How to Lose Friends and Disinterest People.

I am incredibly unpopular. In fact I am so unpopular this blog by analogy is similar to Chuck Noland, played by Tom Hanks in Cast Away. I am the oscar winning Hanks of course (albeit a younger, less attractive version), but this blog is Wilson, my blood-smeared beach volleyball. Though it serves a purpose, it is not something that people look at and say: "well that guy has it all together... The beach volleyball merely represents existentialist angst and is an artistic expression coming from one of the greatest minds of our generation... He therefore does not need kindred spirits, for they would limit his intellectual scope on the world. What a way to live. I'm truly jealous... And look at those abs! Malnutrition has done wonders for Chuck Noland aka Tom Hanks".

No. People do not say that. Instead they say: "look at that guy carrying the volley ball around talking to it, that guy is fruitier than bat-poo... Oh my goodness, is he actually trying to feed it!? He'd probably not look like he was starving to death if he didn't keep trying to spoon feed a volley ball half of that raw fish, seaweed and sand he could be eating."

Sure they blur the lines between fiction and reality, but they still show acumen in their observations of Tom Hanks/Chuck Noland and his volleyball/me and my blog. I don't want these things for my life. I don't want my good friend Wilson the blog to be treated with such perniciousness. So I have opted for change and self improvement. That is why I have picked up the book How to Win Friends and Influence People from my local library! A wealth of knowledge of how to charm people already started to enter me purely by osmosis before even reading the book. Reading the cover alone made me more popular! I had one library attendant actually look me in the eye*! The book is a success!

Within the book it teaches and trains how to win friends (obviously) and as I have looked around I see that there are potential friends EVERYWHERE.... YOU could be one right now!** I even noticed the other day that some people don't even NEED to know the person for them to be friends with someone. This is quite a radical idea, and it isn't even in the book! Let me explain:

After church the other night upon cornering a couple and forcing them to sit down and have dinner with my girlfriend and I (I shall call them Jack & Jill), we had an old friend (I shall call her Sonya) approach us from school to serve us. As it turned out we all knew her from school, but it was Jill, Jack's girlfriend that Sonya was interested in talking to. They talked for a little while, getting along, discussing the old times, the good times, times that they had shared together. They laughed, and we sat and watched, nodding politely and smiling, having no idea what they were talking about but wanting to be polite as we listened in on a couple of old friends' conversation. Sonya took our order, smiled one last time at Jill and left. It was at this point Jill turned to us and asked "Who the heck was that girl?. As it turned out Jill had never seen Sonya before in her life, had not attended the same school and really had no idea where Sonya was getting the idea she was old friends with Jill from. But Jill's little con worked and I marveled at how easy it was to not only MAKE friends, but to convince people that you have BEEN friends for the last 16 years without either one of you ever having met the other.

Now THAT is what being friends is all about! Lies, dishonesty and cunning in an attempt to fool people. This book may have won hundreds of awards and been named as one of the greatest books of all time, but I very much doubt Dale Carnegie ever pulled such a swifty. His thoughts of being kind, considerate, never harsh or critical and very complimentary are quite good, but friendships need very much to be based on lies, deceit and criminal dealings at times to work a real treat in this day and age.

So with that I bid you adieu, for I am off to find friends... Good luck in your friend hunting too.



* Or they at least acknowledged that I had eyes when they shouted: "Stop looking at me like that you freaking unpopular weirdo!!!", so they must've looked at my eyes at some point... Though her head was turned as she yelled it, as though she was trying to look away from the sun or something hideous, and I was looking at a slightly wilted fern on the library counter also at the time...

** This would mean so much more if people actually read my blog... but in-case I fool some Germans into thinking this blog is educational again (quite a few of them stumbled upon the blog I wrote entitled "My mental illness", hopefully then deciding to not reference it in any academic writing!) I have kept the idea that someone COULD one day read this.

Survival Situations and Me.

Hey you! Yes you, I see you there... Here's a question you've always asked yourself but never known the answer to... What do you get when you cross Rambo with Batman then if Chuck Norris, Steven Seagal and Jacki Chan were to have a love child, meet Batbo (or Ram-man... or Rambat....) and then procreate? Well what would you get?... You would get me my friends. Let me explain...

I am a survival expert. Ever heard of Bear Grylls? Possibly could be that I taught him everything he knows... Impressed? There's more... Ever heard of Bruce Lee? I taught him how to do that kick thing where he kicks people really hard... Ever heard of Jean Claude Van Damme? I've seen some of his movies (he didn't turn in any Oscar worthy performances, but overall he contributed effectively to the action genre in the early to mid 90s). Ever heard of Val Riazanov? NO!?!? Neither had I until I google searched his name looking for awesome people to pretend to know and have taught something to.... Anyway, whether I taught them something or not, I stand up against the great men of the modern era as an expert at being awesome.

This all started a few months ago when I injured my knee, requiring surgery... Being of sound mind but muted body (or whatever the opposite of "sound" is) I had to do something to keep myself occupied... That took on the form of addiction. Now I'm not talking about drugs as I'm sure heroin would give me nose bleeds and cocaine would give me a jibbly stomach, hence I've never tried them. Couple that with the fact that a). they're illegal, b). they don't suit my lifestyle choices and c). I've never had to go around murdering prostitutes... I'm not even talking about alcohol or gambling... I'm talking the second most addictive thing of them all (just behind Facebook)... Ebay.

It caught my attention as I lay bored on my couch in my underwear that I had never found myself in a survival situation, where every decision, every action, every second counts. What would happen if I were to need to evade enemy troops in hostile lands? What would happen if I would need to trap a rabbit using two sticks, a piece of rope and my cunning? What would I do if I was lost out at sea for months at a time, having to live off my own urine and eating parts of my own arse? Does arse need to be cooked? What's its expiry time out in the open ocean? Is sun-dried arse even a viable option!? These questions before Ebay, I could not answer, and it occurred to me that the likelihood of these situations/moments occurring get drastically closer with every day that I go on living (at least the odds certainly don't get any lower with each day of living.)

This is where Ebay gives me a leg up, lends me a hand and ships me other body parts of my choosing for a dollar and four cents to every American dollar (at the moment).

I found myself on Ebay drastically searching for items that would come in handy facing these arse* eating (or worse!) situations***. I quickly located a Bear Grylls hunting knife, some flint, a survival bracelet with inbuilt compass (capable of taking up to 500 pounds of pressure) and the ultimate of ultimates:

AN ENTIRE CD ROM SURVIVAL GUIDE!!!!!!

This brilliant CD has taught me so much, packed full of such pdf. files as: Checklist for cold climates, checklist for hot climates, Ho to survive, survival kit of how to survive cold weather/hot weather/overwater/underwater/in water/above water/drinking water/seeing water/gargling water/leaking water... and one pdf. just entitled "SURVIVAL"...

Now I would assume if this was to be read out in a movie dramatic music would sound dramatically at this point, dramatising the drama of the one word title all about survival. Just a little bit of "DUN, DUN, DUN" can surely be imagined by you, the bloggee, as well as zooming in on the word "SURVIVAL" at this point. I'm not too sure what the pdf. entitled "Ho to survive" is all about, and I haven't opened it to look yet, but this is clearly telling me to sell myself in the most extreme circumstances if required.

You'd think that this would be enough wouldn't you? That I could survive any situation now with my knife, flint, survival bracelet (with inbuilt compass)... but you forget one thing my bloggee friend... ZOMBIES. That's right, I also have a ZOMBIE survival guide coming my way to help protect myself from those pernicious bastards who are out to eviscerate me.... The trouble with Zombies is that now instead of worrying about eating my own arse in this survival situation, I have to worry about many of the living-dead attempting to eat my arse too... And we all know with every day that goes by the chances of these walking brain-dead doofuses taking over the world increases.

So if ever you're in need of survival advice turn to me, for I have all the answers now. I can survive any situation now after all my ebay purchases, and even if they're situations far beyond my level of boldness, heroism and bravery I at least had the foresight to buy 5 pairs of Calvin Klein underwear (for just $30!). Bring on the fear of a survival situation I say.

Blogger out.

* Apologies for using the word "arse"** so often...

** Apologies for using the word "arse" again...

*** I probably shouldn't define the quality/level of danger of the situations by which part of my anatomy I need to devour to live... How can you really gauge these situations using anatomy anyway? Is a high level survival situation gauged by eating your whole arse, a few of your toes and a kidney in comparison to just chewing on your lightly-salted arse for a few hours when you can't find your car in one of the 10 levels of your local shopping centre (low level survival situation)? Seems absurd to make such a rating scale.

A tale to be told.

Hi, today you're in for a treat. Usually this is just a "machine gun" blog... By that I mean that usually I'm just holding my machine gun (blog) in one hand firing insanely into the air whilst yammering " AY YA YA YA YA YA YA YA" attempting to hit something of interest, or something humourous at the very least. I guess your laughter is similar to the killing of infidels (or at least low flying birds, bats, people on hang-gliders and other air-based, flight-able creatures) if I were to continue with the analogy. But not today! No, not today my friends. For today is a day for telling stories. I want to bring you a story that happened to a friend of a friend of mine.... Sit back, relax, dim the lights a little, have a little red wine, scratch yourself and enjoy... Before I go any further I'll tell you that I'm taking poetic licence with the names of the characters involved and I'm not 100% sure on the details of times and place names to the nth degree but otherwise this is a 110% true story.... Ok, go through your relaxation bit again and enjoy....

It all started when Chris and Jane decided to let Chris choose lunch. It was their last day in Spain and they were heading out in just a few short hours, flying off to London, England for the last week of their European holiday. They had enjoyed Spain and it was Chris' turn to choose the restaurant, so he in true Aussie male style chose something not Spanish at all and opted for Indian.

We fast forward a few hours later and Chris and Jane are waiting for the plane. Now this is one of those "go to it, 'cos we can't be stuffed getting it to come to you" type airports where you get to walk out onto the tarmac and climb the stairs to the plane. As the couple headed for their plane across the tarmac, Chris felt a bit of a rumbling in his stomach. This intensified with each step, so much so that they reached the stairs and at this moment, with one hand holding the stairs he doubled over in pain and signaled the air hostess.

"Sir, are you feeling alright?", she inquired, coming back down the stairs toward him, glancing at him, then at the 70 odd queue of passengers behind him, then back at him.

"Hun?", Jane chimed in, always the caring wife.

"I think I ate a little something funny... I'll be alright, I just need... Oh... Oh NO. Ohhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh".

It was at this stage that Chris began to defecate himself. And when I say defecate himself, I mean he emptied his bowels in his pants. He pooed, he crapped, he soiled.

The line of passengers boarding the plane stood still, staring. Jane stood beside Chris looking wide-eyed at her doubled over husband, pooing his pants and repeatedly saying "Sorrrrryyyyy.... Aggggghhhhhhhhhhhh".

People could begin to see fecal matter seeping out the ends of his long pants, filling and eventually spilling out of his shoes.

At this point no one knew what to do. Chris had finished, Jane stood looking at her husband like a deer in headlights, some passengers looking away, others were practically rolling around on the tarmac laughing whilst the entire planes crew including the pilot had gathered at the top of the stairs to watch a grown man become the mayor of brown town on the airports tarmac. Time stood still. All of Chris and Jane's clothing was in their luggage, placed onto the plane already.

Time unfroze and a few of the crew brought Chris his luggage, and a few towels to hold up around him so he could remove his ruined attire. Other crew members motioned the other passengers onto the plane, shuffling past a red faced, brown clothed, toilet smelling man and a wife that couldn't quite look anyone in the eye.

They had to bin Chris' clothing, throwing out even his crap filled shoes and eventually getting Chris and Jane onto the plane an hour and a half later than when it should have taken off.

It was a long and smelly trip to London for Chris and Jane, particularly as everyone in the plane continued to give them both looks. From time to time an air-hostess would come along the aisle and spray something into the air, and every 20 minutes Chris would feel a rumble in his stomach, let out an exclamation of "Oh no!" and run up the aisle to the toilets getting there just in time to relieve himself in the appropriate facilities.

Me and my want of being a Superhero.

Oh yes.... blogging... the ancient art of self-righteous, pseudo-intellectual babbling through the medium of the Internet... Before the invention of the Internet they used to have to attach their written nonsense to carrier foxes and such to spread their tripe about, scurrying the foxes throughout their local villages with their anecdotes attached... Though many a child contracted rabies from a rabid fox, many a laugh was shared amongst the people... these days it's as easy as me logging in and beginning writing. I hit "send" and the little man in the Internet runs really fast delivering it to all you good people....

I've recently begun watching the t.v. series 24, featuring a slightly pot-bellied, middle aged man with girl arms and a peculiar haircut by the name of Jack Bauer aka Kiefer Sutherland (the actor, not the haircut). He runs about fly-kicking "prime-of-their-lives" 22-30 year old bad guys and saving the world in 22 hours and 50 minutes (he stops for ad breaks just like the rest of us). Whilst I believe it is fairly far-fetched to see such an average man doing un-average feats, I still love it somewhat. I love all things action and adventure, badass heroes running around saving the day, but I particularly love superheroes.

Superheroes are where it's at. Caped crusaders such as Batman, Wolverine, Spiderman and The Phantom have all captured my imagine since I was a kid. Though I wish I had've dressed up more as Batman, I at least had the sense to dress up as Indiana Jones, Peter Pan or the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles because I was so enamoured with heroes (as shown below).

I haven't included Superman as I do believe the guy is a hack... Don't get me started on this guy! His disguise is a pair of glasses? Not even one of those pairs with the nose and the plastic mustache? He's got it around the wrong way as well... Keep the glasses off in his regular job as a newspaper columnist, attract the women and have them swooning (including Lois Lane) where you can actually act on being awesomely muscular and attractive, then when you're fighting crime stick on the plastic kids outfit as your disguise and when criminals see him, they're distracted, they laugh, then BOOM he just melts their faces with his x-ray/supersonic "Cyclops-style" laser eyes. It'd be hilarious to see and a much more layered and deep story where he fights crime because he's self conscious about his outfit/dress sense (which he should be anyway because he wears his red underwear on the outside of his blue tights) and it's mainly bad guys and teenage girls who tease him, resulting in melted faces or just a good slapping for the bad guys.

Anyway, I recently helped out at my church's holiday program and the theme surrounding the week was in fact "superheroes". This excited me to no end as I got to lead a year 6/7 boys group, all of which were humongous nerds and loved superheroes as well. It was a nerd-fest as we all gathered around and talked about our superheroes, who we loved the most etc. But it made me realise how extremely serious I took my love of all things superhero. I wasn't about to get "out-knowledged" by an 11 or 12 year old kid about Spiderman! No way. I was ready to take one of them down if they begun bad mouthing Batman. A quick jab to the ribs to a 4 foot tall, prepubescent boy was exactly what I was prepared to dish out if he even said that Ben 10 could beat Wolverine in fisticuffs. "What have I become?" was the question I asked myself on several occasions during those few days and even now when it comes to how seriously I take my superheroes. Many of you would probably argue that I haven't "become" anything and had this insane nerdiness inside me the whole time.

Basically I want to BE a superhero. For those of you who don't know I had surgery on my left knee again, for the second time in a year two weeks ago and if I had the powers of Wolverine I would be healed from surgery by now and running around dicing up bad guys with my blades. If I was Batman even, at least I'd have the technology to be able to do things other than lie in bed all day watching episodes of 24 and blogging about superheroes.

Alas I am not. I have not been bitten by a radioactive spider or even had someone push me into a train heading to Hogwarts to take up my wizardry apprenticeship that, whilst it only paid $6.50 an hour (the standard rate for trade apprentices I think), would still be bringing in some income. I could fix plumbing, along with my knee in a single demonic curse just like that pagan Harry Potter.

I could do so much with superhero powers, but unluckily I'm just me, lying in bed enjoying watching The Dark Knight yet again for about the 20th time and hoping that one day I will either grow up, or develop superhero powers. The latter being the most likely thing to occur out of the two.

Blog-guy out.

Finding a niche

It has come to my attention that I have not succeeded very much in very much that I have done very much. I look at my university life and I see that I'm still at Griffith, dealing with the same problems all Griffith students deal with...being at Griffith. I have not managed to destroy this fine establishment through physical acts, thinking bad thoughts, prayer or my rhetoric. It still stands as the biggest road block to my education, and I still have to stand going through the agonizingly mundane and idiotic tasks they set upon us in their assessment tasks (hence why I'm blogging; I have a few of those due in the not too distant future). I have a strong feeling I am about to fail such assessment tasks, and if I do that will put having a career back further... A career that I'm not even THAT sure I want to be doing anymore.

I am still in the same job I was in 5 years ago, which I am content about, but it's not like I'm buying my dream home or a helper monkey with the money I've earnt from this job. I don't earn enough from my job or my government handouts to be able to do much of anything really.

So what's my point? I'm venting sure, but this is not generally a "vent" blog is it? It's usually full of witty and sarcastic writing (apart from the wit and sarcasm that is). Well let me tell you something.... I can do a rubics cube.... Wait, there's more... I can walk on my hands... I can juggle... I can do lots of things, but I do them all without so much as a high five generally.

My point is whatever happened to people being crowned as heroes and paraded through the streets on the shoulders of royalty from achieving such tasks? They did it back in the 70's! (as is my understanding of what went on in the 70's). The average man can't earn himself a buck these days for achieving tasks that not many human beings can do! They're special tasks, and if not special, they're SOMETHING for crying out loud! Why can't I get paid to juggle? I juggle pretty well, no one is throwing me money!

It's just not enough to be really good at something if it doesn't achieve anything for the greater good I suppose... Like Lady Gaga being the pinup girl for "psychotic fashionista" and what-not-to-wear. If I could get paid to go into uni lectures and say fairly funny and sarcastic things under my breath I would be close to a millionaire by now. Alas, no one is looking for anyone to be really good at something that means nothing. However, if you're really bad at something that is supposed to achieve something, and you can't, then you can achieve something from your nothing.

Just look at George Clooney. He can't act, but he's got an Oscar to his name. Justin Beiber can't sing but he's got a career in just that. Julia Gillard although has red hair and a weasel face doesn't know politics from the song Microtic by the hit Japanese 'Backstreet Boys' style band 'DBSK' (at least that's what I think they're called... check 'em out underneath)but she is our Prime Minister. I guess the difference between DBSK and the rest of the people mentioned is that they've got actual talent. Their lyrics are catchy from what I can understand of them (well... at least I think they are... I'm sure they are!) and they've got some great haircuts and dance moves as well as all the pretty lights and subtle undertones of torture and violent loving within their film clip to have made this research a fun romp through youtube.

Anyway, the point is: I need a niche and I'm struggling to find one. If anyone knows how to generate income and is looking for someone with pointless and useless skills, bad to no acting ability, an incredible lack of singing or dancing ability and not enough emphasis on personal hygiene, I'm your guy. For now though, I'll settle back into procrastinating on assignments, eating too much junk food, writing blogs no one reads and practicing my secret abilities of being able to move things with my mind and sometimes teleport myself from place to place*...

Love you long time,

Blogger.

*sorry, what I mean here is that I can move my body with my mind and teleport was a typo for "transport"... I can often "transport" myself from place to place, often without problem.

A litre of milk...

Hey all! Sorry it's been so long... Or sorry it hasn't been long enough since I've blogged for some... I guess having had a break from uni also means I have had a break from sarcasm somewhat. Also, give me some study to do and I'll give you a blog... or draw you a picture... or build a tree house... or wittle a flute out of some birchwood, wrap a fur coat around my waist, drag a cupboard into a park with some woods in it and jump out at people from said cupboard as they walk along the park path with their significant other. There I'll be piping on the flute (or just piping...whatever)... naked from the waist up, with a fur coat hiding my thunder, occasionally muttering something about Narnia and not studying... Whatever...as long as I'm not studying.

Anyway where are my manners! How are you? Good to hear. Sorry about your loss... (ok you'd think I'd know by now after a year that blogs are fairly one way communication!)... It has actually been a year and 2 days since I began this fairly incoherent bit of writing rambling, and I do struggle at times to stay modern, hip and happening with this blog. It is hard to keep up with the home dogs and their machine gadgets and linguistic skills.

So that is why I have decided to Inceptionise this blog... Yes... You read that correctly... You are about to start reading a blog within a blog... You may have already started the Inceptionification and you're so Inceptionificated that you can't pontificate well enough to know you've just gotten the living Inception kicked out of you. Maybe you have... Maybe you haven't... Maybe Leonardo Dicaprio has just been around mine, ghost written some of this blog on my laptop, kicked my dog, stolen a litre of milk and now your mind is now being blown Inceptionally.

Do you feel different? You may have missed it but that bit about milk was part of my next blog based on Charlie Sheen's calcium intake... A blog within a blog? You better freaking believe it... And you're probably carrying my child now in your womb...or if you're a guy; your "mamb".

Well that's it for another blog... As Michael Schumacher once said "If you can't blog well just blog short"... and I think that is something for everyone to appreciate about this blog.... Schumacher's quote, not the length of this abhorent bit of writing.

Blogger out.