm going to have to ask you to exit the kitchen area before I rip your heart out like an Aztec priest."
Because, after all is said and done - there's nothing wrong with working for a living, but there is something very wrong about living to work.
Saturday, August 20, 2005
I'll post the sorry tale of how this came about another time. I was rather grumpy about the whole thing, but after a few drinks last night, I became somewhat more philosophical.
Anyway, my current predicament can be summed up in one word: life sucks.
Well, that's two words. But you know what I mean.
Friday, August 19, 2005
They are wrong, of course. In due course, I am sure the transition from man to cat will be complete. I can only hope that a) His wife will accept this metamorphosis and b) That Taronga Zoo has a cage spare for him to rent.
Tuesday, August 16, 2005
- A solitary friend would immediately become FRIENDS!
- A dollar would, with the simple addition of an 's', become DOLLARS!
- You could take one book and straight away turn it into several BOOKS!
Of course, the English language would have to be amended. No longer would we write sentences like:
Stacy went down the street to the school where she met her boyfriend, Jack
Instead, we would have to use sentences like this:
The Stacies went down, up, under, over, and through the streets to the schools, TAFES, Unis, and Colleges where they met their boyfriends, husbands, and exes, the Jacks.
A little confusing, but I'm sure we could learn to do it in time.
Indeed, with a liberal use of the letter 's', even fundamental matters of life and death would be changed. Our birth would become our births, and our life would become our lives. With an intelligent use of plurals in this fasion, I'm sure that we could find a way to infinitely prolong our existence, and ...
But wait a minute. There are some other things to consider:
- If you have a wife or husband, they would immediately become WIVES and HUSBANDS.
- You would not merely be a self, you would be several SELVES!
And even worse:
HATE would become HATES, PAIN would become PAINS, SICKNESS (bad enough on its own) would become SICKNESSES, and ... shudder... DEATH would become DEATHS!
No. Perhaps that would not be the way to go. But wait! I have another marvellous idea! What if, instead of needlessly adding things to the world with plurals, we took the things that were wrong away? Let's start with ... say ... the letter 'r':
- REVOLUTIONARIES would become mere 'evolutionaries', and no longer present a threat to the civil order of the world;
- Those tedious things, MORALS, could, by the simple deduction of a letter, become 'moals' - whatever they are.
But then again ...
- Those who DREAD would become - simply - dead;
- BREASTS would become beasts ...
- And - the cruellest irony of all - FRIENDS WOULD BECOME FIENDS!
Hmmm ... perhaps these ideas aren't so good, after all ...
Sunday, August 14, 2005
What it is
Delicious chocolate that will easily fit in your mouth.
How to eat it
There are a number of theories about this, and in fact, I maintain that there is no 'right' way to eat Freddo, just a number of 'different' ways. Here are a few:
1) Decapitate him with the first neat slice of your teeth and finish him off with your second and third bites.
2) Start at his feet and eat upwards, as if he is 'sinking' into your mouth, at the same time, imagining his froggy cries of anguish as he disappears down your throat. Make him 'cry' before he 'croaks'!
3) Working on alternate sides of his body, take his arms off one by one, then his legs, then his head, leaving a small portion of stomach for last.
Freddo is absolutely and without doubt the best chocolate ever invented.
What it is
A try-hard imitation of Freddo. The Koala is filled with gooey, sickly-sweet caramel as a means of enticing the children and improving on the chocolatey goodness of Freddo.
How to eat it
All children would be prudent to avoid this cheap imitation. Throw it in the bin, or donate it to the Salvation Army, who Know What To Do With Such Things.
People who think you can 'improve' on Freddo by adding caramel to the mix are the same sort of people who think you can 'improve' on the Crown Jewels by painting them with a coat of Larry's Lacquer. They should be shot.
What it is
An egg, made out of chocolate.
How to eat it
Actually, you don't eat it for most of the year. Then, when Easter comes around, you consume vast quantities of it. This might sound greedy. But apparently it says in the Bible somewhere that this is completely fine, or something.
The 'large egg', actually a hollow chocolate easter egg with maybe a little something inside. (Status: ACCEPTABLE.)
The 'hollow chocolate bunny'. (Status: VERGING ON THE RIDICULOUS.)
The caramel-filled easter egg. (Refer to comments re: Caramello Koala)
A fine seasonal meal.
What it is
Black-straps of ... something that you can walk about chewing for ages and ages.
How to eat it
Grasp one end in your teeth, and the other in your hands, hold tight, and pull. Have a tug of war with yourself. A decent liquerish strap will last for hours, perhaps days.
Other things to do with it
You may not be allowed to play with your food, but you can certainly play with your sweets. Liquerish straps are excellent for whipping the other kids, lassoing, tying up the teacher*, and many other activities.
Liquerish comes in two main types:
1) The Twisty variety
2) The flat, corrugated variety
Both are more than acceptable. Of late, a crude third variant has been introduced, the chocolate covered liquerish strap. This is a vile slur on the good name of liquerish and should be eradicated from the earth.**
I want one right now.
What it is
Chocolate-covered rectangles of golden honeycomb.
How to eat it
There are two commonly accepted ways:
1) 'Peel' the Violet Crumble with your teeth, biting the chocolate away from the sides before chewing the honeycomb within.
2) Eating the Violet Crumble whole.
I favour the 'peeling' method myself.
Violet Crumble can also come in handy bite-size cubes, excellent for furtive snacks.
1) Home Brand Chocolate Honeycomb (Status: CHEAP IMITATION)
2) Crunchie (Status: EXPENSIVE IMITATION. The honeycomb tastes like nothing more than sugared sponge.)
3) Ferrero Rocher (Status: The posh version of Violet Crumble)
Stick with the original, and best.***
What it is
A chocolate and coconut wheel.
How to eat it
Never having been an enthusiastic eater of the Golden Rough, I will defer to the experts for suggestions.
May double up as a discus!
Chocolate and coconuty goodness.
What it is
Small chocolate disks covered in a hard, but brittle coloured candy.
How to eat it
1) One by one.
2) Take a combination of different coloured Smarties at the same time, relishing the 'cocktail' effect.
3) 'Drink' the smarties from the packet, by tipping it up and emptying it into your mouth. In this way, the Smarties can make a satisfying liquid refreshment while fulfilling your chocolate-cravings, at the same time!
Each of these methods have their merits.
1) M & Ms - Smarties with letters on them. (Status: ACCEPTABLE)
2) Jaffas - chocolate balls with a red brittle candy coating. (Status: UNACCEPTABLE. The people who eat Jaffas are old enough to be your father, in fact, they probably are your father. Avoid them.)
Smarties also make excellent bullets for playground battles, and are therefore an essential item in every schoolkids armoury. ****
* Often while pelting them with chocolate eggs.
** See also 'Liquerish Allsorts', cubes which are made of alternating layers of liquerish and coloured candy. Wonderful.
*** See also Cherry Ripe, Mars Bars, and other common chocolate snacks.
**** Little boys, take note: Smarties may also be tipped down the back of a little girls skirt with great effect. Don't tell them I told you that, though.
Friday, August 12, 2005
- Your Newstart Allowance has been cancelled from 12 July 2005 because we have not received your application for payment form.How nice of them. Next thing you know, you'll have murderers asking your permission before they ... oh, wait. That's happened already...
- There is still some money you owe to Centrelink. Please call 13 6330 before 16 August 2005 so we can help you with options for repayment.
Thursday, August 11, 2005
Yesterday, I saw some of Emma. Now, I may have only come in in the closing scenes, but I counted:
- 1 Dramatic Crossing of The Room
- 4 Thoughtful Wanders Through The Garden
- 2 Sudden Turnings of the Back
- 6 Meaningful Inclinations of The Head (2 to the left, 4 to the right)
- 1 Impassioned Clutching of Anothers Arm
- And a stunning 29 Heaving Bosoms!**
Add this to the English Country Garden-style scenery, and a cloyingly cliched musical score, which seemed to consist of a harpist plucking sylvan chords while a clarinet noodled away over the top and a string orchestra burbled away in the background.
Now, don't get me wrong. I like Jane Austen. And, when I say don't get me wrong, don't get me wrong; I may like Jane Austen, but I am amazingly uninterested in romantic fiction. It's just that Jane Austen takes the piss out of it so perfectly. But, really, what's so interesting about this version of Austen? I half expected the love interest, one John Knightley, to confess to Emma at the end of the film, "Tragically, I was gelded at birth."
It didn't happen.
Anyway, in my version of a Jane Austen, things would happen a bit differently:
- Emma Would Step in a Mud Puddle;
- Fanny Price and Maryanne Dashwood would indulge in indoor Lesbian antics;
- The Lady Catherine De Bourgh would die one day in church when a pipe organ fell on her;
- Elizabeth Bennett and Mr Darcy would JUST HAVE SEX ALREADY;
- Mr Knightley would wake up one morning to find that he had leprosy and his legs had fallen off;
- And Frank Churchill would steal a blunderbuss from the Woodhouses residence, become a highwayman, then later join up with Jonathan Wild.
And the music? I'd have the clarinet, harp, and violin combination replaced with Tuba, cymbals, and bagpipes. Just for fun.
*Just a paraphrase. I don't have my copy of Pride and Prejudice with me, so I can't check the quote. Incidentally, I got that copy at the bottom of a mildewed old box which I found in a back shed at my old flat in Annandale.
**That's at least one more than you'd expect!
Ah, Scotch Fingers. The Scotch Finger and I go back a long way. Back in my childhood, growing up in Balranald, the packet of Scotch Fingers was brought out only on special occasions, like Christmas, the New Year, or each time a new Prime Minister got voted in. I don't know where they came from, these wonder biscuits - maybe Mum kept them locked in a golden box with her jewellery or something.
There we would sit, at the family table, solemnly ruminating upon our single Scotch Finger, and Mum would tell us The Tale.
"When I worked for the Arnott's factory," she would say, "In the typing pool, Mr. Arnott would come upon the balcony every day to check up on the girls."
That was the tale. Not very exciting, I guess. No blood or guts to speak of; very little violence, and not a hint of sex. But we were simple people, with simple joys.
Nowadays, of course, we have moved on from the Scotch Finger. The Scotch Finger is no longer the King of the Biscuits, nor even the Jack of Biscuits. No, my family are no longer among that Scotch-Finger-Munching, Instant-Coffee-Sipping crowd of country town dwellers. No longer are we forced to subsist upon such meagre rusks. No!
We move amongst a better class of people now. For we have discovered Tim Tams.
ARAS VEBRA IS THE BEST
The best site in the world in all catagories, especially regarding lithuania, pedagogy, interntational projects, party times, snow plows, and how gay Rastenis is.
Now this is an outrageous falsehood. I put it to you, Mr Vebra, that you are not the best, and that you are not, indeed, even the second best. It would even be a far bet to put you in the third best category, although I would quite happily place you in the category of the fourth best.
There are many websites that cover the topic of 'interntational projects', 'party times' and even 'snow plows'. 'Pedagogy', too, is a subject that is well covered, and I am assured that 'Lithuania' is similarly covered.
In short, most of these 'catagories' have already been covered by other websites, and therefore on the grounds of originality alone, I cannot catagorically state that Aras Vebra is the best, even in some of the catagories.
However, this is an interesting post, and this is an entertaining one, even though I do not understand a word of it.
On the gayness of Rastenis I concur. I have never met Rastenis, and I am never likely to meet Rastenis, I am not a particular authority in these matters, but I wholeheartedly and comprehensively agree that Rastenis is gay. Not that there's anything wrong with that.
Nevertheless, I request that you change the name of your website immediately, Mr Vebra, before I declare war on Lithuania. Do it, in the name of peace and internantional relationships. I beg you, Mr Vebra, do it.
Sunday, August 07, 2005
Oh well. Maybe next time.
I'll be going to the grogblogging myself; turns out it will be held at Papa Ginos in Carlton. Click here to find out more. Good on Chris for organising the event, anyway.
Notes towards a production entitled ALGEBRA - THE MUSICAL
It Had To Be U
It had to be U, wonderful U,
it had to be U.
Y God, Y?
Y, God, Y? Y today?
I'm all through here - on my way.
I Can Do Anything
I can do anything better than U can,
I can do anything better than U.
A Sailor Went to C
A sailor went to C, C, C
To C what he could C, C, C
T for 2
Picture U upon my knee
Just T for 2
And 2 for T
I Only Have I's for U, Dear
Are the stars out tonight?
I don't know if it's cloudy or bright
'Cause I only have eyes for you, dear
O Me O My!
Oh me, O my, O my, O me, O U!
O me, O my, O U!
A B C,
yeah, talkin' 'bout 1 - 2 - 3,
yeah, A - B - C, 1 - 2 - 3,
baby u and me girl.
Saturday, August 06, 2005
'If you talk to them right,' I was told, 'the cute chicks will take off their emo glasses for you.'
Helpful advice, to be sure. But I'd prefer tricking the chicks to take off their emo glasses for me. Devious person that I am, I'd shout something at the womenfolk like, 'Hey! Look! It's Germaine Greer!'. Then, while they turn in the other direction to look, I would whip their emo glasses from their eyes, leaving them metaphorically, if not actually, naked.
Yes, those cute emo glass wearing chicks would be defenceless before my masculine guile and cunning. If you are a cute emo glass wearing chick, you should be very, very afraid.
He was an empath and she was a telepath. They met in the upper regions of some cosmic nexus of innerspace. He empathed over to her, transmitting thoughts of peace and love, and complimented her on the colour of her aura. She had just had it changed that morning, and radiated feelings of happiness back to him. Their frequencies vibrated resonantly with one another.
"I'm getting in touch with my inner self," she thought towards him.
"I'd like to do that to," he thought back, meaningfully.
From then on, they just seemed to think into one another all the time. It was like fate. Certainly their planets were in alignment. In dreams he saw his Aries on the cusp of her Venus. She meditated to the songs of whales, burning scented candles. She imagined her aromatic odours mingling with his essential oils. Their kundalinis twined around one another.
Then, one evening, in a higher plane of existence, they found themselves alone together. He thought to her how much he loved her spirit. She radiated back that she just adored his subconscious. Suddenly, he decided that enough was enough, and he bared his soul to her. She telepathed back a smile, and showed him her Elektra complex. Then he showed her his penis envy. They stripped back their outer selves to reveal their archetypes.
He massaged her yings and she pulled at his yang. She entered his Oedipus complex and he embraced her centredness. "Oh!" she thought. "Ah!" he vibrated. They spiraled around and around one another, entering higher and higher states of ecstasy. Their twonesses became a oneness until finally, they had achieved the cosmic atonement with The All. She ectoplasmed all over the room. Their spirits shuddering together, they finally achieved nirvana. It felt good.
Afterwards, she channeled her number to him.
Days later, he finally worked up the courage to call.
"Is that Sharon?"
"Yes ...", she said. "Is that Ben?"
He trembled for a moment. It was too amazing.
"Sorry," he yelped. "wrong number!"
He hung up. There was something about the way she spoke. Achieving nirvana together was one thing, but the karma was all wrong. Their Qis just weren't right for one another.
Thursday, August 04, 2005
Lange is resting comfortably in Auckland's Middlemore Hospital after his medical team used a nerve-blocking technique to remove his lower right leg without full anaesthesia.I can't begin to tell you how many times this has happened to me. I'm fast asleep, when all of a sudden I wake to find that some desperado doctor is sawing off my leg. 'Have you got the right leg?' is the first question I ask.
He was admitted to hospital over two weeks ago for complications of diabetes.
Lange renowned for his wit, made light of the situation. "He popped up and said: 'Are you sure you've got the right leg?'
Sadly, they usually answer in the negative. They prefer the left.
... the current infestation of Austin-based singer-songwriters who continue to employ the overwrought phrase "I'm down on my knees!" and then rhyming it with "please" (but never "cheese") in their trite masterworks ...Country music singers, please take note. Your lame rhymes and cliched imagery has been brought to our attention. Since your artistic and, indeed, professional integrity may be brought into disrepute, I am willing, as a public service, to suggest a range of alternative rhymes.
LAME RHYME NO. 1.
I'm down on my knees
And begging you, please ...
The following will add a touch of class:
Can't I have some of that gorgonzola cheese?While there is just a hint of pathos in
AAAAAGH! I'm being attacked by killer bees!
Or then there is the gently whimsical:
I knew I should never have drunk that bloody anti-freeze.
LAME RHYME NO. 2.
Oh, please don't go away
I'm asking you today
I'm begging you to stay
Oh honey babe, I pray
- I love you even if you're gay?
- I love you even if you're Che?
- I love you even if you do insist on wearing that beret?
I love your canapes?
LAME RHYME NO. 3
Last year, you broke my heartInstead of,
Though you said we'd never part
Why not add some interest to your song with an incisive political statement -
When you showed to me your macro-economic chart?
That's enough for the moment. Feel free to add more suggestions in comments ...
... if you haven't played it, don't assume you are an expert on it. Likewise, if you buy it for your kids and are too stupid to figure out that a name like "Grand Theft Auto" and a rating sticker that says "MA15+" (or M17+ if you're in America) is a game NOT aimed at kids, do us all a favour and shut the fuck up.Tell me about it. Once I had a great idea for a video game which I submitted to the Australian Censorship Bureau. It was going to be called The Savage Breast, and it would have been about a psychopathic, genetically-modified breast that stalked through a hospital of deformed third-world children with a bazooka, blasting anything that moved to the sounds of Beethoven's Ode to Joy. Apparently it got rejected because I mispelt something in the proposal.
Actually, that's a lie. But it could easily have been the truth.
UPDATE: Speaking of boobs, it's about time someone thought of this....
Tuesday, August 02, 2005
Playing with yourself? they would ask.
Or sometimes, Who's winning?
Of course, I would answer. Why shouldn't a boy be allowed to play with himself once in a while? Is there a law against a boy playing with himself in moderation? And why are you interested, anyway? It's not as if you know me or are related to me, you're just my parents.
And, as those who have played chess with themselves will know, you can learn a lot from the experience. You don't just learn how to win and lose, or draw and draw, simultaneously. Oh, no!
How to win and draw at the same time!
How to win and win at the same time (harder than it seems)
And even, how to lose and lose at the same time
I found the last category the easiest to achieve.
In short, I think that chess is a most instructive game, even when played with other people.
But there are some sports and competitions that are best avoided. Like eating whale burgers at a Greenpeace convention, they may be the cause of social, and possibly even literal, death. Here is a brief list of some of those games ...
PLAYING STRIP POKER WITH THE TALIBAN
Those guys never take it well. Oh, it's alright if they're winning. But if they lose. If they lose ...!
PLAYING HIDE AND SEEK IN THE DESERT WITH AN AGOROPHOBIC
This is to be avoided at all times, and in all social situations. I have learned, at great expense to myself and my family, that at some point it will be necessary to call a psychiatrist in. It's just not worth it.
PLAYING TABLE TENNIS WITH COBRAS AS BATS AND WITH BUTTERFLIES AS SHUTTLECOCKS
This would be a particularly idiotic pursuit to indulge in. Not only will it be extremely difficult to hit the butterflies, but the cobras will keep on trying to wriggle out of your hands, bite you, and even eat the butterflies.
PLAYING SOCCER WITH A CUSTARD PIE
You ungrateful sods. What would your mother think, after cooking that custard pie for you?
BLIND MAN'S BLUFF WITH A BLIND MAN
It's just no fun when the other side wins all the time.
PLAYING THIS LITTLE PIGGY WITH CHILDREN WHO HAVE HAD THEIR LIMBS AMPUTATED
Insensitive bastard that you are. You'd have to play the game with the children's teeth, and do you have any idea how ridiculous they'd find that idea?
A GAME OF MURDER IN THE DARK WITH JACK THE RIPPER AND SYDNEY NORTH-SHORE SCHOOLGIRLS
Are you MAD??? Those schoolgirls would tear Jack the Ripper apart!!!
PICTIONARY WITH HITLER AND WOODY ALLEN
As any good history student would know, Hitler never did like parlour games, so it would just be rude to invite him along. If such a difficult social situation were to occur, have a quiet word with Woody Allen, and quickly put the Pictionary set away and go and take out the croquet sticks instead.
SKYDIVING WITH A BRICK PARACHUTE
This is an idea that, as they say, would never get off the ground; but, if you did manage to get it off the ground it would, as they say, go down like a lead balloon. If you want to take up skydiving, consult a professional skydiver, who will undoubtedly advise you that there are much better materials to make your parachute out of, ie: spider web, papier-mache, cow-hide, and such and such.
Until then, stick to skydiving from the top of your grand-piano.
A SPELLING BEE WITH A DYSLEXIC GIRAFFE AND A NEAR-SIGHTED DOVE
Don't be stupid. In the first place, nobody would be able to hear the giraffes answers; in the second place, doves can't speak English, they can only speak Pidgin; and in the third place, how are you going to be able to get the dove and the giraffe in the same room at the same time? The logistics of the whole thing are impossible.
TEACHING A CHILD WITH ATTENTION DEFICIT DISORDER HOW TO PLAY PATIENCE
Like playing Strip Poker with the Taliban, this is just not on. There are, in fact, whole books of card-games that you should never play: 52 Pickup for People with Broken Backs, Gin Rummy with Alcoholics, or, that perennial non-favourite, 500 For People Who Never Learned How To Count Past Five.
ONE PERSON RUSSIAN ROULETTE
On this subject, few words are best.
Tim, your links stink, you fink!
- John Bangsund's Threepenny Planet
- Broken Biro
- Poetry 24
- Superlative scribbles
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- More Sterne
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- Too hot to Raaaaaaandallllllll!
- Erin's Excellently Everlasting Effervescements!
- Slammy Infamy
- Hail Paco!
- Baron Blandwagon, purveyor of cyberbunnies, hawker of Roger Corman, and Misruler of the Multiverse
- The Bolta. Aiyeeeeee!!!!!
- Bad Apple Audrey
- The cartoon church
- Sir Martinkus
- A Zemblanian abroad and at home
- A hodge podge of hotzeplotz
- THE SLAMMA!
- Jottlesby's nottings, or should that be Nottlesby's jottings?
- The Snarking of the Hunt
- Jazzy Hands
- David of Metal City
- David the Barista
- The Blogger on the Cast Iron Balcony
- Be an Opinion Dominion Minion!
- ... and Fel
- His brilliant career - from whale sushi to crumbed prawn
- Jo Blogs
- Yet another Tim
- Was two peas, now three peas
- ... Still Life - now with extra rotating cats!
- An Amazingly Awesome Australian Ampersand!
- Blink and you'll miss 'er
- Red in the land of the tigers!
- Wire of Vibe
- Chase him, ladies, he's in the cavalry!
- The Non-palindromical Editrix in Germanium
- Old Sterne
- The briefs...
- ... and the brieflets
- The Purple Blog
- Blairville, lair of all that is wicked and perfidious
- The enticingly acronymical CSH
- EXTREEEEEEEME WYNTER!
- Mark of California
- Silent Speaking
- Lexicon the Mexican
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