Sunday, March 29, 2009


Mamma Mia

I like Abba. I'm on blog record as having gone to an ABBA tribute show.

I just saw Mamma Mia. I thought it sucked arse.

There, I said it. Sorry MM fans. It blew chunks.

Note to Pierce Brosnan. A) don't sing. B) don't show your puffy man nips. It looked like you'd been suckling an orphaned lamb.

That is all.

Friday, March 27, 2009

Tucker Carlson - pwned

Check out the Media Matters article here.

I does loves it when righties get taken down.


The Love Guru

Well ... I finally saw it.

You know what ... it had some moments. I mean good ones. Plenty of bad, but there were some good laugh out loud moments. Not many, but there were some.

But ... the best bits are the Colbert + Other improvs in the special features.

Wednesday, March 25, 2009

I do love me a good gerbil story

Screen shot (yellow highlight from moi) from the SMH site

For the link to the story go here. For a previous HM sourced gerbily tale go here.


I heard an interview with the prim and proper NSW police commissioner RE the recent Bikie issues in Sydney. The interviewer asked the commish why it was that when four suspects fronted court there were no police there to reinforce court security - leading I believe to the magistrate calling a halt to the proceedings.

The commish took issue with that.

'There was a policeman there,' he corrected. 'The police prosecutor.'

R-i-i-i-i-g-h-t. Now, I'm no legal eagle but I suspect the PP isn't fronting court kitted out for a possible tete a tete with a swarm of bikies - eg gun, vest, shield, baton, helmet and so forth.

I'm not of course saying that these Bikies were a threat to the court security. But for the commish to whine that the police prosecutor was potentially there as security back up is seriously deluded. What was the PP going to do? Stab them with his pacer pencil?

Ear Medicine

As a kid I enjoyed the delight of recurring middle ear infections. Yes, another dot point in the poor health of Mikey. It's still happening to me, decades on.

Middle ear infections can be quite painful with pressure and swelling meets throbbing in the ear canal.

Given ears, nose, and throat are all interconnected systems, hence why ear nose and throat doctors exist, why the fuck can't the ear medicine people make it so the medicine that goes in your ear actually tastes not unpleasant?

Yes, it sounds weird asking for a taste tinge for the aural not oral but the pipes are joined and you do end up partially ingesting the stuff.

I'm still tasting this thin patina of ear medicine down the back of my throat hours later and it's disgusting.

So poor drek researcher who got assigned the miserable task of seeing what the interweb likes/dislikes about ear medicine there's a freebie marketing booster for you.

Make the fucking medicine not horrid for when the throaty follow through happens.

Dog accessories

I can understand a coat. A leash of course. Even a fancy collar.

But ... saddle bags?

Seriously, this dude (muscular I noticed) had a pair of dogs. Each had tied to it a cloth saddle with bags hanging off it.

What. The. Fuck?!

One for the ages.

Monday, March 23, 2009

Hey 3003...

That's pretty kewl. To think I started this up just so I could visit and vent at Boltwatch. Huh?!

Ah blogging - kicks the poo out of Facebook, Twitter and all those other faux online ejaculations.

This is the greatest day of my life ... woohoo! woohoo! woohoo! ... d'oh

Ah Homer, your triumphs and lows can stand for us in so many ways.

Ever since my gut surgery I've had to be careful of heavy foods lest they get stuck on the way down. Every now and then, I think maybe once every couple of weeks, it happens. I then spend 30 or so minutes painfully retching up partially digested food. It is disgusting.

Tonight we had steak. It was well cooked. So it was a challenge for the old guts.

Challenge fucking accepted.

With careful methodical chewing, applying that method your parents vaguely attempted to teach you when you were a kid, I managed to chew my way through steak mountain - which sounds a bit like snake mountain - the awesome skeletor play set from masters of the universe whose net got ruined on Christmas day by the Beve's dad.

I got within a matchbook hunk of cow flesh of the end ... even running out to brag to theWife at my accomplishment.

Of course that's when my need ... my need for eating speed had harmed me. For I had abandoned my methodical approach within sight of the finish line.

30 minutes later I am finally no longer in pain. At one point as I was bringing it up I started to choke and got a bit panicked. Choking is not a fun sensation - sorry Hutcho I can't see it. For a moment, just a moment mind, I got really worried until the lump of rubbery half masticated fat slopped into the bathroom sink.

It was a close one.

I cannot believe I actually ran out and bragged about it ... stupid poetic justice!

Is there a superhero vigilante called Poetic Justice? If not there should be. With kewl lines as he takes down crims.

Hello villain, you will pay
For the crimes you commit this day
For I, Poetic Justice, will bring
Your head in for a fisting

Er ... needs some work.

Sunday, March 22, 2009

Not a good thing

Sometimes at night I get stuck in that weird world between awake and asleep. I can dream while still (just) awake and see things in the room where I am at that moment.

This ... is not good. Because when you flash on something it can freak you out. I try my best to avoid magic thinking, but even I will sleep with the light on after one of these episodes because I am scared I will conjure something worse in the dark.

Take this.

Fairly innocuous right?

Well try "seeing" her facing the corner in your room and not making a sound.

Brrrr. Freaked the shit out of me. And the preceding night's effort was blood red script running across the switched off TV screen.

I hate those kind of dreams :(

Still, at least it wasn't that clown dream...

Piers Akerman

RE today's Insider's appearance: It's like he's divorced from any motivation to appear even slightly objective as a "journalist". The man is a bloated shill for the Liberal party and always has been.

John Laws famously rang a cow bell to indicate his next 49 minutes of rambling was in support of his "Good mates at Toyata" (even though he didn't own one). I think it's only fair Akerman should be forced to tool up 'declared interests' style and admit to what the universe already knows.
But then considering the brain dead barely interested might-glance in the middle on their way to the sports pages average Daily Tellie reader, that still might not be enough.

Still, if he's forced to wear a giant Liberal L around his neck, Scarlet Letter meets Flavour Flav style, that might be a good start.

Akerman, you're a poo stain on Australian journalism.

Thursday, March 19, 2009

The irony...

A condom

The pope and his spanking hat.

Movies I have done gone and seen that were kewl

Step Brothers - holy crap that was funny. Everything Ferrell does is gold.

The Watchmen. A recent fan of the graphic novel - thanks Adam for the heads up on it - it was remarkably faithful apart from the odd tweak. It looked fucking amazing. The effects were solid, the acting was superb. And having non headliners as the protagonists made for a stronger film I think since the characters were not overshadowed by those that played them.

All credit to Rorschach. Jackie Earle Haley was incredible. Like Oscars incredible. A tight ball of wiry fury with a Eastwood Dirty Harry voice and sensibility. Just amazing.

Wednesday, March 18, 2009

Nice one libs

Apparently the alco pops tax got fucked in the Senate. Thanks Liberal party for giving distillers back potentially one plus billion over four years. Well fucking done. Also well done for making lolly water cheaper again for sweet toothed teens to gobble by the truck load then end up convinced their drink was spiked as opposed to a incompus mentus state they achieved from guzzling 12 cruisers in a half hour.

See the story here.

Oh - and a special shout out to Fielding, elected by 1.7% of Victorians, who voted no because he didn't get his own way on sports advertising and wanted to send a message.

Nice one billion dollar message Fielding. Well done. You sure showed them...

Overheard at the gaming table

"4th ed [D&D] makes my smegma glow.'

Fox po averted...

I was in an open plan area that has a heavy security door cutting it off from the rest of the offices.

As someone was passing through it I jogged to catch up so I didn’t have to open it myself.

‘Wait,’ I said. ‘I’m coming …’

At that point my brain had the following drop down terminator style selection to complete this line as ‘… from behind.’

Fortunately this was rejected and I went with ‘… through.’

Am I growing as a person?

Tuesday, March 17, 2009

Fuck you stroller

I'm looking after theNoo. Wanted to go for a walk. TheWife offered to show me how to click the new stroller into place. 'Nah,' I said. 'I'll figure it out.'

Sure. If figuring it out involves a slanted stroller and a crushed fucking finger. I can't even work out how to put up a fucking stroller?! What the fuck is the fucking matter with me that I can't even work out a basic piece of child related engineering?! It should be as simple as putting in a fucking light bulb and I cannot fucking do it!

Oh - attention stroller makers. Put instructions on the web so fuckwits like me can work out how the fuck to do these things when their partners aren't in the house to show them.

What I want to do is take this stroller out the back and smash it to fucking pieces. In the end I had to walk away from it just to cool off.

UPDATE: Worked it out. I had to push this plastic thing down to lock the struts in place. Are there instructions on this thing to know that? No, no there are not.

This is how I feel

Saturday, March 14, 2009

Number two at Google!

My use of the sobriquet "Clinton Funt" for the President of the APOGC, the name taken from a character on the Big Gig, is tracking number 2 on google!

Hah! I rule obscure comedic references in search engines.

Actually ... number two at google makes me sound like a floater in one of their string quartet attending super stalls.

Mid-match report—Harold and Kumar escape from Guantanamo Bay

They run into some mountain folk / sons of the soil down south. After an elegant misdirect on the "inbred son in the basement" H&K do in fact encounter the inbred son in the basement. The parents, sister and brother, candidly admit to spawning him and present as stern but loving of their one eyed son.

Dad to son.

"Don't make me come down there and whip yer cyclops ass."

Now this maybe the litre of Dare talking but that line cracked me up. Kudos HKEFGB

UPDATE: The threesome "flashback" with the giant bag of weed was likewise gold.


Neil Patrick Harris: "What does the PH stand for in NPH?"

Harold: "Um ... Patrick Harris?"

Neil Patrick Harris: "No, common mistake. Poon Handler."

This movie's paying off like Barney when he drank the coin cup.


Neil Patrick Harris to large breasted prossie: "Well I hope you're ready, Tits. Because I'm going to rock out with my cock out ... and you're going to jam out with your clam out and it's going to be magical."

Babylon AD

Got it out, watched it, enjoyed it. I like Vin Diesel's work. He has a gift to look like he'd rip your arms off and beat your with the soggy ends without a moment's hesitation but his tearing up doesn't look at all contrived.

Have to give all credit to the CGI lads for hands down the best product placement of all time. The jet airliner with Coke Zero plastered on the side, whose logo we read in a nice slow pan back as the plane flies into the setting sun.


I love watching slabs of TV series on DVD. You can better embrace the world the series sets and you get a lot more out of it.

So there I was in my local DVD shop. It's pretty good for new release movies, but the TV series they have available isn't such an awesome selection. It's mainly things like the complete series of Charmed (full strength gag).

I was cruising the weeklies and the TV series section they had there. Again, nothing much caught my eye. But ... then I saw Gene Roddenberry's Earth*. It looked interesting. I took Disc 1 to the counter and was delighted to find it cost exactly one dollar.

I got home, cranked up the player, and started watching.

I got maybe 20 minutes in before I gave it up. The acting was ordinary, the plot (yes, it was sci fi), was stretched to broken point, and the CGI (I think late 90s) was overt enough to detract from it. I pulled the novelisation of the TV series V from the bookshelf and started reading it instead.

Quoth Burns. On the whole I'd rather have the dollar.

*The guy's been dead life forever. How the fuck is it GR's anyway?!

Friday, March 13, 2009

Call for Alien V Predator style match up for country themed phone sex girls

Canberra, Australia: Clinton Funt, President of lobby group Australian Organisation for the Prevention of Groinal Cruelty, has demanded today that a match up occur between phone sex girls of a geopolitical hue and that recordings of this cavort combat be made available at a low, low cost.

‘You know what I’m talking ‘bout,’ said Funt, mimicking the catch-phrase of long distant in tv time 80’s child star Gary Coleman. ‘There’s that ad with the Russian babes – with that brunette with the coquettish moose hat wobble, and there’s the one with the French chicks carefully checking each other for poo nuggets. By their powers combined they could be something small screen erotically wonderful.’

Funt said that the Russian babes and the French babes should be limited to weapons of a pillow or dildo-esq nature, and that giggling should feature prominently within the sound track to the video. He suggested to that if they wanted a sexy Jets V Sharks West Side story like advance of the two parties, he wouldn’t be adverse as long as it got down to some serious groping within a few moments of the finger clicking.

‘Historically the last time France and Russia fought was when Napoleon captured the ruins of Moscow then was forced to flee not from steel but the snow. Now we can relieve this encounter, only instead of bayonets and muskets, we’re talking muff diving and boozies. Imagine some fired up 1812 Overture tooling out your phone speaker as their pink bits spring out from form fitting lacy coverings?!’

‘If you excuse the pun, what we need to see in effect is a good old fashioned ho down,' said Mr Funt.

'Ooh la la-ski,’ he added.

Wednesday, March 11, 2009

Constant use of a word undermines teary rant

I've had a rough week or so. My IBS flared painfully and I was out of my normal pain killers. A combo of nurofen and panadol helped, but my IBS is of the bunged up kind so while the pain was temp dealt with the underlying bunging was made slightly worse. I added some additional meds to the mix which further exacerbated the problem, the end result being A) incredible gut pain, and B) dizzy spells which even three days on from having had the pills are still affecting me. I can't even drive with this going.

So I saw the doc today and while I was there I had a weigh - since theWife and I banished scales from our house.

I've been working on getting healthier. Eating better, and exercising daily. However my walking has dropped down to around 20-30 minutes (instead of the power hour I had) and I had been enjoying bad foods a bit too much (well, the ones I can actually eat given stomach issues).

The end result? I've put back some of the weight I had lost.

Unless you're a long time fattie whose done the diet thing - crash / sensible / maddened exercise / light and fluffy with hugs - you cannot know the emotional pain of weight creeping or stacking back on. It's incredibly disheartening. And while I admit I didn't try as hard as I could- ie eating sunflower seeds and ice and running marathons which skinnynistas all seem to think we need to do - the fact that I now weigh an amount I swore blind I never would again really smacked me for six. I felt about as low as I possibly can. As I walked to the distant shops to fill my pain meds scripts I had a horrid lump in my throat and tears stung in my eyes. When I finally reached home, I was momentarily buoyed by a cheery noodle padding to the door screaming 'DaddyDaddyDaddy' but within a few minutes I was angry bawling at the unfairness of my genetics.

To complain about having eaten too much most of your life and be indignant about the inevitable results is incredibly pathetic. And insulting to the 75% of the world's population that don't live in the comfortable west where even the poor can afford to be - and often are more so than the higher elements of the social strata - tubbos.

But, that being said, I dwell in the western culture where to be fat is to suffer revulsion from others. Oh sure, most people don't care about your weight. But it lies at the core of self esteem where your physical appearance means so, so much in our culture. Even me who is sneeringly above almost all of this veneer shit is affected by it. The fat are the last frontier of socially acceptable mockery. You can't help being a different colour (and nor should it be an issue) - or having a harelip or what have you. But there is a perception that being fat is a choice through lack of will or sheer laziness. And even though I walk 20-30 minutes a day on often pain wracked feet - that doesn't matter to the ute load of fucktards that screams at me that I am a fat cunt as they roar past. Why would they know?

Anyway, scratch a fattie (and not the good lit up kind) and you'll typically find someone unhappy with the fact they're carrying extra weight. From a pain perspective. From a fitness perspective. And yes, from a desirability perspective. Fat people are no damn good. Least, that's how a lot of us feel.

So there I am angry crying, shaking my fist at whatever made me this way, about how you try and the moment you slacken off even a little you fail, when I made mention of my favourite dessert.

I've worked out a delish treat that I can eat that gets past the stomach gate keeper. It doesn't get stuck for the most part - and even if I throw it up it tastes not too bad on the way back.

To whit, using a sunbeam pie maker and Pampas pastry sheets; fruit and sultana pies. Basically you get a tub of diced fruit, drain out the juice (best way is to peel back a corner of the lid then balance it over a glass to let the juice out - in the manner the ice truck killer removed the blood from his murdered ho collection in Dexter). You create two pies with the pie cutter, put half a tub in each pie, add a handful of sultanas so it just crests the level of the pie maker, and add a dash of brown sugar. With the left over pastry I like to wrap it Frankenstein’s monster around a wedge of cheese and dump them in the spare pie holes of the four pie pie maker.

They are fucking delicious - as indeed are fatty franken-cheese efforts.

But - it's full fat pastry. And while fruit is in the mix, which is healthy, I lube those bad boys up for the journey to tummy town with some good vanilla ice cream - either Sara Lee's French Vanilla or Coles Natural Vanilla. The cheese pills are basically lumps of delish fat that I am returning to my body.

So it's no fucking wonder that this significant diversion from watching what I eat has had a deleterious impact on the old waist line.

There I am, rage tears cascading, as I then started to curse my dessert + savoury creations. ‘It’s the fucking pies!’ I yelled. ‘The only yummy thing I know I can eat. The pies, the pies!’

TheWife, who bless her sat by me confessional priest style, and patted my knee during this dietary tumult, couldn’t help herself. She started laughing. She tried to hold it in, squeezing her eyes shut and closing her laugh gulping mouth, but she couldn’t stop. ‘Please,’ she said. ‘Stop saying pies. It’s too funny.’

It was. My decrying pies with a full throat fury which consisted me of screaming the word pie or pies was severely undercutting the whole Shakespearean torment of my anguished weight gain sadness. Even I couldn’t stop laughing.

The end result is this. If I want to keep the weight I lost off then I have to be a fucking monk about food. I have to look it not as a reward or a balm but as simply fuel. And I have to upscale my exercise to back where it was. Then maybe I can undo all this pie laced damage I have inflicted on me.

But fuck me, I do love my pies. I will be most sad to see the back of them. Perhaps I can make it a weekly event instead of nightly – which I was – and sometimes two pies a night too.

Food and me. I’ve always loved food. It tastes great and when you feel like shit it can take the pain away momentarily. But, like the pain killers and anti spasm tablets I was scoffing for my IBS, while it can alleviate in the instant all it does is make it worse in the long term.

Food. I hate it love it hate it love it hate it love it hate it love it hate it love it.

Oh – and yes – I had one of my dessert pies tonight. In my defence it was already made pre Doc’s visit and while I thought chucking them plus their tasty ice cream back up I decided I would eat them. Only slightly more sparingly. Then, a week from tomorrow, I can perhaps have one again.

Saturday, March 07, 2009

Mouth ulcers

You can divide your life into two neat sections. When you have a mouth ulcer. Or when you don't. Much like that dream you have that you're awake but cannot wake up you don't know what your life is when you do not have an ulcer.

I got a massive fucker right under a tooth. And another on my lip above. Fucking hell it's annoying. I had to pinch some of theNoo's pain reliever gel which effectively numbed off my mouth. Much like those guys who sit on their hand until it cannot be felt then flog themselves with it so it feels like someone else.

Wait, not like that at all!

Morbidly obese Lucy attempts to re-enter Narnia on mobility impaired scooter; gets stuck

London, England; Famed off world adventurer, Lucy Pevensie, one of the group of children who entered Narnia through a wardrobe, got stuck today when the England and scooter bound now aged and heavyset adult invalid attempted once more to breach the divide between this world and Narnia via riding her scooter into a wardrobe and got stuck.

'Lucy Narnia,' cried the gigantic woman, whose been unable to walk for some time due various health complications, before charging her scooter at the open cupboard door on the possible premise it was indeed a magic portal - despite entry to the realm of Narnia only ever having been accomplished via storage the one time.

It took several firemen with axes to free her from the wardrobe. The scooter was beyond repair.

A good work day

A) I worked out how to use excel sort functions to save myself hours of work and completed a report within a working day instead of the three working days it usually takes.

B) I made a humorous impression of the emergency control voice saying there was free chocolate in the foyer (as a means of encouraging people to evacuate). Everyone laughed.

C) I got to listen to the Daily Show while I did data entry.

All in all that's a pretty sweet working day. Saved work, funnies, and top notch entertainment. Go me!

Mind you it was irritating how when I went to catch the late bus I saw it go down the wrong street and not pick me up - therefore stranding me in the boondocks. But Action repaired itself when I called the help line and the nice girl on the other end worked out a way for me to get to a major depot so I could reach home via another bus. So I only lost an hour getting home - and I got to spend it reading a book and listening to my mp3.

I tells ya, public transport rawks! Unless you have one of those fat little mental patients screaming up the front and calling the bus driver a cunt.

Wednesday, March 04, 2009

My chariot awaits

For the first time that I can remember I had an entire action bus to myself (and the driver).

It was nice. It was like a big fuck off communal stretch hummer. Only PC.

Kudos me.

Tuesday, March 03, 2009


I was hurtling along on a late afternoon walk, listening to the MP3, when something startling occurred.

A nose went up my arse.

Well, not literally. It more nuzzled betwixt my clothed arse cheeks. Still, it was surprising, and I leaped forward with an oath, turning to see what it was.

It was a greyhound. Which was an odd choice of dog to be let loose to be wandering around, though a greyhound's nose is clearly well tapered for a buttock intrusion.

The irony was I was listening to Animals by Pink Floyd. Maybe it was vibrating out my arse and it sensed its presence or something?

Monday, March 02, 2009

Attention Ingham's truck driver and KFC girl waiting for him in the loading dock

Jesus fucking Christ get a room already. I don't want my TV polluted with your hungry romance sizzling eyes for each other. Hey, here's an idea. If the chicken is delivered fresh and not frozen then get it on in the back of the truck. After-all, those carcasses would make a dandy mattress.And I'm sure the deep frying process would take care of any misfired jizz.

Broken down on the road to Damascus?

Our car is a tad old. In fact I was just out of high school when it rolled off the assembly line. It's not the most well vehicle. It needs a radiator flush, a new fan in the AC, and a bunch of other stuff.

The other day it made a horrid noise. So theWife, unsure of what it was, called NRMA. NRMA for you non Ozzers is the excellent roadside service that's almost nationwide (it's twin in the southern states is some Royal something something) that for a small annual fee will turn up and give your battery a boost and other minor repairs. Or, if broken down beyond a quick fix, will arrange for it to be towed to your mechanic.

It's a great service. I thouraghly recommend it.

Anyway, so the NRMA dude turns up. Turns out we didn't have enough oil in the car. So he topped it up. TheWife was sans cash so he said he'd come around when next in the region and pop in and get it then.

A thouraghly nice man all round.

However he did take the opportunity to attempt to talk theWife into joining his church - and again when he finally came around for his dosh. Or at the very least try it out.

I'm all for religious worship. It has its place along many differing belief systems. I have good friends who are religiously active. Hell, I'm a lapsed churchie myself. But ... I dunno, spreading the word about the good book has its time and place. A captive audience during a roadside assist seems a little forced. I mean when you go to the bank the teller doesn't slide over a Gideon's NT along with your cash do they?

Maybe, just maybe, it's because theWife was on the road? After-all, that's what happened to Saul when he saw the light. Though I hazard his illuminatory experience wasn't courtesy of the flashing hazards on a break down donkey responder.

An astute observation by theWife

The Bondi "Vet"

A Ken Doll