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Monday, August 11th, 2008
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10:40 pm
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Dear Diary.
Life is pretty good. Work is pretty good. I am pretty good. Stuff. It is good I think.
I am still in love with a beautiful lady. And she is still in love with me. We are in love. Together. Is the thing I am trying to say. And it is wonderful. Progress is being made on the house building front. We have submitted things for finance approval. We are expecting pre approval within the next week. That will be classy. Tho it will still take a while due to back logs of applications we are told.
On the work front I am not digging early starts. But I am learning all I can about being a super happy extreme manager man at work from my superiors. Sucking their wisdom in to myself like some kind of soul stealing wraith. When I am finished taking their knowledge and they are nothing but shriveled empty husks I shall discard and replace them. And begin again. Moving ever higher until I rule the world.
Is it a perfect plan? Yes. Yes it is.
There is one issue. My pay rise is pathetic. It is hardly a pay rise at all. I call it a pay joke. I am digging the extra responsibility. And all the extra training. But I am not digging so much the miniscule extra monies. Then again I don't plan to do it forever anyway. I shall take their traning and move on. To bigger and better things.
For now I shall enjoy what I am doing. Because I get to carry a laser gun. I clip the holster to my belt and I walk around with it hanging there. Ready to draw on any doodie dog egg sucking gutter trash that eyeballs me wrong. Slicing them in half with my red beam of justice. Cleanup in aisle 4 I would say as I holstered my gun and turned on my heel. Striding across the tiles and around the corner. Leaving the body to lie on the dirty floor until one of the 15 year old grocery boys comes with his mop and slippery when wet sign and cleans it all away.
Well ok the laser does not actually have the ability to damage anybody. But I like to imagine it does. It really only has the power to scan barcodes and say beep. And sometimes it can't even do that. The customers know I am a dude of importance however. When I whip my gun out and push buttons and make stuff happen. It gets them hot. I see it in their eyes.
Speaking of eyes. It isn't a good idea to scan your eyes with the laser I found out. Somebody had turned the beam around the wrong way and I went to scan an item. Except it was pointing at my face. And I scanned both of my eyeballs. ZZZZAP said the laser beam. Goodness said my eyeballs. Then I had a big blurry line across my eyes for the rest of the day.
But of course work isn't all about carrying a futuristic laser gun and telling 15 year olds what to do. I also have to do much of my old job on top of that. Which brings me to my next point.
You know forklifts right. They are quite large. And heavy. And good at picking up or pushing big heavy things about.
And you know humans? Those squishy little pink things wandering about all over the place. They are not really that big in comparison. Not heavy. Nor good at pushing around or picking up heaving stuff.
Now imagine if a forklift and a human had a fight. Who would win? That's right. Not the squishy pissant human.
So why do these squishy humans insist on walking directly behind a reversing forklift. And I am not just talking random customers or people in the carpark. I am talking store workers. Hell even truck drivers. Seriously.
The forklift says one thing when it is reversing. And it says it very loudly. It says BEEP BEEP FUCKING BEEP. It doesn't say please walk behind me. It doesn't say stand right next to the back end so when I swing it around I crush you. It doesn't say push your trolley and park it behind me. Nor does it ask you politely to BE CRUSHED TO DEATH.
The beeps mean one thing. They mean watch the fuck out. There is a 2 tonne forklift backing the fuck up here. And it you don't get to stepping the fuck out of the way you will be totally dead. And it will be your own smelly fault.
People also insist on driving their cars directly behind me. Ok so maybe you won't die if the forklift hits your car. But you nor your vehicle will be very happy. So just like. Stay away from them. If there is a forklift driving around with a man in a bright yellow vest controlling it trying to unload a truck don't try and squeeze yourself or your car behind it. Don't stand behind it. Don't stop or park or do anything near it. Just go away and come back when the beast is silent and parked.
Because when you are in whatever afterlife you believe in and some dude is all how did you die. And you say oh I walked behind a reversing forklift. They will be all oh was it broken was it not making loud warning beep noises and have huge roaring engines and generally look like a dangerous piece of equipment you should try to avoid being underneath. Was there not a man in a fluorescent warning vest driving it and asking you to kindly step away. And you say to them oh no it was doing all of those things. You know what they will do.
They will laugh at you. And nobody will want to be your friend.
Ever.
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| Tuesday, July 22nd, 2008
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5:19 pm - Full of LOVE
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Some of you may be wondering where I have got to lately. Some of you may not. Some of you may be jerks. I don't know. I'm no scientist. But even if you haven't I am going to tell you. Because that is the kind of dude I am. A dude who tells people stuff. Sometimes.
As most of you know to varying degrees I met a girl. A beautiful amazing girl. The most beautiful and amazing girl in the whole world if you ask me. Her name is Kate. Well I met her last year technically. I fell in love with a girl. Actually I fell in love with her a while back too. I gave sexy kisses to a girl. Yes that will do. Hot sexy kisses. On and around the mouth area. I spend all the time I have with her. And if I had more i'd spend that too.
My Kate also has a very cute and lovely (and slightly wacky) daughter. Who I also love. Heck of responsible adult, ya'll. I wish to look after them both with my mighty man powers. Cradle them in my ever sheltering arms of masculinity. All that jazz.
We are so in love it is probably sickening to people who do not enjoy that kind of thing. I mean I have never loved somebody this much before. In this way. I hope it is sickening to those people. I hope they see it and go home and complain on their blogs about the disgusting happy couple they saw canoodling in the shopping centre earlier that day. The sickly sweet pair that decided looking at purple jumpers in big w was more than enough reason to mack on heck of hard. I hope it makes them cry in rage.
Not to sound cheesy but the time I have been with her has seriously been the happiest I can ever remember. I have been sicker than usual for part of it but I am on the mend now. And there have been dramas and excitement in some parts. But it's all worthwhile when I have my pretty lady by my side. I have even been making plans for the future. The future people. And we all know how scared of the future I am. Especially if it involves robots.
I have decided we are going to get married. On top of a mountain. And make babies. Maybe we will make babies on top of the mountain too. Maybe not. Probably they will be born in a hospital tho. Not on the mountain. Nobody wants their baby sliding down a mountain.
I could go on about this girl for hours. Probably I am a bit creepy. Sometimes I watch her sleep. I wake up in the middle of the night and just listen to her breathing. I get lost in her eyes for ages and don't even have to say a word. I do all the cheesy things they do in chick flicks. Or try to. I downloaded and watched the entire season of Australias Next Top Model. I am currently doing the same for something called project runway. I sat on the couch and just held her while we watched the finale of big brother. And I was nothing but absolutely content. Just happy to be there. It's awesome. I would like to keep writing but I am late for dinner now and there is more to tell.
It hasn't all been falling madly in love and whirlwind romance. Mostly it has. But also I have done other things.
I got a promotion at the works. New roster. Slightly better pay. And I am being trained up as a department manager now. New hotness. It means I have to wear fancy pants to work tho. I can never find any that fit. Curse my stumpy legs.
We have also been looking at house and land packages. In fact tomorrow night I shall be attending a meeting with a fellow. A fellow who organises finance. Finance to buy land. And build a house on it. And then live in that house. That will also be awesome.
So that is the much abridged, quick version of what I have been up to. I hope you enjoyed it. No more ineffectual ranting from me. I am happy. Content. I have made my peace with the world. I have boarded the train to happily ever after and for once I actually bought a ticket.
No transit guard of life is going to boot me off.
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| Tuesday, June 24th, 2008
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12:24 am - Dear Centrelink. Please stop fucking with my life.
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SO I quit centrelink. I decided I was tired of them. So I canceled all payments. Fuck them. I will survive by myself I said. Of course it took me 6 weeks for them to LET ME stop getting money from them. Apparently I cannot make that decision myself. But as of last week I was finally free. I thought.
They don't agree it seems.
I receive a letter. Dated the day after I was supposed to be free. This letter states that they would like me to give them all of my monies. Because I am a filthy cheating son of a bitch. Apparently. They think this because I DID THE RIGHT THING. Instead of cheating them. SO now I am evil. Let me explain.
During a period in the 2006/2007 financial year I was quite well and worked many hours. I worked them hard. I worked so many hours and so hard that some would say it was too many. And too hard. Centrelink canceled my payments. I was fine with this. I received no money from them and I did not have to declare the hours I was working. I was happy with the arrangement. All was well.
Sadly I got sick again and had to stop working the fat hours. I crawled back to centrelink and my payments were reinstated. I kept declaring any other hours I worked and all was well again. Sort of.
Anyway. Now they have cross checked tax records with my centrelink records. Apparently I only declared 6000 dollars to them. Yet clearly I earned over 18000 fat monies. Yes I say. I did earn that much. Well now you must give it all to us or we will rape you they say.
I only declared 6000 because that is when I started working too many hours and did the right thing and had my payments suspended. I did not receive any payments during the rest of the period and thus did not have to declare my earnings. If they actually checked any other records. Such as the actual amount of money I received from them and when I received it, they would see that instantly. But no. That is too hard. All they want to check is the OMG HE OWES US MONEY bit. I am sure I can clear this up eventually but it's just extra weeks of hassles and bullshit stress I do not need.
I thought I was free of them. I really did.
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| Saturday, June 7th, 2008
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3:29 pm
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Dear World,
I would just like you to know that if I die tonight, or in the near future. It has been a wondrous time to be alive. We had some good times. And we had some bad. There was laughter and tears. And oh so much fun. It has been an honour drinking and ranting on your face. Thankyou for all the porn. Please give my love to all the puppies.
Love Mikey.
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(3 comments | comment on this)
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| Monday, May 5th, 2008
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2:31 pm - Excremental Soldier 3: Effluence of Evil
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| Friday, April 11th, 2008
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1:13 am - Some movies that only exist in my mind.
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"Parachute Prince: The MC Hammer Story."
After the sudden and massive decline of his career and fortune MC Hammer (Played by Will Smith) has been hit hard. He has become a drug dealer and street soldier for a notoriously brutal street gang. Living rough in the ghetto. But out of the blue he receives a letter. It says he is the last remaining heir to a small african kingdom and his father is demanding his return. He fears his assassination is imminent and knows the only chance for peace is his sons special brand of inoffensive family rap. Can Hammer change his ways, and those of his crew, and become the man he once was. Or will he cause the downfall of an entire nation. An edgy, dark humoured tale of love, life and redemption.
"Terminal Raposity: The Hammer Falls."
The sequel to parachute prince we join hammer 5 years later. He has fought his own demons and brought his warring tribal nation together under his rule. It is a time of great peace and happiness. Record sales are up and the country is prospering. But something is brewing within the military ranks. Before Hammer can say STOP! he finds himself the victim of a violent and bloody coup. Now he must reconnect with his old street crew to retake his nation and reclaim his kidnapped ho and son. But tragedy is all that awaits him.
"STOP! Hammers End"
In the final chapter of the trilogy we join Hammer (now played by Ice T) 10 years later. Living on the run. His family murdered by his violent ex military chief. His niggers all dead. He is a shattered and broken man. Moving from village to village he is nothing but a drifter but then something changes. He befriends a small boy. Hammer begins to realise he still has a heart. Until tragedy strikes! Now he has had enough. He has nothing to lose and everything to gain. 10 years is too long. He is going to get justice or die trying. Hammer like you have never seen him before.
"Lance E. Lot, The Chivalrous Detective"
Lancelot. The greatest knight that ever lived. Member of King Arthurs court. All around super guy. Gritty alcoholic detective? Due to an accident involving a prostitute and a goat in Merlins chambers, Lancelot has been sent forward in time. Resigned to his fate he now runs a small detective agency. Righting wrongs and protecting the weak of the city. Until she walks through his door. Morgause. Sister to the great King Arthur himself. She promises Lancelot he can return to his home if only he will help her track her son, Mordred, the twisted evil creation of an incestuous union between herself and Arthur. He has also escaped in to the future and is wreaking havoc. Lancelot accepts but not all is what it seems in this twisted tale of intrigue, danger and mythology!
"It's Been A Hard Days Knight"
After choosing to stay in the future, Lancelot is still working as a detective. He is approached by a mysterious man to investigate a string of strange disappearances of young female singers. What's a chivalrous knight detective to do? Lancelot goes undercover as the hippest new singer on the block. Can he solve this mystery? Or will he himself become a victim? And who is the mysterious man pulling the strings? Action, adventure, twists and rock music.
"Nugget in Progress"
A heartwarming, kooky tale of a 20 something loser who suddenly realises life is leaving him behind. All his friends are always telling him to grow up. They have careers and lives or are getting married and having kids. He can't even poo in a public toilet. This lovable loser embarks on a journey of self discovery to find his adulthood. Along the way he'll meet new people. Fall in love. And realise growing up and being mature are completely different things. Maybe he'll even learn to poo in public. A hilarious romp from start to finish. A must see for any member of the jaded generation. 5 stars!
"Forkin': Electric Liftaroo."
A cynical, hard working inner city forklift driver takes a wayward and rebellious teenage dancer under his wing. He tries to teach the young boy the knowledge he needs to survive in a harsh and unforgiving world and make him forget his childish dreamer ways. But the teen has other ideas. Through trauma and turmoil they both realise the other has a lot to offer. The teen teaches the grizzled worker he can still dream. And you're never too old to dance. Nor too young to unload a truck. With a forklift.
I get so bored at work.
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(4 comments | comment on this)
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| Thursday, April 10th, 2008
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1:06 am - Amazing Tales of a Mike #85290
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Sometimes at work I drive the forklift. Not very often because Marty is much better at it than me. Mainly I drive it when he is not there. I am pretty good at it I guess. But his superior asian genes makes him far better suited to controlling giant robotic forks. I will never have his skills. I am pretty awesome at driving it in circles about an inch away from buckets tho. I can even do awesome figure 8's if we have 2 buckets. Then they ask me to pick something up and ruin all my fun.
But anyway sometimes I drive it. And when I do I like to make robot noises with my mouth. I realised that this is entirely obsolete as the forklift already makes far better mechanical robot noises by itself. It does not need my pathetic human made robot noises. It knows it's an awesome machine already. I don't care. I make the noises anyway.
Sometimes I just make the noises for the forklift. And sometimes I like to pretend I am also a smaller robot controlling the bigger one and make the noises for myself. And sometimes I pretend the forklift is the sentient being and he is controlling me.
Like in some sort of backwards world. Where robots rule. And the forklift needs to go to worksafe and do a course to obtain a special human license. Maybe it needs one because it has to pick up eggs. Or clean a doily. Or tickle an otter.
And maybe sometimes while he is bored at work and driving his human about he makes squishy human noises. And feels silly because humans already make those noises themselves. Maybe he doesn't care and makes them anyway. Maybe he pretends he is a human too and makes the noises for himself. And maybe sometimes. Just sometimes. As he uses the soft squishy human hands to hand a dog a biscuit and rub its belly. He pretends that the human is controlling him. He imagines a bizarre world. A crazy world.
A world where humans are on top and machines do their bidding. Where they have to obtain licenses to drive forklifts about to pick heavy things up. He smiles to himself and laughs as he imagines this crazy backwards world. And he wonders if in this world. Sometimes humans might wonder about a robot world. And find it utterly ridiculous.
The dog doesn't really think about anything. The dog is content and doesn't need to have outlandish dreams. Because he is a dog. And somebody rubbed his belly.
And gave him a biscuit.
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(7 comments | comment on this)
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| Sunday, April 6th, 2008
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3:29 am - I could make a funeral fun
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So tonight I went out to see a band at ye olde gothic nighte clube. The band was called snog. They were not very good. Maybe it was the bad lighting. Or the bad sound. But mostly I think it was the bad musicians.
Anyway I still had a good time. It cost me 30 dollars to get in so I was damned if I was going to not enjoy myself. In fact. I don't think the people who actually loved the gig had as much fun as me and the fellows. We rocked the shit out of that place. Tomorrow if somebody was all man I lost my shit here last night have you seen it. Management will be all sorry these fucking awesome dudes rocked so much of the shit out of this place last night we have no idea where any of the shit is anymore. One thing we know is it is not in here. At all. Probably try looking out on the street. But I hear they also rocked much of the shit out of the street too.
I did not actually get to press my manly lips against the tender feminine lips of a lady. Nor even hold hands. All romantic like. But that is ok. Next time maybe. I did see some lovely ladies. And as the gentleman I am I did not stare. When they were looking.
Also goths. Ya'll some funny dancers. I mean I go out of my way to actually do comical dances. I don't think half the hilarity going on around me was on purpose tho. I especially liked the one dude who stalwartly refused to dance in tune to any song being played. He just kept on sucking his lollipop and dancing in slow motion to a song only he could hear. I dug that. That dude was doing what the fuck he wanted where he wanted and didn't give a shit about nobody. That is awesome.
Rock on you crazy slow motion man. May your lollipop never dissolve.
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(1 comment | comment on this)
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| Saturday, April 5th, 2008
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1:39 am
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Last season on The Life of Mike.
Drama. Boobies. Jokes. Trolls. Beards. Masturbation. Toys. Pleasure.
And now. The conclusion.
I have moved. Oh yeah. Moved. Moved right the fuck out of the stench units. No more pig people. No more trolls. No more baying and moaning at all hours. Issuing forth from inhuman mouths. Assaulting my ears. No more foul, unholy smells emanating from the filthy skin folds of beastly creatures slapping their fleshy bodies against the walls. Creatures spawned in the bowels of hell itself. No more doormat wars. I am free of such things. For now I live in a house. A glorious house.
I sacrificed my lonely singular existence and moved in with another dude. But it's ok. Because we're not gay. Very much. We're just two guys and we're having a good time.
The landlords have tried to fuck me on the bond. But only a little. Just little enough to make it not worth my time to fight. LEGALLY. Of course I will take my money out of them using less conventional techniques. As is my way. They may get to keep my money but it will be spent on fixing whatever it is I choose to break. I shall think long and hard about such things. And it shall be glorious.
When I am all set up here I will have some sort of party. To celebrate the moving in to a place that is an actual house. But for now I will be going to see a band called Snog tomorrow night. I don't know if there shall be actually snogging at the gig but I hope so. I assume probably other people will do some sort of snog action. Even some lady on lady action. Because that is the way goth ladies seem to roll. But I would like for me to do some snog action too. With a lady. On her lips. That would be pretty cool. I would like for that to be the way the night goes down. But also I will be ok if it doesn't. I am a pretty chilled dude.
So people should probably also come to the snogfest. To party down hard with me. In a consequence free environment.
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(10 comments | comment on this)
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| Friday, March 28th, 2008
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1:42 am - RUN AWAY!
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I recently got given some photos of myself. I feel I have not camwhored enough in my life so I am going to do so now. Because I feel you all need to see my new hotness. My new beardless hotness before I grow my winter plumage back in.
( So sexy! )
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(15 comments | comment on this)
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| Tuesday, February 12th, 2008
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2:22 am - Beards = WIN
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Now I have heard a lot of anitbeard propaganda floating around since my last post. I am appalled. But I am always one to hear both sides of an argument. I like to hear both sides. So I may make people see how wrong they are.
In this spirit of freedom of speech and such I organised a great debate. Those against beards. And those for them. It was to be the greatest of all debates. Broadcast live worldwide. On all stations. If a tv was on in the world this debate would have been on it. The greatest minds in the world were asked to share their views. I did not take in to account one small issue however.
Imagine this if you will. The venue. All ready to go. Set up to perfection. In 45 minutes the greatest debate known to man shall begin. The judges have arrived early. They are excited. They are the finest judging men and women in the world. Hand picked by the leaders of the free world. They sit and wait. Nervous. Excited. Aroused.
And then it happens. A member of the public walks in. He is early. Too early. But he had to catch an early bus from work. There was no time to go home. He didn't want to miss this. He opens the doors and walks down the middle aisle. Still dressed in his work clothes. His shirt untucked. Tie loosened. He looks for the perfect seat. He doesn't want to be right at the front. Nor right at the back. He is choosing a mid ground seat. Situated for maximum visual excitement and minimal annoyance from dirty jerks.
He finds it. He sits down. Opens his bag and takes out a sandwich. It is salami and cheese. He takes a bite. A little warm from the bus trip but still good. He chews it thoughtfully. Takes another. Yes. Not a bad sandwich at all.
One of the judges glances up from the conversation he is having with the others. He stops. He stares. Without taking his eyes from the man he nudges the woman next to him. She grunts in annoyance and looks at him. Wordlessly he motions to the man. She looks. She nudges the man next to her. And so it continues. Until all the judges are staring at this man.
They are transfixed by him. They are mesmerized. They watch him finish his salami sandwich. He opens a small bottle of orange juice. He gulps it down. He wipes his mouth on the sleeve of his white business shirt. He takes out an apple and takes a bite. Then another. He finishes up his apple and again wipes his mouth. He notices some crumbs on his stomach and brushes them away. The first judge starts to put away his papers. The others follow suit. When all of them are packed up they all stand. Not a word is spoken. Not a word needs to be. One pulls out a phone. He takes a photo. Seconds later his phone rings. He answers it. I know he says. Yes. It's real. I understand. The other judges look at him. He nods. They all begin to leave.
The man looks up and watches them leave. As the last passes him he stops. Thankyou says the judge. A tear is running down his cheek. He wipes it away and flees.
The audience member is confused. He has no idea what just happened. He sits patiently and waits. Occasionally he glances at his watch. He waits 2 hours. Nobody arrives. Nothing happens. He stands up and walks out. A crowd is outside. They start cheering. He is confused. He sees the judges standing there. They are clapping and cheering as hard as the rest of the crowd. What is going on wonders the man.
A beautiful woman walks up and takes him by the hand. She leads him to a limousine. Inside is the swedish womens volleyball team. None of them seem to be wearing pants. He runs a hand through his short cropped hair in confusion. He covers his eyes with his hands then removes them. No. Still there. The women close in around him. Nude bodies rubbing and touching.
And right before he succumbs to the sexual ecstasy of it all he wondera. He strokes a hand down his chin. Running it over his magnificent beard.
He can't even begin to realise he has just won the greatest debate the world may have ever known.
By accident.
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(4 comments | comment on this)
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| Wednesday, February 6th, 2008
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12:56 am - Sometimes I feel sorry for ladies.
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I have decided I want to do the Kokoda Trail trek. Because it would be awesome. And I am well in to all the learning about our warlike ancestors and heroes and such. Treading in their footsteps. Watching them march by on Anzac day. Shedding a tear of two. Drinking with them in the pub and listening to their stories. Taking them home and locking them in my wardrobe. That kind of thing.
Of course I will need to man up before I can do it. Man up hard. Or I could just grow my beard back. As we all know having a beard is pretty much the manliest thing a dude can do with his face. More manly than setting your whole head on fire. Or using your eyes to catch knives. Beards are the peak of human evolution. Seriously. It's science.
Back in caveman times when Neanderthals were roaming the world and picking fights with the poor homoerectus fellows nobody had beards. The dudes didn't know what to do. They couldn't catch a break. Then one day an unnamed hero walked out of his cave. He stood alone facing a mindless savage horde of Neanderthal warriors. Baying and growling for his blood. Then mocked and taunted him. Threatened to tell his mum they saw him touching another guys dick. Saying after they had beat him they were going to go and look at his ladies in the shower and laugh. Oh man the dude was steamed. Right in his beans.
The anger inside him was palpable. Nobody laughed at his ladies in the shower and told lies to his mum. It was on. But he couldn't do anything. He was just an ineffectual hairless man. He looked to the heavens and screamed. All his rage and frustration trying to get out. And then it happened. Hair sprouted from his face. BAM! It shot out so fast it created a sonic boom. Hair made of pure awesome. He suddenly felt strong. Invincible. Human evolution stopped in its tracks at that second. Perfection had been reached. He was all that was and would ever be. He was MAN.
He turned to the Neanderthals and just smiled. Smiled through his lush, virile facial hair. Oh man they were scared. One pooed in his loincloth so hard all his organs fell out. The leader tried to be a hero and charged. The first beard simply laughed. He flicked his chin at the charging savage. The Neanderthal exploded. Razor sharp hairs shot out from the beard and pierced the chunky bodies of the others. All but one died screaming. The survivor fled and spread the story of mans secret new weapon. His fear became a sickness. A wasting disease. Soon they were all dead. And man had won. Man had won because of beards. Beards changed the world.
Since then beards have been used as signs of authority. Power. Aesthetically pleasing and stern. They command respect and awe. In days gone by they were seen as signs of virility and good breeding. Why a man wouldn't even dream of trying to coerce a lady of virtue under the covers without first showing her his finely constructed facial friend. Beard displays amongst rival suiters were quite common.
All men should grow a beard at some time in their life. Even if you shave it off one day it will always be with you. A mans first beard does something to him. It sends tendrils of pure awesome up in to his brain. And they can never be removed. A beard isn't just hair on a face. It is another organ. A necessary one. The hair you see is just the tip of the iceberg. The feelers reaching out to the world. Have you ever heard when people talk about having a sixth sense. The sixth sense is beards.
They actually have a form of sentience. If a man listens closely he can hear his beard. Whispering to him. Guiding him to greatness. Beards can also communicate with other beards. Sense when they are close by. Blue tooth was backwards engineered from beard technology. So much of what we know and take for granted can be directly attributed to a dude having a beard.
Beards are like a badge of honour. A shield to defend against injustice. They are an orgasm for your face. When you trim them it is like giving your face a handjob. And everybody loves handjobs. I was just thinking a moment ago how I wished I was getting a handjob right now.
Beards are love and hate. Life and death. Day and night. They are everything and nothing. Beards are wise and noble. They see all. They hear all. They ARE all.
Nobody can truly understand a beard until they have one of their own.
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(8 comments | comment on this)
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| Wednesday, January 30th, 2008
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11:45 am - Of dreams and such.
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Lastnight I had a weird dream. Very weird I feel. It was weird enough, I felt, to warrant me getting up and writing as much as I could remember down and trying to put it in to a coherent order for the future. So in the true spirit of sharing I will now tell you all about it.
That is why I should not be allowed to dream.
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(1 comment | comment on this)
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| Monday, January 28th, 2008
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4:08 am
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I do not write entries every day. I do not write them every second day. Sometimes I go months without uttering a word on this livejournal thing. I also find it ridiculous that the word 'livejournal' is tagged as a spelling mistake by livejournal itself. Maybe it is just me. I do not know.
I quite like the fact that when I am ridiculously drunk. Such as now. That when I look up at the screen all my typos and spelling mistakes are highlighted in red. Obviously I still have to sort through them for actual spelling mistakes and simply words that americans spell wrong because they are fucking retarded. But it helps. A bit.
Anyway I have nothing to really say right now of any importance. Except maybe I am pretty cool. Because I am. I think. A pretty cool dude. I have met a lot of dudes over the years. I have worked them with. Had to deal with them. Simply had to serve them. And of the many many hundreds of dudes I have had to engage in human interaction. I would say I am in the top 1% of awesome fuckers.
You may not agree. But it isn't my fault that you are not in that 1 percentile of which I speak. I can't be held accountable for you lack of awesome fuckerness.
I went to some fellows house tonight. I guess he is a sexy fellow. His lady is a far sexier fellow. Because of the boobies. And vagina. And all around being a hell of lady. But I would not ever try to seduce her. Because I am a gent. I cooked some saucy steak. Then I ate it. And drank all of the booze. All of the booze in the fridge. Now I am at home. And I am drinking all of the booze that is in MY fridge. That is two fridges I will have drunk all of the booze within. Also I am playing wow.
When I am sober I understand what is happening in wow. I know peoples motivations. I know what their goals are. I understand what the shit they are all about. But I am not sober. I have no fucking idea what they are doing right now. I am in a forest. I think. I typed follow 10 minutes ago. Last I looked I was up a fucking tree. Riding a goat. Where did I even get a goat at this hour?
What the fuck is going on. I don't fucking know. What is this guy doing with a thing. There is a guy and a dude and they are touching each others dicks or something. A bird is involved. I really do not have any clue what is going on.
I think one of them has magic purple balls.
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| Thursday, December 20th, 2007
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12:25 am - It is a burden educating the world.
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Tonight at work an old lady decided I was ugly. She made me sad. She stood behind me and proceeded to explain to her friend how I should not be allowed to have such a beard and something about dress standards. I heard a remark about tattoos. I was slightly offended as my beard is trimmed nicely and I was wearing work clothes. My tats are also awesome and were only showing as I had my arm wedged firmly up the back of a shelf, causing the sleeve to ride up my saucy, flexing bicep. I turned and noticed they both had perms and the hint of mothball old lady smell wafted at me so I forgave them. It was not their fault. They were just old and probably had not had sex for a very long time.
The feelings my beard and tight figure hugging shirt were creating in their wrinkled dust dry loins was something they had never dreamed they would feel again. As a tidal wave of erotic moistness slowly built up and was released in to their depends undergarments they had simply paniced. Lashed out at the beast that was causing such perverted emotions. Their minds filled with images of my massive penis thrusting, flexing. Twitching. Spraying copious amounts of man juice on their wrinkled ancient skin. They fled my aisle.
I went back to work comfortable in the knowledge my beard was fucking kickass. And so was my shirt. And also my tattoos. Confident in the knowledge I got old ladies hot and that I was awesome. So awesome in fact I decided to celebrate the greatness by looking at other awesome dudes on my computer box as soon as I got home.
So I loaded up the google machine on the searchinator and typed in the phrase totally fucking awesome dudes. The majority of what assaulted me was not awesome. I double checked to see if I had not typed in totally fucking pretentious dudes by mistake. No. I was not at fault. The rest of the world was. And it needed to be educated. I have compiled a small list of some awesome. And not so awesome pictures. FOR YOUR PLEASURE.
( Clickety Click.. )
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| Monday, November 26th, 2007
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2:25 pm - A vote for the massive erection party is not a wasted vote.
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It's over. It's finally over. I won. Let this mark the end of the Doormat Wars as we march forward to a new age of peace and happiness. Till all are one!
Also thank fuck the election is finally finished with for another 4 years too. I am not happy with who got in. But I wouldn't have been happy if liberals got in either. Or any party. I personally voted for a carefully drawn picture of a massive, veiny cock. Why you say? Why donkey vote Michael? I never have before. But this election called for it. I hated every single candidate. Not one of them had stood out from the others in any way. They were all fucked in every way imaginable. And I could not take being held accountable for a single one of them having my vote.
But none of that matters now. Nothing will ever matter again. Because I have found the only thing that truly ever could matter in this world. Something that brings it all together. The true meaning of life. The reason we're all here. The reason we all struggle on. It pretty much sums up everything. Ever.
( NSFW! But it damn well should be. )
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| Friday, September 14th, 2007
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3:19 am - Whoever wins... We lose :(
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So I am watching Aliens vs Predator. Not because I like it. I hate this movie. I hate everything about it. But look at it this way. If I am learning kung fu. I must also condition my body to take great physical pain. It makes me a better fighter. Stronger. More resilient. It is the same with movies.
Movies like Aliens vs Predator prepare us. They make us stronger. Without a movie like AVP to harden my mind and soul do you think I could have lived through the emotional raping that was Elektra? Or Catwoman. Of course not. So I watch these movies.
And as I have previously stated. I watch movies like this. So other people don't have to. I take it upon myself to be that guy. The guy who takes one for the team. I saw blade 2 twice at the movies. I didn't have to. I just did it. I did it to save the children. I did it for a brighter tomorrow.
I watched the hulk. I own the daredevil dvd. I wrote John Travolta a letter asking him to make a sequel to Battlefield Earth. I borrowed Freddie Got Fingered from the video library. I viewed The Adventures of Pluto Nash. I recommended The Master of Disguise to a stranger. I looked at Demi Moore's boobies in striptease. I saw Van Wilder 2. I cried during Mac and Me. I could go on.
Ballstic. Ecks. Vs. Sever.
I have hardened myself to the realities of bad movie making. Every year I choose the worst and I subject myself to them. In preparation for the coming hell. But AVP holds a special place of hate in my heart.
I could list all the reasons I hate it. I fact I started to do exactly that. It got too damn long however. I realised I was just reviewing a movie 4 years too late. It was not really necessary. Everybody already knew. So I'll skip to the end. The reason I really hate this movie so much.
Penguins. Yes that's right. Penguins. One penguin to be precise. I can hear you all now. What do you mean a penguin? How can a penguin make you hate this movie? You love penguins. Well let me tell you. Let me fill you in on the horror I feel.
Approximately 20 minutes in there is a scene. A scene involving Spud from Trainspotting. I have no idea what his characters name in this movie is. I really couldn't care less to be honest. But anyway. He is wandering around the abandoned whaling town. Taking photos for National Geographic or something. He goes in to a building. Everything is full of snow and ice. You must remember they are in Antarctica. Antarctica. They only come in the hottest years. The old women in the village spoke of it. Man this place is hotter than hell. Hudson. Aliens. ANTARCTICA.
Sorry.
Anyway so yes he is in this building. Taking some photos. A noise. OHNOES! Rustle rustle. Tinkle smash. Something is moving motherfucker. He is interrupted by capable, intelligent female Ripleyesque heroine . I said nobody goes off alone. She berates him. Arriving alone. Spud is all yeah sorry mofo but man there is this noise see. Holy shits a noise! It's all so tense. I'm sure you can imagine.
Anyway. A penguin walks out from the corner of the bench. They both laugh. Haha. A penguin. Who would have thought such a thing. Fucking penguins. Always getting up to mischief. Wild and crazy flightless birds. The tension is relieved. The movie continues on its plotless meandering way. Everybody forgets a penguin was ever in the movie. But not me. Never me.
Why was the penguin in there? Just chillin'. By itself. Did it just sort of wander up. This long and pointless journey. All by itself. Open up a human sized door with it's little wings.. To hide in a shack. Waiting. Just waiting. On the off chance. Hoping somebody would turn up. So it could scare them. Surprise motherfuckers. I am a fucking penguin!
But even that I can handle. Maybe it is a crazy prankster penguin. All the other penguins give him shit. He is always causing trouble. Never takes life seriously. He'd rather fuck with the humans than sit on an egg. That kind of thing. He's a dreamer. I can deal with a socially unacceptable penguin. Sure. I'd like to see a movie about it. As long as it didn't involve singing. Dancing. Or surfing. Actually I just decided I am sick of movies about penguins. But that is a rant for another day.
So sure. So far I have no problem with the penguin. Quit picking on the fucking penguin, Mike. He's just trying to provide amusement for his penguin family. He isn't hurting you. Leave the god damn penguin alone you bully. But here people. Is my problem with Mr Penguin.
There are 17 species of penguin in the world. Some say only 16. I'm no scientist so i'll stick with the recognised 17. Now 4 of these species can be found in Antarctica. This particular penguin is not one of them. It is clearly one of three very similar types. All warm weather penguins. All residing in South America and Africa. Don't question me on this people. I know my penguins.
If anything the revelation of the penguin only serves to scare me more. It is not a comical scene. It relieved no tension. It just confused and alarmed me.
What the fuck is it doing in Antarctica? Is it on a fucking adventure holiday? Was it a mad scientist penguin? Did it invent some sort of massive catapult and hurl itself across the globe? Or a teleportation device? Maybe the penguin is from another reality. Or part of some alternate future. Maybe it is a fucking robot. Is it visiting relatives? Did it somehow get lost? Did it take a wrong turn somewhere in the Atlantic Ocean? Maybe it was chasing a super wily fish. Get the fuck out of here! It's madness. Surely it noticed shit getting a wee bit nippy long before it reached an abandoned whaling station in the coldest place on Earth.
How hard is it to find an authentic penguin? Really? David Attenborough didn't seem to have any problems. Hell. The fucking Frenchies made a hit documentary movie about them. You are doing something terribly wrong when the French manage to beat you. Why did they even need a penguin?
I am kind of amazed it didn't join the team. With the amount of half arsed 'borrowing' of plots and concepts from the previous movies it would almost fit. A world weary, experience scarred penguin. Lone survivor of an Alien attack. Scraping out a tough, fear filled existence. Until a compassionate soul with a heart of gold and nerves of steel, recently having discovered the loss of her own penguin, and a battle hardened marine take it in. Sheltering it from the coming onslaught. Maybe that is what the P stands for. Aliens vs Penguins.
Of course the penguin would eventually be written out in a sequel. And just like in Alien 3.
Nobody would give a fuck.
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| Wednesday, September 12th, 2007
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10:17 pm - I have nothing to offer but blood, toil, tears and sweat.
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For those of you who couldn't be bothered reading my misguided and poor attempt to imitate Robert Jordan's writing style for my own bored amusement, I have an easier to digest update on the doormat saga.
Basically another rogue doormat has been introduced in to the equation. Instead of the usual one I was subjected to a new and different doormat that also does not belong to me. I don't know who this one belongs to. It is gone again now. Possibly outside a new and exciting door. I shall investigate later.
That it is my neighbour doing it was proven to me when I caught her suspiciously standing up from a crouched position in front of my door late at night a week or two ago. A doormat I knew had not been there before was resting snugly against the step. She looked slightly embarrassed then berated me for scaring her. It is of course against the unit rules to open the front door on ones own unit when he hears a suspicious sound. I didn't ask about it. I was afraid to. I simply shut the door.
Current activities have brought me to the belief I am now engaged in some sort of psychological game of cat and mouse. But also that I am not alone. Top analysts brought in to advise me on the current situation inform me she may be subjecting multiple tenants to her secret guerrilla doormat attacks. Under cover of darkness. She sneaks up on unsuspecting doors and swaps the foot cleaning implements. She targets the strongest of us. The biggest threats to her and her kind. The Alpha tenants. Attempting to create chaos and confusion.
When the Flabby Pig People of Smokeulon Prime arrive to overrun the units they assume we shall be too mentally and physically weak to oppose them. Divided. Warring amongst ourselves. Our wills broken. Our shoes unclean. Our carpets ruined by grime and filth. Wearied from constant battle with one another. We will be overwhelmed with barely a struggle. And our doormats shall be taken as trophies of their great success.
But I am on to them. And I will not go down without a fight. I have a secret weapon. I am already disinterested and indifferent to most people around me. Or simply dislike them. They cannot turn me against people I cared nothing about or already hated in the first place. I don't even own a doormat. I have nothing to lose. And nowhere else to go.
Alone I shall stand against the onslaught. And alone I shall triumph. I have already started to show them I am not afraid. That I can and will win.
Tonight it was quite cold. So cold I wore a brown cardigan. And I didn't even care. I went out and I was all yeah that's right. This is a cardigan and it is fucking brown. You aint got shit on me. I am wearing a brown cardigan and I don't even care. The neighbours were like whoa. People on the street too. Even a policeman. They stepped out of my way. A man like me could do anything.
I don't even know where it came from. It was just in the wardrobe. All I know is my only other jumper of a fairly decent nature was in an unwearable state due to a pretty awesome baked goods making festival in my kitchen last night. So awesome there was no time to find cloths for hand wiping. But that's just the way I roll.
You can't cage me. You can't pen me in. You can't predict me. One day i'm all hi and hello. The next i'm wearing a god damn brown cardigan out on the street. HOT DAMN!
I shall go on to the end, I shall fight in Pants and Cardigans,
I shall fight on the seas and oceans,
I shall fight with growing confidence and growing strength in the air, I shall defend my Unit, whatever the cost may be,
I shall fight on the beaches,
I shall fight on the landing grounds,
I shall fight in the fields and in the streets,
I shall fight in the hills;
I shall never surrender.
The shit just got real.
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| Sunday, September 9th, 2007
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10:31 pm - Book Three: The Doormat Reborn
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The Doormat of Time turns, and Ages come and pass, leaving memories that become legend. Legend fades to myth, and even myth is long forgotten when the Age that gave it birth comes again. In one Age, called the Third Age by some, an Age yet to come, an Age long past, a wind rose above the jagged peaks of Perth's mighty cityscape. The wind was not the beginning. There are neither beginnings nor endings to the turning of the Doormat. But it was a beginning.
Down tall buildings the wind swept. Across smooth glass and concrete, Moist with midnight dew. Some dark and empty, some lit with internal fluorescent luminescence. It howled across empty parking lots and half filled trash receptacles. The contents as forgotten as those who binned them. It moaned in the intersections, blinking traffic lights standing as silent witness. Bathing the ground in eery reds and greens. Through twists and turns, out of the city and in to the suburbs the wind traveled. Over houses and apartments. Past the door of number 22.
Sitting his chair in front of his faithful lcd monitor displaying a half finished torrent, Michael Poulter shivered and adjusted the Sunbeam Micro Furnace closer, as close as he could with bare feet and synthetic tracksuit pants. They were good tracksuit pants of pure polyester, deep blue with the finest of golden yellow stitching; Michael had handed over the money himself the day they had been bought. The wind howled through the gaps in the windows frames, tickling the hair on his shaggy forearms, and causing the curtains to stir; he wiggled his toes against the heater for warmth and shifted in his comfortable leather seat, but his mind was not really on the cold. Eyeing his seven companions in IRC, he wondered if they, too, felt it. Not the waiting of the download he so avidly stared at, but something more.
Wheely, his chair, turned and made a high pitched noise as he shifted his weight. He had named the soft black leather piece of furniture for his reliable wheels, but now it seemed to feel its occupants irritation and impatience. I am tired of all this waiting all this sitting while my bandwidth does nothing. Burn the torrent! When will it end?
He sniffed the air without thinking. The smell of cigarettes predominated, and of hambeast and hambeast's sweat. A troll had passed his door not long since, hunger powering its step, but the beast had not eaten there. He realised what he was doing and stopped it. You'd think I would get a nicotine addiction with all this smoke. He almost wished he did have one. Then I wouldn't notice the smell so much at least.
Something tickled the back of his mind. He refused to acknowledge it. He did not mention his feelings to his companions.
The seven on IRC chatted amongst themselves, of inconsequential subjects, but important to those that discussed them, eyes searching the pasted something awful forum links and gaming news, fingers typing. Unperturbed by the unsavoury topics of the threads; Oblivious to the painfully slow download creeping almost lazily forward so close to their digital selves.
The tickling became an itch. NO!
He could push the itch aside, but the expectation would not go. As if he teetered over a precipice. As if everything teetered. He wondered if something unpleasant, as he had suspected since hearing the shuffling troll, lay outside his door. There was a way to know, he supposed. Open the door, looking out, letting the cold in. He tried to crush the thought before it had a chance to firm. Better to wonder. Better that that. But the thought stood defiant; edging its way back in to his mind, dancing across his consciousness. Light! I must know, must check, and by the creator it is really hard to write like this; how does Robert Jordan do it? Seriously, I need to wrap this up. I'm losing it.
Michael turned his chair away from the warm air, the coldness against his feet a sharp contrast to what he had just been feeling, once again wiggling his toes for warmth. He stood; taking a moment to shore his mental and physical form against the coming trauma. The kitchen floor was cold, as he strode across the baby poo green tiles towards the door; the entrance to his abode. He stopped at it. Hand resting on the cool handle. What do I want?
Was it better to brave the cold and find nothing scary at all; or would he be let down? Would his desire for something to be there betray him, would he feel disappointment? Why is nothing ever easy? He inhaled deeply and turned the handle, the door swung inwards; cold air rushed in, causing all the hair on his body to stand up and a shiver to run along his body. Looking down he let the breath go. There, outside his door, sat a doormat. Light! By the Creator! Burn me! Stab his eyes!
This doormat was, however, not the same; it was a new doormat. A different one to the previous mystery mats he had become so familiar, almost comfortable with finding placed outside his dwelling. He closed the door, cold still lingering on his body, right down to his bones. He returned to his seat and placed the now cold feet against the warm air of the micro furnace. Quickly melting the numbness away.
Michael pondered what had just happened. That the doormat was there was not in question, nor that it was a different one to the norm. Where the first was light, green with darker almost black stripes, soft and supple; a hint of gold. This new mat was bulky, brown and shaggy, shedding fibres with a musky odour; a mans doormat. What new game is this? It is something new? Is the troll swapping doormats at random now? Is she doing it to everybody? Do we all suffer? Burn me! If I buy my own will it simply be stolen. Shuffled around the other units like an insane game of pass the parcel?
The thoughts troubled him until well after he went to bed. For a time, he lay, with a blanket over him, staring at the cracked and sagging roof; shivering. Then sleep finally came, and with it, Dreams.
And it was written that no door but his should wield the Doormat, but he did draw it out, like fire on his steps, and its glory did burn the world. Thus did it begin. Thus do we sing its rebirth. Thus do we sing the beginning.
- from Do'in Toldara te, Songs of the Last Age, Quarto Nine: The Legend of the Doormat Composed by Boanne, Song mistress of Taralan, The Fourth Age.
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| Wednesday, September 5th, 2007
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9:53 pm
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I stayed up quite late drinking lastnight.
At about 4am while watching Empire Records I reached a drunken conclusion. Shit is going to work out. Eventually. Maybe my plans won't work out the way I wanted them to. But they'll work out someway. I'll make them. I might need to take a different route but i'll get there. This time next year I will be living a dream. BELIEVE IT. I am guided by a force much greater than luck. Feeling good about myself again I could finally go to sleep.
Right before I drifted off I decided I need to sit down and try and write something every day from now on. Not sure how long that'll last. But i'll give it a shot. I like to write. Putting ideas I have been toying with for a while down somewhere. Seeing them actually work. It makes me feel better. And better, my friends, is good.
I am going to live every day like it is Rex Manning day. And we all know you mustn't dwell. You can't. Not on Rex Manning day. I will look for and/or apply for jobs every morning. I will draw pictures of monkeys eating bananas. Then i'll slash them for being too derivative. I'll finally find out if I can fit in my washing machine.
I will let the world wash over me. But I will not let it in. I won't let it stop me. It isn't my fault the world is a jerk. I won't let the man drag me down. And if I do start to feel a bit depressed I will just look at this.
( BAM )
I need to start looking at the world like that.
current music: AC/DC - If You Want Blood
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