Tick. Tick, tick, tick … BOOM!

So I’ve been getting my Ace of Base on. In special needs repeat. This brings joo-joo joy because: I’m special needs I’m ooold (to be said like Joey Tribbiani) I’m instantly transported back to being 17 years old I’d just moved outta home into a stu-stu-studio with stained-glass windows and kitsch kitchen. Still in highContinue reading “Tick. Tick, tick, tick … BOOM!”

What’s the upchuck factor on that?

I’ve been rediscovering my Thirsty Merc (kick-ass Aussie band, don’t ya know). And by rediscovering, I mean chair-dancing like the lousy, legless dude from Forrest Gump. Like the wicked witch o’ the East with Dot’s house resting on her lower extremities. Head banging. Torso tossing. Rockin’ that shit like I’m drowning at a seated event.Continue reading “What’s the upchuck factor on that?”

Well do ya, punk?

I hate the word ‘naughty’, I really do. Sure. It aint up there with ‘tummy’ or ‘vagina’ … but for the love of Gandhi! If you aint a parent, you got no cause to be using it. This anti-penchant may be due to my sociopathic boss of traumatic times past who would extend his handContinue reading “Well do ya, punk?”

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.”

Musty is my memory of Madonna.

A woman got on the bus today, bringing my teen memories of Madonna with her. Specifically, sitting on the beach at high-school camp, complete with circa 1989 Ray Bans and hot-pink Walkman, blasting Cherish on repeat (which unfortunately meant rewinding the tape every few minutes). Dave, a blond boy with legs longer than spaghetti, satContinue reading “Musty is my memory of Madonna.”