MSN is a highly useful tool for communication, but damn it, why must it also be used to deliver spam? If I wanted to look at porn or cyber with someone, I would find a site that does not demand anything from me other than page views. So by sending me links or trying to get a cam session going on a site outside of MSN, I am not going to fall for your trickery. You are basically asking me to open up my wallet for a whore that I don’t even get physically fucked by. If I’m to get fucked over, I at least want some pleasure from it. Hell, the next option would be to masturbate. But let’s face it, a blurred and grainy video or picture is hardly going to get anyone but a pubescent 13 year old off. Or someone with a gargantuan case of blue balls, to the stage where they bump their dick against a foreign surface and they cream their pants. Let’s just go with the wanking option, for the sake of the rant. Do you honestly expect me to blow my load all over my keyboard after the monitor displays my obvious position as a violated victim? Maybe if I was into that sort of thing, but I’m not. If I was, I’d at least expect a bit of leather, latex and whipping.

I should create a false identity. That way, I can use a shitty computer with little in terms of internet protection (like AVG free) and have no fear in giving away personal details. I would be able to create valid accounts on these sites and proceed to find ways to disrupt them. Sure, I don’t know any effective ways yet, but if I could have a false identity, I could easily learn such methods. In addition, free pornographic content for everyone! My accounts’ details can be spread across the internet, providing people with shitty copypasta porn. Robin Hood lives again…except for the fat and sexually frustrated…or plain gullible…scratch that.

Scratch the whole Robin Hood and sharing porn idea. I’ll just work towards crashing the sites and fucking over the creators. Might even lure a few into sites that practically mirror their own. That would be quite fitting.

So why am I informing the internet and its countless users about this? Firstly, hardly any of them will see this. Secondly, because I can. Thirdly, this is rantable material. How? Well my dear readers, those whom view this supernatural scripture, I shall take over the world. With shit.

Due to my physical youth, I am able to contain the biochemical hazards that is produced within my digestive system. As I age, my ability to contain it will decrease, so I may as well conquer the world before that point. This will be covered later. Now, back to the chemicals. As with all my plans, I will first purchase the African country of Zimbabwe for 20 to 40 Australian Dollars and resurrect its economy and social order. It will become a utopia (in comparison to what it was) and I will have plenty of (hopefully) loyal subjects. I won’t be rich or anything, but who needs riches when I produce my own WMDs? So, myself and the Zimbabwean population will expand and eventually gain influence over the African continent, either by force or diplomacy. Once I am in command of an entire continent, international diplomacy will begin.

Africa is over-populated and rife with disease, poverty, violence and political instability. For the most part I will have hoped to have addressed the violence, political instability and over-population, thus addressing the poverty. Employing qualified professionals, intense research will be conducted into treatments for the diseases and potential revitalisation of Africa and resources such as water, food and possibly woodlands. Many gaps, policies and conflicts aside, everything will work out fine and Africa will be self-sustainable. Probably funded largely by Somalian piracy, but if rich Poms are stupid enough to sail the waters without adequate protection, then they deserve to donate their money to appropriate charities…such as my people. The subjects, not the race. I will be stealing from my race to give to the subjects. Yet both are the same species, so let’s not go into any potential racism or white supremacy/ruler issues. That’s messy and quite the misinterpretation of my intentions.

Allow me to highlight my intentions. Rule the world. To do this, those I rule must be happy. Since I’m ruling Africa, then the African population must be happy. If that’s racism, then you need to re-attend school and cut off your fucking fringe, mullet or rat-tail.

Now onto the main part. Having adequate power behind me, I will be in a position to make demands of global organisations for finance and luxury goods, like toasters. When they ask how I can possibly be a force of influence and intimidation, I will resort to a demonstration. I will lay in a bath, naked, then fart and nearly shit myself. They will be astonished at both my sheer manliness (and impressive girth) and my ability to control bodily functions. But not entirely convinced, I will then unload any built up waste into a ceramic toilet, melting it. Realising my lethal potential, the leaders of the target organisations will immediately start negotiations and preparing to ship myself and the population of Africa plenty of toasters.

Eventually someone will think they can stand up to me. By then the previously hired professionals will have worked out how to contain my biochemical waste and harness it as an intercontinental ballistic weapon. Finding this funny, the organisations will not send my money nor toasters. Shit will fly.

Shit begins to fly.

Shit hits the fan.

Fan melts.

Nasty smell left over.

‘Waste’land created.

Africa prospers, I prosper, my Gamercard also prospers and a new golden age descends upon humanity. Humanity also develops an immunity to fecal-disease.

Unfortunately I will eventually get old and lose my ability to hold in my waste. This means that the entire world will be consumed in shit, but just think of it as a downturn and trough in the economic cycle. An upturn and new boom/peak will eventually occur. But at least mine was shit-tacular.

“Wait. What is this? No introduction hinting at a rant? This is bullshit!” No, my dear reader, this is not bullshit. It is not Sparta or madness either. Well, maybe a little madness. Anyways. This. Is. General Miscellaneous Rant (GMR).

Actually, GMR may have to be something I remember and stick with.

“Oh but fishdick, what is miscellaneous?” ‘Tis the same as misc. “But fishnuts, what is misc?” Woman, you don’t have to get back to the kitchen, I’m not like that. But I would appreciate it if you learn what dictionary.com is; it’s bad enough your periods attract bears to the internet. I type this in fear of being mauled by a cyber bear. A FUCKING CYBER BEAR!!! Even I can’t take on a CYBER BEAR.

Fuck…CYBER BEARs…wow. They are so awesome, they need to be written in capitals. Look: Cyber. Bear. CYBER BEAR. Bear. Cyber. bEAR cYBER.

I think I just found a glitch. CYBER BEAR bEAR cYBER. Nice.

Okay, enough dicking around. What is a GMR? A GMR is where I bitch about random things in life that just pop into my head. I feel like shit at the moment, so I’d say this is quite a fitting time to have a GMR.

People on the train. I will admit, the train line I use is frequented by the ferals that ferals look down on. Yes, the Gawler Central line IS that bad. But the general ferals provide entertainment, so I can handle them as long as I’m not the focus of their attention. What does annoy me are the other people. You have a phone? Congratu-mc-fucking-lations! You have music on it? Allow me to bow down and suck my own dick while you violate my intestinal tract. Having these two things does not mean you have the right to blare shitty distorted vibrations throughout the carriage. It is a privilege, just like owning the phone. Violate that privilege and I have the privilege to shove it up your arse. For those who like that, I’ll then proceed to jam the shit-coated phone down your throat. For those who also enjoy that, I will ensure it replaces your pelvic genitalia. In theory that sounds funny, but in practice – and with half your body fucked by my arm and your phone being moved down there – it is not. But it doesn’t stop there. Oh no. People who talk too loud. I get it, some phones just don’t project the sound efficiently into your ear and some microphones are crap. But that does not mean you have to yell. Stick to using SMS/MMS, email, Facebook, Twitter, ebuddy, MSN, etc. For those who don’t know how, get a better phone. And for those who YELL INTO YOUR PHONE BECAUSE THAT’S HOW YOU COMMUNICATE OVER A PHONE, GET A FUCKING LIFE BEFORE YOU ADVERTISE IT! IT WOULD BE AMUSING IF YOU HAD SOMETHING BETTER TO SAY THEN GIVING THAT CAT IN THE ALLEY A BLOWJOB THEN RIMMING A HOBO FOR MONEY! Yes, anal rimming.

Why must technology be so fucking unreliable? Actually, that doesn’t bother me too much, it is the price of progress and can be replaced. But what happens when the company fucks around with warrantee and consequently fucks their customers. Yes Asus, I am talking about the many raging customers you have created with your shit warrantee ethics. If your technology isn’t working, we should be able to send it back while it is under warrantee. If something is wrong, you fix it or replace it and send us back a working piece. If we fucked up, you just send it back and call us idiots. You do NOT send it back and fine us for the look under the hood, NOR do you simply make the warrantee process hell by losing entire systems in the mail. In addition, reply to emails and check your forums occasionally. You might be surprised about how low your reputation is becoming. I once looked to you as a reliable brand, but in the past 6-12 months, people are finding out why that image should change. In the past 2 months, I am now one of them. Fuck you Asus, and fuck you those who supply substandard technology.

Actually, this leads to another point. If a game is going to be released, put the adequate beta testing into it and release a proper fucking game! I’m not much of an internet gamer; hell, I’ve only recently gotten off of dial-up. So the last thing I want to do is play a glitchy game and be told the only remedy is a path you released the same day of the game’s release. That’s just fucking lazy. In addition, downloadable content (DLC). Get knotted. Seriously, go shove a pine cone into your left ear, break a few shards off into your brain and pull it out of your nose. Not only is your face now of a correct and accurate appearance to your original intelligence, but the shards have just disabled your control over your bowel. The rest of you game developers out there, take heed of this shitster; do YOU want to end up like HIM?

Never, ever, tell me to calm down in an argument. Doing so disrupts the flow of the argument and infuriates me. Yes, infuriate. Unless you have used it as an arguing technique to quickly gain the initiative and resume the argument with you leading the proceedings, don’t tell me to calm down. I turn red when I speak and said speaking increases in speed. Why? I don’t breathe. It’s the same as when I run; I don’t breathe. That’s why I am not a marathon runner. But by not breathing in an argument, I am naturally able to slow myself down and keep cool. A little side-effect, if illogical. But turning red does not mean anger. I’d say it is more akin to passion, which can be quite a handy asset in an argument (despite being a double-edged blade). Now, when you are blindly refusing to acknowledge what myself and another person is saying, saying it is bad and not right – yet giving no justification – then there is a chance you’ve just called me bad and wrong. I can handle this, if there is a reason or proof. It’s not hard to find, believe me. So I retort, providing examples and situations in which my view can be applied, including likely outcomes. You counter in the childish manner of just saying that it is wrong. I continue. You tell me to calm down. It is at this stage you should hope I have a reason not to beat your skull repeatedly against a brick wall. It may shit me off that you’re amazingly ignorant and childish, it may shit me off that you are refusing to even acknowledge my views as my own and that we must agree to disagree, but to then disrupt the entire flow of the argument and tell me to calm down. LIKE A CHILD. Then leave the argument there. Dead. Hoping it will be forgotten. No, that is not on. That is a glaringly bright beacon of your immaturity. This beacon blinds me and this, fuck me off to no easily perceivable end.

My shiny bass is a magnet to horny dust bunnies looking to replicate on a glossy black surface and shiny metal pickups. I love having carpet in my room because it - in combination with my light, tv/pc screen, lack of air circulation and my natural body heat – enables me to stay warm in winter. Sure, it stinks in the mornings, but most rooms do anyway. You may not think so, but that’s because you will always smell better to yourself than to everyone else. {Oh, a firecracker just went off. I mean IRL. Back to rant}. But having carpet means there will always be dust. Sitting up on its mighty guitar stand of bassiness, my mighty bass is scaled by dust and subsequently fawnicated on. They fuck their little hearts out. I’m sick of wiping away entire populations only to have them return in force the next day, banging away in an orgi larger than a worldwide swingers club. Without contraceptives! No amount of WMDs would destroy these populations, not carpet shampoo nor static. Well, static and fire are not preferable solutions since they’ll fuck up my room and it’s electronics. Damn dust.

Mothers. ‘Nuff said.

Since when has swearing ever been a negative thing? I was bought up in a family which swore all the time, especially my mother. But amongst all of the shits, fucks and even cunts (a decent chunk directed at me I might add), I turned out alright. Please don’t quote that last bit. Hell, I never even swore (except accidently calling a T-Rex a ‘fuck’ when I was around the age of five, and calling a European Carp a European Crap) until I was old enough. 13 I could use little things, 16 I could start expanding into bitch, shit and bastard (not often) and by 18 the entire english vocabulary was my oyster. Now around my parents there are limits, which was the previous. I was always foul-mouthed around mates and people around my age. Plus it’s funny to see people squirm at the word ‘cunt’; I may as well say ‘Voldemort’ while I’m at it. Don’t fear the word, don’t be offended by it; heed the context it is used in. Then be fearful or offended.

The last point was kind of crap. I think I’m out of rage juice, my ASAM (Anger, Semen, Anthrax, Manliness) tank is now empty. Now it’s time to just feel flat and try to amuse myself. Although feeling ‘flat’, providing ‘flat’ consents, could amuse me. Oh well.

I have an awesome laptop, the specs are great and I got it for a bargain (haggling and the use of cash over credit, $200 of freebies [case, anti-virus, extended warrantee] were gained). Now, everything was going fine, we upgraded from dial-up (over seven torturous years) and I was very happy. That was until I realised MSN wouldn’t work. So I updated it. But here’s the kicker – some visual studio runtime thing refused to download. So I checked out the troubleshooting, and that said to uninstall the ‘Windows Live’ crap, then reinstall. I did that and it still didn’t work, so I shut down the comp after a bit of gaming. Upon loading up later, the load times were fucked and the comp froze frequently. Recovered the comp and the problem just hasn’t stopped. Hardware seems to be operating at their normal capabilities, so it’s either my hard drive or something just didn’t want to get removed. Either way, I’ll probably be cashing in my warrantee to get this fixed.

It’s better now, but not like it used to be. Maybe I just need to fuck around with turning on/off some features with Windows 7…meh, I’ll get around to that. But that is not the point of this rant. This is:

Microsoft, I am coming for you. Bill Gates may be sitting on his throne in the huge aerial fortress, but surrounding him are lecherous swine who suck slivers of his revenue away. Bill is not my target, the corporate leeches are. But I am a commoner, I cannot buy an adequate vessel to fly me to this fortress, nor one that could withstand the defensive weaponry of lawyers and security guards. So I must use my Gaia given ability to charm and tame animals to aid me in my struggle. I shall find myself a unicorn and seek the mighty Pegasus. For those who do not know, a unicorn is a magic and beautiful horse with a horn, while Pegasus is a majestic flying horse. With wings, not gas-powered. Upon seeking and charming/taming these two creatures, I shall breed them. For those who enjoy interspecies erotica, the unicorn shall be the female. I may also do this in Siberia, so I can finally provide the world with Siberian White Horse Porn. The resulting offspring will then be checked for genetic deficiencies, and the strongest (which will be a prime specimen) will be raised by me and be a truly magnificent creature. I’ll then breed it with a zebra; I want a truly unique mount, not a uniquely generic mount.

The appropriately called Pebracorn (influenced by Bradon’s suggestion of ZebraPegaCorn) will be clad in the strongest and lightest mithril, while I shall be sealed within an intimidating and resilient suit of armour made out of something that can stop batons, bullets and lawyers’ razor-sharp paper. Hopefully something with a mystical name, like Gwenythantium or something. My weaponry of choice shall be a mighty long sword, shield and halberd. I love my halberds and warhammers, but a warhammer is just not suitable in this situation. Maybe if I was attacking orcs or goblins, like the insurance agencies. Now, onto the battle plan.

Mounting my mighty stead – as in sitting on it’s back, not sexually violating it – I will fly up to the mighty Microsoft fortress, swiftly dodging all ballistic defences and landing safely on the battlements. Trampling our way along the battlements, we shall clear all foes who attempt to stand in our way. Bodies will crumple under the feet and be impaled upon the mighty horn of the Pebracorn, while others shall be sliced open with my sword/halberd and be bashed from the battlements with my mighty shield. Upon breaching the outer defences, we shall progress into the inner defences, easily dispatching those as well. Smashing open the mighty reinforced doors to the throne room, I shall gallop into the centre of the room, the hooves of the Pebracorn echoing as they hit the ground. The stunned and staggered royal guard and lecherous swine will look helplessly onwards as I dismount my fine steed, landing with such force that the dust will be thrown away from me with the force of unnatural winds. Leaving my halberd with my steed, my sword will be drawn and my shield grabbed, the razor-sharp edges cutting the very air with bewildering precision. Trudging my way through the tense air, I will then drop to one knee in front of Mr. Gates, thanking him for being a primary reason for the advancement of technology and then rise, proceeding to slay the ungrateful lecherous heretics who surround him.

I’ll let your imagination make out the epic and gory details that follow.

And so, upon being freed from the weakening grip of the leeches, Mr. Gates will thank me and reward me with a truly |_3-=|-|- computer, which will always perform at its peak, and automatically upgrade it’s hardware and software. I will then be a technological god amongst men and women; so effectively just a demi-god with a cool computer. Fuck yeah.

Here I was thinking I used the words ‘Cunt’ and ‘Fuck’ too often. Well, it’s good to see the newer generations on the train putting me to shame – hell, they weren’t even 15 and they thought their scooters and language was awesome. If they’re anything to go by, at least Today Tonight and A Current Affair won’t be running low on material anytime soon. I can see the introduction now, “Useless kids call each other cunts, yet ironically they themselves aren’t even remotely useful.” Okay, maybe not the ‘cunts’ part, nor the sexual reference, but we’ll just roll with that little zing right there.

The story? Well, there I was, sitting on the train reading ‘Great Expectations’ by Charles Dickens (for an enligsh course – did you see what I did there? Teehee.) and could hear this annoying high-pitched voice. Thinking it was someone with those annoying nasal voices, I risked a side glance to see two little kids who looked like they were wearing shaggy mops. Oh great, school-wagging kids who think they own the world. Sitting there with your poxy scooters, gansta brand clothing and un-maintained hair. Congratu-mc-fucking-lations, you can skip school! Wow, it’s amazing what kids these days are taught. But that doesn’t worry me, nor does the knives likely hidden in their pockets. I happen to have a whole steak knife set hidden in every little gap of my awesome pants, as well as a butchers cleaver in my left armpit. There’s this little flap of skin, yeah, it acts as an awesome mount. So I wasn’t worried about their violent tendencies, rather their language. Allow me to impart a memory of mine unto you:

Kid 1: “{something undecipherable}
Kid 2: “Oi shut yer fuckin’ mouth ye fucking cunt”
K1: “Well it’s fucking true!”
K2: “I’ll fuckin’ cut ye, ye cunt”
K1: “Cunt, chill”
K2: “Don’t ye call me a cunt, ye fucking cunt”
K1: “You’re really easily angered”
K2: “I’m only fucking angered when cunts like you say fucking cunt shit like that, ye cunt. I’ll fucking cut you if ye say that shit again, cunt.”
K1: “Well you know it’s true, you fucking bitch. Stop acting like a bitch.”
K2: “You cunt! I’ll fucking rape your mum if ye say that fucking shit again. Fucking cunt. You are, yer a fuckin’ cunt.”
K1: “Chill cunt, chill. An don’t call me a cunt.”

And it just keeps going. Then they see some ‘cunt’ they recognise nearby, then start admiring their scooters, then resume overusing the word ‘cunt’.

Fuck me drunk (in a burnt out car near the docks)! These kids nearly ruined the word for me. It’s a shock expletive; you say it, people suddenly raise their guard or turn their attention to you. It can be tagged nicely on the end of an abusive sentence to add an almost bark-like effect. It also has a nice short, rough and fitting ring to it. I was once told by a person that the word offended them, so I changed it to ‘Cvaginunt’, a nice mixing of ‘Cunt’ and ‘Vagina’. It’s actually a fun word. Much like the meaning of the other two words every 3/4 weeks. Another time someone put their hands to their ears and exclaimed that they hated to word. Through my own form of systematic desensitisation, they eventually grew used to it. That was a fun year. I should have exploited this weakness and proposed another form of desentitisation, but I know my cheek would have become rather red. In the shape of a hand. Besides, she had decent breasts, but she just didn’t float my boat. Traumatising her with words was much more fun. I sound like some sort of predator…lovely.

Now what was the point I was trying to make again? Let me just re-read the start. Oh yes, foul-mouthed kids befouling the words I love. Allow me to continue.

We should sew the mouths of these kids shut. For the males, I propose the skin from their penis, and possibly some of the muscle and cartilage to make sure the skin doesn’t snap or stretch. For the females, a combination of tampon string, clitoris and solarium induced breast cancer. The benefits of this approach are numerous and plentiful. For the males, they will have no penis to be able to reproduce with, relying on IVF procedures. This will allow doctors to selectively choose which of these little shits can reproduce. Since the ones who abuse my preferred words will be the ones seeking the treatment, very few will be allowed. The only ones who will be allowed will be the ones who seem like nice little Catholic boys – them I will allow, but ship off to the Vatican for punishment for seeking IVF, as well as immediate indoctrination into the priesthood. The RCC will love me for solving their pedophile situation, and society will love me for disposing of this blight. A few of the benefits for the female punishment will be that less women die from breast cancer, tampons have an extra use (this increasing sales and revenue for the companies, who will reward me with publicity and many attractive, sexually needy women) and the RCC will once again be happy. Actually, many religions and religious institutions will be happy, because I have effectively eliminated the infidels and heretics’ ability to experience an orgasm. If they find another way, the only males they will attract will either be into leather and whips, or have no penis due to their punishing treatment. Overall, everyone of religious orientation benefits, and two of my favourite words are not overused to the point of desensitisation.

I should become a dictator. Imagine the advances in society and science that I would bring about. Let’s face it, the world is becoming more brutal, so my form of brutality is probably far less brutal than the brutal brutality that is brutally sweeping over this brutal world inhabited by us brutal humans. I am brutal…ly less brutal than most brutal brutes. Therefore, vote for me.

The entertainment industry openly opposes it, the authorities tolerate it and the younger generations embrace it. It is both a sin and a god sent gift. Utilising the internets relatively relaxed attitude to law, the downloading of music, movies, games – anything embraced by the entertainment industry – has dug itself in so deep that in order to root it out, an almost inquisitorial purge of heretics, witches and warlocks must be undertaken. But like a well established cult, any act of aggression against the congregation will be met with fierce resistance from its fanatical members. Many of the people who frequent the internet embrace the freedom and anonymity it provides. If you don’t want to be identified, there are ways in which this can be achieved. Likewise, if you wish to become someone who is the complete opposite of yourself, it is undeniably possible. So to take away this freedom and enforce constrictive rules would, in theory, result in a disastrous struggle akin to war.

Various authoritative factions have tried and succeeded in enforcing constrictive rules; look at the internet usage in China. Likewise, there have also been many failed attempts – one just has to scratch the surface of a search engine to find evidence of this. If memory serves me correctly, a relatively recent attempt by the Australian Government to introduce a national censor resulted in their website and possibly even databases being hacked. There are groups of ‘hackers’ who frequently plot against and assault the online realms belonging to governments and law enforcement agencies. Many are unsuccessful, but there are always the few who make it. What would happen if their usage of the internet was threatened? I think it is obvious that they would not take it on all fours like a bitch.

Now, we have established that if these ‘freedoms’ that are provided by the internet were threatened, the results would not be pretty. However, although many governments and law enforcement agencies do turn a blind eye to many users, a few are acted against. According to the media and various ‘real life’ acquaintances, these users happen to be suppliers of content which infringes copyright laws. I am talking about the bogan selling the $2 and $5 movies, the seeder who ‘shares’ copies of his/her albums for free and the websites that allow you to watch anything you want, when you want – for free or for a fee. Occasionally one of these people hear a stern knocking on their door and upon releasing the locks and twisting the knob, are faced with uniform clad law enforcers who force their way inside, seizing hardware and arresting the owner.

So we know that the law is enforced, even if it is only on an ‘occasional’ level. But what gets me is that despite knowing the law is enforced, people still talk openly about breaking copyright laws. Recently a person I know posted a status asking “What bands discography should I download next?” Mate, you just told hundreds of people you are going to intentionally download several albums. A quote from one of the songs by Kevin Bloody Wilson sums up the situation rather well:

I Gave Up Wanking – Kevin Bloody Wilson
“So if you say you don’t wank, you’re a liar, and a fool if you say that you do. So next time you see Prince Charles on TV, remember he wanked himself too.”

Don’t you agree that this can be applied to this situation rather well? If you say you have never downloaded a song, movie or episode from a TV show, then you are a liar. But if you say that you have, then you are a fool. The next time you look at Kevin Rudd, Barak Obama, Osama Bin Laden (if you can find him) or the Queen’s head butler, you can be assured that they have likely broken a copyright law at some point in their life. Unless you are Tony Abbot or Isobel Redmond, in which case you constantly break laws regarding visual and sound pollution. So what is the point of this blog entry? It isn’t angry enough to be a rant, nor does it contain enough unorthodox ideas or statements. The point of this entry is to have a go at people openly advertising that download music/movies/episodes. The more dickwads like you advertise that you ‘downloaded’ something, the more chance that actions will be taken against you. If you ‘just got’, or ‘found’, or ‘got a hold of’ something, then it can be interpreted liberally, but by saying ‘I downloaded’, you just put a big neon sign above you head saying “If I seed at least one of these things, please arrest me.”

Enjoy being arse-fucked like a pathetic poodle by the burley boxers and bull-mastives in jail. Or by the giant vibrating dildos with jagged edges that are also known as ‘lawyers’.

Well, actually, I just wanted to use KBW lyrics in a blog. This whole blog was constructed around those lyrics – it’s amazing how people can bullshit for paragraphs to hide their immature glee at including some ‘naughty’ lyrics. Oh, also, I’m dial-up for another <1 day, so I don’t apply to this blog. HA! Yes ASIO, I’ll put some new windows in for you to smash, and I’ll make sure to bring some lube to the holding facility this time…

Last year, about 1/4 of the way through, I experienced a nasty bout of gagging one morning. Why? I have no idea. All I know is that it made brushing my teeth nearly impossible, shaving became dangerous and the walk to school was a bitch. After occurring on and off for about an hour, it finally died back, only to resurface for a few minutes later that day, then die off again. Over time, it has resurfaced for a week here and there. What causes it? I approached my doctor and he doesn’t know, even though an increasing number of people have approached him regarding similar circumstances. There also doesn’t seem to be a treatment, although I keep mine down with either coke or water, but even that is temporary. It makes speaking annoying, especially since I tend to forget things when interrupted. But this wouldn’t be one of my blogs without some bizarre way of harnessing this for the greater good of my hidden evil.

The vocalist of the Sex Pistols, Johnny Rotten I think, was known to vomit and urinate on his crowds. He could actually vomit when he wanted. Now, I haven’t vomited as a result of my fucked gag reflex, but if I tempted it I could. So, assuming I used my gag reflex to train myself to vomit on thought, the possibilities are endless. The large variety of scenarios where this could come in handy are more numerous than I can think of. So I will just think of a few which will probably be lacking in humour, but then I challenge you to write a funnier scenario. Just make sure to send it to me, so I can edit this, add it in and rip off your genius. Don’t like it? BLARGH!

I rock up to an interview for an advertising firm. There is an opening for a critic and I think I could fulfil the role rather well. After exploring that I have no experience in the field, they ask me for my brutally honest opinions regarding a few adverts and they like what they hear. But although they may like me, they still question my qualifications. “We like your spunk, but you lack any qualifications. I hope you can understand our concern, since taking you on board would be a risk we do not want to take. So what actually makes you think you are THE right person for the job?” It is at that point I comment on the fashion sense of the least favourite panel member; “Witty comment regarding fashion, sarcastic jab, ‘Actually, I think your choice of tie is absolutely revolt-BLARGH!’”.

There I am, standing in front of a class of 28 Year 12 students. You have the usual mix; the ferals, the unenthused, the nerds, the other ferals, the loner(s), etc. They seem rather unsettled, but that is to be expected in the last lesson of the day. They are unresponsive, distracted and overall difficult. Upon asking a rather difficult and genius question regarding some famous writer or director whose work we are studying, the top student who thinks her shit doesn’t stink answers with undeniable confidence. Raising one eyebrow, I digest her comment and stealthily admire her rather plentiful chest. The comment is the usual regurgitated crap that gets students high marks, but damn she has amazing blue eyes and the most golden blonde hair I have ever seen. Not to mention that chest. How does she even fit in that dress? Just as well she’s 18, that makes this perving only partially unacceptable. Still, the answer was unoriginal. “Rebecca, you are right.” The class collectively rolls their eyes. “But if I wanted that answer, I would have read it from the bloody text book. Think for your own god damned self, woman! BLARGH!”

Oh noes, the army has reintroduced conscription. Entry to the RAAF, RAN and officer in the army is not available, just simply lowly soldier. Or for me anyway, even though my eyesight and colour blindness renders me medically unfit for most combat roles, but we’ll ignore that. Anyways, long story short, I get given a LMG. I pull trigger, LMG goes DAKKA DAKKA DAKKA, I feel fulfilled. I hold of hordes of lowly militia while my squad mates are slowly picked off, mainly by stray shots and not my inability to pin the enemy. Believe me, they are either pinned or dying. But there are so many of them, even my torrent of fire cannot stop them all. I get shot in the leg, or arm – somewhere not critical and from which I can heal from. They crawl all over me, amazed at the size of my genitalia, then drag me back to their cave. It looked like some sort of morbid wedding, me being the bride and my penis being the veil carried behind me. No funny stuff went on though, leave that out of this fantasy. Besides, I’d been shot. If I cracked a fat, then I’d die from blood loss – having a huge penis requires a lot of blood, and my heart is superhuman, not fucking godly. So, I wake up strapped to a chair and begin being interrogated.
Militia: “Who do you serve?”
Me: “Look at the cams, and the sewed on badge and take a fucking guess.”
Militia: *punches me* “Don’t get smart with me.”
Me: *spits blood on the ground* “Yeah, I may confuse you.”
Militia: *backhands me* “What was your objective?”
Me: “My objective was to show your mother how you should have been conceived. Giggidy giggidy goo.”
Militia: *pistol whips me then points it at my nuts* “Watch your tongue, or I’ll blow your unnaturally large and arousing genitals away.”
Me: “Yeah, you’d love for me to blow all over you. You’d think you were in fucking Canada. BLARGH!”
Me: *frees self and proceeds to bang the militia’s amazingly attractive mother*

By the way, the first two paragraphs were a bitch to write because my fucking reflex triggered on thought. I meant to joke about it, not for it to actually happen. Fucking Karma. BLARGH!
Also, the reference to Canada was relating to snow. Not extra horny Park Rangers, Bears or Moose.

The world is torn in two – the East and the West. Asia has finally had it with the European and American supremacy. They are sick of these two powerhouses limiting their economic potential and criticising their social choices. Europe and America know that allowing Asia to advance unchecked would threaten their power, and the increasing threat and severity of terrorism is making them paranoid. An increase in terrorist attacks from China and India, as well as the regular Arabic attacks exceeds even what the West expected. Border security increases to ridiculous standards, global economic activity suffers, political and diplomatic solutions begin to fail and military activity increases. The world is divided and war seems inevitable.

Diplomats and politicians from both sides began to refuse to attend meetings held outside of their territories. After a rushed grab for allies, few places remained truly neutral. The West was bolstered by South America, Australia, Japan, several pacific islands/countries and several African countries. The East solidified its relations with several Russian satellites (countries previously under the Soviet Union),the few Middle-Eastern countries that had remained neutral, and a few Eastern African countries. Russia, Switzerland and Israel remained neutral. However rumour had it that Israel was ready to join the West when required and Switzerland would gain much benefit from allying with the West. Russia appeared to be the only truly neutral player, holding territory across both factions and benefitting more from underground activities aiding both factions than simply allying with one.

The diplomats from both sides met in a desperate last ditch attempt at diminishing the rising tension. It was made clear that both powers held onto a variety of WMDs, ranging from nuclear to chemical. Rumours of seismic WMDs also existed, but was dismissed as extremely high and concentrated explosives. Talks were advancing slowly, but progress was being made. Until the building where the talks were taking place was destroyed, none of the diplomats survived and many security and civilian casualties were suffered. The global situation rapidly deteriorated, military forces began to advance and entire arsenals of WMDs were unleashed. Entire armies and countries were wiped from the map in seconds, over 75% of the world’s habitable land was ravaged by nuclear and chemical fallout. The remaining 25% used what they had left, scorching the Earth in a firestorm which nothing was expected to survive.

But as is typical of the human species, some survived. Many civilians went underground, some returning to the surface decades later. A few groups even returned centuries later, but were eradicated almost immediately due to their weakened immune systems. One of the groups that went underground was the clergy of the Roman Catholic Church. The Vatican had recalled many of its clergical members and hidden underground, in complex and expensive shelters funded by their immense wealth. Years of masturbation and sodomy left them craving for a dose of a different meat. For the tightness of virgins. For the tightness of children. Nothing more than child-depraved zombies, they ferociously swept the barren European landscape to collect any children they could find.

The East had been completely eradicated, a seismic WMD created by the Americans was indeed real. Shattering the ground and rendering every underground shelter useless, every Easterner was slaughtered by the toxic radiation, acidic chemicals and flesh devouring viruses. The West, however, was exposed to a virus which although relatively harmless to adults, assaulted the immune systems of children with relentless force. Many children fell after emerging from the shelters, only the strongest and most determined surviving the fevers and internal bleeding. This led to those children being valued, as they were the future of an increasingly desperate future. When news of the clergy, or ‘Evangelics’ as they were nicknamed, spread, survivors began taking up arms and fighting off the horders of white clad monsters.

After weeks of sporadic fighting, the waves of Evangelics began to increase. The numbers were unexpected, nobody had ever expected that the Roman Catholic Church contained so many clergical members. Their ranks were also bolstered by those still faithful who sabotaged the survivors and joined the Evangelics. But not all was bad, for patterns were emerging and the media was re-established. Groups of survivors could communicate and resistance could be co-ordinated. It appeared that the Evangelics still maintained a leadership structure. The Priests and lower clergy were obvious, simply clothed and usually unarmed. The Bishops acted as the non-commissioned officers, commanding groups of the lower clergy. Often equipped with jewelry and staves, they were deemed as higher priority targets, but not urgent. The Arch-Bishops and Cardinals acted as the officers – clad in copious amounts of gold jewelry and iconography, in addition to the Cardinal’s red robes, they were feared for their resilience and strength. Entire clips of ammunition could be emptied into these and they would still not fall, it was as if they were possessed by the Holy Spirit. Finally, the Pope co-ordinated all of their attacks. Whenever he is seen, all hope is lost. For his presence spells the doom for any survivors and the children whose fate is too horrible to imagine.

Now this would be an awesome - if blasphemous – movie. I may just have to become a director one day.

Today, on the train home from uni, I stupidly chose a seat facing away from everyone, right at the end of the train near the driver. I have sunnies, recently subscription ones which allow me to see distances as clear as a crystal bell. Suck that short-sightedness! But yeah, I’m a male. There is no way I could see any decent amount of attractive faces or breasts unless the old granny sitting across from me was an undercover model. I wish she was, I suddenly have wrinkled granny tits on my mind. ARGH!

So there I was, looking at the piece of metal in front of me. After playing a couple rounds of Tetris, I look up and see the Emergency Break lever. That’s when the nasty, taloned idea swooped in and limped my face and dick. My old school bag – which has been through a lot of punishment and is still valued by me – is quite large, large enough to fit a midget or a baby. Or those contortionists. But they cost money, and the baby would probably drown in its own vomit while soiling my bag. So the midget it is. If I pulled the lever, I would be captured by the camera above it, and be slugged a $500 fine. But if I could hide a midget in my bag, then we could fuck around with the minds of anyone watching the recording.

I would sit in the corner, away from the ball camera watching the lever. I would lay my bag on the floor and let the midget out. After gasping for air like a newborn, he/she would then jump up and grab the lever. Probably hop on a seat, then make the leap of faith. As the train is grinding to a halt, he/she hides in my bag and I act all surprised at the midget which just appeared and disappeared. Then I would get the hell away before they either check my bag, or my back goes on me.

After this successful prank, I would shout the midget to a bottle of alcohol below the price of $50. Bless his/her little heart, he/she earned it. Also a free kick at my shins, just for putting up with all the ‘small’ and ‘midget’ jokes I would have probably muttered to him/her while confined in my bag.

The darkness began to lift as N.E.R.V.E Intelligence alerted the sperm that they were to be deployed shortly. Langer began pre-launch procedures and the Scrotania’s living hull tensed. Galiga knew that his time to shine was now; he would be victorious. After what seemed like an eternity of turbulence, the Scrotania’s crew issued the green light and Langer began wishing the sperm luck. Immersed in the pale liquid that would ensure he and his peers would land without much physical trauma, Galiga began his journey.

“Shit! This isn’t the drop zone! Where the fuck are we?” Screamed a younger sperm, his voice laced with fear.
“Trust N.E.R.V.E to screw up. How many false alarms have we had in the lead up to this? You think they’d be able to know when it’s time.” Grunted one of the few female sperm.
“Never mind N.E.R.V.E, our objective still remains and we will complete it. Is this understood? Or do I have to execute some of cowards to set an example?” Inquired the commanding officer, throwing a menacing look at the younger sperm. After a few acknowledgements, the sperm began to move out.

Taking a moment to glance around at his surroundings, Galiga knew N.E.R.V.E had stuffed up. The drop zone was not supposed to look like this – a large cavern with tarnished white states lining the side of the ground and ceiling. As he saw Langer falling back into the blinding light, it was obvious that there was only one way to go. Down.

Leading the group, he began to scout the drop. Before any of them could react, the cavern became unstable and  the pale liquid that had ensured their safe landing began to wash towards the drop. Becoming immersed in the liquid, Galiga hoped this would take him to the objective. He would be the first sperm to find a suitable egg. He would find the best egg there was. Then he would wait, and become stronger.

A burning sensation spread throughout him, and then darkness followed.

This, people, is why oral sex should be encouraged among the youth. Blowing your load into someone’s mouth means no pregnancy. Swallowing it means no mess, and some nutrition. Would you really want a steroid enhanced, Spartan Sperm to turn into your unborn child? I wouldn’t, steroids is proven to increase the chance of mental disability and physical deficiencies in unborn/newborn children.

Don’t have a condom? Sodomy is shit, try oral sex - today!