loltech

So I was making a delivery today and in the carpark is this riced out Subaru Impreza. It’s numberplate? “Imprezya”. I raged.

I of course messaged Cos, because I couldn’t possibly hate this guy hard enough and needed his backup. He messages me back that there is an Impreza that parks at his work with the numberplate “kekeke”. Why do people insist on making me want to murder thier families? Hey fuckbag, keep that shit to Starcraft. I used to hear that shit constantly while being raped by 300 Hydralisks in the first 20 seconds of a game. Fucking Koreans.

So I jokingly message back that I will pay him 50 bucks if he changes the numberplate on his Supra to “Supraman”. He can put the money towards his medical bills when I see the plate and torch the car with him inside.

He messages me back the words I never thought I would hear, and have shaken me to my very core. He said to me: “That plate is actually already taken”. FFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFF.

I am going to find that guy, slit his throat then fuck the wound. That sound you just heard was the last shred of my humanity dying. Nice work Supraman, now I’m an axe murderer. When they finally catch me and stop my 17 person killing spree they will ask me why I did it. I will reply with 1 word; Supraman. Then I will do a totally kick ass backflip and escape police custody to live a life on the run. I’m a loose cannon that  plays by his own rules, with my sarcastic jive talking anthropomorphic donkey sidekick, I will travel the land righting wrongs, romancing ladies and solving non axe murder related crimes. I will be “DANGEROUS”. Tuesday nights at 9 on The WB.

FFFFFFFFFFF

2 blogs today. Part 2 will be up later tonight.

So on Friday I attended a party for a former workmate of mine. It was at a trendy bar called Brisbane. I of course hated it with all my strength. That was my last ditch attempt to try and relate to the social mores of my peers. It failed miserably. Turns out I am as misanthropic as I thought I was, more on this in part 2.

Highlight of the night was when the drunken birthday girl Pearl decided to try and destroy me with her razor sharp wit with several scathing remarks about my lifestyle choice. She called me fat, which is true but less and less each day, she called me a virgin which isn’t true but may as well be for all I care about women, then she made the mistake of celebrating the fact that she is having sex. She decided to rub it in Cos and my faces that she was getting regular sex whenever she wanted and we weren’t, unluckily for her the regular sex she is having is with this:

Hey ladies, let's have regular sex!

He has more hair on his eyebrows that the rest of his body combined. He looks like he wants to be a rapist, but the first girl he tried to molest gave him a wedgie and threw him in his locker, and I’m pretty sure his father is at least part horse. Hey Pearl, I could be getting regular sex as well with the female equivalent of that, but I’d rather not subject my penis to a 400 pound down syndrome midget with a urinary tract infection and leprosy. So yeah congratulations on your regular sex, and happy fucking birthday, my gift to you was not saying all that directly to his face then breaking him in half in the fight that would have inevitably ensued when I refused to apologize.

Stay tuned for more of my irreverent and light hearted commentary on the joys and simple beauty of life!

The chariot to most of my recent adventures, the Cosmobile, the amazing silver penis extension that we have all come to know and love, is tragically out of action.

Cos is telling people that it happened in a carpark but he is just being modest. It happened when he was driving at highspeed in reverse and simultaneously firing an AK at our pursuers and operating on my gunshot wound. The Cosmobile valiently gave its life to save mine. You wont be forgotten.

I have 2 redbulls open in front of me right now. One for me and one I pour out for our fallen homie. I want to chip in for repairs but as usual I’m broke.  I am though composing an epic 3 hour rock opera in its honour, which is generally to the value of $133.75. I really hope panel beaters accept payment in the form of guitar solos.

In the words of the great Birdman; “Cause everybody wanna ride, everybody wanna shine. So how ya love that people? Everybody on the grind”. Get yo shine on Cos. Get yo shine on.

Here is some random shit I read during the 10 minutes of my internet day that wasn’t spent queuing up porn to download. Check it:

http://www.shortnews.com/start.cfm?id=75944

A pitchfork wielding thief met his match when he encountered the Mighty Thor, God of Thunder during a break-in. Thor, a powerful red headed, hammer wielding, Norse God, was actually Torvald Alexander.

Mr. Alexander was dressed as his favorite Marvel comic superhero for a New Years party complete with tinfoil hat. The burglar failed to abscond with any goods and exited out a window leaving behind his pitchfork and shoes.

Though no lightning flashed from Mjollnir, Mr. Alexander did deliver “a taste of divine reckoning” to the would be thief as the crook leap out a window in his haste to escape the God of Thunder.

First, awesome. Second, who the fuck flees from a comic nerd? Third, I am TOTALLY changing my name to Torvald. Also, I guess he was getting robbed by Satan? Who the shit takes a pitchfork on a robbery?

MOAR:

http://www.shortnews.com/start.cfm?id=75930

New York: In November 18-year-old Shawn Goldsmith earned the Boy Scout merit badge for bugling and in so doing completed the last of the 121 merit badges recognised by the Boy Scouts of America.

To obtain the top Scout rank of Eagle Scout only 21 merit badges are required. Goldsmith earned 62 badges in five years and completed the remaining badges in just a few months.

Unfortunately his grandmother, who encouraged him all the way, died not long before he completed the final badge. Goldsmith is a freshman at Binghamton University and is planning a career in business and politics.

This kid should give up his aspirations on any career that doesn’t involve being locked inside his own locker for the rest of his natural life. Hes going to need some job though, preferably a high paying one, hes going to need to cover all the medical expenses its going to take to get his underwear surgically removed from his asscrack when the entire population of upstate New York gets done with the wedgies.

At least he left the most embarrassing for last. Bugling? What the fuck? Who the fuck bugles? I hope he got a merit badge in masturbation, because unless he learned to make some kind of complicated bear trap that works on women he’s gonna need that jerk off badge. The bitches dont usualy get all wet for dudes who can tie mad running knots. I’m pretty sure this kid gets beat up by the Dungeons and Dragons nerds for being to geeky.

See that fuckers? I’m like Ray Martin up in this bitch.

P.S Before I go, I know he doesn’t read this but I want to give big ups to BOWRING! His very existance is proof that there is good in the world. So Bowring; G’s up, hoes down.

I’m sick of being nice to people. Fuck they need to bring back pistol fights at dawn. I would be all over that shit. I’d be slapping motherfuckers in the face with a glove all day. If that’s to much to ask I say we go back to duels, but modern style. If I slap you with my iPod, we then rap battle to the death. Mid to late afternoon though, I don’t wake up at dawn for anything short of the fucking rapture.

Since I cant slap fuckers with my glove, then shoot them with a fucking musket, I guess I will have to vent my frustration by typing a fucking stream of consciousness rant. A warning, this is the sort of shit hobos scream incoherently from corners before knifing each other for a can of beans then raping your sister in a trainyard at night. So yeah, don’t read it unless you needed another reason to avoid me, apart from the whole looking in your window at night and seductively touching myself on the junk.

Heeeeere we go….

Man I’m so sick of this shit. Why is the world such a shithole? Everytime I read a paper or some shit there’s 200 pages of murder, wars and death, and the 5 pages left are about Angelina’s baby. I’m sick of everyone on earth being a cockhole. I mean, I’m no saint; I want to found the Republic of Molestonia where the anthem, national greeting and currency are all rape.

Customer: I’d like a coffee please

Clerk: That will be 2 assrapes please

Customer: Ummm, this is embarrassing, but I’m a little short, how about I give you 3 fistings and a breast grope and we call it even.

Fuck, I shot a man in Reno just to watch him die, so yeah I’m not one to talk about right and wrong, but listen, if there IS a war between good and evil going on, good is getting its ass kicked. Fuck man, half the world is killing people because God told them to, the other half are scared to do anything in case God gets pissed and sends them to a magical underground world of fire and pain for all time. WHAT THE FUCK? It does my fucking head in.

Another thing, I live in Perth, the True Blue capital of the world. Seriously, everyone that lives here spends their weekends drinking beer lassoing bulls and digging holes in flannel shirts while listening to Jimmy Barnes songs and head banging their mullets. Fuck, the first question people ask when they meet me is what fucking football team I follow. Look cunt, I don’t give 2 fucks about football. Marx said that religion was the opiate of the masses, fuck that, it’s more like an amphetamine. Now sport, THAT is the opiate of the masses.

Back in the old days believing in God was enough. I get it man. I really do. When you are born a serf in a grass hut and you work all day to give your entire crop to your lord and get by on a tasty meal of gruel, and you divide your time between trying not to get scurvy and trying not to get murdered, then sure, you need to believe that there’s something waiting for you in the next world. But now days when you can download a pizza off the internet and become so fat that you need a robot car to drive you around, then hey, I think we’re past the hoping for a better place when we die. What fatty, you hope that in heaven you can have pizza sauce on an IV drip? Fatson.

There’s 2 types of writers (there’s more than 2 fuck I hate it when people say there’s 2 types of anything. It’s fucking shallow and pretentious, so hey, it fits me well) narcissists and self haters. I’m both. Ok I’m neither, writers write. I watch porn and sleep. Still telling people I’m a writer gets me more pussy than saying I drive a truck. Theoretically of course. I’m a fucking hermit so that might be a flawed theory. Fuck it’s been so long since I went outside there might be flying cars and jetpacks and shit. Fuck it though; unless you can pirate them off bittorrent I’m pretty much fucked.

Speaking of going out, what is that shit about? What is the fagmongeling attraction of going to a fucking club that is so loud you can’t hear your own eardrums shattering and fucking standing around getting hammered. Sure you might fuck some drunk club sluts if you are lucky, but I’m sinfully ugly, I need it to be fucking quiet so I can talk girls into fucking me when I get them believing I’m the baseplayer in Fallout Boy. Speaking of getting drunk, what the fuck? I love it how everyone is so fucking happy to be alive, yet they spend all their time and money trying to leave this fucking reality. They get high, get drunk, get stoned, all in the name of fun. Is reality so bad you have to spend all your money to escape it? Is it so bad that you end up sucking cock in a train station toilet so you can afford your next hit of meth? Fuck if it is so bad, here’s the ultimate escape: slit your motherfucking wrists and die. Remember kids, it’s up the road not across the street.

Explain to me the point in getting drunk. You get so fucked up you can’t speak properly, WOW now you’re retarded. Hey, how about I hit you around the head with a sock full of half-brick for a while, then you can be retarded full time! It’s like being drunk for the rest of your life, and it costs you nothing. Shit the government will even pay your mongoliod ass. The only people I think should get drunk are the tortured geniuses. They drink to dull the pain, not to get fucked up and stumble around with their mates. So yeah, if you’re Hemingway or fucking Hank Moody or House, go ahead and sail your ship through the fucking whiskey ocean, but you better write me a masterpiece and then diagnose my rare disease when you’re done, wino.

More shit I hate. I’m not Batman yet, and it’s pissing me off. I’m still waiting for my parents to leave me a billion dollar fortune and a sweet, sweet car. I’m really hoping I dont develop a compulsion to hang around teenage sidekicks in short shorts though.

Seems like most people think hate is a strong word, I don’t think it’s strong enough. Speaking as someone who is a seething ball of hatred and rage, I find the word hate to be unsuitable nowdays. It’s thrown around too often and it’s as weak as piss now. If you tell someone you hate them most of the time they will be like “meh”. I’m constantly having to think up new and creative ways to let people know that my hatred for them could power a small European country.

Just the other day I was trying to unload my truck at a store and someone had ignored all the empty parking bays and decided to park their car in the truck unloading bay to save themselves a 2 metre walk. I then had to park 3 continents away and undertake a mythical quest to unload all my goods. As I left I took a sheet of paper and left it on their windscreen, on it was written this: “Thanks for parking in the unloading bay guy, I enjoy carrying 50 20kg drums miles by hand. I hate you so much. You make me want to slit my wrists, freeze the precious life fluid that comes out into an icicle, then stab you in the face with a shard of my own blood”.

God damnit I hate you fucking people. Once I think of the most kick ass way to kill myself I’m fucking worm food. Enjoy your tiny, pointless lives of toil until you die alone at 85 of ass cancer. God Hates Us All fuckers.

This rant was a joint venture of depression, self diagnosed bi polar disorder and redbull. If you liked it, please make a donation to the Church of Scientology in my name. Fuck yeah worshiping a motherfucking space alien! Also if you liked this there is several things wrong with you. My IQ is way bigger than yours if that helps you hate me more. My penis probably isn’t though, so don’t go overboard.

So I guess its 2009. How motherfucking exciting. Can you feel my excitement? EXCITEMENT! Aaaaaand I’m spent. As for New Years resolutions, well I’m going to try really hard to occasionally give 2 shits. Who am I kidding, I’m going to wallow in abject depression until I kill myself. Happy fucking new year.