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October 2004
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No Ordinary Morning
By Michael - 11:52 PM, Wednesday, October 20, 2004 - 10 Comments |
SCHLARP. SCROOUUUUGUGUG. SHLAP-SHLAP-SHLAP.
“Fucking go you motherfucker.”
SWUBBA. WUB-SHLICK. WUB-SHLICK. WUB-SHLICK.
“Get down there. Jesus suffering fuck, get down there you filthy bitch… oh Christ that’s unpleasant.”
GLARG-SHAUUSHP. The room spins around me as the sordid sounds emanate from arms reach. Even the simple thought of a grease infusion from Hungry Jacks helps only in raising my bile further. The harsh daylight pelts in on this dire morning scene, magpies singing their morning song in the clean outside air. No doubt they’re singing about my plight.
FWUPPA-FWARBLE. It wasn’t bad enough that all this had happened in the first place. It wasn’t even punishment enough that everyone got to see it before the morning came. What topped it off was the fact that I had to get Miles to drive me to K-Mart the next day to buy appropriate tools to take care of things.
It all began with such promise: a slab of beer; poker chips; two decks of cards; Gatorade; Red Bulls; hell, we even had classy cigars. Events unfolded like any other drunken night at a friend’s place – good times, good food, bad jokes, and open encouragements to pull each others’ fingers. But then the incident occurred, like a fat arse in a tight dress, bringing proceedings to an overall pear shape.
SHLICK SPLURR-POISH. As dry retch number six comes on, a carefree streak of excrement spatters just below my left elbow and begins its short dribble into my rubber glove. Carrying on with this objectionable new visit from Mr. E. Coli, and with as much dignity as Paris Hilton on camera, I struggle to form a seal beneath this freshly brewed and highly opaque soup du turd (the only soup aside from gazpacho to be served cold). It crosses the back of my mind that a man is somewhat humbled when he is up to his elbows in his own liquid shit.
Why we thought it would be a good idea is beyond me, but upon cleaning a spilled drink with paper towels, we flushed them down the toilet. Naïve old Michael was obviously next in the loo. The expression on my face must have been priceless as I flushed and watched the water level rise relentlessly beyond the rim, my crap swimming around excitedly, probably hoping to make a break for dry land.
Just thinking about it now brings the emotion flooding back, which by coincidence, is the exact opposite of what I want this fucking S-bend to do right now. With some difficulty, I jam the plunger down, Excalibur into the stone.
SLUCKA-SLUCKA SLLLOOOOOOOOOO-OOOOOOOOP. With an enthusiastic goodbye, the blockage dislodges, and I watch the fruits of my labour drain away. The next half hour is spent sanitising the toilet, and thinking of how I can retain a shred of self-esteem amongst my friends.
What can we all learn from this story, my friends? The answer is simple: Shit in the shower. (Mash it down with your toes.) |
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Australians: Please vote for Howard
By Adam - 6:28 AM, Saturday, October 9, 2004 - 6 Comments
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I want to buy AU$200 skates from the US. If the ALP wins, the Australian dollar will drop and my skates will cost AU$300. Therefore:
VOTE HOWARD VOTE HOWARD VOTE HOWARD VOTE HOWARD VOTE HOWARD
VOTE HOWARD VOTE HOWARD VOTE HOWARD VOTE HOWARD VOTE HOWARD
VOTE HOWARD VOTE HOWARD VOTE HOWARD VOTE HOWARD VOTE HOWARD
VOTE HOWARD VOTE HOWARD VOTE HOWARD VOTE HOWARD VOTE HOWARD
VOTE HOWARD VOTE HOWARD VOTE HOWARD VOTE HOWARD VOTE HOWARD
Thank you.
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