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by Phoenix


December 28, 2012 in Uncategorized

I cannot explain to you the rage I have when you’re dead tired and trying to sleep and people are blasting their music at 1am when you have to go to work the next morning.

I use the word “music” lightly.  It was more like some drum and bass SHIT! As if an epileptic had fallen into a pool full of strobe lights and instruments… or some sort of early New year celebrations in a village in rural Congo… the type of music they play to keep frisky gorillas at bay…

Either way it was making me ears bleed and fucking me off!

*looks at watch*

*flips over*

*jams pillow over face*

*cant breath*

*removes aforementioned pillow and imagines all the wicked smotherings I could do with it… or yes, yes, boiling oil…. That’s what that DJ deserves… boiling. Fucking. Oil. All. Over. His. Dick.*

*flips over*

*looks at Dalekins*

Me: “Are they fucking kidding me!!!!! Please fix it Dalekins, call the cops… or the SWAT team…. or the Broedersbond… or the Freedom Front…. Cant… take … it… need… sleeeeeep!”

Dalekins: “Don’t worry Tash… I’ve got this!”

*switches on his iPad*


*eyes get raped by shards of light*

Me: *covers eyes* Sweet baby Jesus man what the fuck are you doing!?”

Dalekins: “I’m going to sort us I told you!”

Me: “By doing what!! Making the room brighter than the fucking sun?? It’s 2am… now I have shit fucking music and it’s bright as fuck in here!”

*Dalekins glares at me, gets out of bed and stomps off to the bathroom with his iPad*

Me: “Oh great, I’m in a crisis here, and your idea of fixing this is to go do a number two while reading War and Peace on the loo!”

*flips over and over as if I’m being exorcised*

*Dalekins comes stomping back into the room slams his iPad down and gets back into bed*

Swish… Swishh… swishhhhh

*sits up*

Me: “what is THAT noise now?”

Dalekins: “It’s the ocean!”

Me: “sorry?”

Dalekins: “It’s the oceannnnnnnn… it’s white noise I downloaded it to try drown out the Zulu warriors having their circumcision party next door!”

Me: *blink blink* Dale… that does not sound like the effing ocean… it sounds like a running toilet!!! And when did you become such a racist!! Downloading WHITE noise to drown out Zulu warriors! Wow Dale, just… wow.”

Dalekins: “What. The. Fuck… I am NOT a racist, have you lost your mind!? It’s just CALLED white noise because… ”

Me: “ Just, just… urrrrgh, let’s try get some sleep!”

Dalekins: “Fine!!”

10 minutes later…

Me: “Dalekins *whisper* Your ocean is making me want to pee.”

…Upon hindsight I should be grateful he didn’t download “Whales mating in the Antarctic”.

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R.I.P Little Scarlet

August 16, 2012 in Uncategorized

We lost a family member yesterday.  Our beautiful little Scarlet.

I say “lost” but that wouldn’t be the right word, because that would imply that we had a hand in losing you, and that there would be a chance that you could be found. But there is no chance of that happening, so I’ll rather say that you were taken from us yesterday.

You were handed to us yesterday in a plastic packet by a neighbor who said he found you lying on the grass, I’m sorry for that because you aren’t a piece of rubbish and you being put in a bag hurt me more than anything.  But I guess what else could he do.

We don’t know whether it was poison or if a car took you, but I hope with all my heart that you didn’t suffer, that you went quickly and with no pain and that you were not scared.

I am not writing this for sympathy, or for anyone else’s benefit besides Dales and mine, in the hopes, and stupidly so, I know, that putting this down on paper and putting it out in the universe, somehow, you’ll hear it, see it, know that when we heard and saw you yesterday that it completely shattered us.

I know a lot of people cannot relate, and when hearing you have lost your pet, they look at your pain and reaction and wonder what’s the fuss about.  As if you’ve just misplaced a set of car keys.

But you were much more, you were a member of our family, and you deserve every last tear that we are shedding for you, and there have been a lot, and there still will be.  Know that. We feel your loss as if you had been a human family member that we had just lost, there is no distinction in our eyes.

We are completely and utterly devastated, and miss you and all your nonsense so much already.

Sleeping stretched out and horizontal between Dale and I at night, so much so that we haven’t been able to actually spoon each other in the year and a half since you’ve been in our family.  And you loved that! Dale spooned you instead of me every night.  He would even end up sleeping on the very edge of the bed, with no covers because “I didn’t want to move her, shame she also needs her sleep” – used to infuriate me.

But last night when Dale sat straight up in bed, with his hand on the covers between us and when I asked him what’s wrong, he said “nothing” and lay back down again, but I know he was feeling around for you, and it was the lack of you there and the pain that brought that woke him. And just for that I would never have complained about you hogging the bed ever again if we could just have you back there.

You yelling at me for breakfast in the mornings.  Because apparently the louder you shout at me the faster I can get your food in your bowl.

Climbing Dale’s leg when he didn’t give you attention, RIGHT AWAY!

Hiding under the bathroom mat, lying in wait, for one of us, unsuspecting, to walk into the bathroom so you could pounce. FYI: We could always see you, but humoured you anyway.

The way you would cry for us outside pretending to want to come inside but when we opened the door you’d always make us beg, or come out and literally FETCH you like a real little madam!

You were our boss, typical cat.

Dale carried your collar in his pocket the whole day yesterday, and hid your favourite ball when he got home because he couldn’t bear to look at it.

I couldn’t close the window you jumped in because, what if, what if we’d made a horrible mistake, how would you get in?

Know that that is what you meant to us, how much we loved you.  You were never just a pet to us.

You were a good cat, the sweetest little thing and I hope that in the year and half that we had you, that you had an awesome life.

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by Phoenix

50 Shades of Grey

July 31, 2012 in Uncategorized

How oh How can I not have written about 50 Shades of Grey yet? The Horror!

Now unless you live under a rock you would have heard about this book series by now. Or the jokes that follow it… “I got banned from Exclusive Books the other day for moving the “Wet Floor” sign away from the 50 Shades of Grey section…”

Described as “Mommy Porn” for some bizarre reason of which I don’t understand because frankly I don’t think ejecting a child from your vagina should elicit it’s own genre of books and if it does, well then by God I want a genre for untainted vagina’s!

Our vagina’s have the right to read too!

Anyhoo, if you are a woman and have not read this book yet, then I’m afraid we’re going to have to vote you off the island.

This book series is like Mills and Boons but instead of throbbing members and flowering petals you have whips, chains and butt plugs. BUTT PLUGS people, it’s like the Encyclopedia Britannica, if the Encyclopedia Britannica was about Nipple clamps and all things Bondage-y!

Why are all women in the world becoming completely obsessed with this book? Well because it’s the absolute impossible scenario.  Shit like this doesn’t happen in the real world.

A man who takes charge! Chicks dig that. Unless you’re telling us to do dishes or make you a sandwich because well then fuckyouverymuch.

A Gorgeous, 27 year old Billionaire with mommy issues and a craving for a bit of slap and tickle, falls for a girl who worked in a hardware store and does absolutely everything in his power to get her including buying her an Audi R8, a wardrobe of designer clothes, flies her around in a helicopter, laptops, phones, oh yes and gives her the best orgasms she’s ever had. Ever. Everrrrrrrrrrrr.

Sounds awful.

And all he wants in return…? To spank her.

Boo fucking hoo Anastasia Steele.

Only in a book would this cause any woman to have an existential crisis.  Who am I? Do I mind being spanked? Should I walk away from all of this because he occasionally wants to stick something up my bottom?


Problems I have with this book and why it’s different to my life:

  • She’s a virgin.  It’s like spotting a unicorn with a rainbow coming out of it’s butt.
  • She doesn’t like to eat. No comment… here… hold my chips.
  • She says “Oh My…” a lot! Shut. The. Hell. Up. Yes he’s trying to stick metal bowling balls that vibrate up your hoo-hooo but really? Sacrifices!! It’s just like going to the gynae people, only difference is that he’s gorgeous, you know him, it feels good and he doesn’t tap you on the tummy and say “Let’s see what’s in my Christmas box!” (Incidentally, I no longer go to that gynae!)
  • She allows a man to spank her really hard, and then bursts into tears. Shamepies. If Dalekins had to attempt spanking me on the arse without my express permission I’d junk punch him so hard our great grandchildren would still have a slight indentation on their foreheads!
  • He ties her up with his best grey tie.  If Dalekins had to try tying me up with one of his best ties, I’d have to kill the proceedings immediately because being tied up with something that he got when he was 16 and still has batman on it just doesn’t do it for me. That… and I’d be all about the …”You better make these knots loose, and for the love of God you’re not tying the Winchester properly!! It’s round, round and through the hoop Dale!! Dale… DALE… where are you going… I’m still tied to the bed *hisssssssssssss*”

Otherwise this series is completely decadent, indulgent and a must read and will make you feel like you have kicked a bag of puppies when you finish it.

Unless that wouldn’t make you sad.

In which case… you sicko.

They’re making the movie now.  My vote goes for this Christian Grey!


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by Phoenix


July 23, 2012 in Uncategorized

I really need to stop drinking like a HOBO.

*wakes up on Sunday morning after “naughty schoolgirl / schoolboy party” on Saturday night*

*covers face with pillow*

Me: Oh God Dale, why do I remember dropping a big brass owl into everyone’s drinks last night?

Dalekins: Um… because you WERE dropping a big brass owl into everyone’s drinks???

Me: What the fuuuuuuuuuuuuuuck! why would I do that? Who would even give me an owl to play with??!

Dalekins:  Um, no one GAVE you the owl Tash.  We are all standing around admiring it on the shelf, laughing about how all our parents own the exact same owl as an ornament, you whipped it off the shelf, and started dropping it into people’s drinks and then yelling “Owl see you later” and the more booze that splashed out of everyone’s drinks when you dropped it in the more you would laugh.

Me: *covers face with pillow*

Dalekins: No man, don’t be embarrassed, everyone thought it was a total…hoot.

*blink blink*

Me: Oh Goddddddddd, I am never being invited to that house again!! Today it’s taking a brass owl and baptizing peoples beverages, tomorrow it’s peeing on people’s couches!! THAT’S how this progresses Dale!! Why didn’t you stop me??

Dalekins: *cough* Because you moved on to bigger better things shortly after you smashed Derricks glass by dropping your owl into it…

Me: Unf.

Dalekins: … and then you proceeded to stick your finger in all my friends’ drinks and then yell “HAAAAAAAA if you drink that you’ve technically touched my VAGINA!!”

…and then fought with Greg because he said he didn’t want to drink his drink anymore.  I think it went along the lines of “What the hell is wrong with my vagina??”

You were very offended.

*blink blink*

And you kept arguing until he told you that it wasn’t your vagina that was the problem but the fact that it had technically at some stage touched MY penis.

You were very pleased with yourself after the explanation.


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by Phoenix

Who ate all the pies…

June 26, 2012 in Uncategorized

You know, someone should really warn you when you’re a kid to really appreciate the good things in life, and by good things, I mean being able to eat an entire bag of fizzers, 2 cakes, a bag of Flings and chug a steri stumpie like a homesick mole everyday and still manage to look like a string bean.

I hate kids and their stupid fast metabolisms. And men too, with their stupid ability to eat all the pies and still stay the same weight… What. The. Fuck. Is. Up. With. That.

My problem is I like food.  And food likes me.  A lot.

Unfortunately for my sins, my parents bestowed upon me, hypothyroidism.  Fabulous.  Just another reason (besides my dodgy ape like toes) why they should never have bonked because not only do I now have a metabolism that is as fast as snails stampeding through peanut butter, but also the potential to have my ticker explode in my chest. At any time… (You should buy me lots of presents to prove you love me before I die suddenly. Go!  – Coincidentally, this never works on Dalekins – I think it’s because he really wants me to die, I know this because at the movies on Sunday, he pretended to push me down the escalators, giggled hysterically and then asked if he was my main beneficiary on all my policies *frowns*)

Me: No sir, you are Not!! Yes he is.


So I asked Google to define: Hypothyroidism and have come to the conclusion that Google is a complete fucktard. (I really need to add “fucktard” to my Dictionary in Word, it keeps telling me I am spelling it wrong, and it would slot nicely under “fuckknuckle I think – No wait, it’s telling me Fuckknuckle is also not spelt correctly… What the Hell WORD, you are not the boss of me and you will not dictate how I spell shit! )


Abnormally low activity of the thyroid gland, resulting in retardation of growth and mental development.


Well number 1 Google you BITCH, there is absolutely nothing wrong with my mental development thankyouverymuch. Just because I am obscenely bad at puzzles and Tetris does not prove ANYTHING! Who the fuck plays Tetris anyways, that game was sent here by people who just want to watch the world burn!


I have many smartypant type talents, like… I am a Singstar queen! I can croon ABBA like no one else, and THAT takes some mental development let me tell you, because they’re Swedish (???) and it’s very hard getting their accents right in the songs… you try singing “Fernandoooooooo” clearly an Italian name, with a Swedish accent but in English people!

Annnd number 2! “retardation of growth” ?? more of an explosion of growth… around the buttocks area!

So you see… proper fucked I am.

Perfect. Weight gain, water retention and poor muscle tone. So much to look forward to.  So I too can look like a stringbean one day, only the chubby limp one that you find in the back of your fridge after 6 months. (Fucksakes people, clean your fridges more often!)

It’s fucking annoying I’ll have you know. Because don’t get me wrong, yes I have a thyroid issue, but it’s not that that is making me fat, it’s all the fucking cake I eat…. And possibly the 50 brandies and coke I drink every weekend.

No, no, definitely just the cake.

I can only blame my thyroid for making it absolutely impossible to get the weight off in any normal span of time.

Orrrrrrrrrr I can blame the Universe. The fucking bitch… you cannot screw me forever because I drove over a bag of bunnies or some shit in my previous life. Why the fuck were they in a bag anyways? Who does that!

So I have decided because my exercise regime (yes, I DO have one, I box, and no I don’t mean I work for DHL) and eating good-ish during the week is not helping me lose weight , I am resorting to more extreme measures.

Liposuction. Only I cannot afford the regular variety, so I have decided to Google a lot (even though Google and I aren’t really talking anymore since it called me stupid and mentally retarded) and find out how to make my own lipo machine using household items.

There will be a vacuum cleaner and a tube from a fishtank in there somewhere I am sure.

Now I just need to convince Dalekins to punch me repeatedly on the butt until I have a lame arse and I’ll be good to go.

P.S Bit of a lame post.  Stop whining! Here’s a picture of ginger pig to make you feel better.


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by Phoenix

You have a horse stuck where?

June 19, 2012 in Uncategorized

Why do people never take me seriously when I say I want a pony for my birthday?

To be fair, people don’t often take me seriously, period. For my last birthday I asked for a yacht and I got flowers and a cheese grater.

I have learnt to swallow my tears.

The last time I told someone I wanted a pony , he brought me a plastic horse from a toy shop that was made in china, I can tell because the reins looked like they were made from actual seal  or panda fur and was probably painted with asbestos! I may die…  However, I love him, his name is Chester and he has pride of place on my coffee table whenever Greggles visits. (Otherwise he gets locked up in a cupboard far away from any guests – he too has learnt to swallow his little asbestos tears)!

But HIM I cannot ride because, well he’s hard, small, plastic and will injure my vagina should I attempt to do that Jump-up-on-the-saddle thing you always see in the movies, and I am NOT keen on visiting the emergency room and asking to have a horse’s head removed from my bits!

But alas, how awesome would it be to actually have a pony, or a mini horse. You could put a wee saddle on it, buy a sexy cowgirl outfit and ride / squat on it and try keep up with it while it tries to buck and throw you off because you’ve had too many Kit Kats in your life and it’s trying to save it’s own spine, while swinging your lasso around your head screaming “Lets Riddddddddddde!!!”

Man oh man, the fun I would have.

Until your horse grows up into a full horse because that’s what I assume mini horses do… eventually (God I hope so because squatting on a horse and running like you have a watermelon between your bum cheeks to make it LOOK like you’re riding on the thing is only going to give me wobbly legs.

If my horse grew big, that would be cool too.  I could patrol our backyard, and I would technically be taller than the surrounding walls.  I could peer into the next door neighbour’s yard, tip my cowboy hat and ask my sunbathing neighbor whether he has a permit for that Speedo.

Neighbour: “I do not, nor will I get a permit to wear a Speedo in my own yard!! And how are you so TALL?!”

Me: Well in that case sir! *leans over and hands him his citation scribbled on the back of the dstv guide*

Neighbour: *frowns* “You want me to pay you, in carrots.”

Me: “Sir Worthington-Comes-with-The-Thunder likes carrots and someone has to be punished for you waving your pork and beans around like that!”

…. Or is it apples they like? Fuck knows… I better do my research.

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Like being kicked in the Va-jay-jay everyday!

June 14, 2012 in Uncategorized

Waking up and getting out of bed in the cold this morning was, hmmm, how can I put this eloquently… like getting fuckslapped by a frozen snoek! A snoek…. With bad intentions! With their beady black eyes and stupid… bones… and fins and stuff.

Don’t know if you noticed, but I am not in the mood to do anything besides stay in my pyjamas today, possibly with a frozen marghuerita in one hand, and a cup of Milo in the other (because life is all about balance people!)

But nooooooooo, I must earn a salary to keep the wolverines from my door, and now I just feel like beating people with a potato sack full of SYPHILIS because THAT’S what happens when you make me get out of bed when I. Don’t. Want. To!

I need a serious life change, because there is something very wrong with waking up every morning and doing that toddler type vloermoer where your back arches and you beat the bed with your fists while wailing “why don’t you just kick me right in the vagina Universe!!” Fuuuuuuuck.

Dalekins: *takes a sip of coffee*

Dalekins: “Are we going to do this every morning?”

Me: “Just… go on without me Dale.” *brings hand up out of under duvet and waves him away without looking up*

There has got to be more joy here.

Why can’t I ever wake up like those chicks in the mattress ads, all smiley with flowy dresses on and shit, looking like they just can’t wait to take on the day. Well either they’re really ready to take on the day or they have just had a number 2 of epic proportions… I decide this on my mood at the time.

I need a good idea for a book so I can write it, give up my day job, get stinking rich, live in a castle and all I HAVE to do all day is swim in my fucking money and play with my pet tiger Squishy. Either that or Dalekins needs to work harder so I can become a lady of leisurrrrre! But every time I say that to him he starts looking around for blunt objects and that makes me well… sad that I forgot to stipulate that in our pre-nup. (Next time!)

Why won’t you give me a good idea for a book Universe, Whyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyy!!!

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Priscilla – Queens of the Desert

May 30, 2012 in Uncategorized

Admit it now.  Every one of us at some stage has had some sort of inclination to cross dress.  Some of you may actually be wearing your wife’s frilly knickers as we speak!

Don’t be shy about it. (Just remember: The thin thong part goes to the back, up your bum basically, not to the front, it’s not there to separate your balls.)

Granted, most of our little fantasies are light hearted and to be done in jest, or at least that’s what your boyfriend told you when you walked in on him wearing your Wonderbra and looking at his tucked in pecker with your make up mirror.

But if someone had told me that on Saturday I would be dressed up in a suit, and Dale in a wedding dress that was so short that every time he breathed out, his balls would peek out like little moles coming up for air, I would have said NAY! This cannot be!

I have sat Dale down on numerous occasions and made him watch The Crying Game from the exact point where the guy finds out his girlfriend (in the sexy dress) has a bigger willy than his (1hr, 12 minutes and 37 seconds) and Dale acted suitably distressed (tried to stick a pencil in his forehead while trying to poke out his mind’s eye screaming “For the love of God get it out of my headddddddddddddd!!)

So HOW did we find ourselves in this little conundrum…

We took part in a charity event on Saturday, a treasure hunt of sorts – granted it was more of a race for clues than a treasure hunt, which disappointed me greatly because I had my knuckledusters and shovel ready to blat anyone out of the way in order to dig up the Gucci handbags that they had peppered all over Hatfield. Treasure you say? I am on it like a homesick mole!

Again, no treasure, just clues and answers that we needed to collect.  And I SUCK at riddles!

I can’t even do a 10 piece puzzle,  and now you want to know the square root of a hypotenuse angle multiplied by a prime, then get that answer and it’ll be the number on the taxi driving past at approximately 12pm.  In 1998 this taxi driver’s wife left a significant ingredient out of her mothers bobotie… what was that ingredient?


So anyhoo, each team of 10 people had to dress up in a theme, ours was “The Lesbian bridal party”.  We looked AMAZEBALLS!!

We had 2 brides, 2 bridesmaids and a mother-in-law, all men dressed in drag.  Which was a disturbing sight to walk behind I am not going to lie.  Hairy legs and armpits, bulges in the crotchal area.  And I am amazed at how men begin to walk when you put them in a dress. Almost as if they have to throw their legs AROUND their ginormous testicles.

It’s ok lads… no need to walk like you have had a watermelon forced up your rectum. We know you are not actually girls, because, well, you have a beard…

Some even wore stockings.  You’d think there was some sort of drag queen bucket list they were ticking off, because there was absolutely no need to wear sheer stockings was there?

“It makes the dress look better”

“Really? But your dress is long”

“It makes my pumps not hurt my feet”

“You know what pumps are?”

*blink blink*

We even had a priest (who every time he walked outside kept looking nervously up to the sky expecting a thunderbolt to fuck slap him for disrespecting the cloth!) – But we lost him early on in the game when the team of “Lustful Nuns” came running past… all we heard was “I must tend to my flockkkkkk” and off he went.

Anyhoo, the girls had to dress like best men.  Suits, bow ties, suspenders, the works.

Now I always imagined that as a man, I would look more like this:

Sadly this was not to be, I just ended up looking like Riaan Cruywagen!

Now I don’t know if you have ever cross dressed before, but take my advice, as a woman if you are a fan of your guava and I am, Do NOT ever wear suspenders.  EVER.

Now I’m sure back in the day suspenders had their place in the world, for men, who didn’t own belts.  All they did for me however was pull my pants up to just about under my chin giving me a rather pissed off vagina on the verge of a camel toe that I will probably never recover from.  Actually what’s worse than a camel toe…?

A Moose knuckle?

That was just the first fun part of wearing those suspenders.  The part which I found particularly fun, was when going for a wee and unclipping the suspenders so I could sit down, having them fly off my shoulders like snapped elastic bands and landing right in the toilet bowl behind me.

Oh fuck my life!!

*turns around* *eyes the suspenders swimming around the toilet bowl*

*yanks wet belt*

*clip catches on toilet rim*

*yanks harder*

*yank yank yank*

*Suspender unhooks from rim of toilet shoots up and spunks me right in the eye drenching me in Hatfiled-movie-house-toilet- water*



*wipes face*

*throws suspenders in the bin* You’re dead to me muddafuckers!


So anyway, we ran around the streets of Hatfield, the “girls” getting a surprising amount of whistles and cat calls, shaking tins trying to collect money for charity.

I STILL don’t know what charity we were collecting for to be honest. For all I know we were shaking our cans to collect money for a new west wing on the organizers yacht in the Bahamas or for his wife’s new boob job.

But regardless of not knowing who we were collecting for, I used some typical examples to try cover my bases:

1)      I am collecting money for starving children *shake shake*

2)      I am collecting money for kicked puppies *shake shake*

3)      Give me money and I WONT kick a puppy  *shake shake**shake shake*

4)      Give these puppies money *shake boobs* and I won’t kick you *shake shake**shake shake*

5)      I need an operation to get these pants out of my vagina *shake shake**shake shake*

A fun day was had by all, but after a significant amount of drinking and constantly trying to pull my pants out of my qwaukkie, we eventually went home so I could hang up my fake testicles for the day and so that I could try and make amends with my vagina.

Funnily enough, when I chose to immediately put some lingerie on to wipe away the memories of the day, Dalekins stayed in his white wedding dress and longingly gazed at my lacy number.

And NOT in a “you look HOT” way, more in a “that fabric looks so soft and appealing, I wonder what I would look like in a red version…?”

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by Phoenix

She Lives…

May 24, 2012 in Uncategorized

So I haven’t written a blog post since the 80’s. I blame Dalekins… as a muse, I feel that he should be offering me more material than he has been.  There has been no slamming of bollocks in a door, or getting so drunk that he takes out what he assumes to be a bag of ice and slams it repeatedly on the floor until someone has to go over and whisper “Dale… that’s a bag of frozen calamari, it’s going to make our drinks smell like a whorehouse.  We asked for ice” (No offense to whore houses.  I’m sure your premises smell quite lovely. )

Nothing of the sort…

I can’t work under these conditions.

And God knows I can’t be my own muse because I’m boring as fuck.  Ok no wait.  I am AWESOME. As a matter of fact if I were an animal, I’d be a unicorn / possum combo. I’d pee glitter and poo rainbows. I’d be able to hang upside down from a tree and poke you in the vagina with my horn if you made me narfy. But I am just too darn modest to write about my own escapades.

I wonder if one could buy a possum on eBay.  How awesome would that be!! He could sleep in bed with us!

Screw you eBay.

Anyhoo, this isn’t much of a blog post, just thought I’d let everyone know I am STILL alive considering that I got this sent to me today. Well played.

So anyways, while I write an actual blog post, here is a picture of a possum on a snowboard.  Because they are THAT fucking awesome.



P.S I tagged the word “whore” to this post… I want to see the stats of how many pervs are going to click on this blog while searching for “whores”, and then find a snowboarding possum.

Funny. As. Poop.

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Ah Rats!

March 8, 2012 in Uncategorized

So I think the zombie apocalypse is upon us and you all need to arm yourselves with whatever is to the left of you so we can fight them off.

*looks left*

Hmmm a prestic snowman that a friend made for me… I’m fucked!

Anyhoo I need to share my trauma with you and why I think my colleagues are all heartless zombies who like nothing better than to eat people’s brains and kill stuff! (I may be exaggerating just a little… about the brains).

So there’s been a bad smell wafting around my office the last 2 days, like dead moose bad… so after thinking some sort of creature has died outside under our window, imagine our joy at noticing some flies stuck to the ceiling.

Like they’re really interested to get in there… like a homesick mole.

So with much dread I alert emergency services (Barrie – our go to cleaner guy) who comes over with what can only be called a midget ladder. Like the ones at the circus that the clowns jump off into little pools… or not… either way it was pathetic and after climbing on it he was still only tall enough to look into my belly button (We need ADULT ladders people!).

So he gets up there, loosens the ceiling board… and RATS, RAT BABIES raining on my head!!!!!!!!!


And then I noticed that some were dead and others were still kind of alive. The poor things!

Ye ye screw you guys that are going to give me shit, baby rats are cute OK! They look a little like a Joey before it develops the big fuck off kick-you-in-the-guava-feet!

And I’m all like, “For the love of God save them someone do something… do mouth to mouth!!”

And all my colleagues were doing was shouting… KILL THEM KILL THEM!

So I ran upstairs for sympathy, and all I got upstairs from my wide eyed pitchfork holding colleagues was “good, they must dieeeeeeeeeeeeee! All dieeeeeeeee! They stink!”

Well, if YOU had to shit on the ceiling boards, you wouldn’t smell that peachy either! It’s not their fault they’re rats!

The trauma! Rat baby rain…

I need to be stabbed in the eye by a rainbow now :( Nothing else could make me feel better!

P.S. Taking a sick day tomorrow… The Black Plague.

P.P.S I know I know, this was a terrible post, but here’s a picture to make you feel better.