I'm so very tired of all of it...

...NOW





...YET ONCE


















Is anything pure anymore?

I'm so exhausted by all the dirt.

There must of once been more than this, surely...

Little Wayne...

...I'm going to video tape you being molested by a group of homeless crystal meth addicts and them make your mother watch said tape by stapling her eyelids open and nailing her to the fucking couch... then will come the sodomy, oh goodness the sodomy. You will scarely believe the variety in size, colour and texture of the objects I force into you're mother until she learns that discipling your child is not someone else's responsibility. The leason is an important one and I do intend to ram it home.

I am not having a fun time at the moment, particularly at work. Yesterday was the probably among the three worst days I can think of that I have had at a job. I can't force up the bile to actually write about the arbeit hell I was in but I just want to give a special thanks to a couple of special members of Upwey society that really made it a day to remember.

It was about 3pm before I got a chance to head out for lunch and most importantly aspirin for my armageddeon-ish headache. I'm waiting at the crossing when I get struck on the side of the head. I whip around adrenline pumping, ready to fucking destroy my cowardly attacker, little Wayne. Little Wayne, is 2 or 3 year old who has decided that throwing his metal toy car at my head might be fun. Now, I don't know about the world in general but if I had have thrown something at a stranger's head on the street my parents would have beaten me with stick, wrapped in Gaffer tape with nails hammered into the tape until I learnt my lesson, and you know what...I would have deserved it, learned and been a better person for it. But no, not little Wayne's Mum, no this filthy shit of mum just whisked little Wayney away from the bad man and held him in her bad parenting 101 graduate arms.

Well little Wayne and Mum, I salute you! Now I know where arseholes come from.

Apparently I’m Smarter than you…

Unless you’re officially a genius…

Unless you’re in the top 0.5% of the population for intelligence…

Unless you have an IQ in excess of 150, then I’m smarter than you…

…And yet…

Why is that you’re probably happier, better adjusted, had better relationships with women, more confident, a better driver, more skilful lover, go to more parties, have more brews, screw more random people, dress better, embarrass yourself less, trip over much less, are less likely to spill coffee, tea, lunch, dinner, crunchola all over yourself than I am.

My physiologist told me yesterday that I have an IQ of 149. Apparently I have extremely high cognitive function but tragically the only insight that cognitive function grants me is that maybe that cognitive function is not really worth all that much.

Maybe if I was smarter…

Or dumber…

Omnipotence or ignorance seem to be the only sure fire roads to happiness.

Market Research or Would you sleep with Surlyboy?

I have theory.

I hope to use this theory to market t-shirts.

I concede its not an original theory but I intend to use it as has never been used before. Well, maybe not since that guy who wrote "He's Just Not that into You!"

Before I invest thousands I must do market research, look at key demographics, market segmentation, develop a business plan, integrate product production with marketing and publicity campaign and hundreds of other tasks. Before I do any of this I must know...

Ladies...

Would you sleep with Surlyboy?

Checkout his blog, think about it, toss it around in your heads, your hearts and your loins and give your most honest answer.

To find out more check out his inner torment here. Think hard, think deep...would you want this man hard and deep in your sacred cave?*


*I use 'sacred cave' as an interchangeable term so any of you lads that feel you're 'sacred cave' would also welcome Surlyboy to explore its dark recesses please let us know.

What do you get the man that hates everything?

Today represents the anniversary of my esteemed housemate and fellow bastard rancher ripping from his mother’s loins and bursting upon this innocent world like some crazed demon spawned from the pits of hell. Maybe that’s where he was spawned, it would explain a few things. I don’t know what type of bars his mother used to hang out at but maybe they were actually in the pits of hell or even maybe Ringwood (insert you own observation/witty rejoinder here). Probably not though, she seems like a lovely women. But enough about the wellspring of this entity that doesn’t solve my problem, namely what do you get the man that hates everything? And just as importantly do you give your housemate a birthday present even if you’re a pair of hard grizzled grizzly grizzly bears with bad grizzly attitudes?

Bloke on bloke etiquette is so awkward. I ain’t taking man love here I’m talking love of your fellow man. The fact of the matter is that I do live with the guy so you’d figure this wouldn’t be an issue but it took me ages to buy him the Bob Dylan autobiography for Christmas (which I thought he’d really like) because I felt very ‘sissy’ buying something that might give some serious enjoyment rather than going something wacky and pointless-probably with a giant pair of hooters featured somewhere on said item. I’ve found this a constant quandary when buying gifts for my nearest and dearest male friends. Is this normal? Is this the way of the cock bearing among us or am I just traumatised from being labelled a ‘gay cunt’ so many times at High School because I was artsy that I’m afraid that any gesture that could be interpreted as affection could have me once again tasting my own blood as my head is slammed into a locker door?

That said, the young gentleman in question did correct me on my last post and with an ego as towering as my own being corrected is enough to induce rage. Maybe I should forget the birthday present and wait till he dares correct me again and then give him a hunting knife and wrap it in his rips.

Ahhhh, I guess that’s a little tough on someone’s birthday. I hope he’s birthday is full of everything that brings him joy…getting drunk, getting laid and doing cool shit. (oh, and of course stepping on the throats of those that anger him.)

Words like violence...

...break the silence.

Ahhhhh, to quote Chad Kroger of Nickelback fame "Its been a while". I certainly am going to have to learn to love Mr. Kroger because it appears that my housemate now believes him to be the ultimate expression of 'Rockness'.

You snigger? You Chuckle?

So did I... at first.

But then have any of you seen the video clip to the song 'Hero' from that Spiderman soundtrack*. It may not be good but its certainly epic and hey, isn't that what we all love? There's a reason Meatloaf is the highest selling artist of all time**.

Well yes, two months, no blog. Why? Whats the deal?

Well, yes the fact of the matter is that this blog is kinda based on the theme that I'm kindy irratible so in that vein I answer simply this "None of your fucking busines, nerd."

Cheers all,
Angry.

By the way Richard Watts is interviewing me on Thursday February 16 at 10am on RRR about the film festival I'm directing. Small fucking world hey?



*It should be noted that while I say it was on the Spiderman soundtrack I think you'll find it doesn't actually appear in the movie. Or at least we at the Bastard Ranch couldn't find it. Surlyboy suggested it simply a ploy to 'shift units' but I refuse to belief the record industry or hollywood for that matter would be so cynical.

**May not actually be true.

Just remember... you asked for this.

Well folks,

Now that the pain in my head has relented somewhat and given the fact that I was somewhat touched by people demanding that I update this miserable personal journal of mishap and malcontent, well I've decided to concede to a request I dismissed earlier and do this 20 things about me junk. Facts about Angry as Bastard in no particular order of importance or relevance.

1. Between the ages of 14 and 21 I was single for a total of just over 6 months. Now in my mid twenties I often regret this and wish that I had kissed a lot more people at a lot more drunken teenage parties.

2. When I am in a relationship, especially one that is going well (and my current one is going sensationally well) I spend a lot of time thinking about how happy this person makes me and how extraordinarily fucked up I will be if it ends. To fight this terror I conceive very elaborate plans how I will eject from my current life and start a whole new one if things go bad. My current plan is to move to Canberra and become an ASIO agent. I looked into where I could take Arabic classes and checked out the ASIO website but then got paranoid that I was going to be monitored because I had been to the website.

3. Sometimes at night I still fantasize that my bed is some sort of spaceship or futuristic vehicle. This has only gotten worse since I moved out and bought an enormous sleigh bed that looks like something pimps would have used at the turn of the century.

4. I'm scared of midgets. I realise this view is not PC but I'm not saying I dislike people of short stature its just a completely unjustified phobia so don't fucking judge me.

5. When I was about eight I was at a country dance at Phillip Island and I went outside to get some air and I saw this guy lifting up this women's dress and start performing oral sex on her and then they were in position to start fucking when the women noticed me. The guy asked me if I wanted to watch but I said "No thank-you" and ran away.

6. I have a passionate hatred for parties at which everyone breaks out guitars and starts playing and singing. I used to dislike it because I felt left out because I couldn't play an instrument but as I got more confident in the things I could do I started to think it was just really fucking rude. I don't turn up to parties and start shooting film or start giving long spiels about contemporary theory and practice in attracting audiences to arts venues using new tools in market segmentation because no one wants to hear. Same goes for you with the guitar fucko.

7. I really don’t like people I don’t know very well being in my house and I think this feeling is only getting worse as I get older. I imagine this will manifest itself in some interesting way now I have a housemate.

8. For a long time while I was at University I got concerned I had never been “bi-curious” as they say in those sad local paper personals as it seemed that all my friends were coming to me with confessions of forbidden boy on boy inklings. I thought the fact that I had never had slightest inkling of a vague hazy interest in another gent made either really sexually conservative or sub consciously homophobic or both. I’m not sure where this worry came from and I’m not sure were it went but for a couple of years it genuinely concerned me.

9. I knew the physical love of another before I knew the physical love of the self. I’ve mentioned this fact a couple of times over a few baudy beers with the lads with some degree of pride but the truth of the matter is that honestly I believed you needed someone else there to ‘make it work’. I really didn’t understand that it was a pastime that one could enjoy alone.

10. I once had what a psychologist would later describe as a psychotic episode at a tool gig at which the waves of light and sound made me loss any sense of myself as a separate entity (no drugs or alcohol where involved in this event). I felt that I was in every person and every inch of the auditorium. When I came back into myself the feeling was physically jarring to the point that I went into the toilets and was violently sick. An amusing footnote to this anecdote is that I had to buy an overpriced tour T-shirt that I had ridiculed so savagely on my way in to the gig to replace my own vomit encrusted one.


I think 10 is enough to start with. I shall post the next instalment of me in the coming days.