Well I'm about to depart for a weekend retreat up north in a few hours and I thought I'd share with you the contents of my toiletries bag I just found:
2 band-aids
3 cottonbuds
1 hairband
1 pair of contact lenses
1 pair of goggles
6 citronella and sandalwood sticks (for repelling mosquitos)
2 disposible ponchos
1 stick of glue
1 what appears to be a urinal cake
Of course I've repacked it now to suit a human being and not some alien/MacGuyver hybrid, but what the hell was I doing on my last trip?
Friday, December 4, 2009
Thursday, December 3, 2009
I have had a dream #1
Does anyone out there know how to interpret dreams? I tend to have really vivid dreams where I can remember things in great detail so I figured I may as well post the occassional dream (or at least a small part of it) on my blog.
I was walking along the front of my house (which for some reason had a trench around it) when I noticed down in the trench an old replica handgun I used to own. I picked it up out of the trench and walked over to my mate Geoff who was relaxing under his car.
"Hey Geoff, look at this," I said.
As I walked under Geoff's car I noticed the gun was dirty so I started wiping it clean. Eventually I managed to open the whole thing open and that's when I discovered two rooms inside the gun, one on top of another. The bottom room was full of ambiguous organic structures. The top room was crawling with what looked like thousands and thousands of maggots and larvae. Some of them had begun to take shape and were starting to look like baby koalas.
I called my biologist friend who reluctantly came over and had a look.
"You know, I'm really disappointed that I came," she said after inspecting the rooms. "When you called me, I assumed this would be the same thing it always is. I was really hoping it would be something different."
"Is it koalas?" I asked.
"No, it's water buffalo."
I nodded. That made perfect sense.
"Yep," she said. "This is what happens when you don't clean out the bottom of your house. You get water buffalo."
Seriously, if you can interpret dreams or would just like to take a wild theoretical stab at what's wrong with my head innards, drop us a line.
I was walking along the front of my house (which for some reason had a trench around it) when I noticed down in the trench an old replica handgun I used to own. I picked it up out of the trench and walked over to my mate Geoff who was relaxing under his car.
"Hey Geoff, look at this," I said.
As I walked under Geoff's car I noticed the gun was dirty so I started wiping it clean. Eventually I managed to open the whole thing open and that's when I discovered two rooms inside the gun, one on top of another. The bottom room was full of ambiguous organic structures. The top room was crawling with what looked like thousands and thousands of maggots and larvae. Some of them had begun to take shape and were starting to look like baby koalas.
I called my biologist friend who reluctantly came over and had a look.
"You know, I'm really disappointed that I came," she said after inspecting the rooms. "When you called me, I assumed this would be the same thing it always is. I was really hoping it would be something different."
"Is it koalas?" I asked.
"No, it's water buffalo."
I nodded. That made perfect sense.
"Yep," she said. "This is what happens when you don't clean out the bottom of your house. You get water buffalo."
Seriously, if you can interpret dreams or would just like to take a wild theoretical stab at what's wrong with my head innards, drop us a line.
Wednesday, December 2, 2009
No, you cannot play with daddy's Xbox! You see this controller? Mine! And this controller? Also mine!
I had a very lazy day yesterday; leftover Chinese for breakfast, Peanut butter and jam on bread for lunch. (Daily vegetable intake for the day: zero. Unless... can peanut substitute as a vegetable? Please?) It was a day conducive to gaming, so that's what I did.
I decided to play Nazi Zombies - a simple yet fun game where you and three other players fight off wave upon wave of evil nazi zombies.
The first player I encountered had a relatively high-pitched voice. I assumed it belonged to a male whose testicles had yet to descend until I heard the voice say, "Sweetie, drink your water or you'll get thirsty."
"Who are you talking to?" I asked.
"My daughter," she answered.
"Oh, how old is she?"
"She's three."
"You uh, let your daughter watch Nazi Zombies?"
Which fyi looks like this:
"Yup," she said. "She's actually laughing right now at the way they walk around."
Then, as I performed headshot after headshot, a second player piped in with, "Hey guys, I'm just gonna be gone for a sec. I can hear my daughter crying in the other room. Cover me for a sec alright?"
So I moved to that player’s now motionless avatar to provide defensive gunfire should a zombie get too close.
He returned shortly with, “Hey guys. I’m real sorry I’m gonna have to leave. My daughter just threw up all over her bed.”
At this stage I was wondering what had happened to all the teenagers in the world so I asked the third player in our group, “Hey mate, how old are you?”
“Me? I’m 27,” he said.
“Whew!” I thought. My age. The guy sounded young and I figured he was someone much like myself; just relaxing during the holidays, still taking life easy.
“Well,” I said jokingly as I lobbed a grenade into a group of zombies. “Looks like you need a daughter to play in this room.”
“I’ve got 2 of ‘em,” he said.
What?! So evidently I'd just stumbled into the Parents with Young Children who play Violent Videogames room.
Just then the mother-of-3-year-old (who hence forth will be referred to as ‘Motyo’) interrupted with, “Hey can someone cover me? My daughter’s passed out on my bed. I should move her to her bed.”
“This is getting ridiculous,” I thought as I stabbed a zombie in the chest before moving to cover yet another motionless avatar. I couldn’t see how this style of game-play was sustainable.
A few rounds later I heard Motyo say, “Sweetie, you’ve got to stay in your own bed. Daddy’s taking you out tomorrow at 10am. You need your rest - oh shit, what the hell was that?! That zombie just came out of nowhere!”
All I can say is, I was happy when the zombies finally managed to overwhelm us.
The next game I played was a much happier affair involving myself (an Australian), an Englishman, an American and a Swede. But that’s a story for another time.
I decided to play Nazi Zombies - a simple yet fun game where you and three other players fight off wave upon wave of evil nazi zombies.
The first player I encountered had a relatively high-pitched voice. I assumed it belonged to a male whose testicles had yet to descend until I heard the voice say, "Sweetie, drink your water or you'll get thirsty."
"Who are you talking to?" I asked.
"My daughter," she answered.
"Oh, how old is she?"
"She's three."
"You uh, let your daughter watch Nazi Zombies?"
Which fyi looks like this:
"Yup," she said. "She's actually laughing right now at the way they walk around."
Then, as I performed headshot after headshot, a second player piped in with, "Hey guys, I'm just gonna be gone for a sec. I can hear my daughter crying in the other room. Cover me for a sec alright?"
So I moved to that player’s now motionless avatar to provide defensive gunfire should a zombie get too close.
He returned shortly with, “Hey guys. I’m real sorry I’m gonna have to leave. My daughter just threw up all over her bed.”
At this stage I was wondering what had happened to all the teenagers in the world so I asked the third player in our group, “Hey mate, how old are you?”
“Me? I’m 27,” he said.
“Whew!” I thought. My age. The guy sounded young and I figured he was someone much like myself; just relaxing during the holidays, still taking life easy.
“Well,” I said jokingly as I lobbed a grenade into a group of zombies. “Looks like you need a daughter to play in this room.”
“I’ve got 2 of ‘em,” he said.
What?! So evidently I'd just stumbled into the Parents with Young Children who play Violent Videogames room.
Just then the mother-of-3-year-old (who hence forth will be referred to as ‘Motyo’) interrupted with, “Hey can someone cover me? My daughter’s passed out on my bed. I should move her to her bed.”
“This is getting ridiculous,” I thought as I stabbed a zombie in the chest before moving to cover yet another motionless avatar. I couldn’t see how this style of game-play was sustainable.
A few rounds later I heard Motyo say, “Sweetie, you’ve got to stay in your own bed. Daddy’s taking you out tomorrow at 10am. You need your rest - oh shit, what the hell was that?! That zombie just came out of nowhere!”
All I can say is, I was happy when the zombies finally managed to overwhelm us.
The next game I played was a much happier affair involving myself (an Australian), an Englishman, an American and a Swede. But that’s a story for another time.
Wednesday, November 25, 2009
Blog award?!
This is quite incredible. I leave this blog for two weeks (thank you very much stupid swine flu vaccine) and I come back to find that I've won an award? For doing nothing?? Exactly what are you trying to encourage Kate? (But thank you all the same). Btw, check out Kate's blog now! It was the first blog I followed after starting my own and is always guaranteed to bring a smile to your face, or at least make you snort.
So, apparently I now have to fulfil a few rules and requirements:
Share 7 things that you don't already know about me.
Name 7 other blogs to receive this award.
Leave a comment on each of the blogs I nominated.
Thank the person who gave you the award.
Well here goes!
- I can't seem to escape weddings. Over 27 years I've attended something like 70+ weddings. And no, I don't do the whole Wedding Crashers thing. I have a feeling my wife wouldn't take too kindly to such shenanigans.
- I'm an American Civil War nut. I can tell you what Stonewall Jackson's favourite food was, I can sing you any civil war song you ask me to, I can even identify any number of regimental flags - and I'm Australian. I don't even know when Australia Day is! However I do know that Canada Day falls on July 1st. Mmmmm, pancakes with bacon and maple syrup... gaahhggghhhhhh...
- I always leave the toilet seat down. In fact, my wife leaves the toilet seat up more often than I do. Which begs the question, what the hell is she doing all those times? Perhaps she read my first post and is trying to prove me wrong.
- My two favourite meats to eat are lobster and crocodile. This may explain why I'm so poor.
- When I was a little boy, I was convinced that lying down straight after eating would turn me into a cow. You'd think most kids would be all like "hell yeah! I can be a huge animal with horns!" Alas, the cow I always pictured in my head was small, sad and moping. Plus, I wasn't too keen on the idea of having a giant set of udders on my belly.
- You know that hair that grows on a man's upper lip? You know how men typically shave it off using what's called a razor? I do that too. Only substitute the word 'shave' with 'pluck', and instead of 'razor' read 'tweezer'. And I do it without flinching too. (I will dedicate a separate post to this later. Warning: may include video.)
- I used to read The Babysitters Club books. In fact, they're the only books that have ever made me teary. I loved the books so much I even bought all the videos. I secretly had a crush on Mary Anne Spier. (Damn you Logan Bruno, get your hands off her, she's mine!) I am currently frightened at how much I can still remember. I am also concerned I may have revealed too much about myself and compromised my right to own male genitalia.
- Very Top Five. You want creative (or 'Kreativ' rather)? This is one of the most original, amusing blogs ever created.
- The Travels of Praziquantel. Everyone needs a travel blog to follow. Ever wanted to travel the crap out of a country? (A term I just coined). This woman does with great gusto - read along and share in her adventures!
- Repertoire Food. You also need a food blog to follow. Aside from teaching you how to spell the word "repertoire" you'll learn many home-cooked (and cleverly improvised) recipes. I also love the little stories that go with the recipes that give them so much personality.
- Single Girl in San Diego. I never got to do the whole dating thing. This blog fills me in on a whole world I missed out on.
- Kelleidoscope. I'm hesitant about putting this blog on this list because I find it hard to believe that Kellie hasn't received one of these awards already. This is one of those blogs where the blogger's personality just shines through. Makes me wish I knew her in real life.
- Twenty-something going on Five. As a fellow student, I just can't appreciate this blog enough. This girl blogs with enough sarcasm to make baby Jesus cry. Also, I think she has that part of her brain removed that says "saying this out loud might be a bad idea".
- Morning Cup with Meg. And finally, a classy blog with a bit of everything. One of those bloggers that really puts her life out there for all to see and share.
And thanks again Kate! I love you and all things Canadian!
Friday, November 13, 2009
OMG it's late and I'm too tired to write but must...post...something...
In my last post I mentioned that I've never been drunk. That's because I'm allergic to alcohol. I know it sucks, but at least I know this will never happen to me:
I cannot believe how lucky that woman is!
I cannot believe how lucky that woman is!
Wednesday, November 11, 2009
And speaking of ninjas...
Recently while trawling through my harddrive, I stumbled across a folder called "writing" which I'd created many years back. Inside it I found a contender for worst story ever written. Here's a little snippet:
“Hello ex-wife,” my friend said into the phone.
I reached down and scratched my crotch. My balls were itchy.
“Are your balls itchy too?” I asked my friend.
“Do you mind? I’m on the phone.”
I nodded then flexed my large muscles. I was huge. I hoped there were no ninjas lying around waiting to fight me. I would so destroy them.
I looked at the clock. It said 11:30pm. A breasted person was talking on the television. “We’ve had a sunny day today but now there’s a lot of clouds in the sky. It will be sunny and fine again tomorrow but it’s very dark right now. There could be a lot of ninjas when it’s this dark, so I hope everyone at home has huge muscles.”
I looked out the window. It was dark. The person on the TV was so smart.
I decided I needed another Mountain Dew so I walked over to the fridge. Unfortunately, there were no Mountain Dews left in the fridge. Just mayonnaise. This made me very angry. I decided I needed a tattoo to put on my muscly arm, and needed that tattoo now.
“Friend talking to ex-wife on phone!” I called out. “I’m going out to get a tattoo!”
“Okay!” he yelled. “Get some more mayonnaise on the way back. Watch out for ninjas.”
I took off my singlet, flexed, then grabbed my gun.
I stepped outside and slipped on some soy sauce. I laughed to myself, “those wacky ninjas. They leave soy sauce everywhere.”
Reading back on that story kind of makes me regret that I've never been drunk or taken illicit drugs as I can't blame the story on either of those things.
I guarantee you my story-writing has improved over the last few years and here's how I'm going (to attempt) to prove it. I will soon be creating another blog called "A Writing Faux Pas" where I will post original works of fiction spewed forth from my very own brain. My hope is to write an entire novel over the course of a year, and YOU are going to keep me accountable.
But don't worry! That doesn't mean this blog will start getting neglected. This is where I park my crazy and where I will continue to do so for many years to come. As proof, here's a series of photos of me attempting to mate with a peacock:
Long story short, I slept alone that night.
“Hello ex-wife,” my friend said into the phone.
I reached down and scratched my crotch. My balls were itchy.
“Are your balls itchy too?” I asked my friend.
“Do you mind? I’m on the phone.”
I nodded then flexed my large muscles. I was huge. I hoped there were no ninjas lying around waiting to fight me. I would so destroy them.
I looked at the clock. It said 11:30pm. A breasted person was talking on the television. “We’ve had a sunny day today but now there’s a lot of clouds in the sky. It will be sunny and fine again tomorrow but it’s very dark right now. There could be a lot of ninjas when it’s this dark, so I hope everyone at home has huge muscles.”
I looked out the window. It was dark. The person on the TV was so smart.
I decided I needed another Mountain Dew so I walked over to the fridge. Unfortunately, there were no Mountain Dews left in the fridge. Just mayonnaise. This made me very angry. I decided I needed a tattoo to put on my muscly arm, and needed that tattoo now.
“Friend talking to ex-wife on phone!” I called out. “I’m going out to get a tattoo!”
“Okay!” he yelled. “Get some more mayonnaise on the way back. Watch out for ninjas.”
I took off my singlet, flexed, then grabbed my gun.
I stepped outside and slipped on some soy sauce. I laughed to myself, “those wacky ninjas. They leave soy sauce everywhere.”
Reading back on that story kind of makes me regret that I've never been drunk or taken illicit drugs as I can't blame the story on either of those things.
I guarantee you my story-writing has improved over the last few years and here's how I'm going (to attempt) to prove it. I will soon be creating another blog called "A Writing Faux Pas" where I will post original works of fiction spewed forth from my very own brain. My hope is to write an entire novel over the course of a year, and YOU are going to keep me accountable.
But don't worry! That doesn't mean this blog will start getting neglected. This is where I park my crazy and where I will continue to do so for many years to come. As proof, here's a series of photos of me attempting to mate with a peacock:
Long story short, I slept alone that night.
The Sound of Gaming
I'm a gamer. I enjoy sitting on the couch, playing a videogame on the 'ol Wife 360. I grew up playing Pong and Pacman, eventually graduating to games like Double Dragon and Golden Axe. Before long it was Doom and Command & Conquer, Mortal Kombat and Streetfighter. These days it's whatever the hell I feel like. I rock at Guitar Hero (I recently won a competition at a music festival - thankyou 10+ years of violin lessons!) and am currently really enjoying Batman Arkham Asylum. There was one stage in my life where I was even writing game reviews - so yeah, you could definitely say gaming is a big part of my life.
As I said, I've been playing Batman Arkham Asylum and it's had me nutting out one geekgasm after another (I'm sure I could word that sentence better but hey, it's late and I've stopped caring). I mean, I loved the Batman movies. I'm a huge Batman fan (I wish I was Batman but unfortunately I'm afraid of heights and about as athletic as an overweight albatross) so when they finally released a decent Batman game, I was practically throwing up with excitement.
This made me think, "what other movies do I love that are long overdue for a videogame adaptation?" And then it hit me: The Sound of Music. I mean, everyone loves that movie!
The first stage could have Maria running back to the abbey, weaving through trees and jumping over babbling brooks, all within a time limit of course. If you don't make it back in time, you'll piss off the nuns, all the nuns, to the point where even Sister Margaretta won't defend you. Then they all turn into ninjas and kill you.
I mean, this game would even have freakin' Nazis! Nazis - the most ok-to-shoot videogame villains of all time! Only you probably wouldn't get to shoot them (except for Rolf). Hide from them? Yes. Shoot them? No. Sing at them? Definitely!
In fact, screw this! Tomorrow, I'm waking up and calling Activision first thing in the morning. I'll let you all know how that goes.
I'm going to be a millionaire! :)
As I said, I've been playing Batman Arkham Asylum and it's had me nutting out one geekgasm after another (I'm sure I could word that sentence better but hey, it's late and I've stopped caring). I mean, I loved the Batman movies. I'm a huge Batman fan (I wish I was Batman but unfortunately I'm afraid of heights and about as athletic as an overweight albatross) so when they finally released a decent Batman game, I was practically throwing up with excitement.
This made me think, "what other movies do I love that are long overdue for a videogame adaptation?" And then it hit me: The Sound of Music. I mean, everyone loves that movie!
The first stage could have Maria running back to the abbey, weaving through trees and jumping over babbling brooks, all within a time limit of course. If you don't make it back in time, you'll piss off the nuns, all the nuns, to the point where even Sister Margaretta won't defend you. Then they all turn into ninjas and kill you.
I mean, this game would even have freakin' Nazis! Nazis - the most ok-to-shoot videogame villains of all time! Only you probably wouldn't get to shoot them (except for Rolf). Hide from them? Yes. Shoot them? No. Sing at them? Definitely!
In fact, screw this! Tomorrow, I'm waking up and calling Activision first thing in the morning. I'll let you all know how that goes.
I'm going to be a millionaire! :)
Watch out Maria! It's a von Trapp!!
Monday, November 9, 2009
Time to file for divorce. I'm sure there's an app for that...
My wife and I have been married for almost 5 years now, and have been together for almost 10. I suppose that's not a bad run. As they say, all good things come to an end. However, I never thought it'd end like this.
The other day my wife bought something new - something you use by holding close to your body. The thing would even vibrate if you wanted it to. It was something she'd been wanting for a while, and like a fool, I let her get one.
I'm cursing myself now even as I write this. I should have seen it coming. I mean, the day she purchased her new toy she ended up spending the whole day with it. She even went to bed early to play with it.
And now, most nights when I go to bed, this is what I'm confronted with:
And on my pillow no less! I guess I'm no longer needed. I've been replaced - by an iHusband. And she never stops touching the damn thing either. But you know what? It doesn't matter. It's just a fad. It'll pass - I'm sure of it. I'm a patient man. A couple of years and everything will be back to normal.
Ah well, in the interim there's always my Wife 360...
The other day my wife bought something new - something you use by holding close to your body. The thing would even vibrate if you wanted it to. It was something she'd been wanting for a while, and like a fool, I let her get one.
I'm cursing myself now even as I write this. I should have seen it coming. I mean, the day she purchased her new toy she ended up spending the whole day with it. She even went to bed early to play with it.
And now, most nights when I go to bed, this is what I'm confronted with:
And on my pillow no less! I guess I'm no longer needed. I've been replaced - by an iHusband. And she never stops touching the damn thing either. But you know what? It doesn't matter. It's just a fad. It'll pass - I'm sure of it. I'm a patient man. A couple of years and everything will be back to normal.
Ah well, in the interim there's always my Wife 360...
Back to work tomorrow
And by "work" I mean "blogging". I took this last weekend off after getting the H1N1 swine flu vaccine which absolutely floored me! I've never felt so fatigued in all my life!
Anyway, until my "real" post tomorrow, here's a little something I discovered a while back on Google maps. Time to get interactive:
1. Go to Google Maps.
2. Click on "Get Directions".
3. In A, type: "Archdale VIC"
4. In B, type: "Carolina Beach, N Carolina, USA"
5. Click on "Get Directions".
Voilà! Driving to the USA from Australia is possible! Google says so. It's all there plain and simple, step by step. Even better, each step is numbered. Take step 41 for example:
At the roundabout, take the 3rd exit onto Myilly Tce.
No problem! Too easy, just like the next step:
Turn left to stay on Myilly Tce.
C'mon, give me a challenge!
Kayak across the Pacific Ocean.
WHAT THE...?!?!?!
...for 5,404 km
Who in their right mind would kayak across the freakin' Pacific Ocean?
What I love is the next step after you've supposedly just casually kayaked across the Pacific with a laptop balanced across your knees:
Turn right.
Seriously, could you be more vague? I mean, I just kayaked 5,404 km and all you tell me on the other side is "turn right"? And turn right in what? I'm pretty sure I ditched my car back in Australia for a kayak.
Oh well, at least I'm immune to swine flu.
Anyway, until my "real" post tomorrow, here's a little something I discovered a while back on Google maps. Time to get interactive:
1. Go to Google Maps.
2. Click on "Get Directions".
3. In A, type: "Archdale VIC"
4. In B, type: "Carolina Beach, N Carolina, USA"
5. Click on "Get Directions".
Voilà! Driving to the USA from Australia is possible! Google says so. It's all there plain and simple, step by step. Even better, each step is numbered. Take step 41 for example:
At the roundabout, take the 3rd exit onto Myilly Tce.
No problem! Too easy, just like the next step:
Turn left to stay on Myilly Tce.
C'mon, give me a challenge!
Kayak across the Pacific Ocean.
WHAT THE...?!?!?!
...for 5,404 km
Who in their right mind would kayak across the freakin' Pacific Ocean?
What I love is the next step after you've supposedly just casually kayaked across the Pacific with a laptop balanced across your knees:
Turn right.
Seriously, could you be more vague? I mean, I just kayaked 5,404 km and all you tell me on the other side is "turn right"? And turn right in what? I'm pretty sure I ditched my car back in Australia for a kayak.
Oh well, at least I'm immune to swine flu.
Thursday, November 5, 2009
HOW short are you?
I'm damn short. "Compact" is a word often used to describe me. I rock at paintball because I'm such a non-target and I frequently get people petting me on the head. I'm also almost a foot shorter than my wife - a fact most people don't believe when I first tell them.
"My wife's a foot taller than me."
"No!"
"Seriously."
"No!"
"Yeah, it's true."
"Really?"
"Yup."
"You're joking."
"Nope."
"Seriously?"
"Seriously."
"No!"
"Yup."
"Really?"
(This is where I want to punch them in the head).
And just when they start coming around to the idea that I may actually be married to a woman a foot taller than me, I hit them with, "Oh, and she's white too."
Now I don't know why, but when I say this to another Asian, they FREAK OUT. And it's a weird kind of freak out too.
Here it is step by step:
1. Incredulous stare.
2. Eyes divert to wall behind me.
3. Eyes glaze over.
4. Face appears thoughtful yet confused.
5. Eyes unglaze.
6. Smile appears on corner of face.
I've seen it enough times to desperately want to know what the hell is going in their heads. Anyone got any ideas? Anyone?
Anyway, some pics:
As you can see, she makes me look like a hobbit. (A fact I secretly love).
Now I know what you're thinking: "How does that... work?"
This is Step 7 of the Asian FREAK OUT. They have a million different questions they want to ask and they don't know where to begin. This results in an internal brain implosion that causes them to just nod politely and change the subject.
Now I know a few of you are experiencing the same thing and to you I say - jusk ask! It's not worth having an aneurysm over. If I think I can answer you without pissing off my wife so badly that she tosses me across the room, I will.
And HelBel, if you're reading this - love you babe! Can I have some of your Lembas bread?
"My wife's a foot taller than me."
"No!"
"Seriously."
"No!"
"Yeah, it's true."
"Really?"
"Yup."
"You're joking."
"Nope."
"Seriously?"
"Seriously."
"No!"
"Yup."
"Really?"
(This is where I want to punch them in the head).
And just when they start coming around to the idea that I may actually be married to a woman a foot taller than me, I hit them with, "Oh, and she's white too."
Now I don't know why, but when I say this to another Asian, they FREAK OUT. And it's a weird kind of freak out too.
Here it is step by step:
1. Incredulous stare.
2. Eyes divert to wall behind me.
3. Eyes glaze over.
4. Face appears thoughtful yet confused.
5. Eyes unglaze.
6. Smile appears on corner of face.
I've seen it enough times to desperately want to know what the hell is going in their heads. Anyone got any ideas? Anyone?
Anyway, some pics:
As you can see, she makes me look like a hobbit. (A fact I secretly love).
Now I know what you're thinking: "How does that... work?"
This is Step 7 of the Asian FREAK OUT. They have a million different questions they want to ask and they don't know where to begin. This results in an internal brain implosion that causes them to just nod politely and change the subject.
Now I know a few of you are experiencing the same thing and to you I say - jusk ask! It's not worth having an aneurysm over. If I think I can answer you without pissing off my wife so badly that she tosses me across the room, I will.
And HelBel, if you're reading this - love you babe! Can I have some of your Lembas bread?
Wednesday, November 4, 2009
Excuse me darlin’… oh geez, you’re a guy!
So that tends to happen to me a lot. I'm short with long hair so people approaching me from behind always assume I'm a girl. Take this story for example:
A few years ago, I was attending a pre-marital counselling seminar with my wife, sister, and her soon-to-be husband, Stew.
After a long day of sessions and workshops, the day’s participants got together in a big circle and started chatting.
At a certain point during the conversation Stew left to go the bathroom. Upon his return he stood behind me and started lovingly rubbing my arms. (At the time I didn’t react, for you see, Stew is one of friendliest people you'll ever meet and I simply thought he was trying out a new, very gay way of reaching out to his future brother-in-law.) The arm fondling was quickly followed by a huge "whack!" on my back.
It was only when I noticed my sister pointing at Stew, laughing her head off that I realised what had happened:
After walking out of the bathroom, Stew had headed for the nearest long-haired Asian assuming it was his fiancé. Being the loving sort of fellow he was, he'd started stroking the Asian's arms in a state of blissful happiness - one that quickly dissolved into confusion as he found my sister staring back at him from across the room.
Realising his blunder, he'd attempted to make up for it by performing the manliest back-slap known to humankind.
Now how is it fair that I get mistaken for my sister - and get physically abused at the same time? Needless to say, I hope one of the workshops Stew attended was "how to identify your own wife".
Sometimes a person doesn't even have to approach me from behind. Countless times I've had a shopkeeper walk up to me and say, "Can I help you there ma'am?" only to go bright red in the face when they realise their embarrassing mistake. (Though I have used this to my advantage in the past to get massive discounts). Because of incidents like this I've had a mini goatee on my chin for the last few years - not because I think it looks stylish, but rather to give people a freakin' hint!
It may sound like I'm at breaking point, but I'm not. However, this whole issue has got me thinking that perhaps I should cut my hair short. The problem is, I’ve had long hair for almost a decade and it’s kind of grown on me (no pun intended).
Regardless, I’ve decided to leave it up to you by setting up a poll that’s due to close on the day of my fifth wedding anniversary. On that day I reveal to my wife (and the world) whether my hair stays or goes – a decision that could very well change the course of history as we know it!
N.B. Stew has never touched me indecently since, and we continue to have a healthy relationship based on not touching each other.
A few years ago, I was attending a pre-marital counselling seminar with my wife, sister, and her soon-to-be husband, Stew.
After a long day of sessions and workshops, the day’s participants got together in a big circle and started chatting.
At a certain point during the conversation Stew left to go the bathroom. Upon his return he stood behind me and started lovingly rubbing my arms. (At the time I didn’t react, for you see, Stew is one of friendliest people you'll ever meet and I simply thought he was trying out a new, very gay way of reaching out to his future brother-in-law.) The arm fondling was quickly followed by a huge "whack!" on my back.
It was only when I noticed my sister pointing at Stew, laughing her head off that I realised what had happened:
After walking out of the bathroom, Stew had headed for the nearest long-haired Asian assuming it was his fiancé. Being the loving sort of fellow he was, he'd started stroking the Asian's arms in a state of blissful happiness - one that quickly dissolved into confusion as he found my sister staring back at him from across the room.
Realising his blunder, he'd attempted to make up for it by performing the manliest back-slap known to humankind.
Now how is it fair that I get mistaken for my sister - and get physically abused at the same time? Needless to say, I hope one of the workshops Stew attended was "how to identify your own wife".
Sometimes a person doesn't even have to approach me from behind. Countless times I've had a shopkeeper walk up to me and say, "Can I help you there ma'am?" only to go bright red in the face when they realise their embarrassing mistake. (Though I have used this to my advantage in the past to get massive discounts). Because of incidents like this I've had a mini goatee on my chin for the last few years - not because I think it looks stylish, but rather to give people a freakin' hint!
It may sound like I'm at breaking point, but I'm not. However, this whole issue has got me thinking that perhaps I should cut my hair short. The problem is, I’ve had long hair for almost a decade and it’s kind of grown on me (no pun intended).
Regardless, I’ve decided to leave it up to you by setting up a poll that’s due to close on the day of my fifth wedding anniversary. On that day I reveal to my wife (and the world) whether my hair stays or goes – a decision that could very well change the course of history as we know it!
N.B. Stew has never touched me indecently since, and we continue to have a healthy relationship based on not touching each other.
Monday, November 2, 2009
No bull
The following story is a fairly long one. It wasn't written by me, but rather by a friend who had an unfortunate accident one night in Western Australia. The story was written only a few hours after the accident, and for that reason I've left it largely unedited.
I don't know about you, but for me, this is one of the most entertaining things I've ever read. (I'm such a heartless bastard). Enjoy!
N.B. "Robertson" is an old schoolfriend who started ditching get-togethers in favour of hanging out with a group of role-players. And in case you can't tell, the friend who wrote this story really hates role-players.
My car smashed into a huge bull carcass on the way back to Derby from Broome tonight. Some arsehole truck driver before me hit it and just left it lying in the middle of the lane. My feeble Mazda had no chance. I rolled over three times and the car ended up on the side of the road facing Broome. Luckily a car drove past pretty quickly and the guys in it tied the bull to their 4-wheel drive and pulled it off the road so there would be no more accidents. The bull wasn't quite dead, or at least its body made gurgling noises as the 4 wheel drive dragged it. They also spoke of returning to cut meat off the bull, which seemed to be making them hungry. They were serious about this too, I think, because they spoke about how uncommon it was to have that much meat available. So though the bull was the source of my misfortune, for them it was Christmas come early, which is just swell except my car isn't insured anymore (I changed to third-party a few months ago).
Anyway, my Nintendo DS was intact. The road-kill-eaters (I feel slack dissing them because they helped) dropped me off at the hospital and they reckon I'm ok just in shock and I will probably hurt a bit tomorrow. It was freaky because I could feel my head hitting the roof as the car rolled and I was thinking “should I protect my head with my hands” and then I go “no I don't want to cut my hands” and then I remembered my head and chest were more important than my hands so I covered them but then the car stopped rolling anyway. And at the same time I was thinking how messed up I would be and how like parts of my body would be all over the place, and how I couldn't feel it yet because I was numb. And I had three-quarters of an Eagle Boys pizza in the back of the car and it flew all over the place and when I came back to inspect the car in the dark I thought the mangled pepperoni pizza was pieces of my flesh, like I had been torn apart by one of those totally awesome werewolves in that game Robertson plays because it's awesomer than meeting his friends once every six months. But I have barely a scratch because of safety glass and all that.
The pricks at the hospital made me do a urine test. Is that compulsory or did they think I was a druggie because I think it's OK to wear a Fantastic Four shirt at 27? Anyway they had to play with half a cup of my urine so the joke's on them. Then they forgot they already had a cup of my urine and asked me to urinate again I think they're weird fetishists or something, so I explained that they already had a sample of my urine but I gave them a brochure for the role-play society just in case they wanted to hang out with other people who think consuming body fluids is cool.
Anyway the car is designed to fall apart to protect the driver which is good but lame from a financial perspective as I will almost certainly need to buy a new car.
I will try to return to the scene to get photos of the deceased bull and the deceased car for your enjoyment. I apologise for not getting pictures at the time it happened, this was very thoughtless and inconsiderate of me, but I was more concerned with being alive. But it will be awesomer later after my saviours have cut chunks out of the lame car-wrecking bull and you can laugh at its dead bull innards which will be a fitting punishment for its (car-abusing) kind (but I would rather have photos of the truckdriver with his stomach torn open. Prick).
Lameness.
I don't know about you, but for me, this is one of the most entertaining things I've ever read. (I'm such a heartless bastard). Enjoy!
N.B. "Robertson" is an old schoolfriend who started ditching get-togethers in favour of hanging out with a group of role-players. And in case you can't tell, the friend who wrote this story really hates role-players.
My car smashed into a huge bull carcass on the way back to Derby from Broome tonight. Some arsehole truck driver before me hit it and just left it lying in the middle of the lane. My feeble Mazda had no chance. I rolled over three times and the car ended up on the side of the road facing Broome. Luckily a car drove past pretty quickly and the guys in it tied the bull to their 4-wheel drive and pulled it off the road so there would be no more accidents. The bull wasn't quite dead, or at least its body made gurgling noises as the 4 wheel drive dragged it. They also spoke of returning to cut meat off the bull, which seemed to be making them hungry. They were serious about this too, I think, because they spoke about how uncommon it was to have that much meat available. So though the bull was the source of my misfortune, for them it was Christmas come early, which is just swell except my car isn't insured anymore (I changed to third-party a few months ago).
Anyway, my Nintendo DS was intact. The road-kill-eaters (I feel slack dissing them because they helped) dropped me off at the hospital and they reckon I'm ok just in shock and I will probably hurt a bit tomorrow. It was freaky because I could feel my head hitting the roof as the car rolled and I was thinking “should I protect my head with my hands” and then I go “no I don't want to cut my hands” and then I remembered my head and chest were more important than my hands so I covered them but then the car stopped rolling anyway. And at the same time I was thinking how messed up I would be and how like parts of my body would be all over the place, and how I couldn't feel it yet because I was numb. And I had three-quarters of an Eagle Boys pizza in the back of the car and it flew all over the place and when I came back to inspect the car in the dark I thought the mangled pepperoni pizza was pieces of my flesh, like I had been torn apart by one of those totally awesome werewolves in that game Robertson plays because it's awesomer than meeting his friends once every six months. But I have barely a scratch because of safety glass and all that.
The pricks at the hospital made me do a urine test. Is that compulsory or did they think I was a druggie because I think it's OK to wear a Fantastic Four shirt at 27? Anyway they had to play with half a cup of my urine so the joke's on them. Then they forgot they already had a cup of my urine and asked me to urinate again I think they're weird fetishists or something, so I explained that they already had a sample of my urine but I gave them a brochure for the role-play society just in case they wanted to hang out with other people who think consuming body fluids is cool.
Anyway the car is designed to fall apart to protect the driver which is good but lame from a financial perspective as I will almost certainly need to buy a new car.
I will try to return to the scene to get photos of the deceased bull and the deceased car for your enjoyment. I apologise for not getting pictures at the time it happened, this was very thoughtless and inconsiderate of me, but I was more concerned with being alive. But it will be awesomer later after my saviours have cut chunks out of the lame car-wrecking bull and you can laugh at its dead bull innards which will be a fitting punishment for its (car-abusing) kind (but I would rather have photos of the truckdriver with his stomach torn open. Prick).
Lameness.
Sunday, November 1, 2009
I make my own Rorschach in the shower
I know what some of you may be thinking at this stage, and believe me, that's not it.
As most of you would've worked out already, I'm Asian which means I'm pretty hairless. I shave about once every 2 weeks and the phrase "five 'o clock shadow" has never applied to me. I also don't sweat under my armpits - something I'll elaborate on in a later post. But despite being mostly hairless, there is one place on my body where hair grows like a weed and that's the top of my head.
Now, I'm an Asian man with long hair (original, I know) and the problem with long hair and having it grow so quickly is that I moult like crazy. I moult so much I was Moses's back-up plague in case the first 10 didn't work. On a good day I moult more than a dog that's just discovered it's wandered into the kitchen of a Korean restaurant.
What this means is that when I squeeze all the water out of my ponytail after taking a shower, I'm left with long stringy handfuls of wet clingy hair.
I'm sure all you long-haired freaks out there can relate and to you people I now pose this question: What the hell do you do with all that hair? I mean, presumably you've already turned the water off, and turning it back on just to wash crap off your hands would be a waste. You definitely can't just fling the stuff off your hands, so what do you do?
Here's what I do - I stick it onto the shower walls, and it ends up looking a little something like this:
Before you think, "Oh, you're feral!" realise that I do usually wipe it off after stepping out of the shower and into my undies. I say 'usually' because sometimes they end up looking rather artistic. Take the picture above for example. When I look at it, I see an old man crying because he's made out of hair. What do you see?
I write this post for I am determined not to be the only freak in the world who engages in such questionable activities. Join me, my long-haired brothers and sisters, as we seek to subvert the dominant paradigm of... not doing this sort of stuff.
Seriously, send me photos of your own hair murals to:
tomurai2776@gmail.com, and I will start posting them up here.
Together, we can make this world a hairier place.
As most of you would've worked out already, I'm Asian which means I'm pretty hairless. I shave about once every 2 weeks and the phrase "five 'o clock shadow" has never applied to me. I also don't sweat under my armpits - something I'll elaborate on in a later post. But despite being mostly hairless, there is one place on my body where hair grows like a weed and that's the top of my head.
Now, I'm an Asian man with long hair (original, I know) and the problem with long hair and having it grow so quickly is that I moult like crazy. I moult so much I was Moses's back-up plague in case the first 10 didn't work. On a good day I moult more than a dog that's just discovered it's wandered into the kitchen of a Korean restaurant.
What this means is that when I squeeze all the water out of my ponytail after taking a shower, I'm left with long stringy handfuls of wet clingy hair.
I'm sure all you long-haired freaks out there can relate and to you people I now pose this question: What the hell do you do with all that hair? I mean, presumably you've already turned the water off, and turning it back on just to wash crap off your hands would be a waste. You definitely can't just fling the stuff off your hands, so what do you do?
Here's what I do - I stick it onto the shower walls, and it ends up looking a little something like this:
Before you think, "Oh, you're feral!" realise that I do usually wipe it off after stepping out of the shower and into my undies. I say 'usually' because sometimes they end up looking rather artistic. Take the picture above for example. When I look at it, I see an old man crying because he's made out of hair. What do you see?
I write this post for I am determined not to be the only freak in the world who engages in such questionable activities. Join me, my long-haired brothers and sisters, as we seek to subvert the dominant paradigm of... not doing this sort of stuff.
Seriously, send me photos of your own hair murals to:
tomurai2776@gmail.com, and I will start posting them up here.
Together, we can make this world a hairier place.
Saturday, October 31, 2009
Trivial poetry
I attended a trivia night tonight. The night started off well with our team selecting what we thought was a suitably amusing team name.
In the early rounds we were doing well, hovering between 1st and 3rd. Then came a bonus round in which teams had to write and perform a warcry.
There were only 2 rules: the warcry had to rhyme, and it had to revolve around your team name.
As I heard this my eyes widened in horror. Guess what we'd chosen to call our team? "Green Ecology Limitless Magnificence."
What made the situation worse was that everyone at the table (computer engineers and scientists) turned to me - the Arts Student. Apparently this was my time to shine. Unfortunately I hate poetry. I suck at it, always have and avoid it like the plague. My two favourite poems of all time include:
Roses are red,
Violets are blue.
Some poems rhyme,
but this one doesn't.
and
There once was a boy named Mel,
who used to write poems quite well.
The beginnings were nice,
the middles sufficed,
but somehow when he got to the end he could never quite get them to finish the way he wanted them to.
The devil talks in rhymes, I'm sure of it. But anyway, to cut a long story short, we ended up yelling this out a few times:
Green, ecology, limitless magnificence.
Come, bask in our Batman-like omniscience.
Yeah, it sucks - I know. I feel ashamed to have tainted Batman's good name by associating it with such trite. Batman, if you're out there, I'm sorry. If you'd been on my team I'm sure you would've had some sort of warcry generating gadget on your belt of limitless magnificence.
So in conclusion, pick simple names for your team at trivia nights. Eyes widening in horror is not a good thing. Especially if you're Asian. There's only so wide they can get before it starts to hurt.
In the early rounds we were doing well, hovering between 1st and 3rd. Then came a bonus round in which teams had to write and perform a warcry.
There were only 2 rules: the warcry had to rhyme, and it had to revolve around your team name.
As I heard this my eyes widened in horror. Guess what we'd chosen to call our team? "Green Ecology Limitless Magnificence."
What made the situation worse was that everyone at the table (computer engineers and scientists) turned to me - the Arts Student. Apparently this was my time to shine. Unfortunately I hate poetry. I suck at it, always have and avoid it like the plague. My two favourite poems of all time include:
Roses are red,
Violets are blue.
Some poems rhyme,
but this one doesn't.
and
There once was a boy named Mel,
who used to write poems quite well.
The beginnings were nice,
the middles sufficed,
but somehow when he got to the end he could never quite get them to finish the way he wanted them to.
The devil talks in rhymes, I'm sure of it. But anyway, to cut a long story short, we ended up yelling this out a few times:
Green, ecology, limitless magnificence.
Come, bask in our Batman-like omniscience.
Yeah, it sucks - I know. I feel ashamed to have tainted Batman's good name by associating it with such trite. Batman, if you're out there, I'm sorry. If you'd been on my team I'm sure you would've had some sort of warcry generating gadget on your belt of limitless magnificence.
So in conclusion, pick simple names for your team at trivia nights. Eyes widening in horror is not a good thing. Especially if you're Asian. There's only so wide they can get before it starts to hurt.
Thursday, October 29, 2009
When I become Grand Poobah of the Universe...
...I'm going to replace medical certificates with "well done for staying at home and looking after yourself" certificates.
Surely you people out there can relate. You wake up feeling like crap, can barely get out of bed to empty your bursting bladder and yet you're expected to leave your cosy bed and head for the medical centre.
Once at the medical centre you gain the privilege of waiting in a room full of sick contagious people, which of course, is exactly what your body needs.
After waiting a few hours, you're finally granted an audience with Dr. Desensitised who tells you to get some rest, stay warm and drink lots of fluids. Bugger! It's too bad you'd scheduled a marathon in the rain today in which you were going to run naked in order to raise awareness for a "water is bad for you" campaign.
And by now you've over exerted yourself while in this fragile state, which means you're probably going to have to go back to the doctors again tomorrow because, of course, the doctor only gave you one day off work.
Vote for me at the next Grand Poobah elections!!
Surely you people out there can relate. You wake up feeling like crap, can barely get out of bed to empty your bursting bladder and yet you're expected to leave your cosy bed and head for the medical centre.
Once at the medical centre you gain the privilege of waiting in a room full of sick contagious people, which of course, is exactly what your body needs.
After waiting a few hours, you're finally granted an audience with Dr. Desensitised who tells you to get some rest, stay warm and drink lots of fluids. Bugger! It's too bad you'd scheduled a marathon in the rain today in which you were going to run naked in order to raise awareness for a "water is bad for you" campaign.
And by now you've over exerted yourself while in this fragile state, which means you're probably going to have to go back to the doctors again tomorrow because, of course, the doctor only gave you one day off work.
Vote for me at the next Grand Poobah elections!!
Oh dear Lord they're Clones!!
What the hell is up with these women? They all have the same "look" yet I'm not quite sure what that "look" is. There is one thing I do find particularly odd in regards to the picture above. Despite them all looking the same I only find one of these women attractive. Can you guess which one? And what the hell is wrong with me?
Wednesday, October 28, 2009
Yabby blues
I remember the first house I lived in. I spent my childhood there until I was 11 and looking back, it was a luxurious place to live. Giant backyard, huge living areas and most importantly, large enough to house all the pets I used to collect.
The first interesting pet I remember owning was a blue yabby who shared a fishtank with our giant goldfish. I remember the yabby well due to his tenacity and sheer will to be free. In total, the yabby had five escape attempts, the most successful attempt getting him outside and half way down the driveway.
We always wondered how the yabby managed to get out of the fish tank until one fateful day I managed to catch him in the act. The yabby would wedge his body between the glass and filter, then slowly crawl his way up and out through a gap in the glass. It was a problem instantly remedied by placing a rock over the gap.
Unfortunately, the yabby died shortly after by capturing and gorging himself on one of the goldfish. He probably figured he'd never successfully escape now that I knew his little secret.
I suppose it's true what they say - life without hope just isn't worth living. Once you come to realise this my friends, know that you are on the same intellectual plane - as a yabby.
The first interesting pet I remember owning was a blue yabby who shared a fishtank with our giant goldfish. I remember the yabby well due to his tenacity and sheer will to be free. In total, the yabby had five escape attempts, the most successful attempt getting him outside and half way down the driveway.
We always wondered how the yabby managed to get out of the fish tank until one fateful day I managed to catch him in the act. The yabby would wedge his body between the glass and filter, then slowly crawl his way up and out through a gap in the glass. It was a problem instantly remedied by placing a rock over the gap.
Unfortunately, the yabby died shortly after by capturing and gorging himself on one of the goldfish. He probably figured he'd never successfully escape now that I knew his little secret.
I suppose it's true what they say - life without hope just isn't worth living. Once you come to realise this my friends, know that you are on the same intellectual plane - as a yabby.
Poo stains on the toilet
This will only apply to men, however, if you are in fact a woman and can relate to this, you're doing something very, very wrong.
Occassionally, when visiting a toilet to deposit your supply of urine, you will, upon looking down into the bowl find - a poo stain. Some people will instantly look away in disgust and head for an alternative urinal depository. Others will reach for the toilet brush, but not I. No, upon seeing a poo stain I think one thing, and one thing only - a challenge! And what is this challenge?
Can my stream of urine wash away the entire stain before my internal jets cut out?
If you find yourself smiling at this point then we can throw our arms around one another and call each other friend. In this vast universe of uncertainty and conflict, we have found a point of cohesion upon which to relate. There is however, one point that can unhinge our newfound friendship - upon success or failure of your streaming venture, how do you perceive the events which just unfolded?
If successful, was it due to the high potency and overwhelming force of your mighty wee-wee? Or was it simply that the stain lacked the fortitude to just hold on?
If unsuccessful, was it because the stain had received special training from a remora or is it just a case of you being woefully inadequate in all areas of your life?
Decide my friend. And decide well. Jesus is watching.
Occassionally, when visiting a toilet to deposit your supply of urine, you will, upon looking down into the bowl find - a poo stain. Some people will instantly look away in disgust and head for an alternative urinal depository. Others will reach for the toilet brush, but not I. No, upon seeing a poo stain I think one thing, and one thing only - a challenge! And what is this challenge?
Can my stream of urine wash away the entire stain before my internal jets cut out?
If you find yourself smiling at this point then we can throw our arms around one another and call each other friend. In this vast universe of uncertainty and conflict, we have found a point of cohesion upon which to relate. There is however, one point that can unhinge our newfound friendship - upon success or failure of your streaming venture, how do you perceive the events which just unfolded?
If successful, was it due to the high potency and overwhelming force of your mighty wee-wee? Or was it simply that the stain lacked the fortitude to just hold on?
If unsuccessful, was it because the stain had received special training from a remora or is it just a case of you being woefully inadequate in all areas of your life?
Decide my friend. And decide well. Jesus is watching.
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