what rhymes with chaos?

Jerks vs. the internet

 Good morrow to you Sirs and Madams!

If you are reading this, then you are clearly the owner of 1 x internet. Congratulations! You now have access to an incredible information network featuring 231 million pictures of cats and a tumblr site that documents Buffy outfits! Not only this but the magic of the internet allows to connect and communicate with your fellow humans conveniently and instantly.

 

Any further questions?

    Can I comment on someone else's

        ideas and opinions?

 

Most certainly!

 Can I, in turn, share my own carefully formulated

opinions based on verified information from

a variety of reputable sources?

Be my guest!

 Can I go onto a missing person's report and whine

to the police service about legal semantics thereby impeding

the search for a missing person who may well be in grave danger?

 

Well, erm, I mean...I guess you could...

but why would-

GREAT! Brb.

A few days ago a friend posted this missing person notice, alerting the community to the fact that a 17 year old man had gone missing. Now, I have to admit that I was previously unaware that under QLD state law a 17 year old is classified as an adult. However, unlike one particularly insensitive facebook user I did not respond to this new information by posting "since when has a person under 18 been classed as an adult...this is a child missing........not a MAN!!!!!!!!" Colour me prudish, but this strikes me as being about as rude as vociferously criticising the floral arrangements at your grandma's funeral.

Oh fuck seriously? Pink and mauve held by

a cute white teddy?!?! Grandma would just DIE of embarrassment!

You know, if she wasn't already dead...

The notice wall quickly degenerated into a series of arguments about the law in question (COUPLED WITH AN OBSCENELY EXCESSIVE USE OF CAPS AND EXCLAMATION MARKS!!!!!) followed by rebukes and rebuttals. What those posting failed to remember is that the missing person (boy, man, whatever the hell tickles your Sid and Nancy) is an actual human who is possibly in serious danger and unquestionably has a family currently undergoing severe emotional distress. The problem with the internet is that users forget that despite the physical distance and lack of eye contact, bad breath and body odour that occurs during conversations, these are actual people who deserve to be treated with the respect that this particular DNA sequence is supposed to accord an organism.

For instance; reading this post you might be fooled into thinking that it was composed by some manner of incomprehensibly brilliant and witty blogging program. However, the author of this article is in fact a human with emotions, desires, a bad credit rating and a weird rash on my upper left thigh that I should probably see a doctor about.

Despite that fact that you can transmogrify into grandwarrior wizard Archimedes Lothorius on the internet, you still remain the same geeky human in real life. But if you are a jerk on the internet, you are still the same Jerky McJerkface with the face of a jerk when the computer shuts down. Here is a series of diagrams to demonstrate:

FIG 1

         VS        
           internet                                           real life

 FIG 2

       VS    
       internet                                              real life

 If you have any information about Matthew, contact the Queensland Police. If you want to rant and rave about legal semantics and generally be an insensitive arsehole why not try standing on the table of your local pub and talking in a LOUD VOICE!!!! and see how well that works out for you in the real world.

 

Dearest spawn: words of wisdom for the future

Recently I was requested to write some words of wisdom for the as yet unborn child of two of my very dear friends. Having a great deal of words but a rather appalling dearth of wisdom, I soon found myself overwhelmed by the grandiose responsibility of providing the literary form of a guiding light in the darkness to a not yet fully downloaded human child foetus. I ended up crying in the corner in much the same manner of a new born babe for several hours before consoling myself by thinking about breasts (again, much like in the manner of an infant).

My life is so freakin sweet! People lavish attention

on me constantly and everyone thinks it's adorable when I burp or

defecate! I hope the rest of my life is exactly like this!

This whole ordeal got me thinking; if I were to one day be so cruel as to decide to subject the world to the burden of my offspring, what words would I give the little bastard to send them on their way before I suffer an untimely death by turtle mauling or fireworks and pogo stick incident?

Here's what I came up with. Feel free to cut and paste this for your own use.

Dearest spawn,

Congratulations on being selected from millions of potential sperm candidates to become my progeny!

I have decided to bequeath unto you some words of wisdom for the future. However, the future which you will inhabit will doubtlessly differ greatly from the present. Hence the best advice I am able to give you has been obtained primarily from science fiction novels.

This is what people in the past thought time machines

would look like. What a bunch of morons.

It doesn't even have an ipod dock!

1 If you ever get sent back into the past DO NOT TOUCH ANYTHING. Not even breasts. (Sidenote: Infancy is the only time in your life when you will be able to gain access to breasts by merely screaming and crying. ENJOY IT.)

2 If you ever get sent to a gorgeous utopian future TOUCH EVERYTHING because you are obviously dreaming. The future is going to be a horrible, horrible place. Really, it will be just awful.

3 Just because everyone else in the world is wearing tight fitting silver suits doesn't mean that you have to. In fact, by wearing a variant outfit you substantially increase the likelihood of being the star of the piece.

4 Big Brother is watching. And he is fucking bored.

5 Soylent Green, while delicious, is no substitute for a healthy balanced diet.

6 Soma, while delicious, is no substitute for a healthy balanced diet.

 

7 Don't do it, she's a robot!

8 Don't do it, she's a clone!

9 Don't do it, she's you from a parallel universe where you've had an extremely convincing sex change operation!

10 When all your human parts are eventually replaced by cybernetic enhancements, make sure you shell out the extra bucks for the extended warranty. No one wants a future where you have to buy a replacement prostate every three months.

11 Floss

 

Pocket Hipster app

Have you ever been walking down the street, thinking about messaging that enigmagnetic boy/girl when suddenly the thought "I WISH I HAD AN IPHONE APP THAT MADE FUN OF MY MUSIC CHOICES!" assailed you like a blunt instrument to the solar plexus?

If the answer to this question is 'yes ma'am!' then boy have I got news for you! The brand new POCKET HIPSTER app is now available. I provided the voices for 'Sebastian Fowler' the pretentious English hipster and 'Atticus Jackson' the too-cool-for-any-kind-of-educational-learning-facility Californian hipster. I also wrote some of their ridiculous one-liners. The app makes fun of your music, and also you, and guides you to music that is better than yours.*Note: neither of these voices is my actual voice. I am using my magical superpower known as 'voice pretending', also known to layfolk as 'acting.'

You can get it from the itunes app store or just click here.

Amusingly I don't own an iphone, so now in addition to not owning a device that can read the digital version of my novel, I also can't watch and enjoy this app that I voiced. Oh great and sage-like Alanis Morrissette, what are your thoughts on this matter?

 

 

PS thanks to the kids at JosephMark for having me on board for this project. I had twelve kinds of fun.

 

Gatsby 8 bit

Great Gatsby, the eight bit video game? YES PLEASE!

 

*sidenote: the wikipedia entry for 'Saturn Return' lists both this book and my novel A Beginner's Guide to Dying in India as literary references. This pleases me in strange and unusual ways.

DEAR HAND DRYER AT THE NGV: I HATE YOU.

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.