I would be the worst movie character ever.

Why?

Because I don't have a photographic memory like every other film character ever made has supposedly been blessed with.

I'd be in the film and I'd get to a nondescript pay phone at exactly 12:00PM and then when it rang I would answer and the kidnapper would be like:

'Bring the money to 7645 on the corner of Stanton and Prince Alfred Avenue, apartment 45 at 2:30 sharp - CLICK.'

And he'd hang up the phone! 

Come again?

The next scene would be me walking back to the parents house just shrugging, going:

'Sorry. He said something like 76 maybe something 7695 or something? It was like Prince Stanton avenue? Is that a thing? I don't know. I literally have no idea to be honest. He just said the address, and then he hung up. His voice was really deep and scratchy and it was hard to understand. I didn't have a pen, I didn't write it down. He didn't even give me a chance to repeat it. I'm sorry, I just no good with names and stuff like that, you know? So your son is most likely dead. I offer you my condolences but in all honesty I don't think any of this is my fault. The kidnappers should have been more considerate.'

In films you never here some crime informant or a kidnapper or double crossing spy phone the main character and be like:

'Meet me at 37 Pantion Drive at exactly midnight tonight....

.....


....that's 37. Three-Seven, right? Pantion Drive, P for Peter, A for Andrew, N for Nelly........T.....ah.... I for Igloo.....um......O.....then just N for Nelly again.

Okay? Got it? Great, yeah midnight, Twelve AM. Tonight. Okay. Bye.'

It takes away from the dark dreary effect of an anonymous caller if you're specific about dates and times.

Another thing in films I can't wrap my stupid brain around are detective mysteries where the main protagonist finds clues within a complex network of contradicting dates.

07-10-1947 2:00PM

Like some dude will be hunched over this manilla folder explaining to his side kick:

'You see this picture? This was taken on Monday, February 17, 1942. But over here is the same signature dated March 3rd, 1939. Oldman said that he was at the scene of the crime on the morning of Tuesday February 5th, 1940. This can only mean that on the 13th when Oldman went missing that....'

By now, I'm squinting at the screen saying thinking what the fuck is going on. I have no idea what sort of implications these dates have. I still have to sing the alphabet song to remember what letter comes after what, I don't know months and dates and shit like that.

I can picture like one month and then tell you what month is directly after it and maybe on a good day I could tell you the one that comes before it but don't bother fucking asking me if how many days it has because I have no fucking clue.

To this day, I honestly have no idea of the order of months from like August to December. Like of course, I'm not that dumb I can sit down and think about it, but it's literally something I need to think about. It's like a Rebecca Black song.

I think it's a reflection of my commitment as a child, like I just briefly learned the months up until my birthday and then just thought, fuck it, the rest of the year will come to me when I need them - December is the Christmas one, that's all I need to know.

The Erotic Adventures of Henry's Cat

Ohhhh, I am so fucking horny.

Henry thought to himself.

Then he got an idea:

Chris Rabbit! Let's have a good old fashioned fuck fest!

Chris Rabbit jumped up at the chance and ran to get Pansy Pig.

Hurry Pansy, it's a orgy! 

Pansy Pig ran to be first.

Oh God, get him off! No. No. Get him off. I don't want this any more!

But Pansy Pig was blinded by lust. To minimize damage, Henry's inner cavities widened in sheer defence.

I'll run for help! 

But Henry had other things in mind for Chris Rabbit.

You're not going anywhere! 

All in all, it was one of Henry's better orgies:

The End.

PS: I can't believe I just wasted thirty minutes of my life putting effort into compiling base level sexual jokes on  an obscure and forgotten children's television show for a blog that nobody reads. I'm fucking 26 years old.

An Excerpt from The Girl With the Dragon Tattoo

Blomkitvz drove to the place where the files were stored and the lady who worked there let him in. He flipped through the newspaper clippings for eight hours and found nothing in the pictures that related to Harry's disappearance. The next night he did the same, the lady let him in and made him sandwiches and coffee while he worked all night looking at newspaper clippings. Then Blomkivtz returned to the castle where the old man asked if he had found anything further on the case. Blomkvivtz told him that he might have but he can't be sure, it was too early to tell and he needs to look at more news paper clippings. 

Then Blomkiztv drove back to the place where the files were stored and looked through some more photos. Then he went back home and fucked that dyke who takes herself too seriously. Then he fucked that old bitch who lived near him. Then he went and fucked his magazine editor who is married but her husband lets her fuck Blomkivtz any time she wants. Then he went home and fucked the dyke again. Then the old man asked if he had made an progress on the case and Blomkvistz said that it was an extremely hard case and that the witnesses needed more probing, and then he winked at the old man, but the old man didn't know what he was talking about so he made him a sandwich and gave him some more newspaper articles to read.

‘You haven’t checked the Daily Bungle.’ said the old man. ‘Maybe there's a clue in there?’

Later on, after looking through the files at his house, Blomkitvz went to the store near the castle and bought some groceries.

Mankind has already reached the infinite amount of knowledge

Most people may say that mankind needs to pursue a larger collection of knowledge about the world. Well, I ask them, how do you get a larger number than infinity?

If you answered that you take infinity and then add one  you'd be wrong. Infinity plus one equals infinity. Just as infinity plus infinity equals infinity.

So, due to the malleable nature of our structure of knowledge man kind already has an infinite amount of knowledge about everything in existence.

Take for example your common house pillow.

I can tell you an infinite amount of facts about the pillow and I'm not even an expert on the subject.

But wait, surely the summit of man's knowledge has a peak? Wouldn't you run out of pillow facts after a few hundred or so?

Nope.

Not with the execution of careful wording and evasive logic. Allow me to rattle off just a few of the infinite amount of facts we already know about pillows:

1) Pillow is a word starting with P.

FACT!

2) The word Pillow has six letters.

FACT!

3)  A pillow is a word once said by a man.

FACT!

Only three, you say? No. I'm just getting started.

5) A pillow can be brown.

5) A pillow can be brown and red.

6) A pillow can be brown and red and 30cm long.

7) A pillow can be brown and red and 31 cm long.

8) A pillow can be brown and red and 32 cm long.

9) A pillow can be brown and red and 32 cm long and placed on the Earth at latitude N49° and longitude W123°

10) A pillow can be brown and red and 32 cm long and placed on the Earth at latitude N49° and longitude W124°

FACTS!

11) A pillow can be used by a man with brown hair.

12) A pillow can be used by a man with brown hair who is 32 years old.

USELESS FACTS!

13) A pillow is a word with six letters starting with P that can be brown and red and 32cm long and used by a man with brown hair on this Earth at latitude N49° and longitude W124° four years ago.

All the above facts regarding are completely true. Simply alter the above process ad infinitum and you have your infinite amount of facts about pillows. Since the same process can be applied to everything, man's knowledge has already reached infinity. It just hasn't been written down yet.

Missed Call

Sorry I missed your call on Sunday bro but I was watching a movie.

And also I just assumed that you were calling to say that you fell asleep or something on Friday night and woke up the next day with semen and feces in your pants from a wet gay anal sex dream that triggered an erotic sense memory in your bowels.

YOU might be able to use the above text if your friend ever bails on you when you say that you'll meet him in a bar and he doesn't show but it didn't matter anyway because some seventeen year old girls had snuck in at the same time and talked to you to try and blend in with the crowd but soon subsequently fell for you because they're seventeen and everything you know (like titles of Strokes albums) is cool to them.

The Shame of a Good Deed

Today I experienced the crushing shame that comes with being on the receiving end of a good deed.

I was at train station trying to put coins in the machine when the train arrived. The machine was not accepting my two dollar coin and I kept trying to re-insert it to no avail. The train doors opened and I began to grow frustrated as I hurriedly re-inserted my coin.

A stranger passing me noticed my frustration and nodded towards me. He handed me a ticket voucher and I thankfully nodded giving him the two dollar coin in return and hoping on the train just in time.

However, while I thanked the stranger appropriately I also made a conscious effort not to board in the same carriage as him. For some reason I was gripped with this awkward sense of shame for receiving a good deed and I really wanted to avoid seeing this man at all cost.

It was almost to the point where I had wished that the kind deed had not have happened so that I could sort it out by myself and be in no-one's debt.

This may be a corrupt and sad view of society but it has happened on multiple occasions.

Once I was buying a lemon in a supermarket and a man with ten items let me go in front of him. I thanked him profusely but as I stood in front of him getting served at the check out I felt far more uncomfortable in that thirty seconds than I would have if I had waited the five minutes until it was rightfully my turn.

I really don't know where this comes from, whether it's some sort of reflection on my self esteem in that I don't think I truly deserve a kind act, or more realistically the undeniable truth that I probably wouldn't return such kindness to these people if I was in the other position.

See, when I navigate the social sphere I do so with extreme prejudice. For me, it's survival of the fittest. Sure, I'm never excessively rude and I hold the door open here and there but ultimately I'm looking out for one person.

I'm impatient with dawdlers and although I give to the homeless I'm never overly friendly to them. I give up my seat only to the elderly not the middle aged and I walk out in front of cars knowing that the pedestrian holds right of way.

Thus, when someone shows me a kind and caring hand it acts a reminder of the person I'm not and propels me in shame spiral which in turn negates any of the positivity within the initial deed itself. It's a demented psychological affliction and I literally cannot be helped.

People I Hate Archive #3453

The fucking people who when you asked them if they believe in God or not they say:

'Woah man, woah, don't even go there man. That's like a fucking six hour conversation with me man. You're gonna be sitting their in complete awe with tears streaming down your eyes for days if I get into my religious views, it's best we don't even talk about it. Seriously, man, you'll have to learn three dead languages to understand my opinions and beliefs on whether I, in terms of who you think I am, believe in what ever you think God is.'

And then they turn around and say something like:

'I don't think heaven is really a place in the clouds, you know.'

These self righteous fools honestly think the opinions they've summed up from reading Spirituality 101 are unique to how the rest of the world sees reality.

As a general rule, if you believe it, there's at least hundreds of thousands of other people who also believe it and countless amounts of past literature on the belief system.

It doesn't take six hours to explain your beliefs, just type what you think into Google and check the Wikipedia article that you most closely agree with. Whatever it says there, then call yourself that.

Does anyone know a great idea for a novel?

Please use beautifully descriptive prose so I can copy and paste it into this book I'm writing.

The Deconstruction of Pooh Bear

The story structure of every Winnie the Pooh episode ever made:

Catalyst: Lack of honey.

Crisis: Protagonist is furthest away from obtaining honey.

Climax: Honey is obtained by central protagonist as basic moral lesson is imbued to audience through the growth auxiliary characters.

Resolution: Pooh Bear mauls antagonist to a bloody death and feeds on his entrails. The national park rangers track and kill four bears in the hunt for his body, which is never found.

Lies in the Classifieds

For some reason I like to add a little lie to another bigger lie that I'm already giving to make it so abstract I can distance myself from it and absolve myself of all guilt whatsoever.

For example, I recently texted someone on Craigslist and asked if he could hold an iPhone he was selling for me  until Monday so I can pay him as soon as I get paid. He agreed and the item was technically sold to me through an agreement of trust. I thanked him profusely and told him I would contact him soon.

A little bit after, I found a better deal for an iPhone and found myself in the position where I needed to bail on the guy who said he would hold it for me. I felt really bad because I had promised him I'd buy it and he was doing me a favour in holding it. So, to absolve myself of all guilt I just sent him the following text:

'Hi,very sorry for being this. but no longer is it I can come to pay and collect of iPhone. This is for due to payment of a bank that are needed by me. very sorry and please will you excuse for it being in convenience. goodbye.'

Now I'm secure in the knowledge that the guy is no longer angry with me (the true perpetrator on the other end of the phone) but rather the imaginary immigrant with broken-English that I created to take all of the blame for me.

Any slight of prose can help distance yourself from the actual lie and therefore the guilt associated with it, throw in the mention of a daughter and you're no longer a 25 year old student but an ageing Dad with the  responsibilities of a family. It's like having a selective multiple personality disorder and as long as the other person doesn't physically see you then you can get away with virtually anything.

You can then go about your day knowing that somewhere in the world there is a person who is angry with character inside their heads inspired by your lies and none of the bad negative karma ever comes back to you.

Snatching the cradle? Or reaching a bit too far into the back of the fridge?

A person who is dating someone far younger than them isn't a dirty sleaze bag preying on the innocence and nativity of younger mates, they're just a mindful consumer.

Dating a girl who is far younger than you is much like grabbing a carton of milk from the back of the fridge in the supermarket.

You're purposefully selecting a product with a longer use by date, what's the shame in that?

As you reach from behind the other cartons for the freshest of the batch, other shoppers around you may silently judge you for your unashamed disregard of consumer etiquette. Don't worry though, because who are they to judge? They're probably the type of people who carry around items until they realise they don't want them and then just put them back on an irrelevant shelf in a foreign aisle.

Next time you are at a supermarket (with or without your eighteen year old girlfriend) keep an eye out for randomly out of place items. More likely than not, those items have been placed there by people who had instantly abandoned them upon the realisation of the other items superiority.

The Charlie Sheen Hadouken

From www.milliondollarcompany.com.au

What did he do to you?'

'I- I can't say, don't make me say his name. It...It brings up too much pain.'

'Who was this man that did these things?'

'His name. I'll never forget it.'

'Who Goddamnit? Who?!'

'Don’t make me say it, please.’ 

‘We’re gonna need some answers from you. How do you know this man?’

‘Well, I used to be a fan of his. I used to enjoy his work. I honestly did. ’

‘Already I don’t like the sound of this guy. Surely he wouldn’t do these things to a fan?’

‘He would and he did.’

‘You need to tell us more if we are to understand the evil that can come from a single human being.’

‘Well like I said, he used to be funny, charming and cool.’

‘Tell me how old you were when he did –’

‘...’

‘Sorry, I mean, how old were you when the occurrence happened?’

‘That’s easy to remember. I was 25 years old. Throughout it all. I was 25 years old.’

‘Such a thing a man your age should never have to face. Like the horrors of war.’ 

‘Yes, but some young men must face war. This is a fact of life.’

‘True. But you are far braver for what you have been through. You are perhaps one of the most courageous, noble and dignified men on the face of this earth. ’

‘And yet I still wasn’t prepared for this type of evil.’

‘He will be brought to justice. I give you my word. Tell me when it started.’

‘I should have seen it coming. I’d seen the videos on the internet. I should have been more prepared. But no one can ever truly be prepared for a thing like that.’

‘WHEN DID IT HAPPEN FOR GOD’S SAKE?!’

‘The last impact? Well, it happened right in the light of day.'

 

‘Where were you?’

‘On the street.’

‘Where exactly? We need to quarantine the area.’

‘I saw him in a beach car park in Los Angeles, California. I couldn’t believe my eyes when I saw him; it was Charlie Sheen no doubt.

Charlie was busy picking up used cigarette butts from the ground when I approached him. His back was turned to me. I called out his name expecting to see the actor I had always loved. Then he turned around. 

I wasn’t initially mistaken, it was Charlie Sheen, but not as I have ever seen him. The person before me had none of the old Charlie left in him.’

‘Soulless.’ 

‘It took him a while to register my presence. He brought his face close to mine and peered into my eyes as if he was looking through to another side.’

‘Then what happened?’

‘His arms rose above his head and they began to slowly sway in the air like dancing snakes. Suddenly his eyes shot back into his skull and his face began to convulse.’ 

‘Accessing data. He was at level five optimum shield.’

‘That’s right. When the eyes returned on me, he was different. Then-then ...then-.

‘Here, it’s okay. Have a drink of water.’

‘Th-thanks.’

‘It’s gonna be alright. This information is going to help us put this guy away.’

‘It’s okay. I can continue.’ 

‘When he spoke his voice was different. As if he was being exorcised by a demon host. He spoke my name. Then-’

‘...’

‘....he started hissing.’

‘He began hissing at me. His stagnant projected a smell of bile and seaweed into my face. It activated my gag reflex and I grew worried for his health. Even then I cared about him. To the end I cared about him. 

I flinched back from the smell and it startled him. He began rolling his head slowly from side to side while staring at me and intensely hissing while his arms still hovered in the air.’ 

‘His body language was aggressive?’

‘It was certainly intimidating, I didn’t know if he was going to attack. I stood my ground. I didn’t take a step back. To this day I know that if I had stepped on my back foot he would have sensed it as a weakness and jumped straight on me.’

‘A witness reported that this happened to one of his other victims. You did the right thing.’

‘He began to pace while looking at the ground. His eyes darted furiously for cigarettes butts on the asphalt. He paced over to the gutter and lunged on a cigarette butt as if it was going to be picked up by some invisible competition.

With the cigarette butt in his hands he began patting down his pockets. He grew angrier than I had ever seen him before, frantically checking his pockets while beginning to grunt with rage. I knew what he wanted so I quickly pulled out my lighter and threw it to the ground in the distance. 

He pounced on it, wrestling the lighter into his hands. While his back was turned, I safely patted the full pack of cigarettes I had in my back pocket.’

‘You should have thrown the lighter further and ran away! This is why we put this information out there – so people can avoid what happened to you.’

‘I’ve read the pamphlets! I know exactly what you’re supposed to do when he approaches. It doesn’t work in real life! The text books don’t account for the fear that is sparked when seeing a live one in the flesh. Nothing can prepare you for that.’

‘Go on. Did he smoke the cigarette?’

‘He tried too. When the lighter sparked, the large flame burnt his nose. He shrieked away, frightened by technology like an animal. I had set my lighter to full flame.’

‘You knew all along.’

‘Once it burnt him he threw the lighter to the ground in an outrage. Suddenly he began jumping up and down. He ran over to the wheel of a car and squatted down. He unbuckled his pants, pulled them to his knees and began to excrete violently from each tract at the same time.’ 

‘BUT THAT'S THE INITIAL PHASE SHIFT OF HIS PRIMARY MOVE!’

‘I had never seen it before in real life. I always heard legend of its existence, but as soon as he moved I knew it was already too late. Time slowed down, everything was happening in slow motion. From the crouching position, he lunged forward and said the word.’

‘....Hadouken..’

‘I woke up with paramedics leaning over me. Initially, I thought the sky was clouded over with intense white but when I felt the gauze being applied to my face, I knew I was inside an ambulance. I looked around the cabin knowing that the men were wasting their time. I had been hit with a Charlie Sheen Hadouken. There was no way I was going to survive. Surely there are other people to save out there who have a chance at living. A waste of ambulance fuel trying to save a sucker like me.’

‘But you didn’t die.’

‘No, although some part of me did die that day. An admiration that lasted years. 

‘One that you will never forget.’ 

‘Platoon. Wall Street. Ferris Bueller. They’re great stand alone performances regardless of the other stuff he’s done! 

I mean, he wasn’t better than Michael J. Fox, but he did a goddamn decent job picking up during Spin City - even though I only saw a couple of episodes here and there, and I was pretty young when I watched them so my taste hadn’t properly evolved to a point where I could make educated judgements on artistic works - but still a decent job!’ 

‘But all that is lost now.’

‘You’re right, all the great memories are gone. All I have now is the name of an enemy.’

‘Charlie Sheen. Believe me when I say this: He is going to die.’

Nazi Childhood Memorabilia

Everyone can remember back to a moment in their life as a child when they learn a word that they didn't understand. Usually we overhear a new swear word said by some older kids and then go on to repeat it without even knowing its definition.

This happened to me but it wasn't a swear word that I learnt, it was the reference to the German Third Reich operated by Adolf Hitler and the National Socialist German Workers' Party from 1933 to 1945.

You see, I know a lot about the Nazi's now -  knowledge that could have easily saved me from an embarrassing incident in my past.

The year was 1996 and I was ten years old. I had recently started my school term for Grade Five and I noticed that my plastic school desk had a particular shape inscribed on it. It was my first ever encounter with the swastika.

It struck me as odd so I asked my friend sitting next to me what it was.

Nonchalantly he replied:

'Oh, that's the sign of the Nazis. They were this group who killed a bunch of people ages ago.'

Instantly I pictured an ancient tribe of head hunters wearing skull necklaces and grass hulas with war paint smeared across their faces and fresh blood dripping from their jagged spears. A romantic image of nomadic warriors hunting amongst the jungle brush.

As my friend turned his back to the class I immediately dove into my pencil case, extracted my scissors and began to carve the swastika into my desk, mimicking the previous child's craft work.

The blade of my scissors dug deeply into my desk and I carved multiple large perfect permanent swastikas almost as if I was channelling Adolf himself.

By the end of the day my desk was riddled with Nazi insignia.

A few weeks into the term I realised to my horror that the Nazi party was, in fact, a bad thing. A very bad thing indeed and the Nazis were not held in as high a regard as the nomadic tribal-men in my imagination. On the Friday at the end of the school term, all of the classes from my grade poured into our classroom for the end of term grade meeting.

Me and my classmates were shuffled to the back of the room as the other children piled in and took their place in any seats they could find. Halfway through the meeting, while I was sitting at my friends desk towards the back of the class my head rose as I heard my name:

'Mr Farrell! Dean's got Nazi signs on his desk.' said one of the children in horror.

In the following silence all I could hear was the noise of shuffled uniforms as bodies necks and heads turned towards my direction. I felt the sting of a intense judgement backed upon a decade of world war.

The teacher looked at me, withholding his disgust, he asked:

'Does your teacher know about this?'

I nodded my head meekly and the meeting resumed. Term came to an end and it was forgotten during the mid-term break.

I never got the chance to clear up with anyone that I was not associated with, or in anyway condone, the Nazi Party, and my schooling continued as I remain to this day, unpunished for the defamation of school property.

Oh no. I've been hacked!

If you had been recently following my Facebook feed you would no doubt be puzzled by some of my latest updates:

'...Hmm, what to do? Guess I'll log on to the internet and re-watch some cum shot compilations.'

'...Chlamydia, while indeed debilitating, isn't such a bad disease to be repeatedly infected with.'

'...I don't know why everyone else is denying it, but Asians are the worst type of people to share public transportation with.'

'...Hmm, sorry guys, some immature friend has logged into my account and updated my status. Just ignore it.'

The above status updates are just a few of the many that I - yes I - posted of late. All of them written by my own hand in a feat of master trickery to vent my true feelings without any social consequences. It feels great to finally get this stuff off my chest!

I have several more hacker attacks planned in the future, after the god damn elections.

The Hypocrisy in Bureaucracy

New Article up.

Check it out:

http://milliondollarcompany.com.au/articles/14/

Monkey See...

... Monkey desperately try to imitate but ends up failing miserably because it doesn't come from a place of authenticity.

Subsequently, in a search for self actualisation, Monkey frantically looks to a myriad of others to copy.

Plagiarising the habits of others, Monkey constructs an empty shell of a personality in a vain attempt to disguise the fragile truth of what Monkey really is.

Blinded by denial, Monkey continues to accumulate slithers of other personalities adding layer upon layer of traits seen in high regard by society, the media and Monkey's personal preference.

At first Monkey lives out the prime of its days using its social façade without any sort of profound self reflection. However, one day Monkey wakes up with the vague sense that its entire life has been a lie fuelled by vanity, superficiality and the pursuit of pleasure.

It dawns on Monkey that reality is, in fact, void of all meaning and what good the world can bring has been tainted by Monkey's selfish endeavour for individuality.

Frightened by the stark reflection of Monkey's true self, Monkey buries these feelings deep inside and falls even deeper into a blinding delusion. Monkey embraces its false identity and begins to create external enemies in opposition to Monkey's ideologies.

Monkey erupts in a flurry of war, violence and extreme prejudice. Monkey do.

However, the scratching truth in the back of Monkey's mind cannot be ignored. Monkey's destructive thought process begins to attack Monkey for a lifetime of denial and betrayal.

Internally, Monkey spirals into the dark abyss of Monkey's own corrupted and blackened soul.

Crippled with shame, guilt, and regret, Monkey dies old and alone wondering in the last moments of existence why Monkey denied the only thing Monkey ever truly had in the first place.

Awkward office conversations with people who are so different from me it could be said that they live in another world

I was in the break room today when I saw a woman who hadn't been in to work for a couple of weeks. I asked her where she had been and she told me that her Mother had passed away.

Then she said something about how it's just a product of the way life works and that death is very much apart of life but I couldn't hear what she was saying over the running tap.

I turned it off and she looked at me expectantly, I tried to search my brain for a profound retort. Something philosophically poignant that would give comfort to a person in mourning.

'Well-'

I started, knowing it was too late to stop.

'At least it's a good day.'

I concluded by nodding profoundly.  Her eyes darted away as if she had just caught two lovers in the act.

She then changed the subject.

I've never thanked her for that.

My Parents were Philistines

and still are to this day.

So don't blame me when I can't recite Bukowski or quote Hemingway of by heart or know Francis Ford Coppola's body of work. It's not my fault.

Believe me I tried to consume the arts in my childhood.


Every Friday night when I was a kid my Dad and my brother would bond in the living room while watching the Friday night football game and I'd be by myself in the back room re-watching Mission Impossible for the 20th time in a row (easily De Palma's best).

I remember my Dad coming home drunk after a stadium football game, bursting into my room and tearing the movie posters from my wall.

'This ain't real life kid! It's all make believe and the sooner you learn that the better!'

I dropped to my knees hugging the shreds with tears in my eyes.

'No! Daddy, it is real. One day Tom Cruise is going to repel down from the roof and take me away from this dreaded house and you'll all miss me, I swear it.'

'There ain't no such thing as Tom Cruise kid! There's no such thing!'

'Yes there is Daddy, you just have to close your eyes your real tight and wish with all you might and you look up and he's there!'

'Your a fool, kid! A damn fool to believe those things. How many times do I have to tell you? There is no such thing as Tom Cruise!'

And he was right.

Tom Cruise doesn't exist, and he never came and took me away.

I had to re-watch films like Mission Impossible, Dumb and Dumber, Terminator 2 over and over again each week. My hobby was never nurtured by my parents, who never introduced me unknown pieces of art like Mission Impossible II, Dumber and Dumber-er, or Terminator 3.


The best thing my parents did do was not pressure me into doing things I didn't want to do. Which ended up being, Rugby league, little athletics, basketball, swimming, scouts, and basically any other physical activity that required me to get up early on the weekends.

Who needs scientists when we have Mums?

Has anyone been noticing the headlines?

As of the past year or two there have been a huge wave of genius Mums that are inventing miracle cures, business ventures and health care products.

A la Erin Brockovich these Mums look at the facts, realise they just don't add up and then take it into their own hands to change their situation, whether the corporations like it or not!

I guess thousands of hours of scientific research just can't beat women's intuition.

If that isn't convincing enough for you, even though I'm sure it is, check out the comments left by real users on the website.

From the Teeth Whitening Page:

Sarah says:Monday, January 31, 2011

It's been a week since I started using these two together and I've been feeling a lot more confident. this is perfect. thanks.

Wendel says:Saturday, January 29, 2011

always down for stuff like this. props

Jennifer says:Saturday, January 29, 2011

My mom just e-mailed me this, a friend at work had told her about it. i guess it works really well

Amanda says:Saturday, January 29, 2011

Got my trials a few days ago, already seeing a difference. can't wait to see what the end result is

Nicole says:Friday, January 28, 2011

i do a lot of online shopping and I've can't believe they haven't caught onto this, fantastic story! tHAnks CNR!

Julie says:Friday, January 28, 2011

My brother did this a few months ago, I waited to order my trials to see if it really worked and then they stopped giving out the trials! what a dumb move that turned out to be. glad to see the trials are back again, I wont make the same mistake.

Damo says:Monday, January 24, 2011

I own a vineyard and my teeth might as well be dark purple at this point. just orded, hope this helps.

Michael says:Monday, January 24, 2011

this is a pretty cool article. I like the fact that it uses the internet!

There you go! 

The 100% positive feedback says it for itself. This is the real deal folks. I know what your thinking, the comments must be fake because usually the internet is full of negative haters who criticise everything, but with such real people names like Jennifer, Amanda, Nicole, Julie and Sarah how could anyone make that stuff up? 

Even Wendell checks out because his name implies that he's black and he uses the word 'props' in his comment which only adds to the authenticity. 

Although I didn't really like the subtle implication of Damo's comment. He pretty much stated that all Vineyard owners have stained teeth. I'm sure there are a lot of farmers who brush regularly and keep up on dental hygiene and therefore wouldn't require this product. 

Also, notice how a lot of the comments have spelling errors which is realistic in today's internet culture. Nicole even miss-capitalised 'tHanks' which implies she's just a real person make errors just like anyone else. 

If the comments were manufactured, why would they have errors?

They wouldn't. That's just the bottom line. 

We need to start electing stay at home Mums as head scientific researchers and Government officials. The Mums are the true leaders of the world and their talents are going to waste. 

Crazy People on Public Transport

I'm quite certain if they did a world wide study of which city has the most crazy people on public transport, Vancouver, Canada (also the most 'liveable' city in the world) would come in at number one.

Vancouver has a reasonable amount of heroin addicts and lunatics, all of which usually keep to themselves around the East Hastings district. However, they're relative segregation does not apply to public transport where they absolutely flourish in numbers.

This is due to a few influencing factors. One, a lot of the buses in Vancouver are stretchy buses with multiple boarding points. This means that you can board them for free if you board at the rear door. Therefore, a lot more fare-dodging homeless people ride the transport system than in other cities.

The other factors are the natural inclination for crazy people to talk to strangers couple with the general friendly and polite disposition prevalent in Canadian culture.

What results is a super chatty insane person who gets to ride around on a packed bus for free all day long.

I've lived in Vancouver (a city of 2.5 million people) for a year now and I have seen more crazy people than I did living in London (a city of 7 million people) for two years.

But strangely it's not the crazy people that bother me, it's the people that speak back to them in polite conversation  as if they weren't haggard drug addicts with a warped sense of reality.

I learnt in London that whenever someone comes up to you on the street you keep walking as if they weren't there and don't look at them in the eyes or respond verbally. They'll soon realise you're not paying any attention to them and break away to approach some other person in the sea of pedestrians.

I once walked past some homeless person sitting next to a dirty bin and I saw that some young art student was bending down to chat with him.

She was nodding along and having a conversation to him. You know exactly why she's doing it as well. She'll tell you:

'The homeless are ignored in our society, they're human beings just like us and they appreciate being spoken to on the same level.'

Bullshit. She doesn't give a shit about the guy. She's just speaking to the guy so that she can feel better, not the other way around.

So that she can go home with a false sense of satisfaction that she has done some sort of good deed by chit chatting with a heroin addict. Good work Mother Teresa. You've done nothing but feed your own ego.

For some reasons it's always naive, pompous liberal arts students who talk to these crazy homeless people.

Once I was sitting on the bus and a text book Crazy Guy hopped on.

The guy had a big bag of empty cans and bottles with him, he was clearly homeless and absolutely hammered. He sat down and I did what I always do when crazy people get on the bus. I paused my iPod, stopped reading my book and began to eavesdrop for a few minutes to see if they're entertaining.

The Crazy Guy sat across from a skinny Student with glasses and school books tucked into a Hessian jute bag. The Crazy Guy, started making conversation with anyone who would listen and the Student began to return polite conversation as if he the man was a real human being.

The conversation went like this:

Crazy Man: 'Yeh mang, these are me cans. Take 'em up to Burral Street you know? Cash 'em in, it's what I do, I got to work with the system man, to keep alive. Yep.'

Student (nodding in profound agreement): I see. Yeah, okay. Cool. What else do you do?

Boring!

I went back to my iPod and my book as the two passengers became best buddies.

After a while, I noticed that the Crazy Man was talking much more energetically and the Student had a look of horror on his face. The Crazy Man was showing him a pencil and thrusting it into the air to demonstrate something. I turned down my iPod:

Crazy Man: 'With the right amount of pressure on the tip this will puncture a man's skin just as deep as a knife. With a knife, though you have to pull it out, and carry it around. That's the benefit of pencils.'

The Crazy Man pulled another six pencils from his pocket.

Crazy Man: 'With these I can stick it into someone and then leave them dry. It works every time. You push it through their ribs and walk away. It's you or them. You have to survive on the street, you know?'

Student (pale white and quivering): 'Oh, o-okay, yeah, is that so?'

Yep. That's what you get for treating a crazy homeless person like a regular human being. It's not as simple as this whole 'we're all human beings' bullshit. They live in another world then us.

Another thing that shits me about talkative crazy people. How come they never ask me about how things are going in my life?  They're always trying to explain some caper or what they do on the street without ever giving a fuck about what I do for a living. Last time I checked a conversation was two ways, I have a passions, I have tastes and desires, show an interest in me for a change.

That's probably why their homeless in the first place, no-one liked talking to them because they wouldn't shut the fuck up about themselves or show interest in the other people so they lost all their friends and eventually turned to drugs which put them on a one way street to a bed in a dumpster.

Drunk Dialling

Everyone thinks they are super charming when they're drunk.

This is the main incentive of drunk dialling. People honestly believe that their charm is so thick when their hammered that it will tear down the boundaries formed by waking up someone at 3:30AM.

Drunk dialling destroys my life so I wanted to attach something on my phone, some sort of application, that would prevent me from using it when I was drunk.

I some sort of security barrier to operate my phone and it had to be something when that I could do when I was sober, but I could not do when I was drunk.

So now every time I want to make a phone call I have to form an erection.

The Boldest Things I've Ever Done

Some people may have heard of this story but no-one knows that it was actually me who started it.

It was during my philosophy exams. I had an eccentric professor who was renowned for his unorthodox teaching methods.

When I sat down to take the test after months of studying  Kierekgaard, Socrates, Aristotle and  Plato, I looked at my sheet of paper which simply asked one question:

'Why?'

I looked around me, hundreds of students scribbled down pages and pages of philosophical notions that explain on the meaning of existence. Suddenly a realisation dawned on me that was too genius to pass up.

I smiled, clicked my pen and wrote a simple two word answer:

'Fuck you.'


 

Libricide in She-Bu

Read it, quickly!!

http://milliondollarcompany.com.au/articles/13/

It's about travelling Australians.

Two a week! Another pledge towards productivity.

I am a victim of the silly season. The silly season is the period during Christmas time where all held beliefs on productivity are destroyed along with your braincells. So in entering the New Year I have to yet again pledge to update this fucking blog more regularly. 

Now, the thing is, that I don't write these posts for you, I write them for me. If I wrote them for you then I would be technically insane in believing that you exist. In reality there is no one reading this blog because we live in a time where only research analysts click on the second page of Google search results and the internet is so saturated with websites that Search Engine Optimisation has become a full-time career. 

No. I don't write this for the reader. I write this for myself, so I can get better at writing. 

And yet, even though I love writing, and I want to be a professional writer, and that the act of writing in itself is good for me, I still fucking resist the process like it's a unappealing chore. 

Don't get me wrong, I'm not pursuing writing for hollow reasons, I sincerely enjoy writing, feel that I have a certain level of competence to get paid to do it, and experience the joy and pride that comes with creation. 

Still, fuck, it takes motivation to do something when your content with doing nothing. Especially when you live a busy life (like almost all of us do) and have a lot of other commitments. 

For example, I am very rarely bored. This is for the fact that I'm always doing something, running some errand or trying to achieve the fruition of a specific goal. When boredom comes it's usually because I have the day off, so I embrace it with a warming smile and raised chin. 

So whenever I get a tiny pocket of spare time I use it to cram in all the guilty pleasures like looking up dumb shit on the internet or watching an episodes of something.

This is part of why I envy the dreamless, these people can come home and use all their free time to their complete advantage. They can go for the gusto. While I work away at the pursuit of my goals they sit back and smile like the hare against the tortoise without any of the guilt that comes with losing the race. 

Could it be possible that some of these men and women are wiser than those who's lives are corrupted by ambition? 

Do they see the fallacy of their pursuits and understand their limitations? Do they choose to adopt a satisfied outlook on life, content with all the creature comforts that are provided even to the poor in Western civilisation?

If you knew that all the work you put towards achieving your dreams would result in nothing would you still do it and take the disappointment along with the knowledge that you had tried your best? Or would you curse the wasted hours of a futile attempt?

Think of all the gluttonous enjoyments you could experience if you consume more than you contribute. 

Children don't carry the burden of ambition which is why we look at them with undying jealousy consoled only by the knowledge that they will be thrown into the snake pits of hell for their sin of sloth. 

So anyway, you get what I'm saying, basically I will post on here twice a week until I inevitably fall off the wagon again and write another pledge to keep up my productivity. So until next time.  

 

My Flatmate Says the Darndest Things

My flatmate has lived with me for the past three months, he is large in stature, completely shaved head (due to onset of pattern baldness) and wears glasses. He is 34 years old.


To give you some insight into his character please read the following quotes that came out of his mouth verbatim. For effect, please read them in a moaning yet pretentious Canadian accent with a strong essence of self hatred. They are all true...

Josh (on drugs): You know what? I think that certain raw vegetables and natural super-foods can give you more of a high than most drugs.

Josh (on employment, after completing a bar course): I don’t want to be just a bartender. I want to be the best bartender in the world.

Josh (on women): For some reason whenever I go to a house party I always just end up with the phone number of the hottest girl there. I don’t even know how I do it, it’s like it just appears in my hand.

Josh (on a female stranger he looked at in a store): It was weird, as soon as we locked eyes, almost instinctively, like she couldn’t control it, her hand went right down to her crotch. Then when she noticed what she was doing she pulled it away and got all embarrassed.

Josh (on the gym): You know how there’s always the biggest guy in the gym? Well, today I looked around the gym and thought ‘wow, my arms are bigger than the biggest guy in the gyms.’

Josh (while I was drinking a beer out on the street): Can you please get rid of that beer man. There could be cops around.

Josh (on magic): I am very fond of magic, I like it a lot.

Please also note the following post scripts:

NB 1: So far Josh has not been hired at any bartending jobs he has applied for.

NB 2: Without any exaggeration, Josh once got the phone number of a woman who would be in the top two fattest woman in the club. He not only went on a date with this woman while he was sober but he actively pursued sexual intercourse.

NB 3: Josh repeated his appeal for me to throw away my beer can multiple times. He wouldn’t stop. In every request his eyes filled exponentially with tears. When I finished my beer, then I decided to discard the can.

The weird thing is that upon meeting him I thought he seemed cool, then after one or two of these small little moments my mind began to form an opinion that he may be a little bitch who talks bullshit. From then on I fought with myself to really try to like him and to try and see past the cringe worthy lines and the shitty attitude.

But late last month my little bitch flatmate came out drinking with me and my friend and lunged at me in pure fury and tried to physically attack me because I was drunkenly calling him on his shit.

Now, after the blow up I am moving out and I am so happy that I no longer have to pretend to like the guy. The lesson I have learnt is, JUDGE PEOPLE and PIGEON HOLE PEOPLE and BE EXCLUSIVE. Because ultimately they are probably not going to change and your inner angst against them will just manifest in destructive ways.

So if they tick a few boxes on your shit list, write those people off and do not surround yourself with them, don't waste your time trying to look past their personality failures and go on with your life focussing on people you actually like.