ddavey

Time's ticking, and I can feel the balloon inflating from within. Do something! Do something! And so something I do, but it never fulfills; it's never the something I needed. So I toss and turn in bed hungrily, waking up dry, unable to discern whether I slept or not. God I hope I did.

I strain to focus; listen, learn, grow, grow tomatoes, tomato plants smell like weed, write a script about the legalization of weed and the effects it would have on globalization. Ambition! Ambition! If only ambition could lift my arm, move my pen, write that script. If only... shit what were they talking about?

Double click the icon. I can't wait to play, I've been waiting all day to play. Production logo, production logo, main menu, hover the cursor over the button, it flashes; Continue game? Continue game? I've been waiting all day... I want something to eat, better go check the fridge: salty food; sweet food; moldy food. What am I doing? I'm not even hungry.

I think I will sit down on the couch. It's a beautiful day out, I should go outside. Oh Ellen is on the telly, I love her. Yes I will watch some Television, that's what I will do. I reckon I look the telly in the eye more than anyone else in my life, I wonder what it thinks of me. I should write a short film about a telly, or write a short film from the perspective of a telly, watching a family's interactions; even when they think no-one is watching. Yeah, that's a good idea...

...for fuck sake, DO SOMETHING!

Gather around impressionable ones, let me tell you the story of the slum-bound shrew who made it big in the music industry!





So it was not long ago, when trends swayed too and fro, a young slummy shrew - shrewed her slummy ways in the land of lime

As she grew, she grew into a full grown shrew, and knew, that she knew, she wanted to be known in time

And so along life's road, she grew tired of her humble abode, and pondered the pondings of a shrew burdening a load not lite.

"How does a shrew, which is neither true nor Jew, make a few bucks along the Buckingham line?"

"For I am few true to amount, and few Jew to account, how can a shrew continue to meet the bottom line?"

Then the shrew opened her shrew mouth, and out came a sound, bodiless and dull, that could neither chill nor straighten the spine

"That's it, I will sing! And to hide that voice which makes cringe, I will layer it with things, productions and beats to mask these shallow lyrics of mine."

And so the shrew sold what she may, for professionals she could pay, room for her talentless ways to hide

But then she hit a dilemma, a dilemma that threat to best her, here is the conundrum that antagonized her mind.

"But how can I be loved by all? To be both short and tall? To plant a foot in either side of the line?"

"For everyone knows, the markets that make wallets grow, are the barbies, indies and emos."
"The ones that wear the shallow skirts of hos, and the ones that upturn
their pretentious nose, into all these I must sink those greedy shrew
fingers of mine!"

And then it finally hit her, like the mediocre stick once did her, upon the most repugnant shrew face of all time.

"I will lay bubbly beats for the kiddies, and pretentious lyrics for the arties and hissies, this is the plan upon which I decide!"

"I will cuss to make it more edgy, and bleep it to lighten the heavy, when playing on the bubbly radio line."

"I will promote my music on the Internet, something that's used by all the idiots, to further this scheme of mine."

"The barbies will gather and hear, the colourful musical cheer, and then they will be satisfied."

"From indie to indie it will be told, that my lyrics are sophisticated
and bold, and they will drink the juice of their own grapevine."

And so they all conformed, and the shrew took the world by storm,
indies and barbies, culturally hand in hand for the first time...

So I just finished watching Gran Torino, and as is often the case when I watch a good film, I spun into a spiral of thoughts and inner conflict. It isn't rare for me to spiral (despite it being rare that I watch a good film) and I was already in motion to counter the spinning with my patented ritual. Absently scuffling up the stairs, I planned to make some mi-goreng, sit down next to my Jaffadog and not only share the noodley goodness with her, but also the chaotic eruption of jibberish bubbling under my skull.

After almost tearing my hair out from tediously tearing open those greesy flavouring sachets, I drained the noodles, mixed them into the bowl and headed over for a good O'l chinwag with the Wise One. Entering the living room, I flicked on the light switch - one could say both literally and figuratively - because as I looked over to Jaffa's basket, that familiar stone fell on my chest once again... I burried my Jaffadog 3 weeks ago

Force of habit is a force to be reckoned with, and a force that can go fuck itself.

This isn't the first time this has happened. Everyday when I come home, or I can't sleep, or I wake up in the middle of the night, I'm pulled by the strings of habit, to the place my friend used to lay, only to have my loss shoved up in my grill.
UP IN MY GRILL PEOPLE!
And i will no doubt keep touching the hotplate till i learn my lesson, till my brain registers its folly. Because thats the thing about involuntary actions, we never choose to do them, and can never choose when they end. Sure we can choose when to take action to correct them, but we are really just setting ourselves on a path with an invisible goal, waiting for it to trip us up, so we can finally turn away from where we are going.

These habits can often seem small and harmless, but pebbles make mountains, and habits make lifestyles, and lifestyles make your life. Yes thats right, it's lifestyles that make your life, not your job, or your relationships, or even how many roots you get. For these are all simply "effects" to the "cause" of how you live your life. A good tree cannot produce bad fruit, and a bad tree cannot produce good fruit. The tree is independent of the fruit, but the fruit is consiquential of the tree.

Oscar Wilde once said:
"All of us are in the gutter, but some of us are looking at the stars"
Often in my life, I have felt I am walking one way, all the while looking over my shoulder to my heart's desire. I have realized that if I want whats in the distance, no matter what the latest motivational text tells you, you sometimes have to look down at your own feet, to where they are taking you, because there is nothing wrong with the goal, only with you. I feel this is a lesson often lost in our generation; a generation built on goal setting and titles. We run rampantly through the humanaity supermarket, looking this way and that for the item we want, and once we do; once our heads turn to our hearts desire, its very unlikely that we are running in the same direction.

So ffs run people, we only have so much time to reach that which shines. But watch that your feet dont betray you, lest you end up in the gutter, looking at the stars.

Your distant smile on the path before me
Here I wait quietly, under a giant tree
Oh how I long for your arrival my dear
Lay in the shade, under a giant tree with me

But the sun wails its banshee scream
The song of your steps slows in my ear
Exhaustion falls into the embrace of apathy
And coerced from me you walk my dear

Behind you, the path melts under the sun
A furious flower that sucks moisture insatiably
Here i wait quietly, with no path to walk
Waiting for all the moisture to be sucked from me

Man



The Penis
The most distinct feature of the man is the penis. The penis is actually a separate organism from man, capable of comprehension and cognitive activities. Unfourtunately for man, the penis is consumed by only one thought pattern at a time:
Vagina
Penis
Vagina and/or Penis.
 
In the case of the vagina thought pattern, the man is deemed 'heterosexual' and is considered to be the manliest of man-states. This man-state is infact so manly, that all other man-states appear un-manly, to the point of seeming womanly. The irony of this man-state, is that its manliness propells it toward woman. This manly desire for woman, drags the man into a balancing act of being manly (but not too manly) and womanly (but not too womanly) to achieve its goal of woman. The rediculous contradiction of the manliest man-state desiring its opposing element (woman) is evident througout all genital thought patterns, and paramount to the sexual phenominon

The second thought pattern of the penis, is for penis itself. This 'homosexual' desire for another penis, should not be confused with the desire for ones own penis (a trait paradoxically most common in heterosexuals [AKA narcissits or wankers]). This man-state is commonly percieved as the least manly, to the point of being womanly. Infact, this man-state rivals the womanliness of woman itself, pushing the boundaries of femininity with turtle-neck sweaters, archives of pox 90s dance music, a diverse knowledge in horderves and after-hours industrial sex parties.

The third thought pattern of the penis, is for vagina and/or penis (AKA bisexuals). This is a mix of the previous 2 man-states and is generally quite mixed in nature, like choclate with orange, salty fries in softserve icecream or a platypus. Infact, many of the men of this man-state have been reported to have the apearance of a platypus, zebra or in some rare cases a zoarse. Though not quite as womanly as the homosexuals, they are still considered quite womanly by the more manly man-state.

The nature of man
Not armed with the equavilant emotional tools to women, men shy away from esoteric conversations about feelings and relationships, and lean toward simple stimulating activities such as footbal, UNO and swordfighting. Many of these activities cause perspiration and result in sweaty-man. Sweaty-man is apealing to neither man nor woman but is an innevitable result of active-man. This activity driven lifestyle has developed a very practical mentality, which has lead to awesome architecture and the discovery of science, but has also lead to conflict and world-wars in which millions of people have died. It is proven that if women were the world leaders, there would be absolutely no wars (1992 by the world-simulatortron 3000) but it is also proven by the same world-simulatortron 3000 that we wouldn't win any wars either.

Mans use is often brought into question, as it seems unapparent outside of a purely reproductive sense. This can be attributed to the constant comparison of a mans performance to a womans, a see-saw that never tips in mans favour. Even in physical labour (an activity that man is physiologically geared for) such as fixing gutters and mowing the lawn, mans performance is deemed lackluster when compared to the hypothetical performance of a woman (if they had 'your muscles'). This often causes psychotic confusion in man, as he must choose between reality and the mentality of women, where there is no black or white, only conversations.

The continuation of man and the entry for woman to come...

Prada... Puma... CK... K9?
Let it be known, if I see you holding your dog in your arm like an inanimate object, that you've draped in colorfull fabrics on a hot summer day, I will take that Prada bag from your other arm and choke you with it. Comprimising the comfort of your loyal companion, in an effort to make them more color-collaborative with your outfit is...

D I S G U S T I N G

The fact that you cannot resist such a depraved exploitation of your potential best friend, is testiment to the superficial relationships that encompass your life. As you pick and choose your furniture, lifestyle and friends from the Ikea catalogue of the skin deep do you feel any consummation at all? Is there anything left for you to color code and fabricate, to craft the proverbial christmas-card that is your life? Do your neighbours, family and business associates fit into this pretentious jigsaw? Or do you close your eyes and block your ears to all that is drab, difficult, wise and bubbless as you sing the lyrics to the latest Jonas Brothers single, merrily skiping down the yellow brick road toward the Wizard of OZ (AKA a justified death)

"Suicide is selfish" ryhmes with "Jews die of shellfish"
Where did this notion come from? Are we really so insensitive, to put our vicarious pain that resulted from death, above their personal pain that resulted in death? Really? To look past the immense suffering of others, to the pitifull inconvinience of attending a funeral, is the epitome of narcisism. The perception of suicide being self-centered is the product of a world that revolves around ourselves, any hitch in the fluency of our world's revolutions is such a fucking nuisance, isn't it?

How dare they be brought to their knees by overwhelming sadness, clawing for anything to take the pain away, only to grasp the dark uncertainty of death. HOW DARE THEY! Now my world must pause for a few hours while i don a suit, drive to a funeral home (which is very reminiscant of visiting grandma at the old folks home [God, why couldn't she have died?]), as I listen to "Die Motherfucker Die Motherfuck DIE!" on my ipod during the eulogy and cram as many horderves into my mouth as physically possible, out of fear that someone else might steal one of them.
THESE ARE MY HORDERVES MOTHERFUCKERS!!@!!
HOW FUCKING DARE THEY@!@!@!!!11@!!

I'm aware that this doesnt correlate with my previous work, but theres a reason for this. Its not that I only write humorous pieces, its that they are the only pieces i post. I'm breaking this habbit though, as I may be entering into a writing course.

Paradoxically, I wrote this melancholic poem sitting in my girlfriends garden, waiting anxiously for her to come home. Thank you Tess for a precious weekend.

Fingertips press against the keys
Tendons stretch along the bone
Nimble muscles flex and pull
In the arms and hands of a man
A man sitting in the dark, alone

But the music is played for the last time
And all hope is subject to attrition
For the taxman comes to take the soul
To take the heart from the spirit's body
To take the instrument from the musician

Famine has played its unbeatable hand
Food of thought must pay for the mouth
The body will writhe and frivolously turn
In the hope to quench the thirst
Of a fire that raged and now lies doust

Clay must be given to form the piece
Years spent to craft, to hone
The taxman comes to take even this
Now only blood will remain
Of the integral muscle torn from bone

The musician stands without the music
A husk of matter unable to emote
The soul struggles and gasps for air
The taxman knocks quietly at the door
The dagger pends quietly at the throat

All but silent except for red drips
The vessel remains behind without vision
The taxman enters to fulfill his intention
Unaware that he now takes nothing
In the still eyes of the dead musician

As you all know, my last interview with Kevin Rudd didn't go to plan. Maybe it was a break down in communication, or my inabillity to deal with the fact that someone so white could be more chinese than me. Either way, Kevin and I just dont seem to have any synergy, but that doesn't mean we cant get the answers we want! I have drawn up some very difficult questions, that I feel other media personalities are simply too spineless to ask. I then painstakingly sifted through hundreds of interviews with our Prime Minister for appropriate answers. The result is a compilation of answers to questions, that deep down, you want to ask our great country's leader

DD: So Mr Rudd, in inches, how big is your penis and what do you plan on doing with it?
KR: Well its about 15 million and I plan to invest every bit of it into single mothers.

DD: I hear you have a nicname for your penis. Are you a "love thy self" cat, or is it something you like to share around?
KR: Ah yes the worm... Look even if it favors me, the worm is still in the hands of the Australian people.

DD: Ever get the desire to just bend Malcom Turnbull over a chair and spank him stupid?
KR: Theres a time and a place for everything. The time is now! And the place is Canberra!

DD: You and Julia Gillard ever gotten REALLY drunk and just gone at it like shameless socialite sluts?
KR: That would be a miscalculation of gross proportions.

DD: That doesn't answer the question though does it? I bet you got your self a bit of action down there.
KR: On the whole, it smells a little fishy to me. I mean, where did these oil deposits come from?

DD: And finally Mr Rudd, is it true that while in America as a UN observer. you got drunk and entered a strip club?
KR: I was too drunk to remember anything

DD: Thank you for your honesty Mr Rudd

At first sight
We make eye contact
I look away
I take a sip of my jack
I look back
We connect again
You smile confidently
I do my best to immitate
And just as I initiate
Your hips start to sway in my direction
My heart races, exhale
Your getting closer
I try to control my breathing
I fail
Now your infront of me
No longer an expanse
You lean in and whisper in my ear
'Want a dance?'
I nod slowly
My skin is tingling
Anticipation throbs
But I'm still uncertain, unsure
I've been hurt before
Then you say something
Something that shatters all trepidation
And at that moment i know
I know your the one I've been searching for
'A lapdance is $50, private dance is $70 and a handjob is $120'


Man in the rain
I speak and i do
Everything in haiku
One thing that proves true

Its definately,
Definately 5 7 5
In autistic life


To own and lose a friend
He cooks and cleans
He shines and sheens
Im so lucky to have him in my home
He cries and screams
Clings to foecies and trees
The joys of owning a porch-monkey of my own

He guards the porch
Patrols the house with a torch
Safety for a woman living alone
Folds my letters and clothes
Fetches the dog and bone
Oh the many joys of owning a porch-monkey of my own

But then one day
My monkey grew a brain
And now i live all alone
Now when i perform arduous tasks
And have to wipe my own arse
Oh How I long for a porch-monkey of my own

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As i was pondering in my pondering chair, over entitlement of transitioned states of matter (what to call melted froghurt) i suddenly became bored, so i did what every man does when they are bored, i watched porn. Luckily my pondering chair also doubles as my me-time chair and i was quickly getting re-aquainted with the Ol' palm pilot and redtube.com. Then suddenly i had a very shocking thought 'ZOMG am i degrading women?' I then imidiately switched back into my pondering chair (after finishing up ofcause) and began to ponder.

First of all I asked myself the obvious question 'Do i think any less of women or desire them any less as a result of porn? Nope!' and that could have been the end of it. But then i thought 'does porn damage the plight of women to live a life of equality and fairness?' Well given the fact that chauvanism has been rampant throughout history and in our era, women are finally experiencing more rights and better (but not quite total) equality than they ever have... AND comming to the conclusion that porn hasnt been around as long as chauvanism (i couldn't find the 1344BC march issue of playboy) i would also have to say no. In actuality, the period where porn has become more prominant is the same period that women have uplifted in society. Thats called correlating data and it may not be connected, but correlating data is the same basis for the gloabal warming theory. If i was an enviromental scientist and chauvenism was carbon emissions, i would be recomening the planting of porn-trees.

Not knowing where to go from here I then asked a girl and she said 'its degrading because the guy is enjoying it and the girl isnt'. So do men enjoy sex and not women? I could be a smart arse and point out the fact that if u counted all the times straight men had sex and straight women had sex, the two figures would be exactly the same, but we all know its about sex infront of the camera. For some reason, girls seem to think that doing porn is the dream job for guys and prostitution for girls. In response to this I ask you one question, how many good looking guys do you know that are porn stars? Or even, how many good looking guys do you know that are aspiring to be porn stars? My answer to both these questions was 0 and i can safely assume that the reason for this isnt limited job openings. The pretense that guys do porn for fun and girls do porn for money is more damaging to men than anything else. So patheticly driven by our primal urges, that we would willingly surrender our childhood aspirations of being somebody, just to get our dick wet, doesnt sit right with me as the common male mentality.

Its also worth noting that women watch porn too. Thats right girls we know about it, youve been pretty zealous in keeping your footing on that righteous pedestool but the cat is out of the bag.

The role women play in pornos has also triggered alot of concern in society. A very common perception is that women are always submiting to the will of the man and thus are playing the weaker role. Its important to note that the porn industry, like any other capitalist industry, is run on supply and demand. In general terms, the most attractive male role to a woman, is the man in control and for men, its for the woman to follow suit. Porn is carefully marketed to individuals with various desires, the man being in control just happens to be a universal one and therefore a safe market. If one were to say that the common porn film with a man in control during concentual sex is degrading to women, one would also have to say that a common 'desire' (for both men and women) for the man to be in control during concentual sex is degrading to women aswell. The idea that something a woman desires is degrading her isn't absurd, but it does conflict with the percieved tone of men versus women in porn. If a porno based on a fantasy of men can degrade women, can a porno based on the fantasy of women degrade women?

In the end girls, we are all in this together. If porn is degrading to anyone, its to men. Do you ever consider the scenario in which we view porn? We aren't sitting on chariots of women, being pulled along by collard women while whipping them with our women whip. We are in our room alone, with the door locked, trying to coordinate which hand will be lubed and which hand will man the mouse. Frankly, we arent even doing it because our main qualm is our main-vein, we do it because we wish we had someone to be with and this is often the closest thing we have.

Oh and i have also concluded that melted froghurt is not yoghurt, it is infact melted froghurt.

DOC: Ok Dave lets have a look at those test results. Hmmm your ALT's are fine, your cholesterole levels are fine, your blood count is fine but I'm very concerned about your myspace friend count.

DD: Really?

DOC: Yes its quite low.

DD: Well what can a low myspace friends count lead to?

DOC: Well theres a few things like dizziness, loss of appetite, sore itchy eyes but what Im really concerned about is that its developing into you being percieved as a loner. See, heres your virtual society loner percentile.

DD: But i have plenty of friends, Im not a loner.

DOC: Yes but you dont have many E friends do you? E friends are very important to modern health.

DD: Why?

DOC: Because they can often lead to real friends.

DD: But i already...

DOC: Trust me Dave, you dont want to be seen as a loner, no-one is attracted to loners... Except criminal predators.

DD: Well what can i do to get the count up? What about writing some interesting blogs?

DOC: No I'm afraid that the low friend count would actually counteract any blog therapy we try. You see no-one reads the blogs of people who have low friend counts. People dont want to be known as the person who subscribes to that loner with the low friend count, that could lead to a terribly low friend count.

DD: Well what should i do?

DOC: Bands.

DD: Bands?

DOC: Yeah bands! You need to start making friends with lots of bands.

DD: But i dont really know any bands.

DOC:You dont need to know them or listen to their music, you just need to be friends with them.

DD: Doesnt that seem a little shallow.

DOC: Oh cmon Dave, if myspace is anything its deffinately NOT shallow.

DD: Ok then i will befriend some bands.

DOC:Good, but dont go overboard, its much worse if you have a friend count thats too high.

DD: Why? What does that lead to?

DOC: .......Syphilis.

DD: Syphilis? Really?

DOC:Oh yeah, anyone with a myspace friend count over 200 BANG they have syphilis.

DD: wowwwwwwwwww...

DOC: Yeah, their off having their Eparties, with all their Efriends, having Eshags and giving birth to Ebabies. But mark my word, those are syphilis Ebabies. So make sure if your reading the blog of a 200+er or even just scanning their wall, wear protection.

DD: Really? Is it that bad?

DOC: You have no idea... And whatever you do DO NO SUBSCRIBE!!! Subscribing to a 200+er is a sure fire way to contract syphilis

DD: Ok thanks Doc, I will get right on the friend count stuff. Oh and do you bulk bill?

DOC:No, sorry.

DD: I hope you get syphilis of the brain

DOC: what?

DD: Oh nothing, see you next time Doc!

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With the release of that "I kissed a girl" song by katy pery (no, her name doesn't deserve proper spelling nor capital letters) a lot of debate has been sparked about sexual confusion. I feel we should be open about our confusion and its nothing to be ashamed of. So i am going give a very serious recollection of when i experienced sexual confusion, in the hopes that it dulls some of the stigma.

Thinking back to when i was about 14, I remember being on the 40 hour famine. I was into my second day and was obviously quite hungry, so i decided to watch some midday TV to take my mind off. I ended up watching a rotisserie chicken infomercial. After about 5 minutes of watching that juicey chicken rotate i was really getting into to it. Squirming around, fidgeting, i eventually accidently brushed my hand against my party zone, which indeed was having a party.

So here i was, getting wood from watching that tender chicken rotate on the grill. This was the first time in my life that i experienced confusion about my sexuality. The desire for the chicken was so strong, it had sparked arousal and now the two things were intertwining, slowly merging into one like a helix or success and mediocrity. I was fantasizing about being that rotisary oven, role-playing if you will, imagining that succulent chicken slowly turning round and round... myself. Now i know what your thinking "pig on the spit is a far superior rotisserie delight" and this may be true, but at this point, the only thing i wanted to have my way with was poultry.

These chicken fantasies continued for many months and i didn't think about women at all during this period. But after a while the usual fantasy didn't do anything for me and i found i had to elevate the thrill. I started to fantasise about showering the chicken with lemon juice, plucking all the feathers myself till there was just smooth skin, putting the chicken in a cage and calling it a dirty battery hen, stuffing the chicken with various herbs and spices (finally being able to use dill in something was very exciting) and eventually i started to film myself preparing chicken.

After a while i forgot about chicken breasts and returned my teenage focus to tits but that doesnt mean i dont get the odd shudder when i go past Nandos.



WARNING!
What you have just read is incredibly fucked up. Its satire folks, its meant to be a metaphor, I dont actually see chickens as sexual objects, their just delicious. On that note, if you happen to be a chicken fucker, I am not akin to you. I dont want to know you, nor do i want to go for longs walks and trade stories about the "good old days" when their were less rules and poultry intercourse was an accepted practice. Please stop emailing me chicken fantasy ideas, I admit i have incorporated some of them into my usual fantasies but i assure you i replaced the chicken with a woman or a giant tentacle monster in my head.

AND FOR THE LOVE OF GOD do not come up to me in the street when I'm with my friends and openly talk about it, I dont even go down the poultry isle any more out of fear.

Put yourself in their shoes before you judge them.

Lebanese youth at the KFC, whos clang of gold chains is only surmounted by their obnoxiously loud car stereos:
Where else are they meant to go? They dont deep fry chicken at the mosque you know.

Those uppity dickheads who park their porsche sideways:
Their father wasn't their for them... And some ranting half-asian degenerate may have already keyed it.

That guy who plays guitar badly out the front of coles:
33% of buskers develop piles.

Russians:
Can you imagine how hard it must be to NOT invade a neighboring country that you didnt realise existed? I'm surprised they lasted this long!

Scientologists:
I dont even want to think what happened in their lives that lead to their belief in a science fiction author.

The checkout girls who never smile:
Theres nothing in their life to smile about


Emo kids in the mal who never laugh:
Can you imagine how hard it must be to not laugh while they look at each other?

Those Indians who ring and try to sell you something while ur eating dinner:
Its not their fault their life is so desperate, that they have taken upon themselves a cloak of shame, within which they can no longer hold principles or morality.
And then piss all over the right of every man, woman and child to privacy.
AND THEN of all things try to sell you a phone service?!?!?
Like seriously, of all the services i need in my life, THATS THE ONLY ONE YOU KNOW I ALREADY HAVE!
YOU JUST CALLED ME ON IT MOTHERFUCKER!@!@!@!
WHO THE HELL IS DOING YOUR MARKET RESEARCH?

Wall Street:
If you dealt with americans all day, you would go into recession too.

China:
Stop crying over spilt toxic milk, as you jam another happy meal into the fat mouths of our children whom 40% are overweight/obese and have a 20 year less life expectancy

Yourself:
Your alright.

Recently i was on a plane from Melbourne to Brisbane. Now normally i dread planes for the usual reason, crying babies, fat people and arabians. But on this plane ride i was simply dissapointed, why? Because previously I had seen the footage of that plane flying into the pentagon.

Now after carefully inspecting the footage of the crash, I became aware of the superior technological sophistication of american planes. It became apparent to me, that at the point of impact, the american plane collapses its wings in on itself, to reduce impact size. Honestly the amount of time and effort those americans put into saving lives is amazing! But not only that, i discovered that every day american passenger jets even have a cloaking device, because when inspecting the crash photos... Theres no plane there! Now even though my feeble mind cant quite grasp the purpose of this function, one thing is clear...

No one cares about the safety of its country-men and foreigners more than America! 

2 guys at a friends house having dinner with her family on her birthday. Her family is quite rich so she implores them to act sophisticated and also warns them that her parents are very right wing... they take it a little too far, and try to display their "sophistication" through discussion during dinner]

"Have u heard about this world heating?"
"Oh Vince, its Golbal heating."
"Oh yes global heating, apparently Iceland is melting! And all this time i thought the title was figurative! Its quiet scary when u think about it, i dont think its a coincidence that all those terrorist countries are so hot. "
"Oh plz, the less Bjork habitat the better... Besides, if global heating is such a serious issue, how can snowboarding be the fastest growing sport in the world?"
"Tooshay old bean"

(Continuation of above scenario)
"One thing i dont understand about gays is, if they want to have more rights, why do they keep acting like women?"
"Their desire to be real people isnt as disturbing as the sex, I can barely look at my own man-lami let alone someone elses. As far as im concerned the human sphincter is a one-way railroad, any "engine that couldnt consumate" going in the wrong direction is just going to result in a mess... and the ressurection of natzism"
"gay sex isnt disgusting, mouths have more germs than buttholes"
"that would be a fair observation if u were unfortunate enough to have a butthole as big as your mouth"
"tooshay old bean, "sniggers" lovely reBUTle"
"sniggers"

Spam that meets my needs!

So recently i was told that spam companies are identifying the personal needs of internet surfers and sending them advertisement correlating with those needs. And Here i was for years recieving lesbian porn and penis enlargent aparatus spam, thinking it a coincidence that these things were perfectly in line with my recreational activities.

BUT NO! They knew all along! How did they know? What subscription form or bank survey did i fill out that alluded to my deviant perversions without me even realising? What could possibly distract that much?

" Ok lets fill out this form 'Your name' Dave Davey, ok so far so good"
"Hmmm 'Date of birth' 20 03 88, easy enough "
"Ok now... 'what is your penis size?' Ok then, that would be 4.7..... WAIT A SECOND!.................... This is an american site, the month goes before the day in the date of birth! Nearly had me there survey!"