Fishpond.com.au - a review.

Now I'm not usually in the habit of reviewing things on this blog, but developments with these lot have inspired me to put pen to paper, or at least fingertip to keyboard.

Before I go into the delicious creamy filling of the review, I need to give you a little bit of background. My wonderful other half Cheinara and I made a wager a few weeks ago that I couldn't get out of bed at 4am every morning for three days straight. Apparently she must think I sleep too much, but I think the fact that I woke up at 10am this morning is a blessing, and not some kind of disfiguring curse. Anyway, I won the bet thanks to years to shiftwork experience and I was to be rewarded with the PS3 title of the moment, Uncharted 2.

'Yay!' I exclaimed over the internet. 'I get to explode things and dangle from ledges!'.

It looked a little something like this.

I do a lot of bargain hunting over at a site called Ecogamer which scours the net for cheap games for Aussies. As luck just so had it, I found out that a little site called Fishpond.com.au had it the cheapest thanks to a promotion code. The game was ordered with gift wrapping and a card included on the 8th October - Just in time for the release on the 15th.

I immediately received an email from their Customer Service Robot thanking me for the order.

Uncharted 2 Among Thieves is not yet published. Your pre-order has been recorded.

This title is due for publication on 15 October, 2009. Your copy has been reserved and we will ship it to you as soon as possible after the release date.
------------------------------------------------------

New status: Shipped

Huh? That's odd. I mean I know that Customer Service Robot #132 isn't exactly the most knowledgeable hunk of sentient steel around, but they've managed to ship something before it arrives in their warehouse? That's pretty god damned amazing. On the 15th October (Happy Uncharted Day!) I get another email stating the obvious. It was shipped and on its way. Again. That was good to know, but there was no delivery date. After a few minutes of fighting their website, I get info that the expect delivery address was between the 21st and the 23rd of October. WHAT? That can't be right. Surely it's a Worst Case Scenario here. It's coming from Alexandria! That's like two hours drive away at the most.

The 23rd rolls around, and there is no parcel in my mailbox. Tasty is getting agitated. Time to ask some questions. Once again I have a battle of wills with Fishpond's website (Their 'Contact Us' page has not actual contact details which kind of defeats the purpose) I find a way to get in touch with them. I won't stick the whole email here because it's longer than World War II, but I'll let you know that as pissed as I was, the tone of the email was polite, with a side of constructive criticism bigger than Disneyland. Some excerpts:

'The product has failed to arrive in the delivery window. At first when I saw the delivery estimation I was taken aback, but after speaking to several of your past customers have found that these are quite optimistic. One colleague in Sydney said, and I quote, 'it took them a month to send me a book. a MONTH.' Another in the US responded to my frustrations by saying 'I'll buy it locally here and send it by putting it in a bottle and throwing it in the ocean...might get there quicker.''

'For an apparently Australian online store, with prices in Australian dollars, I have found your delivery times in Australia to be by far the worst I have ever dealt with.'

'Although your quoted average response time to queries is 24 hours, I look forward to receiving your reply in my inbox sometime mid-November.'

Lo and behold, I get a reply within 24 hours. At least their customer service section listens, right?

We apologise for the delay:

* Uncharted 2 Among Thieves
We anticipate delivery Australian Post mail, between 21/10/09 and 26/10/09. Please let us know if it has not arrived by 2nd November and we either order a replacement or cancel the title and refund you.

Huh. Did they even read my relentless onslaught of tactful ranting? By this time it was the 23rd of October. Seems that Fishpond exist in some kind of time-distorting alternate reality where everything is sent and received in the past. My reply this time was something they couldn't easily glaze over:

So between two days ago and Tuesday? Where exactly was it shipped from?

Their reply?

Australia Post does generally take at least 3- 5 days for delivery, and of course from time to time, delays do happen. We sincerely apologise for that.

Jimmy

How the hell does that answer my question? Sounds like Jimmy is doin' some good old fashioned question dodging. I get pissed off at a lot of things, but when people start pretending I didn't ask them a question, I start getting a little riled.

Yes, I noticed that when I initially ordered the product. However, my question wasn't answered.

Long story short, the truth came out. Fishpond.com.au, Australia's largest bookstore, is not actually based in Australia at all. They're in New Zealand. Whoops! They must have forgotten to mention that.

So the package finally arrived, 11 days after local release IN NEW ZEALAND:

Wow, those kiwis have an Alexandria, New South Wales too!

The game arrive in a dodgy looking brown paper envelope, usually reserved for liquor and pornography. The usually delightful ziptab opening thing disintegrated when I pulled it, leaving me clawing at the exterior like a starving hyena. The game was lovingly wrapped in Default coloured paper (Fishpond don't actually explain what colour Default is, so today I learned it's silver) and the hand written card from Cheinara?

That's an extremely low resolution printout on an Avery label, stuck to a card. No corners cut here! Cheinara once sent me a slab of beer from an online store in Perth that had better gift wrapping. It even had a hand written card. For BEER. I didn't even know you COULD gift wrap beer before that. Who gift wraps beer? People in Perth do! Sup, Perth?

The back of the card. For New Zealand's Biggest Australian Bookstore, their proof reading sucks.

So in short, I give Fishpond a resounding F- for the entire experience. The entire ordeal was the worst online shopping experience mankind has ever encountered outside Ebay, and their staff not only dodge questions, but have apparently perfected time travel technology to the point where everything happens in the past. Damn you, Fishpond. Damn you for forcing me to do this.

Anyways, time to play some Uncharted 2. Hopefully Fishpond didn't send me the portugese version.

Do they make training wheels for yachts?

When I was a kid, I was told that I was special and I could do anything if I put my mind to it. Teachers, television, even Timon and Pumbaa from the fucking Lion King all seemed to be queuing up for a chance to be included in my own personal cheersquad. It seemed to be a good thing at the time because if a cel-shaded meerkat has utter faith in me, then success is assured.

It was about this time that a friend of mine bought a dirtbike around to my house. It was his new pride and joy - yellow, noisy, even road registered. It kicked ass. He had made several modifcations to it to make it a better ride and I'm pretty sure I remember him saying he wanted to be buried with it (He was 16 at the time). It was all those hard-earned life lessons from everyone else that rang in my head as I was offered the chance to have a go at his dirtbike. Nevermind that I've never ridden a motorcycle before or had much of an idea how a clutch operated.

'It can't be too hard!' I remember thinking, as I revved the bike and waved to my mum who was jumping up and down, protesting over the ning-ning of the engine. 'Just like riding a really loud BMX!' I thought as I pushed the kickstand up. 'What the hell', I exclaimed in horror as the bike launched off at speed, throwing me into the side of the house.

My friend ran over to his bike, checking for scratches and dints while I dusted myself off. I wasn't allowed to ride his dirtbike after that. Fucking meerkats.

The reason I mention this is because of this teen sailor that's in the news, Jessica Watson. You may remember her for trying to be the youngest sailor to circumnavigate the globe solo. Turns out she isn't quite up to the task at this stage, since she managed to crash her boat into a 63,000 ton bulk carrier less than 24 hours into her trip. Riddle me this - how can you possibly expect to safely sail around the globe for eight months when you can't even make it a day without stacking into a target the size of a football field? She didn't just drop the ball with this one - she dropped the ball, tripped over, knocked out her teeth when her face hit the ground, and then accidentally swallowed them.

OH SHIT LOOK OUT THERE'S A FUCKING BOAT BEHIND YOU

Not discouraged by that, Our Jess declared that she would attempt the feat again. Almost immediately, every government official and maritime authority in the country stood up and told her that this was a stupid idea. 'No! Bad Jess! No Biscuit!' they cried out, using such futile tactics such as logic and reason to persuade her to go back to Boating School. It was revealed that she didn't even manage basic tasks while she was at sea. But no! THAT COULDN'T POSSIBLY BE IT! Her mother went on record this week and said that we were all doubting her because she is a girl.

Knock knock - We're all doubting her because she can't sail more than 24 hours before crashing into something. This has nothing to do with being female. Don't fucking bring that shit into it. At the risk of sounding like a callback radio guest, I think the parents are to blame. Personally I would've pulled the plug as soon as I learned that the boat she was sailing was pink enough to lead the next Mardi Gras. Look at that. No, open up the image again and LOOK. LOOK WITH YOUR EYES. I wonder if there's a fucking frangipani sticker on the back.

I'm sure there are cheaper and less disastrous ways to get your kid to move out of home. I learned my lesson when I flew headfirst into a brick wall, maybe Jessica Watson should do the same before she accidentally falls asleep and crashes into Fiji.

Well this certainly won't go down well

As an Australian, I've seen many moments of national outrage unfold. Hey Hey It's Saturday being cancelled, Corey Worthington or whatever his name was, but I now hold a special place for every single man, woman and child who was at the Melbourne Cricket Ground during the first quarter break of the AFL Grand Final on Saturday when the name of the new Vegemite was announced.

There are a number of Americans who read this blog, so I'll describe it in a way you can relate to. Picture this in your head if you will (because I had to) - It's the Super Bowl. Biggest game of the year. Millions of viewers on television, and a stadium packed to capacity. It's the end of the first quarter and the crowd are getting into the spirit of things. Little Timmy is enjoying his first football game, and his father bought him an official jersey along with an overpriced snack and drink. Life is good. Everyone is enjoying themselves.

Trumpets echo around the stadium, and a strangely dressed man is lit up by spotlights as he proudly enters the stadium and walks onto the field. In one hand, a brilliantly white cloth. In the other, a golden cage with an American Bald Eagle. The crowd hushes. and Timmy has the feeling he is about to witness something special.

A drum roll begins as this man opens the cage and lifts the majestic animal onto his arm. With his one free hand, he undoes his pants. He then lifts the bird's tail up and begins fucking it up the ass. Several arkward minutes go by, the shocked silence broken only by the protests of the bird, and the crying of children. After the man is done, he wipes the eagle clean with the cloth, and throws it into the crowd, pumping his fist triumphantly into the air.

The crowd does nothing at the sight of this almost blasphemous act. They allow it to continue, and await the next quarter.

THIS is on par with the crowd's reaction when Kraft named the winner of the national 'Name the new Vegemite' competition. Almost 50,000 entries were sent in to name the next iteration of our national spread, and then Kraft fucked the proverbial eagle by calling it something even my eight year old niece laughed at...

'Proudly made in Australia?' I'm sure that's about to change.

When Kraft announced that the new Vegemite was now called iSnack 2.0, nobody did anything. Sure, the entire stadium booed, but there were no riots. THE STUPIDITY COULD HAVE BEEN QUASHED THEN AND THERE! But no, tens of thousands of people and not a single one decided to lead the people in a revolt against quite possibly the most retarded name for a product since... well, the dawn of time.

There are so many things wrong with what I just wrote down (the iSnack bit, although eagle-fucking came on a bit strong). Who the fuck thought that this was a good idea? Has some grossly overpaid, suit wearing shitbag received a bonus for approving this tripe? Kraft's Corporate Head Of Bullshit wrote that iSnack 2.0 personifies the spread's 'personal call to action' as the 'next generation Vegemite'. I don't know how much crystal meth those clowns have been smoking, but I'm quite sure that the entire country is laughing at them because of it. I'm not sure how easy it is to smash a bottle of iSnack 2.0 on the corner of a table and make a shank, but I'm seriously considering trying it out the first time I hear someone ask for it with a straight face. I asked Ms. Felicia about this debacle, and she responded with this tirade for us:

'iSnack. This would mean that not only is Kraft trying to pander (and fail) at reaching a generation, they also fail at realizing that this generation gives two shits about putting the letter 'i' in front of words. In actuality, this generation would rather have it be called 'tits', because let's be honest, who wouldn't want to have some tits on their toast in the morning. Or maybe 'thighs'. Spread some thighs on your breakfast. For breakfast. Whatever the fuck, doesn't matter any more because Kraft's gone and shit in their hands and smeared it all over themselves in a rain-dance of horribly epic proportions.

'OH GREAT MARKETING GOD, TELL US OUT OF THESE THOUSANDS OF SUBMISSIONS, WHAT WE SHOULD NAME OUR PRODUCT!' Someone farts, someone else misinterprets it as iSnack 2.0 (probably marketing), and they call it a day.

I hate the name, and I don't live anywhere near the continent of Australia. When I hear it, the name alone sends me into a mouth-foaming frenzy in which I stuff dried, rotten leaves into my mouth and find the nearest bar to drown myself in a giant vat of hot oil. Holy mother of fuck, what were they thinking.'

The guy who apparently entered the name into the competition, Dean Robbins, is apparently living in Western Australia after relocating from Melbourne. He has two loves in his life - his family, and Vegemite. I'm calling bullshit on this one, because nobody would do this to a product they love. The Vegemite (sorry, iSnack 2.0) website has a photo of this tosser with a giant shit-eating grin (Sorry, iSnack 2.0) holding up a jar of this horribly named, cream-cheese infused spread. He might as well just hold up a sign saying I JUST TOOK A ISNACK 2.0 ON OUR NATIONAL SYMBOL AND THE DICKHEADS AT KRAFT THOUGHT I WAS BEING SERIOUS.

I found this on the internet. It's a much better choice.

The more I hear about this guy, the more I'm convinced that he is now Australia's biggest troll. Instead of going on the internet and enraging a public message board for his own amusement, he's gone and pissed off an entire country. Dean Robbins, if you're reading this... You should have moved interstate AFTER they revealed iSnack 2.0, because now not only does everyone in this wide brown land want your blood, but they also know where you live.

Good luck with this one, champ. Serves you right for fucking our Bald Eagle.

I'm absolutely NOT an internet gangsta

Facebook is one of those sites that polarises everyone that visits it. They either love it like I do, hate it like I do, or simply don't get it... like I do. It really depends on when I'm visiting and what kind of nonsense I'm accosted with upon my arrival to the main page. I find it therapeutic to e-stalk friends, people I've met in bars and even that funny-smelling kid at school that now earns more that I do. What I do NOT find therapeutic is the fact that all of the aforementioned groups of people have this crazy idea in their head that I want to join in on their Norwegian goat-herding simulation, or that I have ignored the past 438 Mafia Wars invites because theirs is THE ONE.

Newsflash, genius. It's not. I go onto Facebook to get in contact with people. I don't visit the site and think to myself "Well, shit. You know what I'm missing out on in life? All this time, I've wanted to know what kind of Hepatitis I am. I'm counting the days until some guy who lives in his parent's garage formulates the correlation between Hep C and answers to an internet quiz. While I'm there, I saw that Jimmy has built a city in his virtual country. I really feel sorry for what I did to him all those years ago... I'll enlist in his virtual army and squabble with other internet nerds IN HIS NAME."

Does ANYBODY ELSE see how incredibly fucking stupid this is? When I log into the site I will undoubtedly be eye-raped by multiple invitations over shit I will never care about. The worst thing about it is that nobody seems to understand that I do not give an e-shit about their virtual crime family. Even the wording of the invitations tries to piss me off. Hi, I made an [object]

Morpheus didn't believe the latest round of chain emails. Joke's on you, Baldy!

Tweety Bird dies, buried with english muffin. News at 11

Yes, I'm still alive. Sorry to disappoint.

The reason I have not been doing my weekly updates like a good little chook is because I've actually been in a good mood. No rage, no writing – them's the rules. Luckily for you all, a lunchtime trip to the Westfield Warrawong Food Court has solved all your dramas while giving me another fucking headache to deal with.

I know all except maybe two of my readers have never been to the esteemed Westfield Warrawong Food Court (WWFC) in their lives so allow me to paint the picture.

As you approach the entrance to the WWFC, you are (as is the norm for food courts around the Illawarra) accosted by old Greeks and Italians standing over giant plastic chess pieces, threatening each other's lives. Entering through the squeaking automatic doors, you can immediately see the following food court staples:

- A McDonald's, KFC and Subway
- Asian takeaway shops that everyone ignores, while a sad old lady with a plastic spoon occasionally stirs the Singapore Noodles
- A kebab shop featuring a slightly agitated Turkish man yelling at tomatoes
- Anyone sponsored by Centrelink
- Two chicken shops right next to each other, selling the exact same things.

I've always wondered about those two chicken shops. I wonder if they have a legendary rivalry going on, and now I am going to plan a chef battle where I will sample each of their snack packs and bellow out the winner, WWE style. BUT I DIGRESS.

Right next to the two feuding chicken eateries was a KFC. Talk about a case of the big guy kicking over the proverbial sand castle, right? WRONG. I mosey on up to the KFC counter, and order what I am led to believe is the 'Ultimate Box'. From the looks of what I see on the overheard board, the feast is large enough to mobilise an African nation on. I am up for this. I will engage the box of chicken. I pay my money to the barely-happy-to-be-there register chick and a few minutes later receive THE ULTIMATE BOX.

Now, I must have been spoiled as a young dutch child, as I unwrapped the chicken burger to find what appeared to be a chicken nugget, 4mL of mayonnaise and barely enough lettuce to constitute a rabbit's fart.

Here's my burger after I took a bite out of it.

So is it just me, or have KFC's burgers gotten very.... erm... small?

I mean for about $8 you're getting the 'burger', a few chunks of poopcorn chicken, a box of chips that's more interested in last month's state cricket matches, and a cup of potato and gravy. I guess I could see the value in that, but the centrepiece of the whole shebang is the chicken burger. Compare this culinary TRAVESTY to great local chicken joints like Chiko's, Chicken Wizard, Chicken King, Tony's Chicken Shop or Caesar's. Those burgers are as big as a person's HEAD (I know this, I once asked my girlfriend at the time to hold the burger up to her face) and these rank amongst some of the greatest poultry-based dining experiences the human race will ever know.

It's all a matter of mathematics, apparently. It's a well-observed trend among the chicken chefs that there is a schnitzel-to-chip ratio which can easily show a punter what the better deal will be.

Eg:
- KFC's schnitzel-to-chip ratio of 1:518 = 'what the fuck is this shit'
- Everyone else's hovers around 1:19 = 'Less chips, but that's cool. Look at the size of that fucking burger. I wonder how many chickens died to make this meal for which we are about to receive. I bet it was a lot. A lot of the juicy, succulent bastards. Amen.'

I know Colonel Sanders has been dead for years, so I'm not going to address this to anyone in particular, but What the fuck, nobody in particular? I asked for a chicken burger, not a fucking 1:18 scale model. Look across the food court assholes. Do you see that guy in the smoke shop selling the model racecars? Do I look like the kind of guy who would try to feed the little men inside those cars? No, I don't. While I've got your attention, who is the genius pimping last December's test match between NSW and TAS? Are there even people LEFT on that island? Do you all stand there like a bunch of pick-socked orangutans wondering why I'm not urgently firing up my time machine to spectate that match? Well you shouldn't because nobody really gives a fuck about state cricket anyway.

Next time, I'm totally going to do the cook-off between the other chicken places. Their burgers would be wise not to disappoint me. I'm a very influential person amongst internet nerds.

For the American readers, change 'chicken burger' to 'chicken sandwich', then go slap yourself for calling it a sandwich when it's a bun, and not bread. Also FYI I know I misspelled 'popcorn' as 'poopcorn' but it's 4am Sunday morning while I write this and I find it absolutely hilarious.

We Were All Thinking It

As at least 6 people around this wide brown land would know, I'm a pretty multicultural kinda guy. I'll hang out with Belgians, Americans, Sudanese, even Brazilians (especially Brazilians) any day of the week. I can use chopsticks, I've been known to sing Irish drinking songs and I've even been involved in a knife-fight with a girl from the Phillipines. Which is why I'm still struggling to find out why I'm so touchy about the Japanese.

Now don't get me wrong, I love the Japanese. They're a polite and technologically advanced people. Show me any activity on Earth and I could find a Japanese person who has dedicated their life to perfecting it. But to be honest, I think I'm developing a love/hate relationship with the place. I really want to visit, but I'm not quite sure what I'll find there.

Here are a few Japanese things that we should all be thankful for:

- Robots

- Samurai

- Ninjas

- Takeshi's Castle
- Street Fighter 4.

A wide and varied selection by any means. However for every yin, there is a yang, and this brings me to the crux of this blog post. Japan has some seriously strange shit that it's responsible for.

Here are a few Japanese things which frighten me:

- Cat weight lifting

- Dressing girls up as baby seals and baiting killer whales with them
- Sony Corporation, Ltd
- Robots
- Basically all of their pornography

Why is it that every fucking time somebody pushes the envelope, Japan just waltzes in and launches the envelope across the stadium like a human cannonball? Of all things, I'll draw your attention to tasteful photography. Most people could easily find a nice nude shot of an attractive girl artistic (email me, it's for ART) but then some visionary in Japan decided to summon all the rage of his samurai ancestors and bring us this:

WHAT THE FUCK WHAT THE FUCK WHAT THE FUCK

Is this considered art? Social commentary on the plight of tentacled monsters everywhere? I know the Japanese seem to love their tentacles (I'm not fucking going there) but this is just... wow. THEY ARE WEARING OCTOPUSES. Or is that octopi? I don't know. Fuck you, I'm dealing with emotional trauma right now.

The only way this photograph could get worse is if it was a candid shot, and not staged at all.
"Oh hey Natsuki, what's happening?"

"Oh, just wearing an oct... OH HEY I LOVE YOUR OCTOPUS HAT!"

"I love yours too! Which flavour did you get?"

"Oh, salt and pepper squid."

I'm going to stop with the virtual conversation there because... look, I don't need an excuse. LOOK AT THAT SHIT. I could keep on giving examples all day, but I'm sure you don't want that kind of burden on your mind, because the above image is nothing compared to some of their other ideas. I really don't want to bow and shake hands with the guy who thought gymnastics equipment was sexy enough to be involved in hardcore pornography. To all the girls reading this (remember: for art) - remember the last time you went to the uh, ladie's doctor, and he pulled out those salad tong looking things? Substitute that with a POMMEL HORSE

Images not to scale

Now it's not the first time this has happened apparently, but World War II taught us that some things should never be repeated. I'll be starting a support group for everyone who has been exposed to Random Horrific Japanese Stuff over the next week or so. I just hope you all don't get flashbacks the next time you meet a Japanese exchange student at the pub. Sorry Tomiko - you were great fun but that twitching wasn't because I had something in my eye AT ALL.

Lest We Forget

Time out, people - It's time for a fucking history lesson. Today is an extremely important day for Australians everywhere as they remember a conflict which is often talked of, but almost never recognised. It is the 4th of March, which marks the 20th Anniversary of V-A Day, 1989. What's that? Victory in Asia Day? No. Wrong. Get the fuck out of here. It was Victory in America Day, which ended the Australian-American War.

Now it's quite possible you haven't heard that much about the Australian-American War (Or AA War for short), and that's because not only was the entire conflict strictly land based (which most believe is boring) but the war itself only lasted for 76 hours. It was primarily caused by tensions regarding the American VHS release of Crocodile Dundee II, which had been planned to include an alternative ending where Mick denounces his Australian citizenship and moves to America with Sue. The ending credits included shots of Paul Hogan singing 'God Bless America', which infuriated the Australian Department of Tourism.

Australian troops advance on El Paso, March 1989.

Even after weeks of negotiations, diplomacy failed and Australian SAS troops began landing along the shores of California, Texas and New York City on the 1st of March. While initally met with fierce resistance from US forces, the Australian advance was helped by empathetic locals who were swooned by our smooth accents and packets of Tim Tams. After eight hours of American bloodshed, the US Government still refused to surrender, or reverse its decision on Crocodile Dundee II. It is hotly debated by historians that the Pentagon simply did not know what to do against a land based army that did not just stand still and wait to be shot (see the American War of Independance), although what they all agree on are the consequences of fucking with Australians.

Total War erupted between Australian and US forces in the early hours of March 3rd.

Within hours, Australian generals had green-lit the aerial deployment of koalas, kangaroos (including the infamous 5th Explosive Joey Battalion), wombats and even echidna espionage units over the front lines. The results were devastating - while it was common knowledge that koalas possess two sets of genitalia, it was not until March 3rd, 1989 that we learned koalas have the ability to fire a pistol with each hand. Echidnas stowed away inside ammunition boxes and mortally wounded any US solider reaching for another clip. Kangaroos bounded into enemy encampments and killed dozens of soliders single-handedly.

A member of the XVII Kangaroo Battalion clearing a building in Florida, March 3rd 1989.

Initial reports to come from the front lines all told the same story: Complete devastation. Sugar glider recon showed that for every marsupial that lay fallen, hundreds of fully-armed Americans would join him. In an ironic twist of fate, the US Army was now facing extinction.

Shortly after 2 A.M on the 4th March, US President George Bush attempted to call Prime Minister Bob Hawke to announce his country's unconditional surrender. Bush was put on hold and would be answered by the next available operator. After numerous phone calls to Telstra Directory Assistance, five hours on hold, and the phone numbers of Hoyts in Burwood, Sam's Hairdressing in Yagoona and Mrs. Yvonne Slater at 16 Carinya Way Goulburn, Bush finally managed to surrender to Australian Forces. Crocodile Dundee II was later released worldwide with the original ending intact.

While no official numbers have been released by either side, The death toll for the Australian-American War have been estimated as:

• United States - 997,450 dead, 36,700 wounded
• Australia - 18,200 dead, 5,100 wounded
• France - 0 dead, 2 wounded, Unconditional Surrender to Australia 2nd March

While not disputing the estimated death toll, the Korean American Historical Society released a report in 1995 claiming that 78,650 of the US casualties were caused by sleeping with their electric fans on.

Let us not forget those who fell in the AA War, or those still kept as POWs in zoos around America. We won't leave you behind.

Help I'm being stalked by frangipani stickers

For some retarded reason I decided to go and get myself ill earlier this week. The biggest pain about being sick is not the "I can't move and I think I spat out my lung" part, but going to the doctor. I'm sure I'll cover that in more detail soon (I HATE WAITING ROOMS) but I'm going to have a little informal chat to all my readers about something very close to my heart.

Shitty little cars that have their rear windows plastered with frangipani stickers.

If you're guilty of this, DO NOT LEAVE THIS WEBPAGE. You're going to sit your Boost Juice sipping ass back on that chair and you're going to get EDUCATED.

Nobody thinks your car is "prettier" except you. You're absolutely not original, and in 25 years time when you've successfully figured out how to breed you're going to hate yourself for it. And your kids will probably hate you too.

This is one of the less severe cases I've seen. Even still, my rage knows no bounds.

It started off innocently enough a few years ago where you'd only see the average beach-going blonde girl driving around with one. You know what? I was kind of okay with that. It might have been because I was harshly accelerating to get a better look at the driver. But then it started spreading at an alarming rate. Every Excel, Echo and Barina I saw on the road had massive yellow frangipanis on the rear window. AND THEN THEY DISCOVERED THE OTHER COLOURS! It was well and truly on like Donkey Kong now. I can now head out and see cars with multiple coloured frangipanis, in rainbow patterns. Frangipanis in each corner. Spreading to the other windows of the car.

You know what else I could be describing here? SMALLPOX.

Here's an actual conversation I had at the pub one night with a girl that admitted to having smallpox frangipani stickers.

Me: Wait. You have SIX frangipani stickers on your car?
Girl: Yeah! Why not?
Me: They're tacky and unoriginal. I'm also being incredibly polite about this.
Girl: But they're cute!
Me: How is a tacky vinyl flower 'cute'?
Girl: They're... I don't know, they just are!
Me: No, PUPPIES are cute. The Easter Bunny is cute. Putting an over-priced frangipani sticker on the rear window of your car isn't cute. It's posing.
Girl: You can't buy puppy stickers! Besides, I got them for like $35.
Me: Wow! Look at all the money you've saved!
Girl: My car's cute. I like spending money on it.
Me: Give me a contact number for your father, he needs to know what's happening to the car he's paying off.
Girl: Whatever. I'm thirsty. Want to buy me another vodka and lime?
Me: No.

If this was feudal Japan, you'd all be committing seppuku for this.

I am a picky eater and so is YOUR FACE

It was at my local chinese mess hall on the weekend when I was getting spattered by fallout from my Sizzling Beef. I'm pretty sure it was then, anyway. I was having fun, throwing white hot strips of cow onto my plate of rice, picking out the prawns from the bits of egg. As I heaped another mouthful onto my spoon, one of my friends asked me why I wasn't eating the prawns. I simply looked back at her and casually said "I don't like 'em."

You could not have cut the resulting tension with a chainsaw. Everyone looked at me in disbelief. "WHAT? You don't like PRAWNS?" was the reply. I would not be suprised if people AT OTHER TABLES stopped their lunchtime coversation so they could listen in to this apparent AFFRONT against ALL THAT IS HOLY.

Whenever I tell people I don't like prawns, they are taken aback as though I just cancelled Christmas. If I mentioned that I didn't like cauliflower (and I DON'T) that would be okay. You might even get a few compassionate nods from across the table. But prawns? Don't even fucking go there, hombre. At no time is this seen clearer than during summer lunches when everybody is shelling and eating prawns, watching television and feeding a few wayward crustaceans to the cat. Why can't we go back to what the Vikings did and skin rabbits around a campfire?

A quick Google Image Search revealed these people may also hate prawns.

While tearing something's head off and throwing it's nervous system into a bowl invokes memories of Mortal Kombat, the actual taste of the little bastards is something I can't stand. If it didn't die screaming in a field somewhere, I CAN'T EAT IT.

Oh! Oh! Hang on! Did someone mention beetroot? Get the checkout chick on the PA system because there's about to be a cleanup in aisle three.

I know plenty of people who like beetroot, but they constantly whinge about it. It's like a porn film full of bipolar nymphomaniacs. The ultimate love/hate relationship. They somehow love the taste, but those stains are a bitch, aren't they? My opinion of beetroot is this:

a) It tastes like dirt. 'Earthy' is never a good way to describe food.
b) The aftermath looks like a fucking murder scene.

'Get SWAT on the line. The killer had a hamburger with The Lot.'

No matter how delicate you are with food, add beetroot to it and it will never be good enough. Trying to finish a burger with beetroot on it is more stressful than defusing live explosives. The slightest case of the shakes will end up with several people covered in claret and a stampede towards the nearest chemical bath to DE-CONTAMINATE themselves. How is that fun, nutritious or even legal? Time to call my solicitor. We have history to make.

Cruelty to animals: IT STOPS NOW (either that or when the steak's cooked)

Now you're going to have to believe me when I say I'm not some kind of bunny-hugging hippie (Rabbits carry diseases) and that I'm not one to burst into tears when a tree gets chopped down. I'm sure if you regularly read this page you'll have somehow formed the opinion I'm a pretty easy-going guy (Besides well, most things ever). Well allow me to crush your opinions like the hopes and dreams of the Australian Cricket Team.

This is my spot to say that if you're cruel to animals, I'll break your face in twain like a twiggenbottle.

Don't get me wrong, I love steak and if I could eat it 24/7 like the cavemen did, I would, but there are things that push me over the edge. Things like being poked repeatedly, being called "tiger" by the elderly, and shit like this:

This is my dog, Blake. Say hello, Blake! Oh wait, you can't because you're too embarrassed to exist. Years of intensive training to be a heartless killing machine and then it all gets thrown out the window because some clown thought it might be cute to put a Christmas hat on him. I can guarantee the only reason this happened is because I wasn't there to give him the green light to rip everyone to shreds. I only got sent this photo yesterday and to be hone-OH WAIT HERE'S ANOTHER ONE

They're not looking at the camera because they're plotting their revenge. By scoping the building for weak points. For the demolitions team.

Don't they look kind of... sad? The other labrador probably had a temporary indentity crisis and thought she was a reindeer. Speaking of mental health issues, do you know they have animal psychiatrists? How the hell does that work? And don't ANYONE mention dressing dogs up in little t-shirts either or taking them to some kind of fucking dog hotel. Cats are okay. Fuck those guys.

Dogs are supposed to be dogs. They roam the countryside, take down wildebeest and hump your girlfriend's leg when you're introducing her to your parents. They have the perfect life. If I was able to do that and not get caught by your parents I probably would. Pretending they are something else entirely is demeaning and a downright disgrace.

Also I'd like to thank William Shakespeare for the whole 'twiggenbottle' thing. Mad props Bill. If you hadn't been dead for centuries, I'd buy you a beer.

'Concentrated' is the new Black

So last week when I was out being awesome, I realised that I was out of laundry powder. This is a big thing for me because not only do I do my own washing (oh my god), but I get to browse the aisles of my local supermarket and attempt to get the finest laundry powder available. I usually fail.

Why, you ask? Well because if you haven't figured it out yet, the laundry powder section is pretty much the same goddamned thing packaged 800 times over. And because it's POWDER and not a toothbrush, they just can't slam in some bullshit gimmick like a tongue scraper or subsonic telepathy. They need to sell their white powder by the packaging alone.

Yes, Yes and More Yes.

Notice how pretty much every laundry powder you can buy is now concentrated? You only need to use one poof-teenth of a thimble to cleanse every garment in your house! As opposed to... a picture of a cap with... more in it. Concentrated as opposed to what? Since everything is concentrated now, shouldn't that be the norm? And don't give me that "But some are stronger than others" bullshit either. Laundry powder is like bottled water - no matter the brand, it all comes from one giant tap in a factory operated by a tiny mexican lady with a clipboard and a pair of goggles.

Look how white her clothes are! SCIENCE.

Packaging white powder for purchase in a supermarket is the most cliche thing I have ever seen. Outside of 'Concentrated!' your laundry powder box will either have:

a) the word "Power" on it somewhere
b) 'FRESH' written in huge letters
c) an unexplained explosion, probably of the aforementioned freshness
d) a duck.

I for one am issuing a challenge to laundry powder manufacturers everywhere. Be inventive! How about submarines? Everyone loves those. 'Now works better on bloodstains!' could work too. How about 'Doesn't smell like beer and cigarettes'?

In fact, why even pretend your product is even designed for clothes? If I ever start a laundry powder company, I'll simply name my product 'CRACK'. The box will have an illustration of laundry powder being snorted off the back of a barely-conscious hooker while she desperately tries to finish her last cigarette. Housewives will hate it but it would be funny to see junkies try to rationalise why it's only $2.50 a box.

The revenge of the two minute noodle

I'll let you make your own jokes up about that heading because it just sells itself. What I'm actually going to talk about tonight is the delight of two minute noodles. The yanks call it Ramen, but I think that's stupid.

I have this thing where if I'm after a serving of two minute noodles, I won't even wait those two minutes. If the situation is so bad that I am eating two minute noodles, then the kettle can jam it because I need a feed and I need it immediately. I'm not alone here - I eat them raw. "But Tasty!" I hear you cry, "That's nasty! it's... it's UN-NATURAL!" No shit! Of course it's un-natural! When was the last time you went for a drive through the countryside and saw Noodle Trees growing in the forest? You're eating a cake of wheat flour, vegetable oil and chicken salt. If you expect a delicious three course meal out of that bowl, seek help.

If you're eating instant noodles then you're already in a lose-lose situation. You might as well make it a consolation prize by chewing it like a sandwich. Let the crunchy, flavourless pasta dissolve in your mouth. Break the noodle-cake in half and pretend you are the Incredible Hulk. Wait -- what's this sudden explosion of sodium you are tasting? The chicken flavouring? You bet your ass it is! The packet says 'Instant Noodles' on it for a goddamned reason. I shouldn't have to boil a jug of water and stir, serving with or without broth as desired. It's the year two-thousand-fucking-nine here! I want my meals heated with lasers!

CHIKKUN! Leeloo Dallas Multipass!

Once you're done thumbing your nose at that barbaric water-boiling FOSSIL, simply finish off the noodle-cake, use your feet to flick the crumbs under the nearest furniture and you're ready to take on the day. If you find the noodles have turned into a lumpy paste in your mouth, swig down the water in the kettle and you'll be fine. I promise. If you decide to boil the water first then make sure you have a friend recording it on video because I am easily amused by people hurting themselves in the kitchen.

Ordering delivered food is interesting

Since I'm a 20-something guy living in a fairly interesting city, there is always going to be times when I'm feeling hungry, lazy or drunk (sometimes it's all three) and I can't be bothered to make proper food. This will most likely end up in me calling some nearby food joint and asking them to bring me food in exchange for money. What's that? Go outside and do some shopping? No thanks - I've got drunken mates over and I doubt they would see the fun side of "Yo, come over to my place. We'll play Xbox, play some music and then if you're lucky we'll go to Woolworths and hunt for specials on Continental Cup-A-Soup". We usually prefer the approach of "Dude, I've been drinking since 1pm. I'm hungry. BRING FORTH THE WHITE PAGES."

Now, I'm experienced enough to know that there are some numbers you need to have on speed dial. Those numbers are taxi companies, and takeaway places. The entire point of ordering a pizza from Dominos or chinese from The Golden Retriever is getting fed without walking outside, quickly. That's why the initial phone conversation is SO IMPORTANT. Luckily for me, my favourite chinese restaurant is always a memorable call.

Now, don't get me wrong. I love the chinese and their food, but this joint has stereotypes written all over it. It's a tiny little shop and I imagine their kitchen has one angry chinese chef wearing a white singlet and swinging a meat cleaver around. They're the best chinese place in town but explaining what you want to the girl on the phone is like negotiating a hostage rescue.

Girl: "CHINESE HEP ROO?"
Me: "Buh, wha-"
Girl: CAN I HEP ROO?"
Me: "Oh shit, sorry you startled me. Can I get a delivery please?"
Girl: "WHAT YOU LIKE" (Did I mention she talks loudly?)
Me: "Let's go with some dim sims, chicken omelette, and some mongolian beef. Oh, and 4 litres of coke. We're running out of mixers here. "
Girl: "THAT NO PROBLEM, BE THERE IN 45 MINUTE!" *hangs up*

I call back.

Girl: "CHINESE HEP ROO?"
Me: "Yeah it's me again - Just thought I'd let you know where I live so you can deliver the food."
Girl: "OH OK WHAT ADDRESS"
Me: "Wallaby St."
Girl: "WARRABY? THAT SPELL W-A-R-R-A-B-Y?"
Me: (Blown away) "Uh wow... no? W-A-L-L-A-B-Y."
Girl: "OK 45 MINUTE!"

Putting the phone down, it took me a few seconds for it to soak in that she actually swapped L's and R's while spelling something. I found that incredibly funny because that kind of thing just shouldn't happen. I mean, if you have a lisp do you thpell everything like thith?

Twenty minutes later I hear my doorbell ring. Turns out that famous Chinese efficiency is alive and well. Damn those guys are quick. I open the door, give the starving uni student delivery boy some cash, and run upstairs. I am victorious! I have ordered exotic cuisine!

Turns out the girl confused "dim sims" with "onion rings". No biggie.

The local pizza joint isn't anywhere near as precarious as that, but because pizza and beer go together so well it just seems like the natural choice. I used to order from my local joint all the time when I had friends over. And they are GOOD. So I found it a little bit creepy when I just had moved to a new unit and I ordered pizza for the first time. I opened the door and the delivery guy goes "Oh! hey dude. You moved house?"

Well shit - I might as well just open an account with them. BBQ CHICKEN OR DEATH!

Also, I don't actually live in Wallaby St. I'm doing the Internet thing where I hide my address in case one day a crazy woman shows up at my house wearing a wedding dress covered in motor oil or something. The street I used to live in DID have R's in it however. Shit, I mean L's. Damnit now I'm doing it.

Quick everyone! Split up!

So it's Australia Day, and while everyone else is out getting plastered and sunburnt our house is a little different. My flatmate is playing Fallout 3 on my Xbox and I'm chewing on a Maxibon and wondering why I have to work tonight. Nestlé is Australian as far as I can tell, so that will do.

Last night I met up with a few buddies and went drinking, which is something I haven't done in a while. And then I was faced with that startling reality: Whenever guys get completely hammered and THEN try to go on a pub crawl, they will undoubtedly get split up and spend precious drinking time trying to find each other by fumbling on their mobile phones. Getting an SMS that says "hey duder im with this chicks come met us at teh back" doesn't help me find you at all. The back of what exactly? And more importantly, did she bring friends?

Here I am with a stripper. You probably weren't there.

The best example I can give would probably be Parklife 2007, where a mate of mine replied to my "Where the hell are you?" with "dude im near the lights, look for the glowsticks". This incredibly descriptive message has two very minor things wrong with it:

1) We're in the middle of Moore Park and there are lights absolutely fucking everywhere
2) It's a music festival - every ecstacy-fuelled pinger brought a crate of glowsticks with them.

I later found him arguing with a bus.

I guess my message to anyone reading this would be IF YOU'RE OUT DRINKING FOR CROM'S SAKE BE SPECIFIC. Dude I'd love to find you again and talk about the time we nearly died but I can't unless you at least tell me which pub you're at. Thanks. I mean it.

It's hot, we get it

So while I was sitting in a nice cool windowless government office today eating mince pies and savouring the best the local vietnamese slave bakery has to offer, I kept myself amused by spamming Twitter on my iPhone. So anyway it turns out that it was really hot today and everybody except me knew about it. Everyone was carrying on like the sky was falling, posting things like "MY FACE IS MELTING OFF" and "IT'S SO HOT MY KIDNEYS ARE FAILING" and such. I found it very entertaining - probably how Arnold Schwarzenegger feels at the end of Conan The Barbarian, sitting on his little mountain of skulls ruling the known universe. Comfortably.

However the most promising thing about summer is that whenever you step out of an air-conditioned office smack bang into a wall of flame and humidity, you know that for every action there is an equal and opposite reaction. Newton, bitches! I'm talking about the epic storm that is soon to follow, bringing lightning and thunder and drowning kittens to the masses, people watching from their hospital beds as they recover from the day's heatstroke. It's a well known fact that thunderstorms fucking rule, and everytime I see my street flooding I can sit and watch it for hours. It's very therapeutic, if not a little bit morbid.

So here we are on pretty much the hottest day in months, and it's 9:30pm. I'm sitting in my room STILL wondering why I donated my electric fan to the Salvation Army (oh, that's right, nevermind) and typing at my computer, waiting for the storm. Except it ISN'T COMING. That's right, it's the meteorology equivalent of buying backstage tickets to the Pussycat Dolls, wading through hordes of screaming overweight teenagers, sitting through the shitty support acts and then finding out that the hot one has laryngitis and took the night off. FUCK. THAT.

If I can't wake up at 4am tomorrow and catch fish from my second floor balcony I'm going to kick Mother Nature's ass.

Hey bro I heard you like photos

... so I put a photo on your photo so you can photo while you photo. *sigh*

Anyway the entire point of this post (besides starting in the worst fashion possible: A MEME) is to announce to the internets that I did the "nostalgic housewife" thing and bought a digital photo frame. They were going cheap at this dodgy-ass little shop in Cabramatta. It was pretty much the only place where you could buy bubble tea, a mango, and a digital photo frame all in the one store. Pretty much like an asian Aldi.

Random asian attentionseeker proudly displaying the model of photo frame I bought. I wonder how they're operating WITHOUT BEING PLUGGED IN.

It's a pretty shitty one as far as digital photo frames go (They have ones that are wireless for god's sake) but I guess it does the job. I'll head to JB's in a few minutes to buy an SD card for it because 120MB of internal storage isn't fooling anyone.

The day I nearly got exploded

Strangely enough, for someone who really CANNOT COOK AT ALL, I seem to have this knack (read: passion) for cooking and eating pizzas. It all came about a few years ago when my parents built an outdoor entertainment area at their place and decided to add a woodfired pizza oven. This was a brilliant move for quite a few reasons:

- It gave me an excuse to burn things
- Woodfired pizza without some smug fuck dumping lettuce, artichokes and sundried tomatoes on your pizza.





"Excuse me waiter, what the fuck is this?"




While I’m at it, I would like to point out that I have absolutely nothing to do with the slice of SHIT pictured at the top of this post. I took that photo at Cooney’s one night. I can tell why their pizza is free.

Anyway I digress. The pizza oven was built with a gas system included (I really don’t know why, it’s a WOODFIRED OVEN) and this was pretty fun for a while when I learned that I could yank on a lever and have an Xbox-huge jet of burning death engulf the inside of the oven. I did this for a few months until one day when I was peering inside watching the flame, and the flame sucked back in on itself.

Now, I don’t trust gas systems in the slightest. I’d never seen the flame retreat in on itself. The very next thing I remember is a loud BANG and getting knocked on my ass a few metres back from where I was standing. Seems that there was a small leak in one of the connections and it allowed gas to collect underneath the oven. Eventually it got a spark and the whole pocket of gas exploded. It blew the front of the cupboard in half and the explosion took off a lot of hair from my legs. The oven itself was unharmed (Resilient things those woodfired ovens). I was fairly lucky that I had instinctively leaned away when the flame disappeared because I was usually poking my head pretty close to the oven. Apart from a few slight burns, the stench of burnt hair and a few grazes from where I slid across the concrete, I was okay.

We don’t use the gas system anymore.

Wait, I don't get it

You know what? I’m not going to say ‘Welcome to my blog!’ because everyone does that. The problem with welcoming people to a WEBPAGE is that you’re giving them the impression that it’s a nice friendly place with campfires and grief counsellors and dogs and stuff.

Instead, I’d like to let you all know that this is a webpage that may be updated regularly with tales of my heroic exploits (lol) and random thoughts (wtf). If for some wacked-out reason you find this page entertaining, I wish you luck. For the rest of you, AHGLGAH.

The main reason I started this is because right now it is ridiculously bloody hot and I can't sleep. Between sweating like a dog (ie: through the bottom of my feet) and death by electric fan, I'll take my chances and sweat like the dog pictured above.