Thursday, September 30, 2004
Sweet, Sweet, Chocolatey Vengeance.
Hahahaa! Eat my Supreme Levels of Immaturity™, Catherine! Now, you'll have to wait until Tuesday!
(Frog becomes two frogs, becomes chocolate bar, becomes snake, becomes chocolate bar...)
(Frog becomes two frogs, becomes chocolate bar, becomes snake, becomes chocolate bar...)
Ted the Star Wars Fan-Fiction Pimp-Daddy
Alrighty, somebody I know knows somebody (work with me here...) who's working on a pretty interesting piece of fan fiction set in the Star Wars universe. Put a fair bit of effort into it so far, it's turning out alright. Not bad considering I hate all things Star Wars. If you're into that sorta thing, check it out. It'll appear as it's being written in this Star Wars forum, and it's a work in progress right now.
Click here for whatever the hell I'm talking about!
There. Now can I have Stretch, my pet turtle back Ramy? I did as you asked!
Click here for whatever the hell I'm talking about!
There. Now can I have Stretch, my pet turtle back Ramy? I did as you asked!
Saturday, September 25, 2004
Hooray for Everyone!!!
Woot indeed! Last night was the Best Time Ever™. Thanks to all! For those who did not come, don't worry, I'll be sure to make you extremely guilty afterwards. Or at least annoy you until you punch me in the face.
Oh, and those shirts were a nice surprise, too.
Best.
Shirts.
Ever.
Be wearing one on Monday, I will. And Jen's first day back, too, otherwise she will bash me, apparently. Can't have that.
Thank you everyone! You all r0x0r! Or, if you like, you just rock!
p.s, I GOT THROUGH THE NIGHT WITHOUT SINGING! EAT THAT, ALL!
Oh, and those shirts were a nice surprise, too.
Best.
Shirts.
Ever.
Be wearing one on Monday, I will. And Jen's first day back, too, otherwise she will bash me, apparently. Can't have that.
Thank you everyone! You all r0x0r! Or, if you like, you just rock!
p.s, I GOT THROUGH THE NIGHT WITHOUT SINGING! EAT THAT, ALL!
Thursday, September 23, 2004
Gamma, The Giant Peace-Keeping Robot Of Mass-Destruction
Today, I woke up on the floor. After removing a power drill from my head, I walked into the nearest door (causing a severe head wound), which happened to be leading into a McDonald's 'restaurant'. Apparently, I was sleeping in the restroom. I NEVER sleep in McDonald's restrooms. I always take a bench instead. I ordered a Big Mac, and asked if it was Kosher. Not at all like me. I never eat Big Macs.
After I was told it cost more than three rubles, I ran outside, hailed a cab, and asked to be taken to France. Please.
I learned that France is not easy to get to by cab. It takes a lot of waterproof gap-filler, and helps a great deal if Jesus is driving. I asked the cabbie if it would help if I paid in rubles, and he said OK.
There were a great deal less dinosaurs than I remembered at Calais. But there was a lot more stock-car racing. But I wasn't there for either. I was planning to get a job as a faith-healer. I am well-skilled in the art of dressing in ridiculously expensive suits that look extremely cheap, and I also refer to everyone as my brother. Or so says my CV. (it also says that I can fit up to 25 marshmallows into my mouth while singing the Spanish national anthem, or just 21 while singing the theme song to the Mr Hell Show)
Apparently, there weren't any positions around for faith-healers, the guy at the job agency said, but since I was there, could I please leave?
So I left for South-Africa. There, I was challenged to a game of backgammon by a guy who sounded like what James Earl Jones would sound like if he were a truck.
I pretty much bet all of my possessions, my family, and a third-world nation that I happen to have won in a game of Chess (I won this place called 'Melbourne' off a guy who called himself 'Bob Carr'; He tried to use his Bishop to carpet bomb my pawns...not realising that my Rooks provided lovely anti-air capabilities)
But since I don't know the rules to Backgammon, I kinda lost, which ended with me running from an angry flaming torch and shovel-wielding mob. For the fourth time in a month.
Right now, I'm typing this from a seaport in Nagasaki, about to be sent off to some third world nation called 'Elbonia' as what they call a 'process worker'.
Apparently, that's their word for faith-healer, brutha!
If I don't make an entry for another two months, assume I have been eaten by a giant moth.
After I was told it cost more than three rubles, I ran outside, hailed a cab, and asked to be taken to France. Please.
I learned that France is not easy to get to by cab. It takes a lot of waterproof gap-filler, and helps a great deal if Jesus is driving. I asked the cabbie if it would help if I paid in rubles, and he said OK.
There were a great deal less dinosaurs than I remembered at Calais. But there was a lot more stock-car racing. But I wasn't there for either. I was planning to get a job as a faith-healer. I am well-skilled in the art of dressing in ridiculously expensive suits that look extremely cheap, and I also refer to everyone as my brother. Or so says my CV. (it also says that I can fit up to 25 marshmallows into my mouth while singing the Spanish national anthem, or just 21 while singing the theme song to the Mr Hell Show)
Apparently, there weren't any positions around for faith-healers, the guy at the job agency said, but since I was there, could I please leave?
So I left for South-Africa. There, I was challenged to a game of backgammon by a guy who sounded like what James Earl Jones would sound like if he were a truck.
I pretty much bet all of my possessions, my family, and a third-world nation that I happen to have won in a game of Chess (I won this place called 'Melbourne' off a guy who called himself 'Bob Carr'; He tried to use his Bishop to carpet bomb my pawns...not realising that my Rooks provided lovely anti-air capabilities)
But since I don't know the rules to Backgammon, I kinda lost, which ended with me running from an angry flaming torch and shovel-wielding mob. For the fourth time in a month.
Right now, I'm typing this from a seaport in Nagasaki, about to be sent off to some third world nation called 'Elbonia' as what they call a 'process worker'.
Apparently, that's their word for faith-healer, brutha!
If I don't make an entry for another two months, assume I have been eaten by a giant moth.
Sunday, September 19, 2004
Workplace-Related Antics vol XIXXIIIsomething.
OK, I am trying to avoid going to work, now, on account of a severe frogging of my bag. Somebody is out there with a handful of lollies to dump in my bag, and I have NO IDEA WHO IT IS!!! Catherine, seeking dark vengeance (and the last laugh after my last stunt) has recruited somebody to help her get a handful of candy-ised frogs in my bag. So now I have to keep constant watch on it.
I'm so paranoid. I must retain the honour of having the last laugh.
Bugger it, I'll just not bring a bag to work for a while. Hahahaahaaahaaaaaaaa.
I shall finish with a comment a little more mature than the rest of the entry.
Catherine started it.
I'm so paranoid. I must retain the honour of having the last laugh.
Bugger it, I'll just not bring a bag to work for a while. Hahahaahaaahaaaaaaaa.
I shall finish with a comment a little more mature than the rest of the entry.
Catherine started it.
Saturday, September 11, 2004
Ted's Advisory Ramblings and Unnecessarily Helpful Checklists. Part One.
Top eleven things never to do during a job interview:
- Gnaw on some sunflower seeds. Try to do it without closing your mouth.
- When the interviewer offers his/her hand, refuse to shake it.
- Give them a hug instead.
- A bear hug.
- Remain standing, even after asked to sit. Stalk around the area, especially close behind the interviewer. Breathe down their neck if possible, just like those well-adjusted villians in poorly acted soap operas.
- Refer to the interviewer as a 'Bitch gringo' in a Jamaican accent. Continuously. Even after you are asked to stop.
- While answering a question, ask if it's turps or metho that's supposed to be a cheap substiture for an alcoholic beverage. If an answer is given, look worried, and ask where the toilet is.
- "Ha! Highly contagious? That doctor's a pussy! I don't know the MEANING of highly contagious!" (props to Chris)
- Ask if you're at the YMCA, and where they keep their village people. Ask every few minutes.
- Ask if there will be questions at the end...'because, to be honest, I'm not really paying attention.'
- Challenge the interviewer to an arm-wrestle.
Sorry everyone, I was desperate to fulfill my promise to write something by the end of whenever that stupid self-imposed deadline was, so my attempt at humour is even more hit-and-miss than usual. It now has 80% more miss. And some of it's not even mine!
Look out for my next Top Eleven list, 'Eleven reasons why I should not be allowed to have a keyboard.'
- Gnaw on some sunflower seeds. Try to do it without closing your mouth.
- When the interviewer offers his/her hand, refuse to shake it.
- Give them a hug instead.
- A bear hug.
- Remain standing, even after asked to sit. Stalk around the area, especially close behind the interviewer. Breathe down their neck if possible, just like those well-adjusted villians in poorly acted soap operas.
- Refer to the interviewer as a 'Bitch gringo' in a Jamaican accent. Continuously. Even after you are asked to stop.
- While answering a question, ask if it's turps or metho that's supposed to be a cheap substiture for an alcoholic beverage. If an answer is given, look worried, and ask where the toilet is.
- "Ha! Highly contagious? That doctor's a pussy! I don't know the MEANING of highly contagious!" (props to Chris)
- Ask if you're at the YMCA, and where they keep their village people. Ask every few minutes.
- Ask if there will be questions at the end...'because, to be honest, I'm not really paying attention.'
- Challenge the interviewer to an arm-wrestle.
Sorry everyone, I was desperate to fulfill my promise to write something by the end of whenever that stupid self-imposed deadline was, so my attempt at humour is even more hit-and-miss than usual. It now has 80% more miss. And some of it's not even mine!
Look out for my next Top Eleven list, 'Eleven reasons why I should not be allowed to have a keyboard.'
Friday, September 10, 2004
Anna's Special Update
OK, I've updated JUST for you. But since I have nothing to blog about, I think I'll be ending it right about here...
Joking. I'll have something new here by the end of Sunday. I promise. I'll find something to talk about...like cheese...or penguins...or something irrelevant and stupid, like the future economic implications of globalisation for Australia.
Joking. I'll have something new here by the end of Sunday. I promise. I'll find something to talk about...like cheese...or penguins...or something irrelevant and stupid, like the future economic implications of globalisation for Australia.
