November 16, 2010
My tummy was rumbling.
I assumed I was hungry.
I ate something.
My tummy still rumbled. So I went in there to find out what’s going on. Turns out some punks have moved in and are having excessively loud parties and smasing all the furniture. The music isn’t that great… just a lot of rumbling sounds. I’d be much more impressed if my stomach played Rachmaninoff’s Concerto #3 in C when I was hungry. I tried evicting the punks, but the body corporate were very uncooperative.
October 24, 2010
The Fairy Tale Re-write Sessions Presents:
‘Girls in da (red) Hood’
A little girl, Red Riding Hood,
Was taking a walk through the wood,
To take to her gran
Milk, cookies and flan,
And all sorts of things that were good.
She met a big wolf on the way,
Who asked of her plans for the day,
She said “It’s my plan,
To visit my nan,
I’d like to go now, if I may.”
Unbeknownst to poor little Red,
The wolf then went bounding ahead,
Through Gran’s door he stole,
And ate her up whole,
Dressed like her, and jumped into bed.
Red Riding Hood opened the door
Of old Granny’s house and she saw,
Her nan lying there,
All covered in hair,
And of Gran, there seemed a lot more.
“You’ve mighty big teeth, Nan!” She said.
“All the better for eating you, Red!
You’ll taste mighty good,
You and that red hood,
And I’ll start off by eating your head!”
But as the wolf raised its huge paw,
A woodsman crashed in through the door,
He swung his huge chopper,
The wolf came a cropper,
And its body fell dead to the floor.
Granny then crawled from its belly,
Unharmed, but a little bit smelly.
Wiping gunk off her head,
She smiled at Red,
And said “Love, shall we see what’s on telly?”
October 19, 2010
In the inky black depths of the sea, further down than light can penetrate, lives a unicorn. And a dragon. And Elvis.
It’s totally true, and nobody can prove otherwise. Ha, ha! Take that, science!
I went there the other day, and asked Elvis all the important things, like the meaning of life, and why he liked peanut butter so much, and he said “Bubble, bubble, bubble, gurgley sound, bubble!” or something like that… I may be paraphrasing a little…
As I was leaving, I waved at the dragon, who winked at me and then farted. Well, I reckon he did anyway. He just blushed furiously and gesticulated wildly at the sulphur vent behind him… yeah sure, dragon, whatever you say… that’s almost as bad as blaming the dog…
The unicorn wasn’t around at the time, but that doesn’t mean she doesn’t exist. She might have been shopping for shoes, and flat screen TVs, or something.
November 16, 2009
He gazed into her eyes, took her hand and said “I’m not giving it back, you know.”
“But it’s my hand” she said, “I need it.”
“Be that as it may, this house is a mess, and I can always use a hand.”
“But the point is that it’s my hand, and I want it back.”
“We’re married, right?”
“Yes.”
“And when I proposed, I asked for your hand in marriage, right?”
“I guess so, but…”
“But nothing, you gave me your hand. I like it and I’m going to keep it.”
“What am I supposed to do now? I can’t work like this”
“I guess you’ll just have to get someone to give you a hand”
September 15, 2009
Welcome back to “Cooking The Books”!
Tonight, we are going to show you how to cook one of my favourites… Suspense Soup!
In a large heavy based saucepan, combine one emotionally flawed protagonist, half a dozen roughly chopped murder victims, and a liberal splash of mysterious phenomena. If phenomena is unavailable, substitute with one whole sadistic villian. Add one litre of stock (preferably police chase or childhood back story). Sprinkle with flour, and stir until the plot thickens. Boil until the murder victims float to the top. Ladle into deep bowls and garnish with a couple of red herrings.
This wonderful soup should be served with a side of chilled revenge. You can heat the revenge up, but it really is best served cold.
The flavours will have you guessing til the very last mouthful!
Stay tuned! After the break, We’ll show you how to use all those frozen leftovers in a delicious Post-Modern Casserole.
September 5, 2009
The following story is true. Names have been changed to protect the innocent.
Judge: Silence in the court!!! Bailiff, what is the next case?
Bailiff: Your Honour, The next case is State versus Johnstone. The charge is Grand Theft Cookie.
Judge: Thankyou Bailiff. Will the prosecution please present the case.
Prosecuting Attorney: Thankyou, Your Honour. Today, we are here to prove that the defendant, one Mr Johnstone, stole the cookie from the cookie jar. If you will look to Exhibit A, you will notice the cookie jar. It is very empty. (Turns and points at Mr. Johnstone) You stole the cookie, didn’t you, Mr Johnstone? Didn’t you?
Johnstone: Who? Me?
Defending Attorney: Your Honour, I would like to point out that my client does not fully understand the charges leveled aginst him.
Judge: Mr Johnstone, you are being accused of grand theft cookie, and it is suggested that, yes, you, indeed stole the cookie from the cookie jar. How do you plead?
(manic whispering between Johnstone and Defending Attorney)
Defending Attorney: Your Honour, my client pleads not guilty, on account of ‘Couldn’t Be’.
Judge: Hmmm, ‘Couldn’t Be’?… In light of this plea, I find the defendant not guilty of all charges. Case dismissed.
September 2, 2009
Dear Generic Advice Column Writer,
I have a phobia of roller skates. I think it may be because of the time we went to the zoo, and that monkey, the one with the manky eye, you know the one I mean… well, that monkey stole my mobile phone, and I think it texted rude messages to all my friends. I got the zoo keeper to get my phone back, but the monkey somehow locked it and changed the PIN, so I can’t make any calls right now. That made me feel like the time that they didn’t have any maple syrup at the supermarket. I mean they had maple flavoured syrup, but not the real stuff, so I went home and made toast, and cried while I watched Oprah. Oprah didn’t give stuff away that day. Well, she might have, but I didn’t see her do it. She’s a bit sneaky, that Oprah.
Anyway, that’s not why I’m writing. I just wondered if you could tell me what that guy on the t.v. is saying. You know, the one in the ad with the waterslide and the hippos and that lady with the really big hat. I think it’s for tacos, or earth moving equipment, or something.
Thanks for your help,
Sincerely,
Walter.
P.S. Where did I put last July’s copy of Eggs Monthly?
September 2, 2009
HIYA!!! swish, chk, chk, uuuugh. OW! k, k, uuuugh, swish, swish, chk… AAAAAARGH!!! HA HA!!!
Man, kung-fu is hard to write.
August 4, 2009
Someone once told me that if you concentrate hard enough, you can change the colour of your eyes.
I tried it once, but only managed to change the colour of my pants.
My recommendation here is don’t strain too much when you concentrate.
July 22, 2009
There comes a time in every persons life when they must learn the story of the birds and the bees.
I know that most parents find it a little difficult to put this wonderful story into words, so I have written it down for their ease and your pleasure.
So, here goes…
This story starts like so many others. Apparently it is the mark of a good story if it’s really old, and foreign.
Long ago, in a land far, far away (see? old and foreign), there lived a beautiful princess. Her name was Generic Fairy Tale Princess Type B, but most people called her Gen. Princess Gen lived in a bungalow at the back of a wholesale moonshine distillery. It was a small bungalow, with only one room, but there was lots of cupboard space, and it had a flushing toilet which, considering that it was a really long time ago, was pretty snazzy.
The Evil Count Olaf’s Wholesale Moonshine Distillery was owned, not surprisingly, by Count Olaf. He wasn’t really evil, but had found out through extensive market research that seven times as many people would buy alcohol produced by an Evil Count, than they would if it was called Really Nice Count Olaf’s Moonshine.
One day, Count Olaf was sitting in his counting house, counting out his money (which many would call treason, as that was usually the job description of the King), when Princess Gen came in to pay her rent. Olaf had never asked for rent, as he felt it was his countly duty to provide accommodation for the princess, but she was a forward thinking sort of girl, and insisted on paying. If you know anything about generic fairy tale princesses, you will know that that is a sure sign of a Type B. You see, Type A princesses are the submissive ones, the sort that lay around all day waiting to be rescued. You would never catch a Type A paying rent. Type B’s are the more dominant ones, the girls who go on quests to do really brave and daring stuff. Things like saving the kingdom from dragons, or eating a whole pizza in front of a pack of starving models. As she placed the little bag containing a bunch of coins on Olaf’s desk, Gen informed him that this was exactly what she was going to do. The Kingdom Saving thing, not the Pizza Eating thing. It had come to her attention that there was a plague of hyper-intelligent bees that were threatening the peace of the kingdom, with their stinging and buzzing and use of quadratic equations, and as a Type B princess, it was her obligation to get rid of them. So she took a sandwich, a handful of cashews, and six bottles of moonshine, and set out on her quest.
She hadn’t walked very far through the woods when she bumped into a Typical Ye Olde Witch. Literally. The moonshine had an unfortunate side effect of momentary blindness, and as Gen had been swigging from the bottle as she walked, she didn’t notice the witch until she headbutted her. Gen mumbled an apology before vomiting behind a tree. The witch was very gracious about the whole incident. She just smiled, muttered a few random sounds, waved her hands vaguely at Gen and then disappeared in a puff of smoke. The princess looked down, making sure she still had all the normal human body parts. She patted her head to make sure there were no horns sprouting there. She looked around to make sure she didn’t have a tail. Everything was looking normal, and Gen opened her mouth to laugh out loud at the witch’s useless curse. But instead of a laugh, all that came out of her mouth was the beautiful song of the nightingale. Well, that was a shock! She tried to speak, but the same thing happened. Nothing but the sound of birdsong. If she had have been a Type A, she probably would have sat on a conveniently placed rock, and cried, but as a Type B, she would have none of that. She actually really liked the sound of nightingales, so she just continued on her way, talking to herself, marvelling at the sweetness of her own new voice.
If Gen had taken any notice of the things that were happening around her, she may have stopped talking for fear that she would get her eyes pecked out, or possibly her nose pecked off, but she was very preoccupied with the bird noises that she was making. She didn’t notice that following her were hundreds, maybe even thousands, of birds. All kinds of birds. They were flocking to the sound of her new nightingale voice, much like figurative rats to the sound of a hypothetical pied piper.
Gen kept walking, singing away, until up ahead she noticed that the sky was much darker than it had been. She also noticed that the sky up ahead was buzzing more than skies usually do. She figured that it must be the swarm of bees that were threatening the kingdom. The fact that they were flying in polyhedron shaped formations kind of gave it away too.
She stopped in the middle of the path, and wondered what she should do to get rid of the bees. You see, she hadn’t really thought that far ahead when she decided to go on the quest, and the copious amounts of moonshine in her system were not really aiding her brain function, so she just stood, dribbling and swaying a bit, and wondered.
She didn’t wonder for very long though, as after about three seconds of standing there, she felt a massive rush of air and feathers all around her, as the thousands of birds that had been following her flew straight into the swarm, and ate every single one of the bees. Just like that. Not a single bee remained. After they had finished gorging themselves on the swarm, all the birds that had been following Gen gave her a look of gratitude ( which was slightly disconcerting. Imagine thousands of birds looking directly at you) and flew away.
That, my dears, is the story of the birds and the bees. Glad I could help.
Organic Defect 