Adventure Time Characters Made From Post-it Notes, October 22nd, 2014

If this is what is happening to graffiti, maybe I like street toughs…

A friend of mine forwarded me this picture, I immediately felt impressed with the effort I witnessed. Not the effort of forwarding, although I should say that at least they didn’t just tag me in the picture like so many moronic half-wits do. Seriously, is it that hard to actually share something with a friend? Anyway, I was impressed with the effort and scale of this post-it note artwork.

Seriously, look at that! I can’t even comprehend the time it took to do this! Was it commissioned by some sort of art committee? What is this committee’s agenda? Do they wear the shiny jackets a committee should? Are they fully committed to the committee?  Is it a comedy committee? Is the leaders name Mity? I’m not intelligent enough to think of a clever joke involving the term “Welcoming Committee”.

Who the fuck knows, all we know right now is that they sure do approve of some damn fine post-it note art!

Beemo’s eye does appear to be bleeding though, what happened? Did the Ice King command Gunter to drill into his electronic eye? Wait… If he’s an electronic toy, how is he bleeding? I find this seriously worrying!

Mathematical!

Other than the severe eye injury, this post-it note art is fantastic. Finn the Human looks as blissfully happy as he does in the cartoon. Jake’s appendages give the illusion of growth, at any time he could make himself 1,000 feet tall and leap right from the wall, It’s pretty freakin good. There’s more attention to character design in this single piece of art than there was in the entire Orlando Bloom filmography! Does he even know how to act? Sometimes I swear they awake him from his cryogenic chamber, hand him the key words and tell him to go.Except in Ned Kelly, he blew me away in Ned Kelly.

Enough about Orlando Bloom and his cryogenic state!
Let’s look at some more post-it note artwork.

First, the good!

I like to think that I have an eye for detail…

I hope Beemo can get an eye replacement as sweet as this. The colours remind me of a sunrise over an Alabama swamp. I’ve never seen that, heard about it or even seen a film where that happens but I listen to enough Lynyrd Skynyrd that I feel like I have seen it. The attention to detail is just superb, look at that exuberance! Dammit man, I mean you would have to be pretty hepped up on goofballs not to  fall in love with this eye! If this eye was in front of me I would make out with it passionately, disturbing any nearby senior citizens and their dogs!

Next, the bad!

I know sometimes I wish my friends hated me this much!

Seriously? What is this? Who the hell is Walt and what did he do? Is it Walt Whitman? Impossible as he died in 1892.

This is just a bad idea, congratulations on being the world thickest thicky! I’d hand make you an award but you’re probably too thick to even understand how an award ceremony works.

Imagine the time spent not only putting these on but then the time poor Walt had to spend getting it off before he could leave? You, are a dick among dicks.

Finally, the Ugly.

What the fuck is this? I’m not entirely artistically blind, I can make out the characters, they’re just shit. If your kids did this, I would encourage them to stop. Mario looks like he’s taken may too much MDMA. How big is the Goomba compared to Mario? On that point, how big is Mario compared to Luigi? Your kids need to pick up a book on artistic perspective. Stop being a shitty parent, buy your kids a damn art book so atrocities like this don’t happen!

Adventure Time Post-It’s- Mathematical
The Eye Post-It- It’s almost as beautiful as my eyes
The Walt Experiment- You dumb, you are really dumb
Drugged up Mario Post-It- Be a good parent

The Toilets in Melbourne Central Pancake Parlour, October 9th, 2014

This is truly the piss parlour of the Gods…

Let’s face facts here, public toilets can be one of the worst experiences known to man, yes even more so than the showerbath!

Most of the time, even in a bar or a fancy restaurant you’ve got some bizarre lifeforms growing in the corner, there’s some type of liquid all over the ground and even when there is a roll of toilet paper in the stalls you’re better off using your shirt than using what they think passes as paper. Seriously, sometimes I feel as if I am wiping my arse with gravel. Who am I? Wile E. Coyote? I do admit at times I have considered a devious plan involving riding a rocket through a painted tunnel just to relieve myself, how this would actually work I have no clue but then again neither did our old friend Wile E. Coyote. Luckily, unlike my cartoon counterpart I have finally caught up with my elusive Roadrunner, I have found the Holy Grail of public toilets.

Yes, I like George Costanza test and rate public toilets. I’ve searched long, and I have searched hard my friends.

I am  of course talking about the immaculate toilets at Pancake Parlour in Melbourne Central. These babies are a dream to use. As if we all needed another reason to go to Pancake Parlour!

Do you ever wanna piss and feel like Zeus throwing a thunder bolt down upon an all too philosophical Greece?

Do you wanna wash your hands in the tears of Jesus?

Do you wanna soar to the spirit world on the sheer force of your own piss and punch your dead relatives in the face?

Do you wanna look down from the heavens and laugh upon all creation and then take a dump in its backseat?

Yes! Of course you do! Why wouldn’t you? You are only human.

Let’s begin our guided tour, shall we?

The walk way to these beauties is just transcendent, the amazing checkered walk way is reflected in the window giving you the feeling that you really walking into heavens own personal bathroom…

                                                          Anyone for chess?

Then we reach the magnificently painted door, unlike other bathroom doors that are covered in graffiti and people offering you a good time, this one is covered in nostalgic art and it only offers karmic realignment.. Well that may be pushing it, as that can only be distributed by the cosmos. However you feel cosmic when you gaze upon its beauty…

I mean, look at that bastard! He is riding some sort of horse that is riding a bike, what is that? I’ll tell you what it is, it is class.

Next we reach the entrance, honestly I thought it was going to be downhill from here but Pancake Parlour really deliver.

Excuse the shitty photo, I was too in awe of the decadence!

There is a fucking step to the toilets! A step! Throughout the ages of man and toilets nothing has come close to this level of pure decadence!

If you’re like me, you hate using urinals. Mainly, I don’t want to scare everyone with how enormous my cock is but also, I really cannot stand next another human urinating unless we are both consenting adults and the plastic sheet is down. What I spied next blew me away, never have I seen such thought put in to urinating…

Never again shall we see each others cocks when we piss!

You know the saying “Greatest invention since sliced bread”? Well throw that out the window! We are now officially changing that to “Greatest invention since the urinal divider”. Sliced bread can go fuck itself.

But wait, there is more…

The toilet was like sitting on gods throne. I imagined myself as ruler of all I saw, so mainly just the amazingly clean walls around me, creating laws and creatures with each ounce of liquid that i expelled.

You too can own these   shoes.

And last but *insert cliche saying here*, we come to the hand basin. This is the Cadillac of wash tubs, the Wayne Gretzky of sinks, the Tolkien of water based bathroom items. Us mere humans could never achieve this level of pure class if we took Seventy years of courses taught by The Queen herself. This is a tap and sink of Babylonian proportions.

By the rivers of Babylon!

These toilets really were a pleasure to use and I would gladly overeat myself to death here just to keep revisiting these bad boys.

I’m hoping to work here as the janitor just to clean them.

I am not joking.

My urine smell- 5,000 on the potent scale

Soap softness- 9 baby  chickens

How horrified you are at some of the language used in this review- 10 smacked faces

How intrigued you are to see my monster cock- Call me baby.

Peter Lancasters Story, October 6th, 2014

Peter Lancasters Story, October 6th, 2014.

Peter Lancasters Story, October 6th, 2014

We all like stories…

September 14th, 2014. My mate Pete regaled us all with what started out to be a story of George R.R Martin proportions, or as Pete prefers, Raymond E. Feist, but ended up as the most boring and frankly mind numbing story any of us have ever heard. As Pete said after the sordid ordeal was over “I am not good at stories, but you get the point”.

Did we, Pete?

Let me set the scene for you, 6.54pm, The Tote beer garden. Surrounding us are musicians, boho’s and a select handful of grumbly old farts. We are discussing birthdays, the pressure of them and the sometimes dreaded and feared family birthday event.

Peter soon jumped at the chance to mingle in the merriment of this utterly titillating topic.

“I went out to a bar last year and I figured if I got at least 8 hours sleep, I would be fine to see my parents for my birthday lunch” said Pete, hands out in front of him like a William Shatner impersonator.

“I’m not interested in the story but please, tell me more about myself.”

What a promising pretense!

You’ve got excitement, what’s gonna happen at this bar? Did he get those 8 hours? What did his parents even get him for his birthday?

His parents should have given him directions for his birthday, cause this story went fucking nowhere.

Pete, now waving his hands in the air like a distressed goose who suddenly grew arms, has realized it and is thinking “Why do i have human arms, God help me I’m a freak“, went on to enthrall us with…

“So if I left the bar at 2am I would get up at 10am and make the 12pm lunch. I checked my watch, it was only 11pm so I had time for more drinking. Then I checked again, only midnight. So cool, I still have two more hours.”

Whoa, whoa. Take it easy gramps… Did you also have an onion hanging from your belt? I heard at one time that was very stylish.

Pete, telling his story to the only thing that will listen.

I found myself praying for someone to  bust out a boombox and blast Lou Reed & Metallica’s “Lulu“, for someone to come along and play The Room on DVD on some sort of portable player, for someone to talk about that great new pop hit about summer and how that cute boy is just too darn flirty with all those other chicks but one day he will a good man who will provide for a family, but also how right now that doesn’t matter because it’s summer and all you wanna do is party like a beached whale.

Snapping back to reality, Pete was still serving up the goods.

“But by this time it was getting closer to 2am and I really had to go. However…”

Fuck yes, this is the break in the story we have all been waiting for. Here’s where the pub was taken over by criminally insane goats sporting explosive soccer balls Here’s where someone dropped 8 tabs of acid into Pete’s drink and he thought himself the President of Nigeria but with a really silly big toe that everyone dirty toboggan jokes. Here’s where Peter ran into Peter Frampton whom made repetitive love to Pete in the Kmart toy section, his semen coming out in psychedelic colours and when swallowed made you sing the songs of The Beatles.

Nope. No. No way.

“I stayed a while longer, then when it got to 3am I thought I could still have seven hours and be fine for the lunch, which was at 12pm.”

Really? Genius.

“It then got to 4.39am and I thought that was silly. How could i have let time get away like this?”

Gee, maybe you were telling someone a story buddy.

“Anyway, I hopped in a cab around 5am, or was it 6am, no, yes it was 6am and took it to Maccas. But at that time they were doing breakfast, which I completely detest! Why would I want breakfast? Just give me a McChicken man!”

Was that it? Was the story over? Could we all get on with our lives now?

“So anyway, long story short I didn’t make the lunch and I’m not good at stories but you get the point”.

Did we, Pete?

The following are the points I got from this tale

• Pete cannot tell stories
• When your story sucks, lie.
• Pete drinks a lot and it affects his interpersonal relationships
• I am a complete arsehole with no respect for my friends
• I won’t have any friends by the end of this year
• Someone clearly put acid in my drink
• I, am a dick

Pete is a fantastic bloke who has a very lighthearted nature, lighthearted enough to know that this review is all in good fun. He is a beast of a drummer and when he isn’t helping sick mentally challenged orphans, finds the time to design and manufacture weapons grade plutonium.

Story 0/5567 Shatners

Shatnerisms 98,765,234

Where our friendship now stands 45/50,000

The Showerbath, September 19th, 2014

After 5 minutes of feeling like an extreme pervert, you start to question your life choices

 

Is this gross or erotic?

 

We’ve most of us lived in or visited a house that provides you with one of the most horrid experiences known to man, I’m not talking about waving at someone you think you know, but you don’t. I’m not talking about remembering that funny story and laughing out loud at it in public.  I’m not even  talking about that uncle that suggests you “Hurry up and lose your virginity already”.

I’m talking about the “Showerbath”.

That’s right, the showerbath. It is gross. It is degrading and it is incomprehensible!

Maybe you’ve been working all day in the sewer, maybe you remove dead rats from a quarry? Maybe you live in Hallam?

Whatever you do, you need that sweet release of a shower. You come home covered in shit an grease and slip into a relaxing… showerbath…?

You slip off your clothes and step over the cold porcelain of the bathtub, almost slipping and snapping your neck. You unwillingly pull the other leg over, now you’ve realized you forgot to turn on the shower before climbing in. Great, now you’re essentially standing in the bathtub with your genitals touching the wall and they’re shrinking. There’s moss on the wall, sending you a gravely reminder of what your genitals will look like when you’re 88.

Turning on the water is always an awful anxiety ridden experience. Is it gonna be too cold, too hot, will thousands of tiny deadly snakes be shot from the shower head down my throat and into my stomach where they will lay their eggs and build a snake city? Will it be a Dictatorship or Democracy? Hell, could it be a Fascist Regime?

“My idol is Magellan, oh wait no… Mussolini”.

Maybe, it depends on your diet.

You’re under, you’ve adjusted the water, you’re learning to deal with the moss in the corner and the potential of death at the slight misplacing of your feet..

Oh dear god, what is this? Am i having a bath or a shower? Should I put the plug in whilst bathing and then sit in my used dirty water for a while? What do I do?Where’s the soap? Ewwww, it’s one of those soaps made from other soaps, wait… I just moved in today! This isn’t even my soap! It feels like a strangers hands are washing my body, which in some cases would be majorly erotic, but they used this showerbath, so no it isn’t erotic in the slightest. This showerbath has the erotic qualities of The Room!

What’s this now? Oh, there’s a fucking Silverfish in here.

A Silverfish. Do they exclusively live in showerbaths? Fuck this, I am done.

The showerbath comes with the all time most disgusting bathing accessory, the shower curtain.

Even when bought brand spankin new they have the feel, look and smell of a little old lady named Ethel Harriet Rosemary Smith. You know her, she lives next door and bathes herself in cats and mushrooms.

After 5 minutes of feeling like an extreme pervert, you start to question your life choices

• Should I have done better or worse in school?
• Did I really need to buy the entire series of Dallas on DVD?
• Who is my real father?

Is this how Bam Magera felt after shooting “Viva La Bam”? Think about it, he’s a millionaire who lives with his parents… That’s gotta make you feel dirty all the time.

“Not only did you say I smell, but you mentioned snakes too bro, now I’m gonna have to kick Phil’s ass all day”

If  a post bathing Magera-esque feeling isn’t enough there’s one more case to solidify this life experience as amongst the worst…

 

Fuck the showerbath! You’re gonna hear that music every single time you step into one now.

Shower curtains 0/1

Feeling like a pervert with no explainable reason 9000/9000

Bam Magera is actually pretty cool.

Overall experience “Fuck This Shit”.

Children’s AFL Skills, September 7th, 2014

There’s always room for a little help from Dr. Phil…

It’s a sunny day, you need that vitamin D, you need that great satisfaction we all get from being an active and healthy human being. Perhaps you’re a parent and the kids are nagging “Take us to the park Dad, take us, take us!”

So rather than being a douche-bag father and drinking your body weight in Victoria Bitter and watching V8 supercars all day you decide to be the dad your father never was and take your kids to the park. You grab the footy and you pile into the car ready to feel like a great parent.

The park is glorious. The sun is glorious. The whole damn day has been glorious.

Argh! Come on kids! Lets go show the fuckin English how to play AFL!

You and your kids storm the park like William Wallace and his clan, ready and waiting for action.

Your children are screaming for you to kick the ball to them.

You drop the ball.

It glides like silk down your leg and onto your old high school footy boots.

It soars into the air like an albatross in full fluid flight.

There stand your kids eager and chomping at the bit to get a taste of sweet AFL glory.

The ball drops in perfect time, unlike that final kick in the Grand Final you missed. Remember that? When Davo punted you the ball with 4 seconds left?
You were just shy of 50 meters out. You had the ball in your hand, you slipped down to your boot, you missed it and kicked that really big fella, some called him Mr T’s stronger brother, on the other team right in the nuts. I mean look, he probably deserved it because he was sleeping with your wife but you didn’t know that at the time and you let the team down.

Khal Drogo used to play AFL. Khal Drogo used to sleep with your wife.

How depressing…

The footy smacks them on the chest, your child drops to the ground like a sack of old rotting potatoes, the sound of defeat echoes throughout the land and a great shame appears on your face. It’s at this point in time that you and everyone around you learn how much your kids suck!

They suck. Face it. I was watching as I lay sun baking with my super model girlfriend, and we saw how much they suck! I had to resist the urge to boo them.
I even considered writing score cards and handing them out. We’re not talking a points system here, no 8/10’s for these kids. No! My score cards would have a sad face and the words “Your dad finds you disappointing” written beneath it.

After spending what seemed an eternity laying face down in the dirt he emerges, his face and clothes caked in mud. He finds his way to ball, resembling some sort of chicken that’s been force fed growth hormones and Johnny Walker Blue Label for a good 12 months, Colonel Sanders has some secrets to tell, exactly what are those herbs and spices hey buddy?

I’m here today to stop your children from becoming shadows of your broken dreams!

That’s beside the point, back to your kid and how much he sucks.

Look at that excitement on his little face. He’s still having a great time despite how much he just let you and anyone who’s ever played sport down. He throws the ball up and concentrates with all his might, it strikes his foot and he cries. That’s your kid. Right there, covered in mud and crying. That would be fine if he was 3. But is he? No he is at-least 9, maybe even 10! Face it already, the damn kid sucks.

Now lets look at your other kids. What are they doing?

Let me tell you, just like your first kid, they are sucking.

The one in the yellow shirt shows some skill, he can get the ball back to you in a minimum of 6 kicks. That’s pretty good. No awful score card for him. But can he catch it? Nope. Instead he runs towards it like the worlds biggest Creed fan, with arms wide open. Much like your other child it smacks him square on the chest and he collapses faster than the excitement I felt for the Soundwave line up.

The one in the green shirt can’t even co-ordinate enough to run in the same direction as the ball, his shirt appears to be caught on an invisible clothes line that keeps spinning him right round baby right round. And even when he does manage to get a hold of the ball all he can do is kick it into his own face. Bang, into his face. Bang, into his face. What’s that I see? Oh, nothing… Just your kid kicking the ball into his own face again. I hear plastic surgery is expensive, better start saving now. He’s going to need at least 53 re constructive operations on his cheek bones alone.

I mean, come on! To paraphrase the great Homer Simpson, I’ve seen kids suck before, but these kids are the suckiest bunch of sucks that ever sucked.
Your kids sucked so much that Dr Phil is about to launch a book entitled “Making sure your kids don’t suck at stuff you failed at”.

After you left everyone in the park imitated your children… Here’s a photo.

Oh Gertrude, that mans children really sucked! Let us fall over and mock them!

Your mullet 10/10
Your kids football skills -12/10
That doughnut your kid was eating looked about a 9/10
My review 45,345/45,345

Dinner, September 4th, 2014

There is a certain comfort in pie and mash…

As common as pie and mash are to you, there is always an excitement in seeing it all together on your plate.It’s like receiving a hug from a strangers Grandmother, familiar yet new and exciting with the right amount of exotic nan action to see you through the night.

I prepared the pie in my Baroness oven, which I later burnt myself on, cursing the day I discovered ovens and really wishing I could travel back in time and to 1834 and knock the shit out of James Sharp. The potatoes and peas were boringly boiled like an old man in a hot tub.

“Dayum son, I ain’t never seen mashin like this before.”

After 48 minutes of sticking my fingers in the pie like a good boy it was ready and the time came to do the Monster Mash. I grabbed my potato masher like Batman grabs Robin, passionate, powerful and fully erect. I drove it into the soft fleshy potato again and again and again. Boom, smash, huzzah! If there were an audience there would have been at least 18 immaculate conceptions from the power of my mashing skills alone, Jay-Z and Linkin Park got nothing on me!

I rolled the peas onto the plate faster than TV rolls out reality shows, slopped my mash on and lovingly placed my pie. Shit! Gravy, I forgot gravy… How the hell do you make gravy? What is gravy? Are there any horse socks?

“No body gets the horse sock reference, young whippersnapper!”

 

I made the gravy, pretty baby. And oh lord was it magnificent! Unlike the recent Transformers film which was just awful. There was certainly one thing Micheal Bay and I could agree on with dinner though, the explosions! The explosions of flavour, the explosions of taste and finally the explosion it left in my soul. That may seem like a over statement, and perhaps it is, but this pie, mash and pea combo hit me right in the good spot. It was the Micheal Jordan of pastries, the Mohammad Ali of baked good, the Mel Brooks of pie shaped foods…? 

I cut into the pie with a casual finesse and style only seen during some prestigious ballet companies performance of Swan Lake. I was a captain of carving. If there was an award for best use of knife and fork during a home made meal I would have walked away the winner, with all other nominees getting my face tattooed on their hands to remind them of how shit they are at knifing and forking! The creamy vegetable filing came oozing out, covering the mash and peas in a healthy pool of zesty goodness.

 

Oprah weeps as I win award after award!Time to try the peas.

Time to try the peas…

The peas sucked! What were they? Monster peas from the Candy Kingdom?

It was as if the sugar plum fairies had sprinkled unicorn tears and sweet dreams over them. I wanted some vitamins, not holes in my teeth and a sugar high. Thanks a lot Woolworths Select peas, next time I will be selecting to shove your peas in my arse one at a time. That way I can at least gain some pleasure from the experience and your peas can be instantly converted to the shit that they are!

Despite the ever enraging peas and the wake of disappointment they left behind, the pie and mash were a greater pair than Tango and Cash on ice. There is a pure enjoyment of hot potato mashed up and covered in gravy, swirling around in your mouth, swallowed and digested by your stomach acid. Knowing that it will one day make its journey to the other side of your immaculately sculpted body is a joy I want you to know. 

 

As exciting as the pie was it sadly did not turn into a UFO and stage an inter-plate war with the peas, the peas sucked.

 

Woolworths Select Bullshit Sugar Peas 0/10

Oven Experience 3/10

Knowing who invented the oven before writing this review 10/10

Pie and Mash 9000/9000