What would Freud say?

Bullet wounds? That can’t be good. And why do I have custard in my pockets? Never mind about that for the moment, just get to safety. Over there; that huge Japanese stadium. The penguins won’t be able to attack me there.

***
My dreams are fucking weird.

I think the problem is that I love mushrooms. A logical argument, you agree? Before you dial the number for the nuthouse to have me sectioned, I’ll inform you that mushrooms contain a toxin that causes you to have strange dreams.

Not so crazy now, am I. You can shove that derisory look up your fucking ass!

Ahem, my apologies. Anyway, I went to the local pub last night with a dear friend when we began talking about our dreams. She listed the events in her dream, to which I responded with a clinician’s ‘mmm hmm’. The truth is I was a little concerned, not for her but for myself. She thought that this was a weird dream. And for her, it may very well have been. Compared with my dreams, though, it was rather pedestrian, sane and lucid.

I started thinking about the dream I began describing above. I was in Japan for reasons that elude me, when I entered a stadium only to find a 100m long sea amoeba in the heart of the arena. The Emperor of Japan (I assume he was the Emperor, anyway) meandered out to the middle of a platform that was overlooking the arena and clapped his hands twice, at which point hundreds of trained penguins emerged from the dressing rooms and proceeded to collect eggs from the sea amoeba and put them into old jam jars.

I just re-read that paragraph. Holy snapping duckshit!

I think when I had that particular dream, it was after I had been watching some very abstract Terry Gilliam style movie, most likely ‘Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas’. Those of you who have seen this movie can probably relate to the pseudo-stoned feeling that it gives you. Especially towards the end where the Vegas trip turns into a huge clusterfuck, and Duke (Johnny Depp) hallucinates that Dr. Gonzo (Benicio del Toro) has grown hairy tits on his back.

“Beautiful fucking tits!”

Nota Bene: I was going to write a closing paragraph, but I think that quote sums everything up quite nicely.

Europeans do it all the time

So here I am. It’s New Years Eve, and I’m standing completely naked in the middle of a street in an unfamiliar part of town. How did I get here? I don’t mean physically because I know exactly how I got here; umpteen gallons of alcohol. How did I allow myself to sink this low?

*****
The truth is I’ve indulged in public nudity more times than I care to admit. New Years Eve was a great example. I was sensationally drunk and easily manipulated by the suggestions of my friends.

‘Hey Jeff....nudie run?’

‘….yeah alright.’

Ah, the humble nudie run. The inevitable last stop before being thrown into the watch house after a night of drinking. Its popularity has waned in recent times. It is no longer seen as the light hearted, whimsical misadventure it used to be. These days, people won’t even acknowledge your daring foray into public indecency. Such was the situation on New Years Eve. My friend and I disrobed and made our way to the street, chins up, chests out. Everything was going pretty well until we heard a car roar to life from behind us. I dare say the occupants of the car would have been able to see my ass clench and tighten as they turned the car on. Suffice it to say, I was alarmed.

I turned on my heel and made a mad dash for the house. My friend didn’t, however. He was enjoying his walk, so there was no way he’d be hurried along by some sanctimonious upstart, what with his car and pants and dignity. The shameless nomad eventually returned, got dressed and suggested that we go say hello to the people in the car. Hell, why not. It’s New Years! We did exactly that and were very surprised to find that they were a couple of the loveliest people we had ever met. We wished each other a Happy New Year, then went our separate ways.

On another occasion, I was completing a job for one of my previous employers in the oxygen-thief city of Ipswich. The uniform I was required to wear consisted of long trousers, boots and a thick shirt. It was stiflingly hot, exacerbated by the fact that Ipswich seemed to be ¾ of a mile from the Sun. I was driving home in my non-air-conditioned car when I spat the dummy and decided it was too hot. Just beyond the limits of the city, I pulled over to the side of the road in a quiet residential area. There was nobody around, so I stepped out of the car and, screened off to some degree by my door, took my pants off. My shirt was already off, so if it weren’t for my jocks I would have been completely naked. The gentle kiss of the Summer breeze felt good on my skin, so I stood there a little longer to enjoy it. I then saw a small boy riding toward me on his bike. Me, wearing nothing but jocks and a dopey grin. Words cannot describe the look of confusion and fear that was on his face.

A unique moment, I thought.

I waved to the boy. He did not wave back.

You see, I fancy myself as something of a revolutionary, like Guy Fawkes but without the stupid hat. I refuse to be censored by sentinels of vice and virtue and will continue to fight oppression in all its forms, especially the subjugation of public nudity. I encourage you, dear reader, to do the same. Next time you’re up to your tits in alcohol, throw your caution and inhibitions to the wind, take your clothes off and march proudly down the street. Declare to the world ‘I will not be silenced!’ and, if you’re a girl, ‘It’s fine for you to ogle my pink bits!’ If you do this, Guy Fawkes’ death will not have been in vain.

I farked arp

Today I was teaching my students equivalent fractions visually using shapes. One student (let's call him Nigel) disrupted the class a few times by playing with the eraser, talking to his peers and not paying attention to anything I was saying. I asked Nigel to write his name on the board and talk to me after class (Apparentely this is the ultimate badass punishment, kids shudder at the thought of their name written on the board).



I built up my rage to tell Nigel off after class to ensure he doesn't fuck up my shit again. I mentally prepared everything I was going to say:

What did you do? [check]
Why did you do it? [check]
What behavioural value should you be implementing? [check]
Inevitable badass time-consuming Punishment [check]

The bell rang, I saw Nigel with his head hanging down at the ground hoping I wasn't going to work his kidneys with my powerful discipline. I asked him to tell me what he did wrong [He answered correctly]. I asked him why he took the time to disturb my lesson instead of paying attention [He told me]. I asked him what behavioural value he should have been using [He answered respect correctly]. In the middle of this I realised that maybe I shouldn't punish him with a write out. I mean sure he fucked up my lesson, but it's monday [I'm a nice guy and chicks love me], he can prove himself to be a more respectful student for the rest of the week. So I explained to him that I expect him to improve his behaviour and that I'll be watching him with my eagle eyes. I told him that I was going to rub his name off the board....except something terrible happened...I choked....My voice dropped a bit and I stopped mid-sentence at the WORST possible place.

"Now Nigel I'm going to rub you off [......a long 3 second pause........] the board"

Immediately I panicked and quickly paraphrased everything I had said before and dismissed him within 5-10 seconds. I was terrified and in hysterics at the same time. My teacher asked what was so funny....thankfully I was smart enough to tell her that I made a weird noise when I coughed when I disciplined Nigel....she bought it.

But I bet you the feds won't

21

The Good:

The story. It's a highly interesting concept and I've always enjoyed card games and the idea of cheating at gambling. The fact that it's (loosely) based on a true story made it that much more appealing.

The Bad (some minor spoilers if you really care):

The story. It's interesting, but they totally butchered it. Pacing is terrible and it's like they took the most cliche synopsis they could find and threw the idea of counting cards into it. He's a rough outline of the love plot. Highly original. Loser nerd wants the girl (who is of course the most popular girl in college). Loser nerd joins team girl is on. Loser nerd makes move on girl. Loser nerd gets rejected by girl. Loser nerd becomes whoever he wants (because it's vegas durr) and girl becomes attracted to nerd. Loser nerd gets girl. Loser nerd becomes arrogant and pushes girl away. Loser nerd gets everything taken away and is humbled. Girl loves loser nerd again for who he is.

The script. Honestly one of the worst I've ever seen. There were at least 5 seperate occassions where I found myself laughing out loud. I remember one time was when our hero confronts his old mentor friend through a story that ran parallel to the movie's plot. Cause that's never been done before...

The acting. Very average. Even Spacey (who I love) did a terrible job in this one. He didn't have much to work with, but that doesn't really excuse him. I can't think of a good movie he's been in in the last few years... real shame.

The Bad:

The whole movie. Good for a laugh, but very disappointing as a movie.

3.5/10

Trouble in paradise

Now I like to stress that I'm not that dirty of a person. However I do enjoy talking about subjects that are not socially acceptable. However I say fuck it, I'm writing a whole blog on taking a shit. Everyone does it, so why can't I talk about it, why is it a taboo subject? why should I be single and miserable?

I can name at least 3 people who have taken a shit in their lifetime.








.....And I bet you any money it smells like death!

I enjoy taking dump and you should too. It's probably one of the highlights of my day. It's very relaxing rewarding, it's like getting a massage or a haircut from a hot busty asian. However there are a few hazards involved with this pleasure that can ruin my day.

1. The runny shit/pellets - You can feel it brewing up into your stomach. You know it's going to be a massacre but you just can't hide from it. This one shoots out so fast and loud that you're left with a connundrum whether you should use toilet paper to mask the sound or let it splash.

2. The unwipeable- I always regret this one. It always seems to happen to me when I've got something important to do. I was at work in the loo once where my boss kept calling me over the P.A. I would have packed up my shit (no pun intended) and left the bathroom if it wasn't my bowels fighting against me. I just kept wiping and wiping, the texture seemed to get thicker and wetter, it was fucked! You can't explain this hazard too. When I told the boss I was in the bathroom, she said: 'go sooner next time'. Little that she knows I was in there for 15 minutes! Be careful with this one!

3. The traveller- This is the one where when you're finished laying some cable, the stains end up in other areas around your asshole. Sometimes it'll travel as far as your buttcheeks. It's uncanny and surreal that no one was ever able to explain. Until now:

My theory (Using crude drawings)

(Note: The view is looking up from inside the toilet bowl. It might take a few minutes to understand what's happening in each picture)

The toilet bowl is designed for comfort as well as stability.



When you first sit on the seat, the bowl rims on either side help spread your ass cheeks apart. This is to ensure that the feces doesn't stain your asshole or cheeks during the duration of the dump.



But sometimes you will shift. This creates a butterfly paint picture effect (pictured) Where your ass cheeks come together and smudge feces from different points on your cheeks.











Sometimes when wiping you might help push/transport the feces to different areas, so you need to be careful with your wiping.

It's an art, it's hard to master.

So when you're in the bathroom again, enjoy it while it lasts. Because you never know when these hazards will hit you.

A grand day out.

It had been a while since I'd visited home and since the previous day was Mother's Day I felt it would be nice if I were to drop by and see mum and dad and the rest of my family. I'd made myself a deal the previous night that I would wake up early and call a tattoo place I know was on the way to see if they had time that afternoon for me to get something done. I wanted the afternoon because mum wasn't home till 5 and I really had nothing else planned for the day. Well, it turns out they didn't have time that afternoon, they did however have time in an hour. So, after a split second decision I had a shower, got dressed and drove halfway between my house and that of my family's.

I had to park around the corner because the front only had half-hour parking. I gathered my stuff from the car and walked into the tattoo place I'd only ever been in once before. That time I went in to see if they had time to do it, but the thought of doing it the next day was somewhat overwhelming. After ringing the bell a couple of times, someone finally came down; a very pretty girl with a slight, very nice british accent. So in my mind she was hot. After showing her the design I wanted she was curious about 2 things. The first was how she could get it to the right size, as it was on an A4 sheet of paper, and 2 was why I wanted those particular stars, as they weren't that common. I asked her if she knew Sonic the Hedgehog and her eyes lit up. Not only did she know it, but she loved it, and she immediately recognised the sign. In fact me coming into the shop got her so excited she started asking so many questions about games, and levels and I think she was more excited than me. After settling down and agreeing on the size, she copied the picture onto my arm and I layed down so she could get to work. After some chit-chat and stuff while she did her thing she told me she was done and I was ready to go. Lo and behold:

The Sonic symbol for invincibility!



After leaving the tatto place I was a bit excited and I knew my next stop; haircut. So I set out and drove towards mum's place because I was going to get it done at the place I used to go to. I arrived and my heart sank, as the guy I don't like was there waiting for me. I sat down while he finished up with someone else and started flipping through on of the haircut books they have. Surprisingly, I found one that I wanted, and so was a bit excited that I might actually be happy with a haircut for once. It was my turn, so I stood up and showed him the picture and let him know I wanted it short all over with a bit of a fringe, because I've always hated my head when there's no fringe. I got my fringe. However the rest was not what I wanted, so for the first time ever, I actually told him to do it again. I'd always chickened out of doing it and left the hairdressers embarassed and sad. Not today! I got him to make tha back shorter, and despite his protest of "But your neck will be cold" I told him to continue. I made a good choice.

After my haircut, it was time for mum's place. I knew she wouldn't be there for a few hours, but I'd brought a movie to watch so I knew I'd be ok. I got home, set up a laptop to check emails and stuff, turn on the tv, and Jesus H. Christ, Die hard with a Vengeance was on! Best fucking action movie ever! I was the happiest kid in the world at that moment. And it will go down as one of the best days ever.

After Die Hard I later masturbated and watched Southland Tales, so it kind of went downhill after that, but meh, Southland tales got me angry about how fucking stupid it was. So that's something to be happy about.

I'm a sook.

I hate it when my facial hair reaches the point of ‘suspicious pedophile’. It really damages my delicate sensibilities when people riding on a full bus will elect to stand up rather than sit next to me. Mind you, given the caliber of freaks who choke the public transport systems, it’s probably for the best anyway.

You see, I haven’t really had much of a chance to shave. I know that sounds like a silly statement, but it’s true. I have to choose a time to shave that will allow my skin sufficient time to recover from pernicious bleeding before interacting with other people. And you see, I had a fairly busy (read: drunk) weekend, so I didn’t have a chance to do it then.

I therefore decided to shave tonight. Standard procedure, really; Have shower to soften facial hair, stand completely naked in front of sink, perform ass-clenching exercises for 5 minutes, apply shaving cream (to face) and proceed to shave with appropriate implement. As mentioned above, I bleed quite a bit when I shave. Nothing unusual there. The trouble arises when I’m finished shaving and I have to cauterise the open wounds.

I, as most gentlemen I know, use a moderately priced aftershave to accomplish this (Calvin Klein Obsession, now $38.95 for 75mL. Take advantage of the savings!). I do the same dance every time. I splash my face with this pleasant smelling caustic acid, go temporarily blind from the searing pain and then carry on with my day. Not tonight though. Sweet mother of penis, it was painful tonight. I don’t understand why. I think perhaps my skin was extra sensitive because I hadn’t shaved in over a week. Whatever the case, I seriously considered asking someone to kick me in the balls to take my mind off the pain. It was just that painful.

Crotch-grabbingly painful.

On a somewhat related note, I invented a new expletive phrase tonight. As I was cursing the various Gods during my painful facial torture, I uttered the words ‘ass-troubling thunderfuck’. Please feel free to use this at your discretion.

It’s all thanks to a little Yes-I-Can-nabis.

Weed.

Who among us has never tried it? It’s the logical step to take after excessive binge drinking but before ecstasy. Though government departments and scientific research will try to convince you that it was forged by Satan and it makes you rape women and carry on like a lumbering fool, it really is quite a harmless way to spend an evening. With drink prices taking a leap towards outrageous, it makes sense to simply stay home and roll a spliff. In fact, I think society would benefit from adopting this line of thought. Your options on a Saturday night are as follows:

1. I could go out and paint the town red. However, I’ll have to get dressed up in jeans and a collared shirt. If I want to drink, I’ll have to arrange for alternative transport. If I’m going to take a taxi, I’ll have to be prepared to get fingered on the fare. And what about the actual drinks? If I’ve gone to all of this trouble to get into the city, I would be a fool not to drink. I’ll have to be prepared to pay perhaps $7 for basic spirits. Will this be an expensive night out? All signs point to yes.
2. I could stay home, invite a friend over and have a couple of cones. I wouldn’t have to dress up, rather I would be wearing comfortable ‘stay at home’ gear, which usually constitutes some sort of flannelette shirt and fleecy pants. I would have to be prepared to laugh my ass off at the most insipid shit, and start musing about how Star Wars could have been better. And if I’m sensible, I can get many nights of fun out of $50 worth of weed.

That certainly is a tough decision. I’ve found myself in the middle of this quandary on a few occasions. I chose option 2 on all those occasions.

I usually like to plan how I’m going to spend my drug induced stupor. It makes sense to me that, since my motor skills and judgment will be greatly diminished while under the influence, I should set everything up before embarking on my trip through time. This is exactly what Sam and I did around July last year. We thought of everything. The food we would eat, the comedies we would watch, the music we would mellow out to… We had our entire night planned with clockwork precision.

It seems funny, then, that upon the execution of this plan everything turned to shit very quickly. We inhaled from the buckets (because we’re hard as fuck), and everything sort of started to unwind and come undone. Sam started coughing violently. I was concerned. He said everything was fine. I was no longer concerned. We both went inside where I sat down on the couch and put The Simpsons on. I have never in my life laughed as hard as I did that day, watching the episode where Willie kills the children in their dreams. When Martin Prince had his sleep time fantasy about being a wizard with ‘one million hit points and maximum charisma’, I lost it. I was laughing for about half an hour before I realised that Sam had been absent the entire time. I was concerned once more. I went up the stairs looking for him when I discovered that he had been in the shower the entire time, possibly crying and clawing at the bugs under his skin. Something is amiss here, I had thought. It wasn’t until I read his transcribed thoughts asking ‘Why am I doing this?’ and announcing ‘I’m dying!’ that I realised that my dear friend was having a bad trip.

I managed to lure him down the stairs to a cosy position in front of the television. The Simpsons was still playing, and it was just what the doctor ordered. Sam, now calm and lucid, was able to look back over the whole thing and laugh.

And now, I invite you to do the same.

Laugh.

………at Sam.

A tribute of sorts.

‘A stone is not a gem without polishing, nor is a boy a man without trials’ (Lao Tzu – Xian Dynasty).

A poignant proverb, I believe. It describes its country of origin quite succinctly as well. China has had a long and colourful past. It has seen its fair share of trials, beginning when the first dynastic emperor, Qi, unified the warring states of the region. China lead the ancient world with its science and discoveries, giving us paper, gunpowder, the compass and the printed word. It is the world’s oldest continuous civilization and its dialect is the world’s oldest written language system.

It’s no wonder, then, that China was selected to host the 2008 Olympic Games. With such a vast and vivid history steeped in tradition, China will show the world that the same dedication and drive that gave us the leading technologies of six millennia has been called into service to give us the best Olympic Games in history.

In the spirit of fellowship and camaraderie, Sam and I have combined our creative might to write a tribute to the Chinese people through the majesty of song. It’s a haunting rendition of a Cantonese chant, accented with Buddhist rhythms and the laughter of a small boy (we wanted to capture the innocence of the Chinese people). And the lyrics? They are difficult to interpret, but you may hear ‘You humble me with your honour’. If Asian cinema has taught us anything, it’s that oriental women will accept men into their homes upon promises of vengeance and honour, hence the lyrics.

It’s a beautiful ballad of unity and kinship, one which may be adopted by the People’s Republic of China for their national anthem. Only time will tell. But don’t be surprised if you hear this song being played at the Olympics.

My Iron Man theatre experience with Jeff

Movie - 8/10

Theatre - 1/10