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.