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Stuff you should look up: Where Men are Men and so are most of the Women.

Going to cycle into town yesterday with friends for the weekly table quiz in the pub.
Suddenly cycled into a solid wall of water.
Took a second to realise this was actually rain when it didn't go away.
Took shelter under a tree, which helped for the first 10 minutes, then stopped helping. 
We sorta figured it'd only be a short shower but the weather gods were like DURR HURR NOPE. YOU'RE GONNA BE THERE A WHILE YOU LITTLE NON-WATERPROOF BUTTMUNCHES.
Now thoroughly soaked, we cycled back to the house as fast as we could. 
We cycled 200m before it stopped raining. Turns out we had managed to find the most  localised tropical rainstorm ever. 
We could have been sitting underneath a giant funnel and not have gotten so wet.

Funny thing was I was getting ready to fly home the next day.
And the airline service had a 1-bag policy.
So I had had to send all by clothes home in a big box via the post office.
Just. Earlier. That. Day.

And now the only clothes I had for 2 days were soaked.
Fucking. Joy.
. . .


1) Ransom by LRR

2) Jumping on a Giant Water Balloon by The Slo Mo Guys

3) Water Balloon to the Face by Discovery Channel

4)The Devil's Advocate Speech in kinetic typography

5) Bootleg Fireworks: Subtitled Version

 . . . 
There. Now go do something that isn't wasting your time watching ridiculous internet videos all day . . . 

Crazier than a lettuce wearing a hat! . . . so not very.

Wow! According to this, this month the blog got 20 views from . . .

 . . . . . .

Seriously you guys? I mean, come the fuck on.
It's like spammers just aren't even trying any more.

It's like after nigerian princes and zimbabwe lottery winners they're all just out of ideas.

Here's a few for ya:
"Your bank has just recently miscalculated your tax credits: fill in your details to recieve the-"
(no, wait. I can do better)

"Ninjas have kidnapped your mother, Mr. Geordanicci! You have 40 seconds from the time you open this email til they turn her into slightly-forgetful, excellent-spaghetti-and-meatballs-maker sushi. UNLESS you photocopy your passport in reply to this to make sure we haven't got the wrong guy. Then attach your social security number for shits and giggles extra security."

That's better.
 . . .
I am officially all out of ideas . . . . NO, WAIT!


Fill in the blanks in the comments and I will return your humourously random paragraph in a reply comment within the day.
Who knows? You might just learn something about yourself.
And that thing will be that you have issues. Scary issues.

Silly Word:
Last Name:
Noun (plural):
Different Adjective:
Different Silly Word:
Yet Another Different Adjective:

Here, to show you how much fun this could be, I'll do (a different!) one first to show you how it's done:

The Industry`s Most Highly Awarded... Mad Lib

"Without doubt Boobs Inc. has left its Boob with us as some of the most Boob-Like Boobs on the Breasts... This Boobs that we highly recommend for Boobish Boobers and high-end Mammaries."

 . . . hmm. . . I need help. . . 

No I am not being lazy by making you do the comedy for me. What ever gave you that idea?
 . . .
That's all right now. Now go talk to me or something. . . 
I'm so ronery.

 . . . 

Pic details here.

Stuff you should look up: Herping the Derp all night long.

This is a Longan. Also known as a Lungan. Also known as DRAGON'S EYES.
 . . . 
That's right. Motherfucking

And no, there is no other way to type that. It's one of those things that's engrained in the male psyche.

It's an exotic fruit used in china. It's flesh is very sweet and I highly recommend buying a few if you have the chance.

You bite it slightly to break the skin, and then the skin slides off, and then you bite into it and 


 Why? Why the hell would you not tell me that there is a massive, fuckoff seed in the middle of the goddamn fruit, friend-of-a-friend who offered this to me? 
This has turned a perfectly good taste-bud massage into a veritable sense-of-taste clusterbomb of hate.

I really hate it when fruit pulls a sucker punch on you like that. 

So here's some others I can bitch about!

---Sneaky motherfuckers

2) Peach 
Yeah, that's right. I'm calling you out on this you delicious seductress. You ever tried to do the thing where you cut it on the halfway mark and then try to twist it apart? 
I can't.
Fucker just leaves my hands looking like I tried to finger-paint with rotten fish mush. Ruins one of my favourite fruits.

3) Bananas in fruit salad

What the fuck? I see you there, trying to hide. Trying to turn that wonderful, sharp-tasting dessert into mushy, bland inedibility. Don't you da- I SAID DON'T YOU DARE DISINTEGRATE INTO PASTY, GROSS SYRU-oh fuck. Too late.
4) Prunes that haven't been de-seeded. 

Fuck you. 
 - signed, My Teeth.

5) When Oranges Spit You In The Eyes When You Try And Peel Them, The Devious, Malevolent Asshats.

When Or-oh. Kinda let the title speak for itself there.

 . . . 

Th-Th-Th-Th-The-The-Th-That's all folks! 
Now go watch X-Men or something. . . 


I am Nijerian prinse Majeerah Akinwunmahadjalalilimajereshertiaaaaaaaymacarena, and I am coming on you to be helping me with my long problem. Please be excusing the fact that I cannot spel prinsce. Or Nygeria.  
You see, for years I have been moneyless in my home country of Insert Third World Country Here. But now I find I am royalty. But now we need you help. You see Insert Email Address Before The @ Symbol, Making It Look Like A Name, I need your credit card details to ensure I can become it. (note to self: ask scamming supervisor how exactly this is supposed to work)
Anyways, if you should become so kind as to reply with your bank account details, I will am thankful so much that I will recieve you 20% of monies which I will recieve.

 . . . and if are not believing that, then I will be sending you emails every days the next 18 years with lottery story instead of royals.

 . . . 

Just back from the gym.

My biceps and triceps seem to have put aside their petty differences and formed a union.
Gluteus Maximus is attempting to join too, but they're arguing that that fat lazy bastard just sits on. . . well . . . himself all day.
My heart seems to be considering temporary strike action on all function because of working hours disputes. This is very worrying, but the heart's petty squabbles with my brain over my behaviour seem to be distracting it from any decisive action.
My lungs aren't too worried as they can deal with the burning sensation that comes with exercise for now, but they warn that if I take up smoking, they will attempt to escape via my ears.
My eyes gave up long ago, beaten into submission by the horrible, horrible things I've seen on the internet. Unfortunately, their little passive-aggressive revolt involves slowly degenerating into mush.
My liver's wondering if it can hire a lawyer it knows, who's a real asshole, to file charges against me for domestic alcohol abuse.
My back just wants to sleep on a bed that won't add 40 years to my life.
My elbows are. Um. Still there I guess. No one gives a shit about those guys.
Also, my teeth think I should take up knitting, but that's probably mental damage from the tin foil I've been chewing.
Lastly, my thumbs are signing a petition to be legally classified as "fingers" saying the segregation has gone on too long. But they spend their whole day playing video games, so they don't know what the hell they're talking about.

 . . .

That's all at this moment. Now go watch a new movie in the cinema rather than torrenting it or something . . . 

Stuff You Should Look Up: Martial Arts and Crafts!

Soooooo yeah . . . 
Feel free to link this site to your friends.
Y'know, if you think it's cool or anything.
Not that you have to.
I'm just sayin' is all.
'Cos I think it's good.
But then, I would say that, wouldn't I.
'Cos it's mine.
But if, I dunno, you told some friends or something.
It'd make me happy, anyway.
If that's what you're looking for.
But if it isn't.
Well that's cool too.

Please don't leave me alone.
When I'm alone, I kick puppies.
All the puppies.
 . . . 

-Long Distance Trolling





 . . . 
Finito. Go do nothing for the day or something . . .

The facts of death edition!

So wait . . . if I want my friends to know something, and be ABSOLUTELY SURE that they'll know it . . . 
 . . . I tweet it with their #hashtag . . . 
 . . . I post it to their Facebook page . . . 
 . . . I tag them in a Facebook post about it . . . 
 . . . I send them a private message on Facebook . . . 
 . . . I send them a private chat message on Facebook . . . 
 . . . I send them a text . . . 
 . . . I send them an email from my hotmail account . . . 
 . . . I send them an email from my gmail account . . . 
 . . . I ring them on their mobile phone and tell them about it . . . 
 . . . I send them a message on Google+ . . . 
 . . . I post on their page on Google+ . . . 
 . . . I post on their Bebo or MySpace page (pfft!) . . . 
 . . . I send leave them a message on their blog, Blogger or Wordpress page . . . 
 . . . I leave them a message on YouTube . . . 
 . . . I send them a video response on YouTube . . . 
 . . . I call them on Skype . . .
 . . . I video call them on Skype . . .  
 . . . I message them on Skype . . . 
 . . . I message them on MSN . . . 
 . . . I message them on Steam . . . 
 . . . I leave them a private message on any of their account on literally every and any website that has that social media bullshit attached to it . . . 
OR I get up. Walk to where they are. And actually talk to them over a coffee or bowl of soup.

Take your goddamn pick. I know which one I'd prefer.
 . . . 

*Read in a booming, deep voice that shakes the very foundations of the soul*

In a world . . .

 . . . where "Cribs" is considered entertainment . . .

 . . . where people think "alot" is actually a real word . . .

 . . . and where the game Duke Nukem Forever was finally released after 13 years in development to turn out to be totally shit, . . . one man we-

 . . . what? . . .

 . . . what do you mean, "It's this world!"? . . .

 . . . seriously? . . .

 . . . well, shit. . . .

 . . .


I'd like to thank my fans, (both of them)

My mom and dad (for not aborting me when I was at my most vulnerable, now I am far too strong for anyone to stop me ahahah. AHAHAHAHAHA *cough* ahem.)

The adoring public (even though I've never seen this mysterious, theoretical demographic. They're like electrons personified. You know they must be there, but by the time you find them, they've already moved on.)

And Jesus (Despite letting millions of people starve and be murdered every hour of every day. Actually, what has that lazy hoor ever done for me? Besides the whole death thing. What a douche. Always trying to guilt trip you into being a better person for one thing that made him look kinda good a few milennia ago.)

 . . .

That's it right now. Now go get fired keep your job or something . . .

Stuff you should look up: Y U No Think Of Good Title Idea, Brain?

Musicians lie!
You cannot play on broken strings, James Morrison!
The instrument cannot make any noise, and as such can't be considered "playing"!
You so would not walk 1000 miles, The Proclaimers!
All that to fall over on someone's doorstep? How does that prove love?
Diamonds make terrible best friends, Ms. Monroe! They never remember your birthday!
And you are most certainly not an astronaut, Elton John! 

 . . . 

-I New Idea

(all from )

1) Waterfall Soap Saver - Why does everybody not own this? Or own several?

2) Musical Glasses - Calibrated wine glasses for accurate musicalising! You'll be life and soul of the funeral party!

3) The Ostrich Pocket Pillow - For those who have absolutely no fear of having no idea of the pranks their friends and strangers pull while using this absolutely. Ridiculous. Thing.

4) Weird Quilt Covers - It's really just setting up any outside observer for disappointment. It must also be kinda annoying after the initial joke has worn off. It's be a bit awkward pegging it up on the washing line, too.

5) Hair Brush For Bald Men - Not actually a joke. More of a head polisher, really. Costs $12. It takes a special kind of mind to come up with something like this. Like, "Special Ed" type of special.

 . . . 
That's all guys. Go polish your wonderfully pristine, shiny, glowing scalp or something , , ,

Like it or not, Andrew W.K. does create a very compelling argument . . .

Oh yeah. By the way, there was no post last Sunday on account of the fact that over Saturday, Sunday and Monday I managed to obtain the grand total of 6 hours sleep.

It was my 21st birthday part- actually, wait. That's not right. It was a big ol' family party. I'll give you the rundown:
Mine and my cousin's 21st birthday (which had been in June and April earlier this year)
My grandparent's 80th.
My dad's 50th (actually a few days after the party)
and my little sister's 18th.

My dad thought it'd be a greeeeeeaaaat idea to just have a big party in one of our sheep sheds where everyone would come and noone would get annoyed if people chose to go to one over the other. A good plan. Worked out pretty well. All I'll say is thanks be to jaysus that I wasn't there until two days before the party, so I managed to miss out on, oh, say, all of the buildup stress and madness, and was only present for the preparation stress and madness.

We had around 10 Canadian second cousins come over, whom we haven't seen in about 10 years, about 20 of the English relations, our cousins from Northers Ireland, and one American (because, y'know, there's always one. They're like ants like that.). And that was it, apart from absolutely everyone we knew within a 50 mile radius.

And then there was the food. Three pigs on a spit, with a few sides of pork thrown in for good measure. A pallet full of alcohol, and soooo many cakes. Brownies for dessert and about 8 different regular old cakes to ensure dancing would be impossible during the disco afterward.

Did I not mention the disco? There was a local musician who plays in our favourite pub every week, on guitar for two hours, and a generic DJ. All 80's music. For the whole night. All of it. I'm not saying it was a bad thing, after all, the average age on the dance floor was well above the mid-life crisis stage. But there's only so much Rick Astley-era cheesy tunes I can take. And that amount is 6 hours.

Anyway. The DJ packed up and left at 4.30, I stayed up and was talking away until around 5.30, (when the sky was a glorious, and almost unnerving, shade of azure) when most went to their tents (There was camping! Crap. I knew I forgot to mention something else.) but they all went in pairs and there wasn't any spare tents, so I just stayed at the impromptu campfire out the back and talked to the last few sleepless stragglers. Three neighbours, one of my friends, and my dad.

When the three neighbours and my friend went off to catch some shuteye, my dad and two of my big sister's friends (who went off earlier but were finding it hard to get any sleep because of the exodus of dipshits that had suddenly invaded the camping area) helped with the bulk of the cleanup: bottles and cans. i tell ya, only in the unique setting of a party aftermath, do you truly appreciate how some people just have no taste. Bottles of sugary, luminous water everywhere. A lot with only a sip taken out of them before being abandoned. 

So anyway, when we finished that, the other three went to finally get some more rest.

So then there was just me. 

I thought about getting a few hours rest, but then thought: no. No and fuck that shit for a game of monopoly. I'm gonna see this through all the way. So I grabbed a deckchair, and sat in the garden in the front of my house with a sketchpad and a set of headphones, and watched the sunrise. Alone. In complete and total silence. 

Just that hour or so turned an amazing birthday into the best birthday I could've hoped for.

So thanks to everyone who came, but expecially to my friends Abe, Alan, Gavin and Jonathan. Just for being there.

 . . . 

Wow. Uh. Ok. You can all just forget that I actually typed all that crap. Wow. Did not mean it sound like such a total pussy. But fuckit, 'tis the truth. Four of my friends out of the twenty I had at least hoped for. But life goes on. Like it or not, there is no retry option.

 . . . 

That's all for now, now go ramble on and on and on and on and on and on and on and on and on and on and on and on and on and on and on and on and on and on and on and on and on and on and on and on and on and on and on and on and on and on and on and on and on and on and on and on and on and on and on and on and on and on and on and on and on and on and on and on and on and on and on and on and on and on and on and on and on and on and on and on and on and on and on and on and on and on and on and on and on and on and on and on and on about nothing in particular intil people get bored or something . . .