Part one is here
Part two is here
Archie frozen with terror stares down the masked intruders, several raise their weapons ready to fire whilst others stare down the abyss into the huge tub of waste the captain has disappeared into. One barks and order in his thick communist accent
“Retrieve the Captain, quickly he is very important to the mission” He said keeping his eyes on the petrified Archie. “You there capitalist pig dog how do we get him out of there” The soldier asked Archie.
Archie’s Langmoore cigarette with its smooth aromatic flavour was almost burning out, still scared he remembered his anti communist classes from highschool. The trick to fooling a red was to give them a choice, they cant handle democracy, Archie would have to use his superior American brain to trick them into allowing him to escape.
“Well you can either lower a ladder or use a rope… you should take a vote to decide which is better” Archie cunningly put to the soldiers. The lead soldier looked at him confused… it was a choice, a vote…
“Vote… we should vote… how do we choose… arghhhhhh!” He screamed, and they all began to clutch their heads with the pain of free democratic thought pulsing through their tiny soviet minds. Archie saw his chance and ran quickly down the stairs, he was swift like the wind leaving the evil in his wake. Still confused the lead soldier commanded action.
“Quick just leap in and save the Captain we need him to complete the mission” Every soldier on this command leapt into action and hurled themselves over the railing splashing down into the Atomic waste. The thick green goo covering them from head to toe. Each soldier clambered out of the tank, wet dripping with the waste, the captain out of breathe rested against the wall, regathering his ‘red’ strength.
“Soldiers we have no time to stop, to the control room” He Commanded getting to his feet scrapping some of the atomic waste from his boots. “Does anyone else feel all tingly…”
The soldiers looked at him a little confused. But they thought nothing of it and all continued back to the control room. They entered to find the controls to the power station, everything in working order, with genuine American parts and efficiency.
“Sir could we dry off, I suspect it doesn’t fit the manifesto to over throw democracy whilst wet!” Said one soldier. The Captain thought for a second then replied.
“You are right soldier, quick everyone spread out and search for something that we can use to dry ourselves of this oppressive yankie wetness.” With that the soldiers started looking around the room, pressing buttons and twisting knobs haphazardly, trying to find something they could use to dry off. One soldier in the corner spoke up from inside some sort of chamber.
“Here… this, its an x-rrr-aa-yyy, machine… this has to be it.” The soldier exclaimed loudly. The captain approached and spoke.
“Satisfactory work comrade, soon we will be dry and the west will fall under our grip, turn on the X-ray machine…”
But what will the X-ray machine do, will the Soviet nasties be toasty dry, or does this event spell more trouble for the good old US of A… tune in next week to find out…
humor-blogs.com would know better than to use an x-ray machine after its been in a vat of atomic waste...
Saturday, June 28, 2008
Tuesday, June 24, 2008
I'm trying to come up with something witty and clever to say, but all I can think is DAM!!!
People say things… I have no doubt you already know this little fact children, that people talk. And I reckon being the super intelligent little lambs you are, you’re also well aware of the fact that what people say isn’t always what they mean. Whether they are just sugar coating something so as to not hurt someone’s feelings. Or they are just straight up lying because it’s really fun and makes you cool. People often don’t say what’s on there minds.
And that’s where I’m stepping in today, to help translate peoples real feelings and wants, and because well gosh darn it I’ve got nothing else to post. So let’s get into it. Women, you know who they are, the girly men with the boobs and the nice legs. If you’re married, it’s probably to a woman, if you need further assistance recognising one, just turn to your wife. If you are a woman and don’t know it, then I don’t know your kind of lost already aren’t you so you might as well stop reading, if you can read that is.
Women are always saying things that they don’t really mean, why do they do this? Well men… it’s to be cruel really, to test your will and hopefully break you, so by the end of your time you resemble nothing more than a quivering mess of testicles and carpet swatches. Well I assume that’s why they do it. How many times have you heard, ‘does my bum look big in this?’ (Oh yes I’m going there). Which isn’t really the question she’s asking, that’s more along the lines of ‘Do you still love me, even though I’m starting to look like my mother?’
Which there is no answer to, because if you say no then you’re admitting to not loving your wife, and if you say yes your telling her she’s old has a fat arse. So your screwed honesty is not going to work and either is lying, your best option might be pretending to have a stroke. And it continues, ‘which one do you prefer?’ isn’t in fact even a question, it’s not even something a woman has command over. If she has two things in her hands instinct takes over, that question is nothing more than a verbal tick. That sentence automatically emerges from her vocal chords like some kind of spasm.
In fact she already knows which she prefers. She’s made her choice long ago, maybe before she even set eyes on the items. But why ask, well and here’s me just thinking, if she asks you it’s then a group decision, and it’s always nice to be apart of a group. But it doesn’t stop with women talking to or about men, here’s another piece of girl code I remember from high school. ‘Oh she’s priiiiieeeeeeeetty’, is what they would say upon being asked about the appearance of one of those poor unfortunate uglies. Which really meant that no, they weren’t impressed with said girls looks. It's the way they annunciate the ‘pretty’.
Boy: “Gee that Betsy Clodhopper is an ugly dog”
Boy 2: “Yeah, a regular bag job”
Girl: “Oh no… she’s priiiiiiiieeetty”
Which was about as convincing as Adam Sandler in… well anything really. But thus went the dance, the boys would say whose ugly and the girls, so as to not sound like raging bitches would unconvincingly roll out that usual line for the situation. And the dance continues into adult hood, where the girls drive the boys crazy still, but for different reasons.
Next week I’ll take a stab at the men, just for equalities sake, so come back then ya’ll. If you haven’t had you fill yet take a gander at the Saturday Serial below.
humor-blogs.com thinks every ones pretty, apart from that bitch Valerie Poot…
Saturday, June 21, 2008
Part one is here!
We rejoin out horrifying tail over the desert badlands, a plane packed to the rafters with agents of mayhem. There darkened minds firing on all cylinders with their plans to conquer freedom.
“Captain we are approaching the drop zone” The pilot barks through his radio headset. The captain a tall and fundamentally shifty looking character stands up from his seat and addresses the crew of the plane.
“Men we are here today to put the motherlands plan into action, we will march across the United States and conquer them. Their days of freedom are numbered. But first we will hit their power stations, let them tremble with fear in the dark, let the shadows we hide in melt into the night as we ready ourselves to spring forth and conquer democracy.” He spoke with evil intent, his goggles and flight mask covering his face, who was this evil fiend.
The jump light went on in the planes hold and the crew all hooked up their drop lines. The cargo doors opened and the crack force of foes leapt into the sky.
Meanwhile thousands feet below Archie a hapless technician did his morning rounds of the power stations equipment.
“Atomiser, check, nuclear particle transmitter… check, Random particle oscilloscope, check, Neutron wave subprime meter… check. What a beautiful day to be enjoying my freedom as an American.” He said to himself. He stopped and pulled a cigarette from his pack; he lit it and took a long breath through it. It was smooth and mild, refreshing even, it made him calm and it was good for his nerves and brain. He was happy his Doctor had told him to start.
But all the smooth refreshing taste of a Langmoore cigarette couldn’t pull him from the danger he was about to face as the soviet forces floated in on the wind from up above him. The ghastly danger he was about to face crept ever closer on the wings of danger.
The soldiers now only feet from the ground readied themselves, machine guns on standby for any eventuality. Archie still not aware of the danger headed back for the control room to check the test tubes were alright. Unaware that the soldiers had now landed and were on their way to his very location.
“Prepare yourselves men, capitalism makes people dangerous and violent, be in tune with your surroundings. Everyone follow me” The captain said, whilst corralling his men into formation in front of him. When they were ready they set off moving from shadow to shadow creeping around the darkened corners.
One by one, the Captain in the lead, the men walked up the gantry towards the control room where Archie enjoyed the mild comfort of another Langmoore cigarette. The Captain readied himself to enter the room, only to be surprised by Archie coming through it the other way. He was knocked back and fell, caught only by the vat of atomic waste under the gantry. Archie shocked watched the man fall, then turned to see the other soldiers.
“COMMUNISTS!” he screamed.
What will become of Archie, what’s in store for Billy and his family, what evil is coming… tune in next week.
humor-blogs.com has never fallen into a vat of atomic waste...
Tuesday, June 17, 2008
Yes this is the only feminist I've ever heard of.
There is this movie kids, it stars Ryan Philippe and that Spanish dude that I can never understand, Guillermo or Benicio Del Toro, or some other dude from a different country, dam foreigners. Anyway at the start of that movie Ryan Philippe and Spanish dude sit out side a club, they do something to some guys’ car I think and the guy notices. Anyway after a short confrontation Ryan Philippe punches some chic in the face, I’m pretty sure it’s Sarah Silverman. Right in the face, breaks her nose, and its really funny.
Now I can’t really remember the rest of the movie, and maybe there isn’t much else to remember, but I didn’t make an effort to watch it. But it’s that moment at the start of the film that I love. It impresses the hell out of me that a film maker had the balls to do that, cause lets face it when’s the last time you saw man on woman violence on film. But it was funny as hell, I can remember seeing that part a few times and every time I see it, I just laugh like a school girl, a rather manic one, but still a school girl none the less. She’s mouthing off and then crack, he gives her one and then they get beaten up.
In case your wondering I’m not about to start telling people to hit women, I’m not, this is about sexism and its complete lack of any relevance to women making fun of men. There is a series of adverts running at the moment for Peters Ice cream. The ice cream truck rolls down the street, and the whole street goes crazy in a rush to get some ice cream. At several points throughout different ads, there is vision of women pushing men out of the way, there’s no injury. But I have to wonder what the reaction would be to a man pushing a woman out of the way, even in the comical way featured in the adverts.
That’s why that part of that movie is so good, it’s never serious, she’s not crying after being punched. But it’s hardly ever that you see women on the end of comical violence from men. Jokes are the same as well, how many times have you been told a joke is offensive to women.
“How many women does it take to screw in a light bulb…?
2, one to hold the light bulb, and her mother to tell her, her husbands a deadbeat and should be doing this for her”
Okay hardly funny I know but I can’t think of anything better. But let’s try the same with men; men are often portrayed as being stupid luddite cave men. But when the last time you heard this?
Cathy: “Hey did you hear the one about the man who bought a present for his wife”
Greg: “No what happened?”
Cathy: “She asked for a nail file, but got a wood rasp… hahahahahaha”
Greg: “That’s stupid and sexist I’m going to report you to the boss, unless you show me your boobs”
Okay again, that was a really bad joke, and yes Greg did act inappropriately. But seriously what would your reaction be to a man saying a joke that’s derogatory to men is sexist? It sounds as ludicrous to me and I’m the one complaining about it, why is the right to call things sexist reserved for women?
Are we just being to P.C for our own good, or can we actually blame someone for this. Well I’m all for playing the blame game, as you know life is never as sweet as when you are laying the boot into someone you don’t like for really no good reason. I blame feminists, which is just another thing on the long list I blame on feminism, just behind global warming, Oprah, and my lack of fame and fortune.
So how do we fix this, well simply we could kill all the feminists, but I can tell right now you think that’s a little extreme don’t you? Another way is to stop treating women as a sacred calf. Yes a joke may be offensive but, that’s what jokes are, they are making fun of people. You don’t here the Irish in an uproar about being called stupid all the time, buts probably because they are always to drunk. Priests, Rabbis and, Catholics always cop shit but they aren’t complaining.
I just want to be able to make fun of women purely for the fact they have boobs, without fear of being chased down the street by Germaine Greer. I want to be able to roll on the floor pissing myself with hilarity at the slapstick antics of that episode of ‘Becker’ where Ted Danson hits that chick with the baseball bat (may not actually exist). I just want sexism to be a two way street, or no street at all.
Did you hear the one about the lady who went to humor-blogs.com
Saturday, June 14, 2008
Ok kids soimething new, instead of cartoons a weekly serial, inspired by 1950's horror movies... enjoy.
We join our harrowing tail on a calm Saturday morning, the birds chirp in the trees, the squirrels frolic with their nuts, and the wind blows listlessly through the leaves. Billy, a young boy no more than 9 years old sits in his parents lounge room watching Captain Patriot on the television. A strong and sturdy U.S made television, not like those cheap foreign TV’s with there colour picture and sound, a good old fashioned Radiotron 9000. In the kitchen Billie’s mom cooks bacon and eggs for Dad who’s lying in bed smoking his pipe and reading the paper.
He flicks through the news until something catches his eye.
“Good lord would you look at that Scruffs” Dad says to Scruffs the dog whose laying on the floor restlessly rolling about. “Scruffs, its those dam Russians, its says here in The Democratic Patriot, that those pesky ruskies are planning to invade, lucky we’ve got that fallout shelter”
Scruffs looks up and barks once in approval, Dad cocks his head to the side and laughs in agreement with what Scruffs just said. He quickly stops laughing because too much laughter isn't Christian, and then looks at his watch, breakfast is late, 3 minutes. He’d have to sit his wife down again and give her a good talking to about what the role of a wife is. Just as he was thinking that, in she walks with a tray of bacon and eggs, coffee, and a hearty warm smile. She places the tray down on her husbands lap and then stands there smiling attentively while he digs in.
“3 minutes late dear” he says as he talks his first mouthful and another puff on his pipe.
“I’m sorry dear, but I am only a lady, we don’t know how to follow time.” She says and then smiles at her husband.
“I know dear, what you girls would do without men to anchor you down?” he replies as he still scoops the eggs and bacon into his mouth. From the corner of his eye he sees Billy standing in the door way.
“Now son, you know you’re not meant to be seen before 11.00 am, you know Jesus never disobeyed his father like this” Dad says to Billy who is now partially hiding behind the doorframe.
“Ohh yes pop, I’m sorry” Billy meekly replies and then runs off down the hallway again to return to watch Captain Patriot. All is well in the house, Billy enjoying the fruits of American freedom and democracy, Dad eating Bacon and eggs, and mom, doing whatever Dad says, all is well, for now.
For off in the distance away from suburbia, out over the desert badlands a plane soars carrying its evil cargo load of dastardly evil. Somewhere near the All America Power Plant and Fusion Station, a drop zone for danger and intrigue. What lurks in store for freedom and democracy, what horrible happenings are afoot… tune in next week to find out…
humor-blogs.com has its faalout shelter ready... do you?
Tuesday, June 10, 2008
Bigger than Jesus, and with more leg room
And were back kids ready to slip into the fold once again. Back to a classic this time children, we return to the heady, frothy nonsense of televisual advertising, in the hope of shedding some light on its gloomy depths. Recently through the knowledge box of entertainment wonder, I have been informed of a great anniversary on the horizon. Holden the perennial Australian car manufacturer is turning 60. Yes kids 60 years of making cars that are only slightly different from Fords.
I realise if there is any Holden people out there I have just offended you… well good, your wankers. Now to all you lovely foreigners out there, there is a long running feud or competition in Australia as to which is the better car. Both fans of each model are rather militant about their love for each side. I’m sure yanks out there have seen those car stickers of the kid pissing on the Chevrolet logo, or vice versa the Ford logo. It’s the same here but just stick Holden in there instead. Needless to say the better car is the Toyota, or the Mitsubishi, or any other car manufacturer that simply doesn’t create a car incredibly similar to its main competitor each year.
Not that theres anything wrong with driving a Holden or a Ford, I just find that whole arguemnt a little tiresome.
But back to point, there is an advert running telling the world of the 60 year anniversary of Henry T Holden, pulling the first Commodore from his wife’s uterus in a mix of engine oil and placenta. Now the ad says some pretty nice things, then it confuses me, “But were not celebrating, because it’s when you stop and look at what you’ve accomplished that’s when you stop moving forward” is the paraphrased gist of what the advert says. Very humble, like Ghandi, but not so whiny, ‘erh peace, hunger killing, blah, blah, blah nappy’, you know his deal. (God I bash Ghandi a bit don’t I.)
As I said that bit confuses me, because not so long ago, Holden ran a different ad campaign to lead up to their 60th celebrations, which were in hindsight about as humble as gee let me think… slapping your cock in a nuns face and yelling ‘I’m bigger than Jesus’ whilst winking metaphorically. Holden just pretty much discounted the social, medical, scientific, artistic achievements of the entire history of the entire world, and said ok but its not got power windows does it.
A few specific ads come to mind, one we are treated to a sprawling view of the ancient pyramids of Egypt. Yes them not the ones in Vegas, the real ones. The biggest structures of the ancient world, maybe the most optimistic building ever produced, and it pales in comparison to a mass produced automobile that comes in lime green for $500 extra. Forget the fact that those structures were made by hand and whip, forget they have lasted 4000 years, Holden is 60 lets have a sale.
The other, I believe was much the same, “Some bloke flicks a switch”… was the complete summation of the discovery and harnessing of electricity. Almost the greatest scientific discovery ever, and that’s the result. Now I realise I’m taking this advert very seriously, but let’s just remember the first advert up the top I talked about. Some how claiming your car is the greatest thing since Jesus invented sliced bread, doest seem to me to be very humble, like they are trying to be now.
Einstein did some stuff while he was around didn’t he, E=mc2 and all that, but at Holden who cares. The telephone was pretty cool, Penicillin also helped a few people, but it doesn’t matter because Holden is the greatest thing to ever happen to the entire world.
humor-blogs.com drives a monkey to work...
Saturday, June 07, 2008
Ok kids again no comic, I just can't think of anything decent. And going by the previous comics quality thats really saying something. But fear not heres the first two parts of yet another story I have started and not really gone on with, it was also on the WitsEnd community blog (in my Blogroll kids check it out theres some cool writers there). So here it is, read it and enjoy...
Fate whispered softly.
Fate whispered softy, and as always all I could do was sit there like a dope wondering what it was saying, I felt like yelling ‘speak louder’ but that would have made everyone on the train stare at me. Well more than they were already. It was a chilly morning and the carriage load of people swayed with the motion of the tracks, but all of them stared at me. I couldn’t blame them the chicken suit wasn’t the most ordinary of clothes to be going to work in, but I couldn’t help what my job was could I? The speaker in the corner of the carriage crackled to life and an inaudible message shot out of it. ‘Bmmframnnnnn’ was what it said as best as I could work out, but I was pretty sure there wasn’t a town or suburb, called that for hundreds of miles. Slowly the train emptied; as it travelled through tunnels and out in open people began getting off in twos and threes. Eventually it was just me and the usual losers that worked in the Highcrest mall complex. There was Dave in the corner asleep, we couldn’t see his face but we knew it was him because of the Hustler magazine that was covering it. Jess, sat a few seats away with her head phones on, staring at the window in front of her. She was always in that seat; she must have lived at the depot, because every single day there she was in the same seat staring out the same window.
The Glove as he liked to be called sat a few seats away on the opposite side of me, reading his books, I don’t know what the book was, and every day it was a different one. Plain leather bound cover, no title no pictures or artwork just a book, as if it was some sort of non distinct prop from a movie. And then me, in my ‘clucky boy’ costume that smelled of bacon and cheese. It was quite awhile from our stop so we all lounged comfortably wasting away the time in our own little way. Out side I could see the wastelands of ‘Old suburbia’, the Duction fans in the distance slowly span in the wind, they didn’t work any more and the gunk and dead birds were starting to clog them so they didn’t spin but is was a spectacular sight to behold, the giant 80 foot power fans decaying over the old world we used to inhabit. Dave came to and sat up removing his ‘reading material’ from his face.
“Are we there yet” he asked groggily
“No not yet” The Glove answered without looking up from his book.
“Hmmm… Hi Jess, how are you?” Dave said as he winked in Jess’s direction. Jess gave no reaction apart from the usual finger she gave Dave every morning. He just smiled back and took it in his stride.
“Hey you guys hear they found some Zombies in the Westpoint mall… they reckon someone let them in there on purpose” Dave went on.
“I wish you wouldn’t call them Zombies” I said “It just makes life feel so B-movie”
“What, that’s what they are, aren’t they, they eat human and they walk real slow” Dave said.
“You know that’s not P.C though don’t you, its better if you call them the humanity impaired” Jess spoke up.
“Pffft, that’s just crap, plus if you shoot them in the head they die.”
“I bet if I shot you in the head you’d die” The Glove said, not even glancing up from his book. Me and Jess chuckle, Dave just looks over his shoulder and smiles.
“Nah I reckon I could survive that… remember that guy in Fort Carson” Dave continued almost definitely making up every word. “He was shot in the face with a Stat gun and walked away”
“That’s a myth” I said
“No its not, my uncle saw it” which was guaranteed to make it complete crap.
“Is that the same one that saw the meteor hit the Moon” Jess said
“Or the one that saw the assassination of President Lookinn” I added
“The same one that claimed he saw a cow eat four men, then commit ritual suicide on a fence post.” The Glove also added. Dave looked a little sheepish, but then that never really stopped him before.
“Yeah that one,” he paused for a second, “Look it happened, they found them in the car park, with one of those banners wrapped around them”
“What was on the banner” I asked, I wasn’t sure if the answer would really be worth it.
“Zombies are people to, or something like that, its some movement, like those ones from the old world, green peace and stuff like that, who cares bunch of whackos protecting stupid Zombies” Dave replied.
“Their hardly the same thing though are they” The Glove says.
“So they don’t deserve to live” Jess asks
“Their Zombies, they don’t live” I chime in smiling
“You know what I mean” Jess replies
“Well if they listened to my idea” Dave said lying back down and flicking through his magazine.
“No one is ever going to go for that plan its ridiculous” The glove said actually taking the time to look up from his page.
“What’s wrong with it” Dave says trying his best to sound incensed that someone again doesn’t like his idea.
“You can’t put Zombies on treadmills and use them as some sort of fuel source” The Glove says.
“You just don’t want to see a successful Treadmill industry do you” Dave says trying to keep a straight face.
“Yeah I’m a real prick that way aren’t I” The Glove says, only to be cut off by the speaker telling us that either there is some free candy somewhere or its our stop finally. I pick my head up off the seat next to me and place it on my own non chicken head.
“Finally the transformation is complete; he is now chicken boy Auuhhhhhhhh” Dave remarks as I do this, The Glove and Jess join him on the ‘Auuhhhhh’. I’m really getting sick of that joke.
I sat in the food court on a bench trying my best to look busy, whilst retaining at least a shred of dignity; it wasn’t easy what with the chicken suit though. It didn’t help either the cheeky smoke I had sticking out of my mouth. It must have been quite a site, a giant chicken lounging around smoking, trying to seem busy. The mall as usual was almost completely empty; it was in the last stages of being almost completely useless. The Westpoint complex had opened up a few months before and was much closer to the accommodation hubs, but the owners had decided to keep it open, which made me happy.
Without this mall I would definitely be transferred to Westpoint, and I didn’t think I could take the stares from that many people. And apparently a degree in social sciences doesn’t get you a career in anything that doesn’t require an animal suit. I finished my smoke and butted it out on the seat I was sitting on, and continued watching the people that wondered past, they had carts full of absolute crap, but I couldn’t help but feel a little jealous. I took a glance at my watch, it was almost time for my break, which wasn’t really any different from my work but sometimes I would take the head of. My watch beeped signalling the fact I could no longer get in trouble for bumming about, well for the next half an hour anyway.
It was a short walk from the food court were I worked to the book store where Jess did. As usual she was spread eagle on the counter face down, no one read anymore, and even if they did, they’d go to a shop at Westpoint. So this was her usual day, a mixture of sleeping reading and doing graffiti in the female toilets. She was quite good, and had been doing it for a year or so; she had almost finished her gothic mural. I stepped through the door and sat on the couch reserved for the nonexistent customers.
“Bored” I said
“Bored” I presumed came the muffled response from Jess, still concentrating on not moving for the rest of the day.
“Gov” she said
“What” I responded not understanding her outburst
“Glove, Glove” She raised her head from the counter and said louder and clearer, she had the imprint of the paper she had been lying on in her forehead.
“Let’s go and see The Glove” I answered assuming that’s what she meant. In the usual fashion she rolled off the counter and hit the floor with a tremendous thud, then sprang onto her feet with the force you would never expect from a gothic chick. We strolled out of the store and headed back up to the food court, there were still a few people sitting at the tables eating their burgers of donuts or whatever they had ordered. None of them looked happy with their meals, but it was to late now, wasn’t it. The Shop where the glove worked spent all of its time at the other end of the mall, through the adult sector, and way past the landscaping department. I decided there and then that may break was already going to run over its allotted time, so I should probably take the rest of the day off.
The tinny music softly wafted out of the speakers on the walls, it was just so ambient, nothing really to comment on, it was just there. I must have heard it a thousand times but it never annoyed. So on we walked the Goth and the giant chicken, navigating ourselves into the bowels of adult sector. As usual it was busy, scarily busy in fact, everyone suspected it was the only reason the mall was still open. The mass of sex shops and paraphernalia stores inhabited by seedy old guys in long coats, very experienced call girls, and Dave our... well friend I guess from the train. His boss like all of ours was either drunk or absent so going walkies was often a favourite way to fill in the day.
We stopped at the door, only to find Dave setting up a display of the new real life doll, the Habuya Company was selling. In one hand he had a leg in the other a rather gratuitous implement certain women may find appealing, he spied us from the corner of his eye and in his usual tasteless fashion pointed the 10 inch ‘wonder stick’ at Jess
“You… I thought I told you after last time never to return” He yelled at her trying not to smile at the same time, the mass of rubber in his hand swang about like a dog’s tail. Jess stared back to tired and bored to respond to Dave’s idiocy.
“Glove” she simply said and turned and left. Dave shrugged and tossed the rubber toy over his head, it hit some guy doing something sinister looking in his coat, he didn’t notice and either did Dave. He simply walked out the door poked me in the ribs and said
“C’mon you don’t want to fall behind Chicken boy” We both jogged to catch up to Jess, for a Goth she could really move when she wanted to, but she never ran. The three of us walked on towards The Gloves work, it was a shop, but we were never really sure how to classify it. It didn’t really sell too much of the one thing, just crap, sort of. Tonnes and tonnes of crap, it was interesting crap but crap none the less. The shop itself hadn’t seen a customer for quite some time, whether anyone even knew it existed was a better question. It was at the very end of the mall. Where there were no doors near it, and through a rather unfortunate placement of a wall, it was hidden behind a corner. It was even past the landscaping stores; more bad luck as landscaping was largely illegal nowadays.
To be continued… maybe at some stage.
humor-blogs.com is justas disappointed as you are.
Tuesday, June 03, 2008
Well it seems that after a long time blogging, I’m finally up to my 100th post. Something to really celebrate, 100 poorly thought out, worded, spelled posts about generally nothing in particular. So congratulations to me, and to you the unfortunate reader who has been here for a large slab of them. But how to celebrate, how to mark this illustrious occasion so it shall never be forgotten? Well I’m going to take a stab at popularity.
Now you all know that this blog is the greatest piece of modern humour in the world… don’t laugh, wait actually do laugh. But it is not all that popular, well not in terms of reader numbers. I’m currently sitting about at best 120th (or much worse) in the ‘humorblogs’ rankings, and at a glance I’d say I have about ten readers. So nothing to overly impressed with, if I was concerned with numbers. But it doesn’t faze me… why, because whenever I think about it I always say to myself ‘popularity isn’t everything’.
Now I don’t know if I’m taking the meaning of that phrase correctly. I think it’s actually meant to reflect that one doesn’t have to be popular to have a full and fulfilled life. Well that’s bullshit, I’ll tell you that right now. Life is never as good as when you have someone telling you your hot shit. However I take that saying to mean pretty much that opposite to this phrase, ‘well (insert number here) people can’t be wrong’. Meaning that in fact yes large numbers of people can be wrong, and often are as I’m about to point out.
Now many people use that second turn of phrase.
Harry: “Hey how about that new Jerry Bruckheimer movie, I hear it’s great”
Phil: “I hear its crap like all his films”
Harry: “Well its done huge box office numbers, millions of people saw it so they can’t be wrong”
What Phil is trying to get across there is the fact by that logic, Hitler and all his supporters weren’t wrong. But in fact right, purely for the fact that there were a lot of them. Actually this works for anything really, its great fun to dismiss all your friends tastes by calling them Nazis.
Cheryl: “Man have you heard this new Britney Spears album, its sold millions so its gotta be good”
Phil: “Really, ok… so when you listen to it do you want to… KILL THE JEWS”
Dan Browns book the Da Vinci code sold millions of copies, which alone should tell you that there are millions of people out there with no taste, and that raw sales figures and box office numbers mean nothing. Why? Do you really need to question me or can I just call you a Nazi again to prove my point.
But people still get fooled anyway, they go into a book shop or a video store, and see a cover of something with best seller, or Oscar winner emblazoned on the cover. And automatically they pick it up and decide it’s a worthy read/watch. Nazi. Now it might be kids, sometimes millions of people are right, sometimes something is good and you should watch or read it. But just because thousands of other people have isn’t a good enough reason for you to bother.
It just means that your probably reading or watching something just so you don’t feel left out. It’s the reason Lemmings commit mass suicide. I’m sure there is more than a few quite happy to keep eating grass and rollicking around the fields of… North … Lemmingtonfieldville…
Lemming Bill: “Hey Chad why are we all running?”
Lemming Chad: “Well Lemming Oprah said there was this really good cliff up here and we should all jump off it”
Lemming Bill: “Oh… really isn’t that dangerous?”
Lemming Chad: “Well, yeah, but Oprah told us to”
Lemming Bill: “Hmmm you make a convincing point, plus I’d hate to be the only one not doing this, I’d have miss out on being able to talk about it afterwards”
But how does this relate to me, is it that you’re a Nazi if you don’t read my blog… erh... probably not. Does it mean that no matter how many readers I have I’m still better than Dan Brown… well probably not that either. It must be this, it’s not the quantity of readers you have, it’s the quality, which I have in spades… arwh isn’t that sweet… 100 down, many more to go, thanks for sticking around kids.
humor-blogs.com is a big fan of Lemmings... and thats not insinuating its like Richard Gere.