How are you? Are you having a good birthday? How is it
being old? Do you like it? Do you want to get even more older or just stay the
same amount of old? Have you been old ever since you were
little, or did you just get old recently?
Do you listen to this song on your birthday, is it about you?
My name is Jake and
the other day it was MY birthday and my sister wasn’t even very nice too me cos
she’s a teen-anger and the only things that teen-angers are good at is sulking
and talking about pop songs. There’s a law against that isn’t there? I'm pretty
sure there is which means she broke the law, so could you please lock her up in
a dungeon somewhere or something? Or maybe make one of your dragons eat her?
Ok, well, maybe not eat her, maybe just kind of really scare her a lot and set
fire to her ipod.
Also I had to go to
school on my birthday. I really think that is very unfair. I want want to
be rude, or anything Mrs. the Queen, but I get to stay home from school on YOUR
birthday so how come I didn’t get to stay home on mine?
Thanks
Jake Marshall Dunhill, Grade 2
PS my uncle Frank says one time he got punched in the crown jewels and it hurt like blazes, but I thought that the crown jewels belonged to you and that they live in the Tower records store in London. Why are people punching your jewels and how come it hurts my uncle?
Please don't punch these. It hurts my uncle Frank.
"The most urgent health problem in the developed world is obesity. The most urgent health problem in the developing world is starvation."
"Either you motherfuckers need to start sharing those cheeseburgers or I am going to have to try and get Madonna to adopt me. Do you really want to live with that on your hands?"
"Ah....there's nothing like eating a cheeseburger at the beach...hey! Where did my feet go! Oh, there they are, buried under my rolls of corpulent fat that also do a great job of concealing my long forsaken dignity."
THINK ABOUT IT. This is not exactly Schrodinger's cat theory here (if you aren't familiar with this, here's an explanation by a guy with a huge afro). We aren't talking about the Copenhagen interpretation, Hesienberg Uncertainty principle, or Gödel's incompleteness theorem. This is basic fucking logic. Rich people have and control too much and are killing themselves, as a result poor people have too little and are dying. This is basically the global sociopolitical equivalent of solving the following equation:
solve for x:
2 + x = 4
Think about it, think about it...THERE IT IS! See, was that so hard?
(Courier Mail readers may require the following information: x = 2)
"No matter how good you are at your job, there will always be someone much less talented than you making a lot more money."
This might seem like cop out statement for an artist, but I feel it's never a bad idea to reiterate just how terrible the taste of the general public is. Just look at the ten most popular youtube videos; 20% Miley Cyrus and 20% babies laughing. I have to confess that with my eyes closed I have difficulty distinguishing between them.
this was the only video in the top ten that didn't make my eyeballs want to vomit:
But wait, there's a slightly larger quantity than was previously expected! Just take a look at the world of books and see how bad the situation is. I mean, I wouldn't mind sitting several thousand sales slots beneath, say Haruki Murakami, Margaret Atwood or Don Delilo. But these jokers? We're basically talking the literary equivalent of that god-awful 90s throwback grunge band you saw at O'Malleys a few weekends ago with the lead singer with a beer gut and a guns'n'roses tattoo. Picture that band raking in millions of dollars a year.
Yeah, fucking EXACTLY.
THE OVERTON WINDOW
by Glenn "I hate everything except money" Beck
Sure, I know, everyone weighs in on Glenn Beck. He's an easy target. But here's the thing: HE SHOULDN'T BE. It shouldn't be so disgustingly, appalling easy to pick deathstar sized holes in the arguments and rationalisations of someone with such significant influence. Not content to simply pose as an appallingly poor journalist, Beck also writes the kind of fiction that gives gun-toting rednecks with a pathological fear of anyone who speaks 'foreign' a delightful shiver in their commie-hatin' loins. If you can read this book without wanting to remove your eyeballs with a melonballer, then I applaud you.
The plot is thinly veiled disguise for Beck's general polemic ranting, which can basically be summed up by just spitting on the universal declaration of human rights (which, coincidentally, currently ranks #830,082.)
LOVER AVENGED
by J R "no actually I've never heard of True Blood" Ward
This is a story about a vampire (I know, it already smacks of originality right?) but not just any kind of vampire! The protagonist of Lover Avenged is a SYMPATH vampire, who "gets energy from manipulating others' emotions." If only Edward Cullen gained his power from manipulating the hormones of menopausal midwives, he'd be stronger than the gravitational field of a collapsed star.
Okay so this sympath vampire's name is Revhenge (actual spelling), and surprisingly, he isn't part of a six-piece gangster rap posse from south-central LA. I could go on, but basically the hideous fact that this author penned a series of Sookie Stackhouse ripoff/general vampire cash in books so shamefacedly is only outstripped by the horror of their success. Which brings us to:
MARRY HIM
by Lori Gottlieb (seems unfair to make fun of such a ridiculous name).
This is basically several hundred pages of Ms. Gottlieb screaming "Just settle!" Seriously. The fundamental premise of this book is that by searching for 'Mr Right' women miss their golden chance at settling down for a life of beige-coated, vanilla flavoured, AM radio sound tracked mediocrity with Mr. Good Enough. This is possibly the most depressing premise for a book I've EVER heard. And I've read the Bell Jar twice.
People of the world, these are times, no doubt about. In times such as these, such as they are, we need to stand together. Or possibly slightly apart, depending on the potency of the body odour of the comrade in closest proximity to you. However, regardless of exact geographical spacing, we must unite under the banners of Truth, Liberty, Synergy, Jazzercise and Rampant Consumerism like our fathers and their fathers before them, (but not so much the fathers before those who spent most of their time between the poorhouse and the whorehouse).
We must unite and say YES! I am here and NO! I don't know why but in the meantime I BELIEVE!...in...things. And I ostensibly believe in your right to believe in other things, no matter how horrendously defiant of logic and basic reasoning those things might be.
And brother, sister or second cousin twice removed I swear to metaphorically stand next to you on the figurative battlefield of justice, even if I would, in reality, run at the slightest hint of any form of literal conflict. Someday, when your children gaze up at you from their bowl of insta-feed protein TM now with even MORE! psuedo-flavour and say: "Daddy/mummy tell me about the olden day times?"
You'll be able to proudly reply: "Shut yer cakehole. I'm trying to watch Avatar 3 in 4D."
It is in the spirit of these things and these times that I gave you:
UNINSPIRATIONAL QUOTES.
Episode 1
FACT "Every five minutes 346 wonderful people die and 347 total jerks are
born."
"Waaaaah! When I grow up I'm going to change lanes without indicating and vote against basic human rights policies! Waaaaah!"
The
art of writing is by its very nature hermetic. It’s one of the few jobs in the
world where being a depressed, introverted alcoholic may actually be of
assistance. Well, that and claims adjusting perhaps.
+ + x =
this is a summation of everything I learnt in 3 years of studying literature.
In
any case, as much as I love being cloistered away in my literary lair
accompanied byonly the dull blue glow of my laptop, a near infinite supply of
mi goreng and the sounds of the dirty three, I do occasionally need to venture
outside into the great wide world with its billboards, traffic jams, ikea
stores and balloon boy hoaxes.
In the last two years I've busied myself with the chalk project, and the 4C arts collective and I’m working on a new
abandoned building project. In the interrum I decided to assist my
incredible friend, Anna; (the only person I know who is a brilliant
scientist, environmental activist AND artist), with her 350 project.
Anna
stitched up these patches which a few of us then covertly distributed around
Paddington in the dead of night. Okay, it was more like half nine, but
seriously, graffiti artists take note: Paddington at 9.30 on a Monday is like
Rupert Murdoch’s conscience; completely silent.
The genius of using these patches is that they are not only incredibly eye
catching and made from recycled material but they also cause no permanent damage
to property. We really didn’t have to worry about police presence because
although we didn’t exactly write to Campbell can’t-fucking-do-anything-right
Newman for permission, I doubt we would have had too much trouble from the
po-lease even if they had spotted us.
With less than one week until the
highly anticipated release of Dan Brown’s new ‘novel’, millions of ‘readers’
around the world are bursting with expectation. The novel is a sequel to the
Da Vinci code, which has been hailed as a
publishing phenomenon and was the bestselling adult hardback of all time.
(Editor’s note: this is the
most watched TV show of all time.)
The release of the Lost Symbol has been shrouded in secrecy. Reportedly only a
hand-picked elite have been permitted to read the manuscript in full. Brown’s
publicist has been secretive and mysterious, enticing slavering fans with such
elusive comments as:“More of the same really. You
know, mysteries and shit. Hey! Amigo! I said I want that jag BUFFED comprende?”
And “You know the Da Vinci Code? Yeah,
it’s like that, but different and junk. Who do I have to stab to get a latte in
here?”
Currently the Lost Symbol website
displays a mysterious countdown timer. By odd coincidence, many savvy
conspiracy freaks have noted the books release date coincides exactly with the
expected time of their own death. Recently, an unknown source
leaked a digital copy of the manuscript that found its way onto file sharing
sites. The response was immediate:
Marilyn Prior, a 33 year old
accountant from Philadelphia was thrilled to get her hands on the new book.
“Yeah, I started reading and it
was like, I didn’t even need to think, the words just went into my brain
without me having to think about them at all. It was like, pretty good and
stuff. I dunno I fell asleep after the first few pages though. Might wait for
the audiobook.”
James Harndofer, an amateur
wrestler from Brisbane stated:
“It was the darndest thing. I just started
reading the first page, where a man of notable profession is mysteriously
killed. You know, like in the Da Vinci Code.
And also Angels and Demons.
Actually, its kind of the same beginning as Deception Point come to think of it. Anyway, I’m getting into this
Langdon guy and all of a sudden I just started puking like I’d eaten half a
pound of rotten flesh. I mean, I was really hurling, a complete exorcist style
projectile purge. One minute I’m engrossed in this charmingly predictable
middle-brow narrative, and the next I’m blowing chunks. Weird.”
James Sampson, a 29-year-old elbow model from London said:
“I dunno, it was like, it had words and
everything. I started reading but then remembered that I should probably check
my email. I updated my facebook, myspace and twitter status to say: Reading
teh new Dan Brown ZOMG! And then I got all
these replies and they were like OMFG! Wots it like? And I was like have you read the Da Vinci
Code? It’s basically like that, but different.”
The question on everyone’s lips
is ‘will this book exceed the exhilarating mediocrity of the Da Vinci code? Can
it ascend to those same dizzying heights of awkwardly worded sentence
construction and cliché riddled narrative? We, and Dan Brown’s publishers, can
only hope.
Well now, Richard Dawkins has become a
real A-list of late, ever since his massive success with the god delusion he’s
been seen partying at the Viper Room with Lindsay Lohan, Yasmine Bleeth and
Robert Downey Jr. Friends say he’s been hitting the ‘party powder’ a little too
hard, but the real news is the recent announcement that he’s dating Jessica Simpson.
The doe eyed couple have been
spotted at several A-list venues,holding hands, discussing the political and
sociological benefits of a secularised society, and giggling. While they
haven’t been shy in front of the cameras, they also haven’t been too public
about their relationship. A close friend had this to say:
comment taken from a friend during her recent publicity shoot.
“Well, you know, those two kids
are just taking it easy. They really get along, but obviously the issue of
religion is a big one, I mean, like, just the other day Richard was saying: ‘Sugarcheeks,
do you not think it imbecilic to invest faith in an invisible, intangible deity
whose supposed existence has negatively influenced the various strata of
society for millennia?’ and then she was all like: ‘Baby, the expression of a
belief in an intangible deity is not the cause of the behaviour of isolated
extremists okay? It’s just, like, how those particular individuals manifest
their own violent insecurities behind a flagship. Now what movie should we see
Hannah Montana or Transformers 2?”
Rumour has it that Dawkins and Simpson
eventually agreed on Transformers 2, but only on the proviso that they got
popcorn AND choc tops.
Some celebrity experts have even
suggested that wedding bells may not be too far off, but the pair are coy about
this, Simpson has commented:
“Well, if we were talking about
it, and I’m not saying that we are, but if we were, then obviously Richie wouldn’t
want to have it in a church, so we might compromise and go somewhere with the
illusion of spirituality that is actually completely soulless, like a
scientology chapel.”
First of all, I didn’t even want the stupid job anyway, okay? And no, I don’t mean that like when a girl says she’d rather have her face pressed into a sandwich grill than go to dinner with me and I say: ‘Fine, I didn’t like you anyway!’ I mean I REALLY didn’t want the job.
It’s just that real jobs, by which I mean any form of employment that won’t make me want to immolate myself in a vat of hydrochloric acid, have become awfully hard to come by. And yes, I am referring to the GFC, GED / all my brothers all up in the club yeah you know me. I’m not sure if you’ve noticed, but lately it seems that the GFC is getting blamed for all the woes of the world.
“Can I have a job?” “No. GFC.”
“Can I borrow your car?” “Gee I'm sorry, but um...GFC you know?.”
The GFC is like the Jews, it gets blamed for everything. Also like the Jews, it seems to control an awful lot of our financial concerns. (I’m part Jewish, I’m allowed to talk like that.) I imagine the GFC to be a Woody Allen-like figure awkwardly stumbling around attempting to juggle a plethora of neuroses and mumbling anxieties and trepidations to itself in a quiet, whiny voice.
So that, my would-be oppressors, is what brought me into your office yesterday afternoon. That, and NOT any desire to be ‘a valued member of a synergised corporate family invested in maximising the fiscal concerns of a vast conglomerate of unified parties.’ Your promotional material sounds like it was written by Scientologists. You should just build some sort of worship hall next to the water cooler and you could try and convince people to work in exchange for ‘purifying their souls of imperfections through the process of work based re-invention’ rather than paying them.
Data entry, are you serious? Where did this job description come from? Do you hear five year olds listing their dream professions as ‘Popstar, Doctor, Police officer, Astronaut, Data Entry Clerk?’ I think not. What the hell made you think I would have any interest in data entry at all? Unless Data is a twenty three year old jazz singer from the Czech republic I have no interest in entering any kind of data whatsoever.
Also, your questioning sounded like it was written by Joan Rivers while she was on crack, edited by Barbara Walters over speakerphone while she was drunk driving and then ‘tweaked’ by Corinne Grant.
What the hell was with that desert island situation? Is that actually a scenario you envisage being relevant to your employees? If so, my only question to you sir, madam, and androgynous metro-sexual human of indeterminable sexual preference, is what the hell kind of operation are you running here? I mean, my geographical knowledge isn’t extensive, but I am fairly certain that desert islands don’t come into direct physical contact with inner city office buildings in any event outside of the apocalypse. And in that case all the hypothetical role-playing in the world won’t save you from the reaper’s scythe, because you know he’ll be gunning for the rich ones first.
Two stars, with the potential for the value of said celestial bodies to be significantly reduced dependant on the motions of the international market.
Yesterday I was criticised by a hand dryer. I’ve suffered a kaleidoscopic cocktail of various kinds abuse and criticism over the years from a malicious milieu of teachers, critics, random strangers and the occasional soon to be ex lover. Attracting reprimand from an inanimate bathroom appliance however, is something new even for me.
Whilst drying my hands at the National Gallery of Victoria the normally silent utilitarian device proceeded to lecture me through the use of a digital screen and speakers on how I should be more conservative with my water use.
I am entirely in favour of people receiving advice on methods of how to be more environmentally conscious, being quite the tree hugger myself, I just think that I would prefer that advice to be dispensed by something with a pulse. If I wanted advice from a soulless object masquerading as a human being I would watch Dr. Phil.
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