Buying the Cow

buying tha cow

There’s a saying that goes “why buy the cow when you get the sex for free?” Or something along those lines. Well it seems like plenty of people are pretty keen on buying themselves a bovine with a lot of hoo haa recently on the Internet regarding the gay marriage debate. One minute I’m chortling at totally inappropriate memes and the next I’m seeing so many equals’ signs I thought I’d dropped acid at a math convention and was losing my shit.

Oddly enough, I feel the same way about marriage as I do about homosexuality itself – I’m pro-choice. I don’t want to bum you and you don’t want to bum me (you probably do let’s be honest) but I’m happy for everyone else to have the freedom to bum (or not to bum) anyone they choose. So whilst I personally don’t care to be married any time soon, I’m not fussed if other people would like to do so – gay or not. People should be free to do whatever they damn well please as long as it’s not harming anyone else. Hence why I’ve never understood the anger towards gay people, I mean isn’t screwing like one of the only things we can do as humans that doesn’t affect anyone else? How does two dudes doing pushups in long grass or a couple of lesbians scissoring until their thighs chafe affect your life?

I’ve never really understood the big deal behind the ritual of marriage either so I was kinda surprised to see how strongly so many other people on the Internetz felt about this hot issue. So let’s delve into this topic a little bit deeper shall we?

A History of the Ball and Chain

ball and chain

The first recorded evidence of marriage contracts and ceremonies dates back to over 4000 years ago in Mesopotamia (which used to be Iraq before America shelled the joint for its oil). Back in those ancient times the whole idea of marriage was to preserve your family’s power and get some new goodies into the bargain. Kings and other various movers and shakers would marry off their daughters to forge alliances, procure land and produce legitimate heirs. Even amongst the plebs women had little say over whom they married. The main purpose of marriage at the start was for the blushing bride to fart a few fetuses’ out of her womb, as implied by the Latin word ‘matrimonium’ which is derived from ‘mater’ (mother). Marriages prevented just any prick from coming along and asserting rights to the property of a man he may claim to call “daddy.”

But marriage has changed over the centuries, as it should, since it was created to fill a societal need – not a religious one – and marriage must adapt to society’s ongoing needs. Marriage serves society, not the other way around. A new need has arisen in our time – the need for legal, governmental recognition and protection of two people of the same gender. Religion has absolutely nothing to do with that.

Yet the biggest opponent of gay marriage is you guessed it – the church.

Interference by the God Squad

God Squad

The Bible doesn’t approve of the pushing of the poo or drinking out of the furry cup and since religion (Catholicism specifically) has its hooks into the whole marriage deal in a big way, by supporting gay marriage it would seem like they were supporting homosexuality which would in effect contravene their petty beliefs. The worst thing about this is that it wasn’t until the 12th Century that Roman Catholic theologians and writers referred to marriage as a sacrament, a sacred ceremony tied to experiencing God’s presence. So because some deluded old fart decided after three millennia of people marrying that all of a sudden it was an act intrinsically linked with the imaginary friend for adults, Toby and Steve are shit out of luck if they want to be recognised by society as life partners, same for Rhonda and Vivian (token names for homo’s and lesbo’s courtesy of www.queernamegenerator.com)

Pressed on why they believe gay marriage to be wrong, the churchies come at it from a few angles. Firstly, it’s morally wrong. Probably not as wrong as allowing priests to sodomise choir boys for hundreds of years and spending considerable effort in covering it up so the abuse can continue though, huh? For another, it’s against God. What, the same God who made dudes in biblical times kill their sons to prove their belief in him? The same God that will apparently cast me into the fires of hell for eternity because I don’t believe in him, yet will send some filthy paedophile off to heaven for orange mocha frappucinos because he suddenly “finds” God and repents before he croaks? Would be a shame to upset that righteous fellow now wouldn’t it? And lastly, the religious folk don’t agree with homosexuality because apparently it’s “unnatural”. Considering that both humans and animals of the same gender have been fucking one another well before religion came along, I know which of the two I find to be a bit out of the ordinary.

The Human Condition

So why are gay people so keen to get married? I mean sure marriage has a few perks but personally I don’t think that’s what it’s about. It’s more so the human condition of always wanting what you can’t or don’t have. You have a nice Toyota but you’re dying to have a Porsche like your neighbours. You have an amazing girlfriend who loves you but you can’t stop thinking about screwing the arse off her hot best friend. The nice boy who’s keen on you gets treated like his name is Stanley, whereas you’d drop your panties in a second for the rude prick who isn’t interested in you in the slightest.

You can’t have the gay marriage so you want the gay marriage.

What’s so great about being married? It certainly doesn’t have much to do with the pursuit of happiness, my parents have been married almost forty years and they’re fuckin’ miserable! Shouldn’t gay people have the right to be just as miserable? Maybe the term “gay” (which used to mean happy once upon a time) was coined precisely because they were all just having a good old time living in sin and bumping uglies instead of arguing over what to watch on TV and waking up to screaming children on a Sunday morning! Maybe if we let homosexuals marry they’ll no longer be “gay” they’ll be “morose”. “Oh look at that morose couple kissing in public, how disgusting!” “I’m not homophobic at all, I have plenty of morose friends I’ll have you know”. Haha.

Conclusion

So while I don’t actively support gay marriage, I guess being a pro-choice kind of dude I’m for it. Hell, I’m even for marriage with animals and inanimate objects as well. If you want to marry a monkey and have monkey-human hybrid children that you train to be your monkey butlers and serve you cold beverages while you live in the trees, that’s your prerogative. If you want to engage in holy matrimony with a handsome Rhododendron plant and get sap everywhere – go nuts.

Until your chimp bride bites me and gives me Rabies or your plant husband starts shedding leaves on my lawn that I have to rake up, then I’m happy for people to do whatever it is they wanna do.

I say

if it feels good

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Raping the Box

humping the tv

Apologies to those of you who thought this was some kind of manual and hit the WordPress link looking to get a shame boner and a few hot tips. My title this week is actually in reference to defiling my other favourite kind of box you perps – the Television.

Otherwise known as the ‘Idiot Box’ for its ability to leave you staring like a Mongoloid for hours on end, I have been watching TV since I was three years old and I love that shit. When I get home the first thing I do before I even take my shoes off and do a wee-wee (unless I’m busting) is turn on the TV. It’s like a trusty friend that keeps you entertained for hours but doesn’t touch up your girlfriend or piss himself on your couch after he’s had a few.

Back in the day here in Straylya, we used to have five lousy channels. You had channels Seven, Nine, Ten, ABC and SBS (and back then you struggled to get SBS off those faggoty little rabbit-ear antennas that sit on your TV, you had to be plugged into the main). We’ve now got like twenty channels on free to air in this country and I must say most of the content defies the laws of physics by sucking and blowing at the same time.

The kid’s shows are made for retards, the news is as well, the clever and amazing shows aren’t aired or only get played at obscure time slots on the minor networks and the totally mundane and mindless drivel that the masses spoont over gets played ad nauseam on the major networks.

puke

One only has to look at the ratings to see where things are going askew. Let’s look at some of the repulsive programming that violates my massive box on a daily basis shall we? These are some of the highest rating programs on TV at present:

THE NEWS

Anyone who knows anything about analysing a text knows that the news is like The Bold and the Beautiful – it’s a fuckin’ soap opera brought to you by ‘our sponsors’. Yet unlike B&B the news pretends to be fact rather than fantasy and sadly, most people are sucked in by this deception. And those people are watching so much news! Morning news, afternoon news, evening news, late evening news, sports news, foreign news, news, news!

Once information is transmitted via a medium (like TV), than the integrity of that data is compromised. So you can never get the full picture by watching the news, it will always be somebody else’s perception of what you should see. You’re sitting there thinking this is what’s honestly happening in the world, when really a cameraman has decided to shoot only certain things and the things he decided to shoot are then edited together in a certain way once they get transmitted back to the TV studio.

The news programs that we watch are the most manipulated, choreographed bits of fluffed up pigshit that are on the box today! It’s brainwashing, pure and simple. I get my brainwashing fix from advertising so I give the news a wide berth and have done for a very long time now. I suggest you do the same if you’re watching this palaver.

COOKING SHOWS

What the story is with this pathetic excuse for reality TV is beyond my comprehension. My Kitchen Rules was consistently among the highest rating television shows in the past couple of months. Now personally I would sooner use one of Freddie Kruger’s gloves as a butt scratcher rather than watch five minutes of that slop. Talk about mindless. It’s bad enough that women seem to be going for this crap but I even had a male friend on Facebook recently ‘congratulating’ the winners Dan and Steph on their triumphant victory. Jesus H. Christ man! Have you donated your testicles to science?!

Now I’m not even against cooking shows as a whole really, just rubbish ones like My Kitchen Rules and Masterchef that get the primetime slots here. Yeah let’s watch some bitchy couple’s cook for a bunch of other equally whiny duos in their homes so they can anxiously wait for their peers to score their shitty dishes out of ten. Talk about lame.

lame meter

How bout some Gordon Ramsay up in this motherfucker? Gordo is a gentleman and a scholar and an extremely interesting character in his own right. He likes the word ‘fuck’ as much as a real man should, he has an exceptional passion when it comes to food and he has helped a lot of people over the years save their struggling restaurants. I dunno why he gets such a bad rap over here. His two main shows are Kitchen Nightmares and Hell’s Kitchen, both of which have a helluva lot more depth to them than My Kitchen Reeks.

Even when Channel Nine was playing Gordo’s shows it did so for a very short period on primetime and then banished them to crappy late night slots before finally shelving them all together. So much like everything else I watch on TV but not on TV, I have to go to the Internet to hear him call a nervy female line cook a fucking donkey while violently smashing plates down, or screaming at a lazy French restaurateur that he’s a filthy pig while flecks of spit fly out of his mouth onto said Frenchman. Gordo is a right geezah IMO.

Fuck My Kitchen Rules.

REALITY BITES

Another victim of Australian television programming executives slight mental retardation is the Reality TV genre in itself. Aussie’s just can’t make reality TV for shit. I mean how many effin’ singing / talent shows do we need? There was Australian Idol, X-Factor, Australia’s Got Talent and now the latest iteration – The Voice. The only way I’d enjoy that nonsense was if Seal lost his shit on PCP and tried to give Delta Goodrim a kiss on her rose while Joel Madden sat with his chair turned around jackin’ it and eating a bucket of KFC chicken. It’s just the same tired format over and over again.

And has anybody seen this new Celebrity Splash excrement hosted by Larry Emdur where a bunch of C-grade celebs dive off a platform of varying heights? Old Lazza must’ve slyly touched the Seven Network CEO’s wife on her no-no spot to get stuck with hosting duties on that stinker. Here’s an idea, how bout they amalgamate that show with The Biggest Loser and get a bunch of morbidly obese people jumping off diving boards? That’d be good for a hoot.

Channel Nine even tried to revive the lifeless Big Brother last year after it got axed on Channel Ten ages ago due to how absolutely shite it was. You would think that bringing a show back years later on a different channel they’d breathe new life into it and throw some violent ex-mental patients into the house off their balls on psychedelic substances and then put them through their paces with a series of emotionally scarring challenges. But no, it was just the same cruddy format as when it failed last time and bored people ‘til their rectums bled. Most Australian’s just aren’t much fun to watch unfortunately, all they do is sit around whining about mindless crap and having deep and meaningful chats after a few beers. Fuckin losers.

At least we can be thankful for how much COPS Channel Ten serves up. COPS is the first ever reality TV show, the original fly on the wall tv fix and there’s nothing better than sitting in your boxer shorts eating popcorn while watching another human being’s rights getting violated. Although the one thing that always annoys me with COPS is how much the less than intelligent criminals tell the Police. I mean the cops even advise them while they’re getting busted that anything that comes out of their stupid traps will be used to bend them over and sodomise them in court. Yet they persist in telling the po-po every last detail, totally fooled into believing it’s in their best interests by the less than honest Police Sergeant who’s suddenly their best mate and confidant.

You’d think being an A1 crackhead that you’d know the first rule is you never talk to the cops! “Is this your crystal methamphetamine that I found in the glove compartment sir?” “Ask my lawyer PIG!”…Sheesh it’s not hard.

Is anybody else tired of having their most majestic and precious of boxes raped by media muppets and spastic viewers?

Pratiques Sanitaires Futuristes

toilet diver

The term ‘toilet’ comes from the French ‘toilette’, which meant ‘dressing room’ back in the day. And while some women still get dressed in there (usually because they’ve just had dirty, raunchy sex with a stranger in a nite club crapper), it’s now widely accepted that the word refers to that little porcelain god that we do our wees and poos in and sometimes pray to when we’ve drank too much.

Yet it occurred to me recently that most people don’t even know how to properly go about their business when it comes to la toilette. Neither gender is innocent when it comes to abusing this modern marvel of human ingenuity. I have seen both men and women do exceedingly disgusting and mindless things when it comes to the basic motion of human waste disposal. So this week I will plumb new depths by examining these rituals and by educating you guys with some futuristic toilet practices that are sure to get your bowels rumbling.

Morning Glory Manoeuvres

Morning wood, morning glory, early riser, breakfast boner, morning tent, whatever you wanna call it, waking up with an erection after a refreshing night’s sleep is one of the more invigorating aspects of being a man. The fancy medical jargon for a spontaneous erection during sleep is nocturnal penile tumescence or NPT. Now we all know that morning wood isn’t just fun and games. It has its pros and cons – its ups and downs, you might say. The most taxing problem of course, is the age-old challenge of urinating with an erection.

If you haven’t yet managed to conquer this conundrum than it’s a certainty that someone is probably experiencing the displeasing sensation of trundling through a puddle of your warm urine when using the bathroom in the morning. Of all the morning glory manoeuvres that can be pulled to alleviate this problem, my personal favourite is ‘The Lunge’

the lunge

Grasp your stiffy firmly while standing a foot or two away from the toilet and lean forward while pushing your backside into the air slightly so your spitting cobra is now pointing downwards. Take aim and hold your body rigid. This position also strengthens your abs and core muscles so not only are you guaranteeing your girlfriend won’t slip over and throw a disc on her way to the shower, but you’re getting fit while you pee. It’s win-win.

The Dry, Dry, Dry, Wet, Dry Method.

Why this isn’t common practice is beyond me. Most people just use toilet paper when it comes to rectifying their rectum after a satisfying plop or three. This is fine, if you’re living in the dark ages. However being the meta bathroom deity that I am, I’m on a whole (hole) other level when it comes to the art of butt wiping.

Is toilet paper on its own really sanitising your pucker as much as it could be? Of course not! You need some moisture on there to properly clean your exhaust port! Now you could spit on the last bit of toilet paper you use, but that’s kinda rank. We live in a society people, we’re not fucking animals.

So ideally, you should have a packet of wet wipes sitting near your WC at all times. You use the toilet paper until it seems like all the yucky butt sludge has gone. For most people this is enough. But as a proponent of futuristic toilet practices you’re gonna go deeper. This is when you use the wet wipe. You’ll notice at this point there is a slightly off coloured brown stain on the wet wipe when you’re done. You guessed it; this is the remaining poo stain that 99.5% of people are happy to leave remaining after they’ve shat.

To finish the ritual off, you use one final bit of toilet paper to dry the wetness the wet wipe has left on your balloon knot so you aren’t walking around with that squoodgy feeling for an hour afterwards.

I’d personally recommend the soap and fragrance free wet wipes just to avoid any possible irritations.

Batten the Hatches

For awhile there it was a fairly common joke and source of tension between the sexes that men always left the seat up so they could urinate with the least amount of difficulty. Oh how times are changing. Of the many women that have inhabited the hallowed halls of my apartment, the majority have left the seat down but the lid up. Even my ex-girlfriend used to do it all the time. It drove me fucking nuts! I’m a guy and I put both the seat and the lid down, why is my hospitality being repaid with nothing but shit smells and inconvenience?

After having this conversation with several women, a girl I slept with recently finally told me the honest truth. They are doing it to us men on purpose to get revenge for us leaving the seat up. Wily fucking bitches. After decades of men having an easy piss, women are now doing the same thing and it’s bang out of order I tell you.

I mean I don’t mind psychological warfare with a woman, it gives me wood. What I do mind is biological butt germs settling on my fucking toothbrush or coating my basin in a nice glossy Staphylococcus. The lid is there for a reason people! It traps not only the vilest of stench that has emanated from your mud whistle, but also nasty germs that escape – especially from the mist of the toilet flushing.

But if you don’t believe me, here’s some further reading on the subject:

http://www.abc.net.au/science/articles/2004/07/01/1143577.htm

http://www.dailymail.co.uk/health/article-2081680/How-leaving-toilet-lid-flushing-aid-spread-winter-vomiting-bug.html

If the Cubicle’s Rockin’, Don’t Come a Knockin’

One time I was at a nite club and shortly after eating something dodgy (reads drugs) my stomach began to churn. It swirled and contracted, bubbling ominously. I felt that all too familiar sensation of a man who was about to crap his pants if he didn’t reach a commode and quickly. I tore off from the dance floor, praying that the one cubicle in the toilets on this level would be unoccupied. Thankfully due to the unhygienic conditions this shitter was normally kept in by the less than vigilant floor staff on a typical Friday or Saturday nite, it was empty.

I dashed into the stall and slammed the door shut, frantically clutching at my belt to get my jeans off. No sooner did I pull down my strides and sit down did I emit an explosive blast of putrefaction. But the initial detonation was just the beginning. This heinous bowel movement had stamina and I bore down and braced myself for the toilet bowl destruction that was about to ensue.

Next thing you know, some cunt starts banging on the cubicle door. “I’m in here” I manage to wheeze, as below me a tempest erupts. Old mate waits for a little while longer before banging on the door again. “Still here!” I gasp as I hang on for dear life. It’s obvious that this fellow presumes that like the majority of people who typically inhabit this cubicle, I am inside consuming illicit substances and he is impatiently waiting outside to do the same.

Finally, this cheeky prick grabs the frame of the cubicle and pulls himself up to see what I’m doing in there. As I look up at his face I see his mouth gape open in horror, as the unholy stench hits him square in the kisser. He literally reels and falls backwards, unable to escape the evil that has now embraced his soul.

Triumphantly I scream “SEE! I FUCKING TOLD YOU I WAS IN HERE!” and start to cackle. What a hide to look over the door, that young man sure got his just desserts. I finish my business and leave the bathroom highly satisfied…and slightly wasted.

The moral of the story being, never interrupt someone’s potty time.

It is sacred.

Why beautiful women are often cunts

she devil

Recently I was visiting my previous home town of Brisbane and was catching up with a few friends over a drink at a nite club. We were standing outside on the balcony having a cigarette when a fairly attractive brunette came over and pretty rudely demanded a cigarette off me. To be fair, I love bitches like this. Being the exceptional motherfucker I am, beauty doesn’t impress me one bit. Beauty is common, I see stunning women everywhere. Women who expect me to bend over backwards and lick my arsehole clean before rimming theirs a sparkly pink just because they are beautiful are always good for a giggle in my books.

So I said to this moll (who was let’s face it, a 6½-7 at best so why she had such a sense of entitlement about her is beyond me) “Excuse me? If you want something than you’d better ask a bit more fuckin politely than so rudely demanding a cigarette off me. Ever hear of the word please sweetheart?” I then lecture her about manners and not expecting strangers to jump at her behest. My mates (both male and female) are struggling not to laugh; they’ve seen me run these exercises before. They know I don’t need much of an excuse to get up in someone’s ass and then play tug of war with their sphincter until an anal prolapse occurs.

In the middle of my diatribe, this slip of a girl interrupts me even more rudely then the first time and contemptuously ejaculates “So are you gonna give me a fuckin cigarette or not?”, obviously weary of my lecture. My friends may as well have sat down with a box of popcorn at this point and settled in for the mid-flight entertainment. They knew that this snotty little wench had just grabbed onto a lightning rod while a shit storm was about to rain down upon her like she’d probably never experienced before in a public venue.

I looked this girl dead in the eyes and said “Nope.”

Her eyes started to spin around in her little head and you could almost see sparks fly out of her brain as it fails to comprehend what has just happened. I can tell that the last fifty times she’s asked a man for a cigarette at a nite club or a bar she hasn’t faced this kind of opposition or difficulty in her mission to smoke O.P brand. They’ve always just said “sure love” and handed one over, despite her being less than polite when asking for one and just expecting it will be so. All because she was fuckable.

“No?” she echoes incredulously. “No, you can’t have one.” I say. “You come over here and interrupt my conversation rudely demanding something off me without saying please or being polite and just expect me to do you a favour. I don’t know you and I don’t owe you, so until you manage to have a civil tongue in your head and ask me politely than I’m not giving you shit.”

I glance over at my friend Cosmo who has a diabolical grin on his face and who I can tell is quite enjoying this. In fact I’m sure I detected a slight patch of moisture on the front of his jeans as a little bit of wee comes out.

At this point, all of the bravado and sense of entitlement has left this bird. It was like watching a balloon with a small hole in it slowly deflate. She gets nervous and starts pretending like she has cigarettes there somewhere but can’t find them and starts awkwardly pawing through her handbag as if searching for them. I decide to tease her some more and say “Oh so that’s even worse, you’ve got cigarettes and here you are scumming mine!” knowing full well she never had cigarettes and is just trying to disguise her embarrassment at being served in front of a bunch of strangers.

Finally the penny drops and you can see the look of defeat in her eyes. She must’ve been positively dying for a smoke as rather than skulking away with her tail between her legs she acquiesces and says “I’m really sorry sir for being rude to you, may I please have a cigarette?”. It sort of reminded me of the orphan in Oliver Twist with the “please sir can I have some more” bit. With a shit eating grin on my face like a man who’s eating pussy for dinner I say “Mais oui, of course darling, of course you can have a cigarette” and proffer her one. Class dismissed motherfucker.

Now of course I could’ve been a real prick and not given her one after all that, but that would’ve defied the point of the exercise. I wanted her to work for it and ask politely, humans being much like dogs you need to reward them when they do good so that they learn haha.

Now while she was an adult and responsible for her own actions, I don’t really place much blame on her for the way she carried on. You know who I blame? Men! Spineless, think with their dicks men. This poor girl has been conditioned over many years to believe she can get away with this kind of behaviour because of men. They’ve given into her demands and licked her ass to try and slime their way into her pantaloons and firmly embedded the understanding in her mind that she can be a malignant cunt and still get what she wants because she’s attractive.

I don’t subscribe to that kind of nonsense and neither should any man reading this. Beautiful women are the same as everyone else, they have flaws, they have insecurities, they take a shit in the toilet once a day – sometimes twice. They shouldn’t be privileged just because they look nice to have sexy time with, they should be held accountable to the same standards as everyone else. There’s plenty of beautiful women who don’t carry on like that – and those are the kind of women that impress me.

So guys, next time a woman acts with a sense of entitlement or treats you like a piece of shit because she’s attractive, don’t blame her. Blame the hundreds of men that came before you who propagated that behaviour by being impressed with beauty on the outside – rather than beauty on the inside.