Tuesday, February 24, 2009

Does the old woman at the bakery have a thing for me?

I had a spinach and cheese triangle for lunch at the Annandale Vietnamese bakery today and it was tops. While I was sitting at the table enjoying it I was also contemplating what I should have next. I decided on a large chocolate donut with sprinkles (it was either that or a date scone and I decided to go for the kiddy option rather than than the grandpa option - I like bright colours). Anyway, I gave the woman my $1.50 and not only did she give me a big chocolate donut but she gave me a cinnamon donut as well! Score.

In the ten minutes I had been sitting there the woman hadn't given free donuts to anyone else. This led me to think, why am I so special? While I'm terrible at reading body language, the wink the big old bakery woman gave me as she placed the cinnamon donut in the paper bag did seem quite suggestive.

I had always fantasized about a relationship with a bakery worker who would fatten me up with croissants, pastries and donuts. The fantasy however involved a svelte young French woman, not a fat old Vietnamese woman. Still you can't complain about a free donut.

Sunday, February 22, 2009

Me a publicity slut?

Big stunts are a great way to generate publicity but slamming jumbos into skyscrapers is really hard to organise and let’s face it, I’m lazy. To raise the media profile of the Guerrilla Poetry Organisation needed I needed something that took hardly any effort and when some random American journalist emailed me global recognition seemed assured.

I arranged to meet journalist Jake Wagara at St Leonards Station along with compadre Ray de Asian. At first I thought the meeting may have just been a cunning ploy by the people from North Sydney Council to nab the organisation responsible for putting stickers all over their light poles. When I saw Jake squeeze his big arse through the turnstiles my suspicions were erased.

Jake was definitely an American – he dressed like an overweight Seinfeld; he had a canvas cowboy hat and when he first arrived he headed straight to the shops to get a Snickers bar. Unfortunately Jake didn’t seem to realise that most of the work produced by the GPO involved poems about sex with robots/mermaids/amputees/dwarves and when interviewed our saucy sailor mouths ensured nothing he recorded was suitable for broadcast. Still we persevered.

Watched on by security guards we placed lots of plastic army men (with poems attached) around the big pond in the middle of the plaza. For a ridiculously long time no one took any of them but finally an awesome old guy in a green checked Sherlock Holmes hat picked one up. He then studied it closely, put it down, picked up another one, studied it, put it down, repeated the process ten times, went to walk away and then finally came back and took one. We were excited. Then a group of four drunk people came, all picked them up and read them on the spot. They then threw their heads back in laughter (there was even back arch on a couple of the girls). Jake seemed impressed and we left him to waddle off, put together a story and make us heaps famous.

Tuesday, February 17, 2009

World peace - it can be done.

Beauty pageant contestants are always keen for world peace but I don’t feel they are being utilised effectively. Under my plan for world peace every beauty queen would get sent to live for one year in the country of their enemy.

My theory is that if the face of the enemy is drop dead gorgeous and attached to a hot body, it will change the way people think. If not, it will at least change the part of their brain they are using to think with and let’s face it, who ever thought of killing while they had a hard-on?

The beauty queens will also perform a vital secondary role – that of human shields. Can you imagine the US randomly bombing the shit out of Iraq if Ms Montana, Ms California and Ms Hawaii were hidden somewhere in the country?

I believe that whole “make love not war” thing makes a lot of sense. Instead of encouraging young people to become terrorists and indiscriminately blow up enemy civilians, they should be encouraging them to be sluts and indiscriminately blow enemy civilians. I reckon attitudes would change quickly and if the enemy did misbehave they could just deny them sex…

Sunday, February 15, 2009

Are flying fish trying to be like Michael Hutchence?

I saw a fish jump out of the water three times in a row and it got me thinking – why the hell would he do that? My first theory was that it was just sick of being wet. My second theory was that it was just showing off. My third theory was completely stupid.

I thought maybe that fish was trying to be like Michael Hutchence. Sadly Michael’s attempt to partially asphyxiate himself while whacking off went a little awry when he stopped breathing completely and make things really awkward for the hotel cleaning lady. Fish can’t really breathe very well out of water and I think this one, like Michael, was just attempting some extreme masturbation.

If you’ve ever caught a fish chances are it was doing the same. None of them are really fooled by your half frozen prawn dangling from the end of a line. They bite into that thing so they can lie there in the sun on the warm deck of your tinny, gasping for air and flapping their fins over their sensitive bits. Some of them get thrown back and they tell all their fish mates how good it was and that’s the only reason anyone ever catches a fish.

Saturday, February 14, 2009

My concerns re circus bears

People worry about the cruelty involved in teaching a circus bear to dance. Apparently they make them stand on hot coals so they have to hop from one leg to another. Frankly this doesn’t bother me so much because I believe the ends justifies the means. Seeing a bear dance is awesome and if I had received the same training in my youth I may now have some far better moves on the dance floor.

My concern is that the bears are tired. From my extensive studies (I watched a lot of Yogi Bear cartoons) I have learnt that bears hibernate during winter. Circus bears however just continually travel from one town to another performing all year round. As much as I like watching them riding a tricycle while wearing a funny hat sometimes you can tell there hearts just aren’t in it – they want to be asleep in a cave (or stealing a picnic basket).

If I was extremely sleep deprived and had massive claws I’d probably lash out at my handlers or cut up one of those annoying children who had come to interrupt my slumber with their high pitched squeals.

Wednesday, February 11, 2009

My concerns re oompa loompas

I know it's just a book/movie but I still feel concern for the oompa loompas. There are a number of things which trouble me.

1. The oompa loompas seem to be locked up in this highly secretive compound obviously designed so Willy Wonker can flout labour laws without fear of detection. I seriously doubt they are getting paid any more than an Indonesian making Nike sneakers.

2. Where are the lady oompa loompas? Does Willy has some secret brothel going for deviants who like short orange chicks with prominent eyebrows? Perhaps they all work in management positions within the chocolate factory but I don't think this is likely.

3. Their diet can't be great. When all they have access to is food from the wrong end of the pyramid it's no wonder they are stunted. Their teeth also look suspiciously white - I'm guessing they are denches.
4. That song of theirs is rather hypnotic. I think Willy has engaged in some crazy mind control practices designed to make the oompa loompas work ridiculously long hours without questioning their boss.
5. Are there some weird chemicals affecting the oompa loompas? I had a friend whose hair went green when she swam in a pool with too much chlorine. The orange could be their natural skin colour but I think they have just resorted to applying cheap fake tan to hide the fact they never get any sun.

Tuesday, February 10, 2009

Unlimited Cricket

I believe cricket closely resembles relationships.

One day cricket is obviously like a one night stand and can be highly exciting unless one side fails to perform in which case it disappoints and you leave early.

20 over criket is more like having a root in a back lane - a cheap meaningless thrill which is exciting at the time but quickly forgotten.

Test match cricket resemles a holiday romance. You are there for five days, hanging out in the sunshine and you have a bit of a chance to find out about the other side, have a couple of innings and come away with another trophy.

What I believe we need is a form of cricket that resembles a marriage. Unlimited cricket would no doubt bore some but the purists would love it. Just imagine Ricky Ponting and his team playing against England in a match that never ends! Till death do us part - that would bring a whole new meaning to the Ashes. The in sickness and in health bit would also be interesting. There is no way you could pick Shane Watson in the team as he is bound to spend 30 of the next 50 years injured. The whole thing would no doubt become highly abusive and we could watch it all. Now I know you are thinking it would suck because it would preclude our stars from playing all sorts of other cricket but let's face it, they won't be faithful. There will be lots of one night stands and back alley roots. This has to be the future of cricket.

Sunday, February 8, 2009

If I were God

I think it would be a cool idea to bring back to life all the brown dead Christmas trees that have been thrown out by the footpath. That would have to get people believing.

Perhaps I should just go out and get a lot of fresh ones, swap them over with the dead ones and see if the homeowner becomes super religous.

Have grapes got weaker?

My right hand has been a bit dodgy ever since I spastically fell off my bike and broke both my arms. Since then I have been completely shit at opening bags of chips. I just use excessive force and they generally fly everywhere and then I have to eat them off the floor which I haven't swept since the last time I did that and then there is a mix of fresh chip crumbs and stale chip crumbs and I think I can tell the difference but I can't really until I taste it and it's not a chip at all but a dead insect which tastes mostly crunchy but a little bit squishy still.

I'm also shit at tearing off a bunch of grapes without making them all fall off and go rolling around amongst the chips and insects. I tend to resort to scissors. Lately however I have been far more successful. I don't think I've improved though. I believe grapes have just got weaker.

My other failing is that I like spring rolls but am far too impatient for them to cook. I end up eating a lot of spring rolls which are cold in the middle...

Wednesday, February 4, 2009

3 months in the slammer for writing a tag?

I really hope that chick spends her time in gaol well - my suggestion would be for her to go nuts and leave tags all over the place. In fact, I want to go visit her and smuggle in some spray paint and felt tip pens.

Thousands of years ago aboriginal people were going crazy, just leaving their marks on walls everywhere. These are now regarded as priceless and great lengths are taken to protect them. Instead of scrubbing away the work of young Cheyenne Back we really should get a park ranger to stand next to it and explain its cultural significance.

I did a great deal of work in my formative years etching profound statements into a school desk with the pointy part of my set of compass. "Pamela smells" was an important work deserving of preservation - not the punishment of detention. Others drew penises on the chairs, which I believe was less an act of vandalism and more a powerful statement regarding the ever present force of libido in the development of a young male.

Rather than stifling creativity we need to encourage it. Cheyenne, you should be given art lessons, not gaol.

Monday, February 2, 2009

Pretty Birds

I had a rainbow lorikeet tap on my window in search of food. I went and got it some breadcrumbs because it looked cool and it wasn’t a pigeon. When re-examining my actions I felt conflicted. Why do we love some birds and hate others?

If you asked most people they would gladly replace all the pigeons and seagulls with penguins. After all penguins look cool and they make movies about them with Morgan Freeman doing voiceovers where he sounds all wise and grandfartherly. But if you think about it more deeply it would be completely crap.

Just imagine driving along early in the morning and there are penguins on the road. Instead of flying out of the way at the last minute they just waddle pathetically slowly and then you run over them which sucks because they aren’t small – they are like a metre high and they put big dents in your car.

The move from seagulls to penguins would also stuff up cricket. Generally seagulls are smart enough to scatter when the ball comes their way and even if they do get hit the ball normally goes to the boundary anyway. Penguin/ball collisions would likely change the game completely. Serious injuries would also ensue as people trip over them in the outfield.

Going to the beach would also suck, with the whole place covered by penguins standing on their nests. If you did find a gap on the sand to put your towel on the bastards would probably peck at your eyes with those big pointy looking beaks.

So I guess the moral of the story is just because a bird is pretty doesn’t necessarily mean it’s good.

Sunday, February 1, 2009

Roger I have the solution

Roger Federer I sacrificed myself for you. I stayed up way past my bed time to watch you whilst drinking more beers than is now officially regarded as healthy. So how do you repay me? I’d have thought it reasonable that you win, match the record of Sampras and put a big smile on the dial of your ugly fat-faced girlfriend. Instead you perform pathetically and lose in five sets. You disappoint me, just like the Shark disappointed me every time he teed up at Augusta. You suck.

I would become a Nadal fan but I just can’t respect a man who spends 20% of time on court picking his undies out from his crack. Surely Pat Rafter could have a word to him about the very comfortable products on offer from Bonds. I suspect that despite his fortunes Nadal is a cheapskate who purchases underwear in a ten pack from Best & Less. Splash out man!

To be universally regarded as the best player ever Roger needs to win two more majors, including the French. Clearly he will never do this while he is playing the man in the Best & Less undies. As I see it, the solution is a Tonya Harding style pre-emptive strike. All it will take is one thug and one clean strike of a pipe upon Rafa’s leg, just before Paris. He will be out for the French and Wimbledon and Roger will coast through. Roger should then retire, dump the beast and get himself the awesome supermodel girlfriend he deserves.