All the poor people of the globe without espresso machines or woolen carpets.
Also: the unfortunate drug-dealer who, when faced with a hard-core trafficker, his murderous bodyguards and his suit-case full of cash, slapped down Schappelle Corby’s boogie board...
* * *
Anyone with a blog knows the peculiarly loathsome cum-stains who surf up courtesy of Google (and Christ knows I sincerely regret ever using the word ‘goat’ in a post.)
But some of these buggers are truly mystifying.
This is my favourite Whale-Sushi-bound google search: “Mangos creatures using spells”.
Now, as you know, I’m a very intelligent and witty guy with a brain the size of a huge brain-sized walnut but really, I’m buggered if I can work that out.
Mangos creatures using spells. I hope you got what you came for. Go with God, my son.
* * *
I don’t want to blow my own drum or bang my own horn. (No blowing or banging please, we’re Canberrans). But who else in the world has parents who ring up and say: ‘you know we’re flying to Paris tomorrow?’
No, I didn’t. Fuckers.
* * *
The other day I was pondering a joke I’ve never really understood. The first time I encountered it was in reading the Adelaide Uni student newspaper many years ago.
There was a joke about a raffle…
First prize: dinner with the Vice-Chancellor.
Second prize: two dinners with the Vice-Chancellor! (yuk-yuk)
Now, I get that the V-C is not a popular guy and dinner with him is not all that appealing. But really, it makes no sense and not in a good way.
Or am I just being a pretentious, pedantic, humourless turd?
Huh. You know who I feel sorry for?
(Damn, that was a chatty post. I’m a regular chatty Kathy. With a penis.)
Tuesday, April 10, 2007