Where farts and life meet.

I might’ve mentioned my obsession with movies before (once or twice). It’s a requited love shared with my siblings and when we were kids, we made our own. Our classics include Santa In The Hands of a Clock (the tale of a psychotic Santa who travelled through time to murder Robin Hood and Snow White)Continue reading “Where farts and life meet.”

You want crotch with that?

I love Sydney rain. The rain drops are fatter than a Cheshire cat and more prolific than trunk shots in a Tarantino movie. You get soaked in five seconds flat, and umbrellas are as useful as a toupee in high wind. It’s as if the earth opens up and meets the sky, almost primal. ToContinue reading “You want crotch with that?”

Yes, it’s true. This man has no dick.

I’ve been pondering what my ideal posse would look like; a group of diabolically-awesome people with whom I could shoot the shit (and walk in slow motion). But to assemble the prime posse, I must first put aside the pesky restrictions of reality. This might be considered an exercise in stalking, but I prefer toContinue reading “Yes, it’s true. This man has no dick.”

You know that’s right.

I’ve recently discovered the tv show, Psych (five years behind everyone else); and the combination of new comedy fodder and 80 unseen episodes has resulted in a binge fest the likes of which Graceland has never seen. (Fortitude is but a castle in France, my friend.) I have now seen four years worth, in theContinue reading “You know that’s right.”

Cram it up your cramhole, La Fleur.

I feel like stabbing my eyeball with a paperclip the shape of Fozzie Bear. (The bear is now under construction.) My boss had his performance review today and I don’t need a doctorate from Kiss My Ass University to know, it did not go well. He’s chucking a tanty under the guise of legitimacy, whichContinue reading “Cram it up your cramhole, La Fleur.”