Warning: May Threaten Sanity

The following is an excerpt from a certain Year Book, and has been added to the blarg for archival purposes.

This is a Very Stupid Story – Written in Year 9 and kept away from the public for very obvious reasons. It is called: “WARNING! MAY THREATEN SANITY! ”

Hello everybooooooody. My name is Private Cox. I joined the army so I would have a silly title and could go back to 1992 and bet on all the right races so I would get rich and then I would be able to challange Kerry Packer to 20 rounds of Pepsi Extreme Downhill Lawn Bowls on the big top Candy Arsed Mountain.
This mountain was complealy EVIL so since i was Private Cox, or still am, or will be, since in 1992 there was no Pepsi Extreme Downhill Lawn Bowls or other acts of self mutilation, or the fact that i probably would not be in the army yet so i would be stuffed, how ever in order to be stuffed i would need to go and see a taxidermist.
Then this Taxidermist would be able to tell me stories about cowboys and pigeons in the land of 20,000 different brands of urinal cakes. Then he would use these amazing stories to make me more easy to get stuffed, or if he is in a hurry, he will hit me in the head with his wife's waffle maker, or maybe he already has, since it will be the year 1992. So suddenly, only 9 years later, i will remember that he was botching the job, so i will reload my Jedi Juice drink bottle and refill my NAPALM FLAMETHROWER and go over to his house where i just might find him sodomising his gerbil. That would mean that i would not need my Flame thrower, as my stomach would provide enough vomit to kill the entire number of Joel's Relitaves (about 96 Billion Rodents of various descriptions), yet alone a gerbil sodomising taxidermist. Then with the doctor ( was he a doctor? i thought he was a bull shit artist) out of the picture (which was a bad one in the first place), and using my local $9.95/hour lawyers, i could get all the blame deflected onto him, I could retire and become the filthiest porn king until i would be 12 and mum taked to me about birds and bees and i wondered why i didn't see any giant killer birds trying to sting my eyes out and vouched never to be mr pimp ever again (well, it was my new years resolution, so it stayed true for about 7 minutes), by this time i had become deranged and had enough money from my book, "HOW TO REMOVE A FACE WITH A DISC SANDER", to bribe my way into Merewether Low School, where I invented an outdoor dunny that also doubled as a rocket. I was very happy when it worked, except for the fact that i landed on my groin at Merewether High School ( The flag pole to be exact, where my ARCH-NEMISIS, MR COX (WHO IS NOT RELATED TO ME AND EVEN IF HE WAS I WOULD HAVE KILLED THAT BOOT-SCOOTING MUDDA LONG AGO). Mr Boyd then got me down with his hair and I was very thankful, so i gave him a cold, and a bottle of white out. he was so pleased that he gave the school a fresh coat of white paint (ask mitch, richard, or me about this). Then i would go quiet and dream of giant monkeys for 2 years, tell Coolio to grow a face, because he required one for the school photos (YES, there was no face, just bone and muscle, very messy). Then I would join the salvation army and get the most kills to my name ever. I was amazed that noone had gotten as many punks as me. Escpically the old people, because they are as easy to hit as Tim Schnider. Then they branded me criminally insane and gave a medal, and a drivers licence, meaning that i killed even more people with my amazing minibus that had , or has, because my brain melted sometime ago. about 23 (skeedoo) years ago. Then i got lots of home work so i decided to make artitfical arm hair for ducks, and was shipped of in a box marked fine china to the nearest base which was ace of base, so they called me PRIVATE COX and sent me back in time to make them popular but i failed horribly so that is why i only meanson them now. They are still trying to get me to smwll their jeans to see if they need washing yet, but they havn't caught me yet. WAIT! WHAT IS THAT TAPPING NOISE! OH MY GOD! IT'S THEM! excuse me while i get my 20mm ammo for my assualt slingshot. (huge boom). Where woz i? oh yeah, i have compleatly forgotton why i wrote this. So the next day, which hasn't happened yet i will porbably breath, unless i die, and that would not be fair because i would never had the chance to decapitate Barney the Purple Dinosaur infront of kiddies all over this sad country. But if i decapitated Barney, the country would no longer be sad and would be happy, but its hard to make people happy if your dead, unless they wanted you dead because you told them about the similarity of their mum's face and boots that you throw up in, then play rugby in for 6 months straight,then throw up in again, and then give to a horney dog that gets far to excited and make a mess, so they would want me dead, and that would make them happy, but i would want THEM dead, so i would leave a burning bag of bird poop outside their house, so when they go to see what it is, i can run them over with my ride on lawnmower, and then i would have to run away, because the cops would come to get me for smelling up the street, because i would have had too much curry the night before, which would be tonight, and then i would have to call my terrorist friends, who just happen to be koala's in balaclava's. They would then bust me out of sitting in the corner looking at the wall and thinking about what i had done, because the cops made me sit in the corner and look at the wall because i had been bad and also to see if Big Kev's cleaning agent really worked. I would then say yes, and Big Kev would jump off the bottle and say "I'm Exicted!" and then we could all go for a lap of honour in a horse float which was attached to the back of a sewerage truck that was driven by a blind circus monkey called Ronaldo who knew a secert Web Code, which just happened to be SuperTed, so the Monkey said SuperTed and turned into a banana and attempted self-canabalism, which was very messy. Then I would have to kill the evil clowns from outer space who wrote in a funny way, because no one could read what they wanted people to know about their circus, so they got pissed at the pub and had a huge fight with the Blues Brothers who had to run off because they drank $400000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000 worth of beer and needed kidney and liver and heart replacements because they had eaten them by accident, thinking they were beer nuts. Anyhow in this fight, the phone got knocked off the hook and Weird Al showed up to sue everyone but ended up sueing himself for a lifetimes supply of toenails, which was delivered in a truck to his front door, which was weird to Weird Al because he lived on the 42nd floor, so he went crazy and started attacking the toilet with a toothbrush. Meanwhile, I was bopping down the street that seemed to go on forever when i walked into a wall, i wondered where the wall had came from, then realised that i'd been watching TV and had fallen off my stair climber, while my brother was too intoxicated to sing happy birthday (which is quite intoxicated, trust me) so he sung HHHHHHHAEEEERRRRRRRRRRYPPPPPPPP BBBBBBBBEEEEEEERRRRRRRRFFFFFFFFFFFFGGGGGGGGGAYYYYYYYYYYYYYY PPPPPPPOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO YYOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOH. THen he colapsed into the fish tank filled with cool refreshing sprite, and I would have to drag him out, because i wouldn't want to miss out on my geography lesson the next day because i would have to go to his funeral, which would be putting him in a sack filled with bricks and dumping him in the river, so the next day, which has not happened yet because i do not know what time period this is in, but i don't think i need on due to the Crazyness of me Private Cox, or maybe it has happened yet. ANYWAY, the next day there was a turd of prey, in the sky, but it swooped me and pelted me with beegees songs like Night Fever.
I’m So Sorry. This should not exist, yet alone 100+ copies. Don’t rip out the page, I’m sure that the other side is better. Just use white out on this side. PLEASE - SEB

As I said then, I'll say again. "I'm So Sorry."

Not convinced we can do Stop-Motion madness?

Well, you can die in a fire!
Then you can watch... ARSE_RABBIT.AVI

Well, failing that, you can see the one photo that Phailed to make it into the last page...

... is that a younger Lambie in the foreground?

Raiders of the Lost Drive

Hey Funkers!
I've been a-raidin' some old hard drives I had from my last computer, the horrible horrible Dell, and I came across some horrible horrible things! So, what else COULD I do but stick them up here, much to the ire and disdain of all who subscribe to the New Testament of Funk (AKA The "Oh GOD! NO!" Newsletter)!
First up, we have a mostly complete video that was filmed in February as well as a stint in July/August of 2003, in the HSC year. It may not be as cutting or as amazingly hilarious as we thought it was back then, but it's an important part of our CULTURE.

Amazing fact: The vid is technically a stop motion film! It is literally lots of horrible little photos that were stitched together! That's why we had an ill-fitting soundtrack! Now that you've stopped caring, I can tell you that there was one last skit that never made it in. It involved a bike, a sewer pit, and oranges. Let's just think about that for a moment, shall we. Yes. Now be thankful. Also, it was meant to be 2 separate films, but the 2nd was never finished, so they were sown together like some kind of hideous monster

Also hidden in the bowels of this drive was my one of my Year 12 pages from a rather infamous book. Yeah, it's the yearbook with the muck up photo where one of our cohort had her tit out. Pleasant!
But anyway, I'll put up a page that needs to be viewed in it's original context, and as a SPECHAL TRORT, you'll get a boring as batshit explanation of what the hell is going on behind those beautiful, inspiring words...



Just wait until I get back to the drive, there's so much more horrible material to UNEARTH!
Cya 'round, Mother Funkers!

WALL TO WALL STUFF ALL - Or - Mind Of Darkness

Well, dear StarStruckers Incorporated (Thanks Toronto Public School!), It is currently 8:19PM on a Wednesday Night, and I'm here at Groove Street Station, contemplating truth, beauty, and a $9/L bottle of Wine. Yes kid-sters, it's another night where too much drink is barely enough! The Torrents are Hot! The Weather is Cold! and the Air conditioner is filled with Dust! and we're getting rolling Blackouts!! Oooh yeah, it's time for the event you've all been waiting for... DIATRIBE!
... Well, it's either this or I dig out possibly the worst Word Document you've ever seen. And no, I'm not talking about the one which was about 80 megs and 412 pages of pictures of cretinous material (don't ask. You'll regret it in the morning like the aforementioned $9/L terror), I'm talking about a Year 12 page with just the correct amount of background images to bring your brain to the edge of Haemoragging without quite getting there. So you can enjoy it. You know. LIES. Although it did profess a certain love for Bill Paxton... C'mon! He's the ONLY person who's been killed by Alien, Predator AND Terminator! Who else can you Idolise? (Actually, I think he managed to kiss Helen Hunt without Vomiting in Twister, so there you go, he also preforms miracles!) WHERE IS YOUR GOD NOW? I'll tell you where he is! He's off writing a letter to Mr Paxton telling him how Awesome! he is. You can also forget about the 2nd coming, Jebus is too busy staying home and watching Aliens: Special Edition.

So, shall we delve into the world of political commentary & social observations? Lets Do! With the current Australian Olympic Effort following the philosophy of "GO FOR BROWN", I am reminded of a limerick that a peer of mine composed on demand when we were forced to sit through "The Return of Justin Norris to his high school to talk about sucking during the 2000 Olympics". I believe that the wit and genius of the bard graced us that day, and to quote my eloquent peer, known then as "Daaaaauuvee":

"Justin Norris I think you suck
You are but a useless fuck
3rd you came, in that race
To our school, you're a fucking disgrace"

See, the power of BROWN has been with this country since that fateful day! While we may have athletes in their Speedos and... well, to be fair that seems to be all we've got over there. It's not really an Olympic Team, but more of just the Swimming Team (Cheers Lambie! I may be absolutely maggotted off my brain, but I know when to acknowledge. If only this damned thing had footnotes...). Bah. I'll be honest. If it requires Running, Jumping, Hitting, or any form of non-liquid related exercise, I'm not interested. Actually, scratch that (look at me! I did!), I'm not interested. Period. All I know is that this will go down as the Faux Olympics. You know what I mean. Faux Fireworks. Faux Singing (therefore Faux Chinese Nikki Webster leading to Faux FHM spread in 6 years. Cya in 2014, Kiddo!). Faux COUNTRY! China is a lie! You read it here first! Kinda like watching a deviant hiding in a bush suddenly burst out and scream things like "SOLVENT!", "BUTANE!" and "PARIFFIN!". These things are half expected, but amusing never the less. I'm sorry if you're reading this in China, where Thinking is Outlawed, so if you're Lozi, SORRY BUT YOU'RE GOING TO GAOL! (Good thing you're back in the country where a wife earning more money than a husband is a trival matter, rather than a horrible scandal. OR ARE YOU? OH NOES!). BANG ON.
Well, seems that I've forgotten what I was talking about! Chalk another up to foolishness and idiocy! Let's continue this in a while!

**Approximately 3 hours later***

Oh god what the hell is this? The last thing I remember is going on about Innuendo and Kosher-ness. And making Kosher sound SUSPECT. It's an achievement, for sure. Just watch and I'll get a little pop up.


META MEANS I DIE TWICE.
Oh lord here comes Charlton Heston to chastise me...

I'm outta here.

Your Lord & Master Commands Thee!

He is ever present.

Instant Entertainment! Just Add Water!

Hey Funksters! If you're ever at a Party or Event, and need a quick tale to get things funked up, try this one (Customisable for utility!)

I want to tell you a story about the last time I was in (Town).
I was walking on the street about 10:30 at night, A lot of people go to bed around here at 10:30 at night. And well, I was walking along when suddenly these jocks in this bright blue car drove up. It had halogen lights, chrome rims, everything but the CB. It was a life-size Hot Wheels car for some dumb rich kid, right. Well, they drove up to me and they yelled what dumb rich kids usually yell, "Hey, faggot," and showered me with some water. So, I stood there thinking, "what a bunch of fuckheads"and picked up a rock.
Now, I waited, walked down about a block to where the Kentucky Fried Chicken is, and sure enough they drove around again. They said, "Hey, faggot, where's the nearest McDonald's?" I said, "I don't know" and they squirted me again.
So I threw the rock and put a nice-size dent in their giant Hot Wheels car.
They screached to a halt in the parking lot of some department store, who's name I don't remember, and they got out their clubs and they ran after me, yelling, "We're gonna kill you, you god damn faggot, we're gonna kill you, you motherfucker."
So I got in a phonebooth by the Kentucky Fried Chicken, held my legs straight out like this so they couldn't open the door to the phonebooth. So they began charging the phonebooth, beating on it with their club, yelling, "We're gonna kill you, you motherfucker, we're gonna kill you, you god damn faggot." I just looked at them.
So, there was a crowd gathering by this time and these kids were standing nearby and they said, "Oh, look at him, he's insane." I thought, ah-hah, here's my way out.
I yelled at them, "Take me to a mental hospital right away, I wanna be be put away. Please put me away, c'mon, call the cops and put me away. Please put me away now."
They said, "Alright, faggot, we're calling the police." So they called the police.
The cop comes out and I go, ah, my savior, I'm away from these jocks. He opens up the door, "Get out of there, you," throws me up against the car, frisks me, shoves me in the back. Then he goes over to the jocks, "Now what happened here? It looks like we're going have to take him to jail but we got to have the full story first"
So the jocks, who had an ace in the hole go "Well, goddammit, the motherfucker put a dent in my car, a $20000 car, right, so I got my club, I went out and I wanted to kill him. I want to kill him! Lemme kill him, goddammit! Lemme kill him!"
So the cop made them go home, and he drove me home, and he confiscated their club and my rock as further evidence. And I thought, so this is (State), huh? Tolerent (State)?

Just add gestures for effect!

Dance Dance Regurgitation -OR- Blasphemous Reggae Dance

We now return to your regular pro-gramme-ing...
Oh god, what the hell do we actually DO for regular articles? Do we even do regular articles? Or even regularly? Or even? Or? ? Feh, time for another round of the "OH GOD NO" Newsletter...
But I digress, as my attention span is too short to... to... Ooooh!
I found something PRETTY in my desk! That was sufficiently distraction to derail my train of thought down into a valley of madness... Let's see what joyous trees of stupidity we can smash into on the way down!
God, these ideas never lead anywhere good. I guess it's kinda like Waterworld was better before I saw it. It was Mad Max on Water! Dirty Dreads! Rusty Things! AND THEN WE SAW THE FREAKING FILM. You know what I'm talking about, don't ye? I think that it could be the fact that the opening scene was such a ringing endorsement of the Recycled Water Campaign (Almost as much as Pitchfork Media's review of Jet - Shine On. Look it up at work if you don't want to keep your job. If I won't link to it, you gotta know it's BAD). Yum. Actually, has Kevin Costner ever done anything good? Nah, of course not. I guess he's just another filthy plague-bearing goat.
But let's get on to more interesting topics? We could make something interesting, like the English-Marlon Brando translator (Everything comes out as "Murrrrr" or *Wheeze*).
We could go on about strange fixations that I've heard from the certain anonymous people on the Interwoe, such as "I'm not a Labor supporter, but I'd like to bang a chick wearing nothing but a Kevin 07 T-Shirt" (Ever wonder why my mind never seems to work? It's because I hear something of this ilk at least once a week...) but somehow I feel like I'd be violating the law.
BURRITO!
S OUT!

"I modded it so hard that it ceased to exist", and other ways to get on the Scoreboard of Foolishness!

Hey Funksters!
Today, I feel that I'll go for a slightly altered route to my usual insanity! Today, I'm going to talk to you about a subject that's very close to my heart. That's right, philistines, (If you think it's about Pvt. Hudson, I'm sorry, but maybe next time...) it's the world of Modifications! Mods are the reason why I don't like iPods, sure they hold heaps and break as soon as you drop them once, but they're about as resistant to change as aristocracy (and what's worse, while there are pockets of resistance the general community consensus is that it's fine to just take it as it is, iTunes and all, and when's the last time you saw regicide becoming vogue? C'MON PEOPLE! DEFENESTRATE! BOHEMIAN-STYLE!). That's the reason why I rock out with my ancient, scratched Sony Walkman. Sure, the battery cover doesn't stay on, but you get something like 28 hours of musics out of a single AAA rechargeable battery, and best of all, it's been modded to allow for simple drag & drop song loading, none of this "DISCONNECT AND YOU GET AIDS" kind jazz. Simplicity is good, methinks.
Simplicity is good? Actually, I'll retract that statement due to the overwhelming amount of evidence to the contrary. Where is this evidence, say ye? The goddamn computer, says I. Let's get one thing clear, I don't think a computer that glows like a jukebox is a good thing. Especially those that have that neon Blue glow like a hotted up Rice-mobile. Thermometers or "YOU HAVE 5 MINUTES TO RETREAT TO A 200KM SAFE DISTANCE" displays are good in my book, but I never got into that, for several reasons (such as the fact that I'd probably blow it up and have neon gas disperse everywhere in the machine, followed shortly by death or woes.
So, shall we examine what I've actually got? LETS DO!
Well, there's the standard upgraded DVD burner, which should be region 0, but I do hate that PowerDVD player for switching on me constantly. There's also a 2nd DVD-ROM, but that's not actually connected to anything because of a long and horrible story. The side hatch will not stay shut now, because of another long and horrible story. But the STICKERS CHILDREN! THE STICKERS! And Soviet Hatpin! WHO COULD ASK FOR MORE?

But back to horrible things! Let's see... in an effort to make it more stable, I destroyed the Prefetcher, which makes Windows about as graceful as a Lummox, but I think I'll end this rant, as I've probably gone down that trail long ago...
So, what say ye? Is taking things apart & making them more brokenAWESOME the new black?
Need some ideas for horrible home disasters unleashing the funk? Well, try some of these!
Increase electronics power by adding a voltage to the ground, or, better still, WE DON'T NEED NO STINKIN' GROUND!
Build your own mobile phone out of bits of other phones!
Make a toast-friendly shower head, and you'll be my freakin' hero.
SO LONG SUCKERS!