JennyCraig; analogies for the crass

I am about to fart this entry out, with some reluctance. I think it is funny. But I've been wrong before, so if you read this and feel like you can no longer look at me in the same light, you were warned. This is juvenile and crass. A very low form of questionable humor.......

It came to mind after I layed one of the biggest and satisfying cables in the history of laying cables. It was during a "Sizzler" phase I was going through. Every young man has a time in his life when all you can eat restaurants are the most important thing going on. We have all been there. So I ate my self stupid, then abluted. The relief was akin to what I imagine childbirth for the mothers of those aliens from Mars Attacks!. They had really big heads and small bodies.

One of the most memorable poos in history was birthed at my highschool in the dorm. Someone, someone with a large appetite and "liberal" scphincter, deposited an unsinkable turd dubbed affectionately "titanic". It could not be sunk. It lasted a long time. There was a full scale investigation into peoples whereabouts and alibies to ascertain the father of this baby. Whoever did this must have an anatomical abnormality they said. They must put things up there they said. This person must be a strange and therefore socially excommunicated homosexual they said. Needless to say the father was never determined. Not at that point anyway. At the tail end of a particularly voilent college party week, one of our mates owned up to this shit from approx 3 years earlier.

It was like a bomb dropping. I think not a day went by that he did not think about that poo. He had to clear his conscience and come clean and claim paternity of the titanic. We did not judge, only cocked an eyebrow and looked at him and conjured imags of this monumental log and imagined how anyone, let alone this diminutive and ugly young man, could possibly have given rise to it. I know that my heart will go on......

Back to my special poo moment, I wondered if I could ever harness the power of a good poo and pitch ideas to the advertising department at JennyCraig weight loss. They likened the wonderful feeling of wieghtloss to removing a big bag of oranges from their daily carriage. Why not use the feeling of dropping off an unussually large nard as incentive to lose fat.

Fat people understand overeating and I assume the associated over-shitting. They will identify readily with this feeling, put down their fried chicken and ponder the merits of experienceing this feeling perputually rather then just post food and beverage binge ablute time. I am yet to settle on a name for this genius campaign, that will undoudtedly rid the world of obesity. With this razor sharp analogy, and redistribution of fat peoples now uneaten leavings, I will effectively be ending world hunger. Delusions of grandour or a stupidly brilliant solution; lets give it a go and find out.

Is obviously photographing a midget for ones own amusement to be considered a social faux paus?

I think the obvious answer to this question is a resounding yes.

An attempted covert photo on a blackberry that turns into an unintended flash and awkward backwards shuffle away could be considered social suicide. Will I forever be known as the guy who takes photos of midgets? Will I be ambushed by an angry crowd of midgets one day and cop a flurry of furious little blows to the lower half of my body?

Time will tell.

Some of “the crazy” is good for the sanity

First things first, apologies for the weakness and general stinkiness of the last entry. Apart from the picture of Arnie (whom I have to say is pretty compelling in a sort of oddly strange way, despite my heterosexual disposition), the entry was lacking substance. I liken it to the contents of a bucket in a Shawshank-esque solitary confinement cell following befoulment by an Indian sumo wrestler. To say it was not easy to swallow would be understating the stanky factor. But there is always room for improvement when rounding the hornberg.

So with this optimistic sentiment in mind, I will move on to a topic very close to my heart: Jon Bon Jovi songs getting stuck in my head. It is really only ever “Living on a Prayer”, or the titular lyrics from “Blaze of Glory”. But this can be maddening. Don t get me wrong, everyone likes a little bit of Bon Jovi. Everyone with rocks in their head and some kind of drunken donkey playing a wheelie bin as an alternative choice of “music”. So with this clear opinion of Jon Bon Jovi’s music stated I thank my friend who, admittedly inadvertedly, began a downward spiral of ooooooooooohhhhhh we’re half way there…… racing through my brain.

I dislike the idea of a lobotomy so I could see only a few possible methods of defeating this demon. The first two involved vast quantities of beer and travel to far away coastal locations populated by naked or soon to be naked women. My happy place had to be over looked for now as I did not have the time, funds or soon to be naked women at this point. I was at work at the time so masturbation was a risky option I did not want to seriously consider. I searched for more viable methods. Beating something or someone smaller and weaker then me with a blunt object was looming as a really satisfying distraction, but like lobotomies I dislike the idea of forceful anal penetration and the loss of liberty. With all mind altering, violent and sexual forms of release discounted I turned to fighting fire with fire> I turned to you-tube and a hard session of back to back Tool film clips. They are crazier then a chick bogan at the tail end of a Melbourne Cup binge fighting her peers for the last cheeseburger at Maccas. Tool did the trick and distracted me and I said good bye to Job Bon Jovi. Until next time anyway.

But this got me to thinking to things like Britney Spears, George W Bush, Russians, extinction, Bjork, trannies and the plethora of unreasonably absurd and weird things that people seem to be preoccupied with and fascinated by. Everyday "normal" people even sometimes go as far as to act in these abnormal ways themselves. People divert from the norm all the time in order to satisfy something, to feel good, to be complete, to function within bounds they deem to be fulfilling. Mediocrity just does not cut it for a lot of people. In order to maintain some type of sanity, it seems people need injections of insanity. Booze, drugs, art, music, extreme sports; something heightened. Maybe the violence I can understand. But none of this really makes sense if you think about it. Why is not eating, sleeping, working, breeding (repeat until dead) good enough? Don’t get me started on religion. I don’t know the answers to these questions, feel free to answer the question if you like. Some part of me wants to accept 42 as the answer but I need something with more. Something more exciting.




Recently I enjoyed a nice little nighty night out to a jazz club. I would say that the average age was around 65. As me and some esteemed colleagues entered the establishment the aura of our youth hung around us like an exotic and widely sought after cologne. Envious old eyes looked us up and down and hungered for something they knew they would never have again. Never. A more romantic notion might be that they simply saw young people enjoying jazz in cultured surrounds and felt the life surge within themselves in the company of such vigorous youth. Nah, they wanted young ass. I am well aware I will one day feel the sting as they did so I”ll choose to look on the bright side.

One of said geriatrics was a trannvestite. An ugly old man dressed as an ugly old woman with bad dress sense. She/him/it was having a dance and a jolly good old timey wimey. I could not help but wonder at the motivations behind such an obviously abnormal act. I really have nothing against it, apart from aforementioned fears of forceful anal penetration. Anyone can do things I do not subscribe to or understand as long as no ones get hurt. I m speaking of mere curiosity and a drive to attempt to understand. Maybe their act of supposed insanity helps them feel sane, or perhaps it is sane for them.

So, readers, from Jon Bon Jovi annoying the fuck out of me I have very neatly and elegantly segued to forceful anal penetration and trannies.

Thanks for coming.

Jentao: Leturn of the Governator

Having had some time to spend around our Thai brethren i have noticed many subtle things about their culture, their reverence of their monarchy and the depth of their history. It is inspiring. Remarkable.

But in the interest of staying true to misty form, I'll dwell on something that threatened to ruin my professional integrity over here. I nearly lol'd on many an occaision. lol. (note to self: avoid using lol or variations of in blog, causes urges of self destruction...)

Imagine for a moment if you will, if Arnold Swarzenegger had been born a thai person. Imagine how he would talk. You would not understand what he was saying but you would know not to mess with him because of his tone and obvious capability to crush you. He would probably be holding a gun or axe, ripped with muscle having recently saved the day in voilent haste, spouting glorious one liners to punctuate his merciless victories.

I was fortunate enough to be around a thai man for around a week who was blessed with the exact thai vocal counterpart or vocal awesomeness of arnold. Thai people are very peaceful and considerate people. But because of my view that this guy sounded like arni, his mundane thai discussions with his colleagues were interpreted as either offers of salvation such as "come with me if you want to live" or quips about how he just dispatched unwitting mercenary enemies, "...And please, dont wake my friend. He's dead tired".

In an interesting twist this guy actaully looked like Chow Yun Fat. That kind of luck would not go unpunished at home. Imagine if you looked like Sly Stallone and sounded like Clint Eastwood. Or if someone looked like Oprah and sounded like Dame Edna Everage. Some one with this sort of cataclismic resemblance on multiple levels would probably have to move to unchartered island and live in a bucket or something. But this guy just walks around, looking like he could karate chop me to death, while he mouths off about how i should "let off some steam". Really he was just directing me to the soup and being a great host. But a few times i really got lost in the fantasy and could have sworn he was playing it up. Thats what happens when you spend too much time around people who do not speak the same language as you. You become as stupid as the american public and start hearing Arni's voice everywhere.



Of course there was no shortage of misty material in south east asia. It is an insane place full of paradoxes and absurdity, mixed with chilli and a sex trade. Consumed over ice. Watch this space for more tom yum hornberg.