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.