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23 December, 2004

OK, afta thinkin' about dat shit fo a bit, Ah figure dat if I'm goin' to blog, Ah should do dat shit properly, man. With dat in mind, dis lovingly handcrafted yet unwieldy blog ends here 'n now, to be taken up by da scions of generica at:

Ah can update both of these from work, da latta by e-mail or futurephone, all da commenting/housekeepin' stuff be done fo me, 'n I've a handy-dandy Flickr account set up fo hostin' images too n' shit. Grand.

17 December, 2004

More t-shirt hijinks:

Charlie, Uncle Nancy & Tango T-Shirt

Whee.

15 December, 2004

Every day on ma way to work, Ah drive past Bear Essentials - Da Complete Teddy Bear Store, 'n Ah think "bloody phat -- I'm gettin' sick of all those Partial Teddy Bear Stores yo' ass see around these days." Who needs a partial teddy bear? In ma day they just incinerated da deformed ones before they gots made into toys.

Yo' ass did know teddy bears be real, didn't you? Da ones yo' ass buy in shops be just da stuffed remains of da actual things, bred in small farms around da world n' shit. It be true -- Ah worked ma way through University as a teddy taxidermist n' shit. Gougin' out they tiny sockets to put da glass eyes in wuz always da tricky bit, know what I'm sayin'? Well, dat 'n dealin' wid da ones dat weren't slaughtered properly.

Da professionals just gas 'em -- electrocution singes da fur 'n all much -- but some of da cowboy operations off 'em da old fashioned way n' shit. That's why a lot of 'em has so many seams: gotta cova up da stab wounds somehow, know what I'm sayin'? And da bullet holes -- don't get me started, know what I'm sayin'? Eva wonda why Paddington Bear wears such a big ass hat? Fuckin' amateurs.

Still, da pay wuz good, 'n teddy offal does wonders fo da garden.

10 December, 2004

Just one more? OK.

8 December, 2004

Shit -- only five days left n' shit. Quick, do anotha one!

7 December, 2004

First attempt at t-shirt printing:

Brain Stab

6 December, 2004

Club Dread: bugger, know what I'm sayin'? Like many of you, Ah thought Supa Troopers wuz bloody funny, 'n to dis day I'll drop "meow" into conversations on da off chance dat I'll then get to use da phrase "nimbly-pimbly" when someone calls me on it, man. Da guys responsible fo dat shit wuz clearly a bunch of funny bastards.

Until they came up wid Club Dread, a slasha movie/comedy, know what I'm sayin'? Not a parody of slasha movies, mind -- it be a slasha film 'n it be a comedy, which be basically where everythin' falls down, man. Ratha than makin' a funny horror (a la Brain Dead/Dead Alive) or a scary comedy (see Shaun of da Dead), dat shit seems to just alternate between da two genres, which means yo' ass end wid half a slasha flick 'n half a comedy, 'n in da world of movies two halves do not necessarily add up to a whole.

Da slasha stuff be a total write-off -- it be one of da most generic, bog-standard examples of da genre I've seen (which would has been OK in a parody, where yo' ass make fun of all da standard cliches, but as Ah say, it be not a parody), know what I'm sayin'? About da only thin' dat shit gets right be da gratuitous female nudity, makin' dat shit about on a par wid Freddy vs, man. Jason on da horror movie scale n' shit. (And Freddy vs n' shit. Jason has betta special effects.)

So dat leaves da comedy, which also ain't up to much eitha -- partially because da amount of time they're busy bein' in a slasha film means there's less time to be funny; partially because da setup doesn't give 'em da same sort of openings as Supa Troopers did, man. ( Da whole point of dat one wuz dat you've gots a bunch of characters who be all so damn bored wid they job, they end up comin' up wid all sorts of inventive ways of amusin' themselves.) And partially because da script just ain't dat funny.

There be a few gems -- da live action Pac Muthafucka be a laugh, fo one -- 'n a few phat lines, like.., man. um.., man. well, Ah did laugh a few times, so there gots to has been some, man. But overall: bugger.

3 December, 2004

Excuses fo not updating:

  • Makin' t-shirts 'mo of a pain in da arse than you'd think.
  • Still tryin' to think of a way to make "Why, yo' ass annoyin' cocksucker" da world's next big ass catch phrase.
  • Distracted 'n puzzled by capoeria gay fuck showin' up in hotlogs again, know what I'm sayin'? Da first time, Ah just assumed dat shit wuz just someone's private in-joke/obscure fetish, know what I'm sayin'? But there dat shit be again: "capoeria gay fuck" - 29 November, 06:25:50 AM, man. Somewhere in Germany n' shit. Germany mocks me, know what I'm sayin'? And ain't dat shit "capoeira"?
  • So very, very tired.

27 November, 2004

Ah smell a new t-shirt design...

26 November, 2004

See, what dat shit is, be I've gots a 30-day trial of Flash, 'n da clock's ticking, know what I'm sayin'? So Ah has to make wid da updates while Ah can.

23 November, 2004

This updating business be a lark -- Ah gots to do dat shit 'mo often.

18 November, 2004

As seen on Novemba 9...

Da updating! Sweet Christ, when gots to dat shit stop?

13 November, 2004

An update, much like da last update, in dat it be an update, but different, in dat it be an update of somethin' different.

10 November, 2004

Well, dat shit looks like television be fucked, know what I'm sayin'? Reality TV has taken over, tanks to greed on da part of da corporations, 'n placid ignorance on da part of da discernin' viewa (there's a US election analogy in there somewhere, but who can be fucked?) Still, if yo' ass kain't beat 'em, set fire to 'em, Ah say n' shit. Here's ma pitch:

1967. Valerie Solanaz writes da SCUM manifesto1, in which tha byatch blames muthafuckas fo everythin' wrong wid da world, up to and including death 'n disease, know what I'm sayin'? A sample:

Da male be a biological accident: da Y (male) gene be an incomplete X (female) gene, dat is, dat shit has an incomplete set of chromosomes, know what I'm sayin'? In otha words, da male be an incomplete female, a walkin' abortion, aborted at da gene stage n' shit. To be male be to be deficient, emotionally limited; maleness be a deficiency disease 'n males be emotional cripples.
Da male be completely egocentric, trapped inside himself, incapable of empathizin' or identifyin' wid others, or love, friendship, affection or tenderness, know what I'm sayin'? Tha dude be a completely isolated unit, incapable of rapport wid anyone, know what I'm sayin'? Tha dude's responses be entirely visceral, not cerebral; tha dude's intelligence be a mere tool in da services of tha dude's drives 'n needs; tha dude be incapable of mental passion, mental interaction; tha dude kain't relate to anythin' otha than tha dude's own physical sensations, man. Tha dude be a half-dead, unresponsive lump, incapable of givin' or receivin' pleasure or happiness; consequently, tha dude be at best an utta bore, an inoffensive blob, since only those capable of absorption in others can be charming, man. Tha dude be trapped in a twilight zone halfway between humans 'n apes, 'n be far worse off than da apes because, unlike da apes, tha dude be capable of a phat array of negative feelings -- hate, jealousy, contempt, disgust, guilt, shame, doubt -- 'n moreover, tha dude be aware of what tha dude be 'n what tha dude isn't.

But tha byatch did shoot Andy Warhol, so tha byatch kain't has been all bad.

2001. Afta a strin' of pieces bangin' on about how da Female Void be a soulless parasite leechin' off da Male Light, Dave Sim, author of da decades-spanning, self-published Cerebus comic book series publishes Tangents, an epic tract on woman's total lack of reasonin' ability, all apparently stemmin' from tha dude's inability to get ova a wack divorce, know what I'm sayin'? Tha dude's pearls of wisdom include:

All Ah gots out of dat research, Ah already knew: a) hoes want to be raped by rich, muscular, handsome doctors b) hoes be completely self-absorbed and, thus, see themselves in everythin' around them...
To me, dat shit seems less a case of penis envy (Sigmund Freud havin' lived in altogetha 'n all chivalrous a time period fo such "plain talk" as Ah offa here) than dat shit be one of vagina abhorrence from da standpoint of da "would-be tenant" in contemplatin' a role as "owner-proprietor", know what I'm sayin'? Alas, fo reasons known only to our Creator, (almost exactly) half of us come out on da losin' end of da coin toss, know what I'm sayin'? If things seem pretty "even steven" (leavin' aside da fact dat a penis, self-evidently, constitutes an anatomical "presence" 'n a vagina, self-evidently, an anatomical "absence") ova da course of da first ten or eleven years in da life of a boy 'n a girl there does, alas, "come da day..."
As da comedienne, Rita Rudner, put it, "My husband 'n Ah just gots a dog, man. Now, he's not a child substitute, know what I'm sayin'? At least, that's what tha dude's pediatrician tells us." At one level -- yo' ass know, confined to da kitchen, da laundry room, da backyard -- howeva inherently stupid, there be a charming, amusin' 'n whimsical quality to dat -- less charming, less amusin' 'n less whimsical when one realizes dat hoes be out in da workforce now n' shit. Many of 'em occupy positions of authority n' shit. And they be allowed to vote.

2004. We put 'em in a house covered wid hidden cameras 'n make 'em perform chores 'n wacky challenges in orda to gain food, luxuries, 'n time in da "Rant Room", where one of 'em gets to spew they hysterical rantin' in front of a worldwide audience n' shit. Da jokes on them, though -- nobody can tell 'em apart!

On da tenth day, we give 'em knives.

It be Big Brother: Antithetical Fuckwits!! Assumin' we can get ova da minor hitch dat Solanas died in 1988, we're talkin' ratings gold here.

1 SCUM be an acronym of "Society fo Cuttin' Up Men", presumably because da "We Hate Stinky Boys" Club wuz already taken by ha six-year-old niece.

7 November, 2004

By da way: Buckled, got a Livejournal, man. Dat shit gots to be used fo da postin' of little things dat don't seem worth da hassle of updatin' dis place (since Ah can update da journal at work), 'n fo da makin' of oh-so-witty comments on others' journals, man. Go now, 'n be informed.

6 November, 2004

Small sticka stuck to da pole of a basketball hoop in a park in Auckland:

My camera phone doesn't handle close-up shots 'n all well, so here's a transcript:

Public Notice

All sick homo animals be aids carriers.
All sick quea animals be child molesters.
All sick faggot animals wuz raped by tha dude's own father.
All sick poofta animals had molested they own family.

Notes: Humans shall not associated wid sick homo animals.

With these things, Ah neva know whetha to be 'mo offended by da sentiment or da grammar, which be invariably shocking n' shit. Shame Ah neva gots a shot of da "Asians Go Home" grafitti near ma old flat, where da author had tried about three different ways of spellin' "Asians", 'n ended up wid somethin' like "Aisanians", know what I'm sayin'? I'd laugh, if dat shit weren't so pathetic, man. Naw hang on, that's precisely why Ah do laugh, man. A-haw!

2 November, 2004

High finance, eh? My understandin' of da stock market be dat there's crazy of people, none of whom actually has any real money, but all pretendin' they do, so dat shit all evens out sort of, until they can naw longa keep up da pretence 'n there's a crash, know what I'm sayin'? Or Ewan McGregor breaks da Barings Bank.

Whateva da real story is, dat shit kain't be much less infantile a fantasy world than da one Ah assume, goin' by da Groundhog Day-esque1 way in which market confidence rises 'n falls n' shit. Every day on da business news, yo' ass seem to hear "investors wuz cautious today afta a crow circled Wall Street backwards three times 'n a calf wuz born to a badga in Orkney", or "tradin' rose today on da back of some muthafucka Ah know who knows dis dude, who's like totally sure dat Telecom's goin' up", know what I'm sayin'? Most recent example: as Ah write, da votes fo Bush vs, know what I'm sayin'? Kerry: Didn't Yo' ass Kill My Bruvva? be still bein' counted, 'n Ah see this:

Da Dow Jones industrial average dropped 18.66 points, afta bein' up as much as 100 points, know what I'm sayin'? "It be da unofficial word of Democratic wins on da internet blogs dat be draggin' da market lowa suddenly," a New York trada said.

Blog rumours affectin' da Dow Jones -- Ah wonda how they'll react when unicornbabe384 says she's goin' to dump darkbloodnightraven76 'n sell ha collection of Buffy DVDs? Still, Ah guess da suggestion dat insignificant bloggers has actual powa afta all be kind of nice n' shit. With dat in mind:

KERRY'S WINNING! NO, BUSH! BUSH!! SELL OIL! INVEST IN CLEANING PRODUCTS! BUY PORK! BUY IT!! BUY, YOU CAPITALIST FUCKS!!

Let's see what havoc dat wreaks n' shit. Some, naw doubt.

1 Da holiday, not da movie - as far as I'm aware, Andie MacDowell has naw effect on da stock markets.

1 November, 2004

Went to da Goth Ball on Saturday night, know what I'm sayin'? Not normally ma cup of antisocial tea, but the folks organizin' it be well deservin' of support, 'n plenty of folks Ah know wuz there, know what I'm sayin'? Ah even made da token effort of buyin' a pair of shoes 'n dyin' ma hair fo it n' shit. Black numba 1, of course.

Ah be teh goth.

While not out late by da standards of Today's Youth, Ah still lost a bit of sleep, 'n spent an unhealthy portion of Sunday flopped in front of da TV watchin' whateva shit wuz on, know what I'm sayin'? Also, Little Shop of Horrors, which wuz considerably 'mo fabulous than Ah remember, man. Watchin' dat film transports yo' ass back to a magical time; a time when John Candy wuz still alive 'n Steve Martin wuz still funny, know what I'm sayin'? A time when "bicuspid" wuz rhymed wid "maladjusted", resultin' in possibly da best lyric in any song anywhere ever.

Oh, 'n while I'm at it: Ah Love Egg, know what I'm sayin'? Yes.

1 November, 2004

Take that, August to October!