Cyanide and Happiness

I know I know, I couldn't help myself. Sometimes it is necessary to show the world, or in my case one or two people, that there is some stuff out there that will improve your mood in a jiffy.

Cyanide and Happiness cartoons have been around for quite a while now - since early 2005 I believe, touche! They belong to a website called Explosm.net which has a whole lot of other stuff. I only really care about the cartoons most of the time, but sometimes have a look around. The problem is the flashing ads on the side draw attention at work. Big tits in tight shirts don't help either.

Below is a small selection of cartoons that I like. They have a lot of other cartoons that make me wet myself but I won't put them on my blog because I might offend someone.

They are good because they are immature and usually pointless. A bit like me. Fart.



What can I say? I did something just as annoying to my mate's sister's car once with a permanent marker. No, I didn't scribble all over it, I gave it little labels like 'exhaust pipe', 'rear view mirror' and 'window'.



I had genitals, ahem, a mobile phone once. Actually I think I am up to about my tenth phone. When you lose one you do feel like you lost something important.



Look, I just dislike the whole thing of 'hey I am hot because this morning I waxed my head with some greasy oil, put on a tonne of cheap aftershave and my gold necklace, went to the gym, pumped some iron in front of the mirror 'cos I wanna have sex with my guns, went home, had a shower, waxed my head with some greasy oil, put on a tonne of cheap aftershave and my gold necklace and went out to drive around and look like a dickhead in my WRX.' Get over it! Your penis is small, and won't work because you are on steroids.



Sometimes I am just an arse. These blokes let outsiders redo the comics that they posted, sometimes with fantastic results. I didn't post the originals because, as I said, I am an arse.



This reminds me of the time I decided I wanted to taste gelatine. It makes yummy jelly, so why wouldn't a tablespoon of gelatine taste good? It quick-set to the roof of my mouth and I think I panicked for at least two hours.



Nothing like a God joke. Especially when God swears. He said 'FUCK'! Gee, what do the creationists think of that, a swear word that he must have invented? Surely it wouldn't have evolved from something like 'fichen' or 'Fornication Under Consent of the King'...



Did I mention creationists?



Punch in the bum. Ha, ha, ha, ha. Funny guys, really...



The thing that surprises me about these bloke's comics is the fact that sometimes they can be stirringly beautiful. I should have dressed up as caterpillars more, and as a tadpole less often.



I used to break it down in the night clubs around town. I was hot and I smelt like a perfume factory in France, or should I say Singapore where the cheap shit is made.



I think this is more of a reference to my future than anything.



Pretty much my favourite. I used to smoke a pipe and wander around in my dressing gown and act like an asshole as well. Words like 'touche' were a part of my repertoire. Words like repertoire were part of my repertoire.



Need I say more? Harry Potter really does have a chamber of secrets.



I like the obvious. I like it when people ask rhetorical questions without expecting obvious and smart arse answers. For example my lovely wife might ask 'why is this empty beer here?' and I might reply 'because I willed it to be there', or 'are these clothes dirty?' to which I reply 'only as dirty as you want them to be hotpants' to which she replies '...fine'.

The Greyish Blob that is my Child

I am sure some people understand it, and I am sure there are many others that don't understand it and pretend to anyway. I am sure that most of the people think I am a bit crazy - a bit on the weird side. I am absolutely certain that people think I am completely mad when I run around the office waving a sheet of photocopied paper shouting 'look! It is my child! See, see, here is its nose, you can make out an eye and there is its head! Look at the little hand that it is holding to its mouth! It is sooooooo cute!'
Some people understand my enthusiasm and greet it with a wisened (they already have kids) 'let me see...oh, isn't it fantastic! is it a boy or a girl?' followed by a disappointed 'Oh, you aren't finding out are you".
Some people just hover nearby listening in, like I would, because they really couldn't be bothered pretending to care what is going on because it is Thursday morning and work sucks.
Most greet it with a smile that says 'damn, I should have gone to the toilet just then, rather than look at that next email'. They then look at the picture as I wildly point out the features and make random and quite pointless statements like 'it was like it was waving at us' and 'when we first saw it it was drinking the amniotic fluid and I said to the ultrasound lady that the baby is taking after her father and it was really funny and, yeah...'
There are a few people in this world that seem to be very wise and very full of it. Advice that is. Not shit. They like to say things like 'wait until it is two and it throws the first tantrum' and 'enjoy it now while it is quiet, you have eighteen years of hell coming up'. Thanks. Watch me throw a tantrum if you don't shut up.
My wife likes to look, ahem, we like to look at a number of websites, however one seems to grab my attention the most. It is probably because of its straight up web address www.i-am-pregnant.com. It has a week by week section which is apparently useful if you know what week it is. I don't know what month it is, let alone week, but I do know that this week has some of the funniest footage ever. The little ultrasound of the baby is what I am looking at. What is it doing? Am I besotted and all clucky or what? If I were these parents I would put up extra high fences around the house. I would also invest in a heap of velcro. Chandeliers are out of the question.
Our little one doesn't seem to be as active, but I don't care because I really hate to run after things. Besides a lazy baby is a healthy baby.
Ours is already full of character. I know because it waved at me with one hand and gave me the finger with the other.

Jum

After the sadness has gone

I decided that I needed something funny after my last post, and rather than go and cook pasta and meatballs like I really should, I went on the hunt. Well, trust some Euro bloke to make a baby laugh with a funny noise....

I continued on and found another vid. If I was the parent of this I would be proud. It is cute, furry, and clearly a barrel of laughs. Quite frankly I would like two proud toes like this thing, maybe this is where the surname 'Proudfoot' comes from.

Rather than go on I will leave it at that. Perhaps I should read some one else's blog.

Cheerio

Jum

I cried

It isn't often that you receive an email that has a real impact on the way you look at the world.

I was encouraged to look at this video and sign this petition.

I did both.

Jum

...neighbours, everybody needs good neighbours

Yes, we do need good neighbours, and I have taken it upon myself to be neighbourly. It seems that a number of people in my estate deem it to be ok to go cruising around on their little motorbikes, risking their own necks and annoying the hell out of everyone in the process. They are riding around dangerous semi-vacant blocks, kicking up dust, making a hell of a lot of noise and proving to the world how pointless they really are. I can run around in circles with my 2 stroke Husqvarna trimmer and do the same thing. But I don't because I'm not a tool.

Well I finally had enough, I sent an email to the council, and a submission to the Bungendore Mirror about it. The council haven't replied to me (surprise) so I suppose the submission in the local rag will do it. I don't really care if the culprits get angry at me, I also don't really care if they are upset that I didn't go over and knock on their door and tell them to shut the f*** up first. I shouldn't f***ing have to. They are rude, and as far as I am concerned I find it pointless trying to reason with inconsiderate and rude people.

I apologise for this little rant, but enough pleasant weekend afternoons have been destroyed by this juvenile and irresponsible behaviour.

Jum

In Constant Fear of a Horse Head in my Perambulator

Today my wonderful wife and I decided to brave the baby shops of Canberra to have a look at cots (boring), bedspreads (I yawned so hard I dislocated my jaw) and prams - WOOHOO! Yes, prams, strollers, perambulators, joggers or whatever you want to call them are magnificent things. I have been sucked into this strange little world and quite frankly I am o.k. with it. There is so much choice out there that it at first seems overwhelming, but as you start to kick a few easily detachable wheels you begin to sort the Fords from the Holdens, the Deawoos from the Hyundais, and the Bondi Taxis (aka Toorak Taxis) from the far less pretentious and far more pragmatic 1978 pattern Land Cruisers.

To start with you have the straight out strollers at around $200 or so. These are practical, lightweight and simple to use - as long as your child is capable of sitting up by itself. Essentially they are the Daewoos of the stroller world, usually owned by those that are completely unconcerned with what it looks like, just as long as it gets you there. Even if it does lose the odd door on the way.

Second of all you have the cheap three wheelers - liable to tip at a moments notice. They are large, cumbersome, stupid looking and generally pretending to be something better. Magnas; they are dangerous and so are their owners. These are the ones that take out your ankles in the supermarket aisles.

Third are the more expensive and excessively large three wheelers. Quite a number of them are made by Jeep, and you need a Jeep to be able to move the thing around. The sheer size of these things is impressive. In fact they remind me of one of my very first posts. You see proud parents put their little babies into these things and crawl in after them when they realise that the baby has completely disappeared along with a fortnights worth of groceries. I have also heard that the dashboard lights and GPS units can play up.

Finally is my favourite - the type that makes me all quivery inside. The well thought out, modern, sleek next generation strollers. I must admit I spent a lot more time than I probably should have done with these things. I got caught up in the polished aluminium frames, the easy release capsules, the intelligent fold up mechaninsms and the three position reversible reclining seat. My beautiful wife will have no problems getting me to come along to the baby shops in future, although she probably won't want to come with me because the store clerks did look a little concerned when I started singing 'Transformers, more than meets the eye...' and making special sound effects every time I adjusted something.

I did learn a lot through the course of my adventure. Not only did I learn about the intricate workings of prams of all sizes, I found out about the baby mafia. I am now in fear, and quite concerned for my safety; what if we buy the wrong brand, what if we buy from the wrong shop, what if I speak to the wrong clerk? Apparently, according to someone who was new in the world of baby retail, there is a very cosy relationship between baby chains and baby product suppliers. There is even an unspoken agreement that the prices will remain the same from store to store. No competition, no bloodshed. Now I know why all these kids are listening to Eminem and shooting eachother - it is instilled into them before they are even born. We are a doomed race! In one of the shops was one unfortunate child trying to recruit some bitches so he could go pimpin' with his posse. Subliminal messages, designed to foster a special love for all things bling, are issued through Fisher Price toys. There is more to the trade in baby powder than you think.

I had better go, I just noticed a posse of youths in some pimped out Jeeps eyeing out my place...

Rainy Days are Good for the Soul

Rather than sit around and do bugger all this Canberra Day I decided to do something inspired and slightly different - besides, I certainly wasn't interested in sitting around pretending to care for the Nation's Capital, and I didn't really want to hang around in Bungendore with a pack of wet and miserable Canberrans. So I packed my camera, tripod and bag into my trusty Mazda and hit the road in search of the perfect photograph. Well, any photo would do, but I did entertain the notion that I could pull some sort of Dupainesque monochrome out of my arse.

Mission number one was up Day's hill, at the back of Elmslea estate. My wife and I had discovered some ruins around the back of the hill. Unfortunately progress 'has to happen' and these ruins will probably be dug up and converted into a McMansion some time soon. Fortunately we found this little creepy haven before progress did. The strange thing about this place was that I couldn't get it out of my head all night, and I got really excited before I left to see it again. I hung around for a while, taking a few snaps here and there. I always felt like someone was watching me. The rain, mist and dead conifers matched the place perfectly.

A little side adventure was down to the train tracks, where I took a couple of 'typical' train track photos. I was also looked at very strangely by the train driver because, as far as he could tell, I was out in the middle of nowhere, in the pissing down rain taking photos. Thankfully the fact that I am a terrorist gave me good reason to be there.
From here I decided to go north towards Tarago. For your information this is the place that the Toyota Tarago was named after, it is just pronounced differently ie. Tarra go. I didn't end up getting there, but I did get about half way before I turned up Mount Fairy road. I went a long way up this road, found sweet FA and turned around.













On the way back I stumbled across a rather cool railway bridge, of which I took a number of photographs. Again it was pissing down and I did get a bit wet. Little did the train driver know that I was under the bridge as he was going over the top. Ha Ha Ha, my plans are coming to fruition.From here I headed back towards home, however I needed to make a little stop at my friends place (the bottlo). After grabbing some supplies I started to head back home, however after being harassed by those Canberra people I turned left instead of right and up trucking yard lane. I took a few photos of what was quite a significant cattle run and moved on.







Although I intended to go to Hoskinstown I turned up Gidleigh lane. This was a rather intelligent decision on my behalf because I don't think I have aver been anywhere as nice as this. Everything was green, old and beautiful. I have finally found out what should be up some of those old dirt roads.

It was all so nice a sat down and had one of those beers.

The Long Sleep

The end of Summer, and the subtleties of Autumn have just started to tease at the edges of the light. Darkness slowly reclaims daylight and the trees, as if to mock the dying embers of the summer, turn to shades of Claret Amber and Gold.

Cool green robes are removed and the cold fingers begin to reach out through the folds. Nothing will die forever - though it seems an eternity till the sprightly cry of the New Born is heard in the air.

I wish to revisit the peeling laughter, the dizzying mirth and the soporific calm of a Summer evening, but I know I can't - at least for a while.

I will have to embrace my friend Morpheus 'till Bacchus befriends me again.

What I really meant to do was...

I can resist no longer...

My drooling garbage has run its course...

I have to write about pretty things, like flowers and gardens and not angry stuff. Well most of the time at least.

To the right you will see some daffodils. These are examples of the simple pleasures you can create by pottering around the house with a pair of secateurs and a trowel - you also create a lot of pleasure for your neighbours and random passers by because the look at me and think what a wonderful husband I must be. The truth is I am obsessed and neglect my duties as a husband at the first sight of a weed, and the first sniff of a snail trying to ruin my garden. My wife thinks I am weird and really quite annoying with my cuttings of lavenders and camellias clogging up her laundry. She thinks my habit of packing myself up with a few beers, a camera and a tripod and heading off on some sort of Hemmingwayesque expedition in a manly search for the prettiest flower even weirder.

I don't really care for her opinion because I think she is damn weird for marrying me. I am more of a tool than a rusty spanner.

(Back to what I was saying) The bulb for the daffodils (yes I started with one) came from my parents house in Canberra - where I grew up. When I was about 20 or so I saw them growing in the area next to my bedroom. The next year I saw a heap more growing around that same area. Me being the thoughtful, intelligent planty type person decided it would be a wise idea to dig them up and replant them in a pot. I did this, met my (now) wife and forgot about them for a few years.

I remember waking up from another uni-induced haze (a little more than drunken) staggering out into the courtyard of our little Lyneham flat and going 'whoa what is that smell' before lighting a fag and cracking a tin of dog hair. I worked out that the smell was me, a pub, 73 cigarettes, 17 beers, two tequilas and some daffodils that were sitting next to me. After having an early morning nap, I went back outside, this time with sunglasses on so I could actually see and discovered the garden for the first time. Ever. I also discovered the pretty little daffodils singing like angels with their happy yellow faces.

I made some monumental decisions that day. I smelt really bad, but daffodils smell so good that it didn't matter. Putting something in the soil and leaving it there for a few years is kinda cool, especially if it grows into daffodils. That gardens are good for the soul, and benders at the uni bar were not good for the mind. I mean, the daffodils were really singing.