Like most things in life, April Fool's Day is something that sounds way more awesome than it actually is. In the past, by the time I've realised that it is April 1st, I've already left work and gone home, and just couldn't be fucked annoying anyone right now. And if someone actually ever "punked" me by taking the wheels off my car or putting pubes in my coffee mug or something, all I'd want to do is beat them with a stick or a chainsaw.
But the very notion of April Fool's Day is awesome. It's the one day of the year that you're granted a "get out of jail free" card. I say use it wisely... don't waste it on leaving your friend a message to call "Mr Lyon" and give them the number for the zoo. If you want to annoy them with a large, savage cat, steal one and starve it for a while then leave it in their bedroom. Be an arse. Arrange to meet your friend at the cinema at 8:00pm and then call them at 11:00pm and tell them that you were only joking. You could get away with a lot, in the spirit of April Fool's Day, which has somehow gone from a change of religious views to cutting your best mate's brake wire.
This year, I'm joining the cause.
Mister Evil Breakfast's Guide to April Fool's Day in the Form of a Diary (MEBGTAFDITFOAD)
April 1
7.30am: Poison friend's breakfast. This could be a dicey one, as the victim might die before I can safely point out that it's just a prank. A good alternative is to put tiny sharp pieces of metal in their cereal, and I could just watch them run around til they squirt blood.
9:00am: Prop a bucket of sulphuric acid inside manager's office so it falls on them when they open the door. Then watch as they run around, slowly dissolving.
10:30am: Meeting with George from Sales Department.
10:35am: Kill George.
10:40am: Coffee.
11:00am: Hide parts of George's body in work fridge next to everyone's lunch; label limbs with supervisor's name. Put anonymous call through to police.
11:30am: Apply for recently vacated position in Sales Department.
12:30pm: Lunch (Subway?)
12:45pm: Find someone who sponsors an African child. Take a small, starving kid to their door and inform them that the Save The Children charity has gone into liquidation and the kid is now their legal property. Also, see if they have any good CDs that I could borrow.
12:55pm: Empty cistern of work toilet. Very carefully pour a combination of nitric acid and glycerine into it. This should remain relatively stable until someone flushes, at which point a large explosion will of course ensue.
1:00pm: Emergency evacuation of work building.
3:00pm: Take a flesh-eating insect (a scarab bug springs to mind) and put it in workmate's ear when they're not paying attention. Sit back and laugh while they go insane and try to rip their own face off to stop the creature that's now devouring their brain. April Fool!
5:00pm: Take the nozzle of a vacuum cleaner, hold it over someone's eye socket and turn it on. They will now have the tedious task of retrieving their eyeball from the vacuum bag, which will be covered in hair and dust, making it pretty useless.
5:30pm: Shops (bread, cheese-spread, beef jerky, Iced Vovos).
5:45pm: Break into next door neighbour's house and get rid of his computer and tv and washing machine and everything electrical. Hang an 1874 calendar on his wall and spread around some "Wanted" posters & really old copies of Cosmo so when he comes home he'll think that he has travelled backwards through time. Wearing cowboy boots and a hat, knock on the door (don't forget to say "Pard'ner") and explain that it's 1874 and his wife, family and friends from 2009 haven't even been born yet, and his expertise in computer engineering is absolutely useless. Upon hearing this, he should run to the nearest window and jump, but I may need to give him a little push just in case.
6:30pm: Dinner (and Neighbours)
7:15pm: Wash clothes.
8:00pm: Hang out clothes.
8:10pm: Get some help to dig up my friend's house from its foundations, then drive away with it. Note: Make sure friend is chasing the house when it's driven over the edge of a cliff. Then run up to them and yell "April Fool's!"
9:00pm: Return DVDs to Blockbuster.
9:15pm: Exhume the body of a friend's deceased relative, and hang it outside their bedroom window. Note: this can be especially hard if the body is particularly rotten, so nail-gunning parts of the body together might be a wise solution.
10:00pm: Give friend a lot of sleeping pills, but not enough to kill them. When they are in a deep sleep, get a chainsaw, cut off both their hands and ears, swap them and sew them back on before all the blood drains out - laying down newspaper beforehand is probably a good idea. When they come to, I will yell, "Talk to the hand!" at them. This should be funny for the rest of their life.
10:40pm: Tail someone whilst driving and start shooting at them. Note: Aim for the tyres as they turn, which should cause the car to flip. This will total their vehicle and seriously injure the driver, allowing me to end the chase and explain (before they lose consciousness/die) that it's just an April Fool's joke.
11:00pm: Break into friend's house (note: wear soft shoes). Pour a generous line of petrol around their bed while they're sleeping, then light it and stand well back. Set their alarm clock for 11:15 just in case the noise of their house burning down doesn't wake them.
11:30pm: Letterman (+ cup of tea and Iced Vovos)
Tuesday, March 31, 2009
Friday, March 27, 2009
Mister Tipvil Breakfast - NRL round 3
This photo was taken moments after Julian O'Neil checked into his room at the Crown CasinoThis tipping thing is hard work, man. Seriously. Hard. Work. Teams this year seem to have the consistency of a glass of orange juice. However, I will soldier on and tip some winners this week. In fact, I'm so confident in my success that I've sold my kidneys to get up a decent amount to gamble with. And by "my kidneys," I mean "my collection of other people's kidneys." I'm not even missing them, I don't know why everyone makes such a song-and-dance about it when I cut them open.
Tigers vs Roosters
What? Are both of these teams seriously playing each other? They're just going to stand around for 80 minutes and laugh about how easy it was to beat the Raiders. I hate both of these teams. Roosters by 10.
Tigers vs Roosters
What? Are both of these teams seriously playing each other? They're just going to stand around for 80 minutes and laugh about how easy it was to beat the Raiders. I hate both of these teams. Roosters by 10.
Titans vs Bulldogs
It's the CLASH OF THE TITANS... and the Bulldogs. I'm pretty sure the Titans haven't impressed me much this year; I think they won when I didn't tip them and lost when I did. As a result, they have annoyed me way too much, and I am hereby saying (possibly for the first time in my life): GO BULLDOGS. I feel dirty.
Warriors vs Broncos
Can anyone beat the mighty New Zealanders? Probably, but it's not going to be the Broncs, who are in trouble with the NRL and the RPSCA for shaving a gorilla and making him play football. We're onto you, Toni Carroll. PS. You have a girl's name. Warriors by 14.
Eels vs Raiders
Very clever work by the Raiders in both rounds so far to get beaten and lull the rest of the competition into a false sense of security. Will they continue the "let's pretend to play really badly" ploy, or will they actually turn up this week? Time will tell. Raiders by about 870 (trust me on this one, Kranky).
Very clever work by the Raiders in both rounds so far to get beaten and lull the rest of the competition into a false sense of security. Will they continue the "let's pretend to play really badly" ploy, or will they actually turn up this week? Time will tell. Raiders by about 870 (trust me on this one, Kranky).
Cowboys vs Storm
Ummmmmmmmmmmm... Cowboys.
Ummmmmmmmmmmm... Cowboys.
Rabbits vs Knights
The Bunnies kind of disappointed me a little bit last week by not winning. They won't want to feel my furrowed brow being pointed in their general direction two weeks in a row, so they should gee up a bit and play some decent footy for Round 3. The Knights on the other hand, managed to beat Cronulla but lost all of their players to injury (including one bloke who had his entire leg ripped off) in doing so. It's like spending all your rent money on milk and cereal and then discovering that you're lactose intolerant. So yeah, Rabbits to win this in a canter.
Dragons vs Sharks
God, I just don't care. Sharks.
Manly vs Panthers
Neither side is doing much for anyone so far this year... it depends if Manly decide to turn up to this one. They should win, but I might actually tip the upset for this one - I'll bet two Tazos that Penrith notch up their first win for 2009.
Good luck for Round Three, and remember - get busy tipping or get busy sipping!
Thursday, March 26, 2009
you're gonna be a star (all the way to reno)
Whenever I meet someone new, at a party, or a dinner, or a dinner party for example, inevitably the conversation will head towards, "So... what do you do?" And when I tell them about my boring-ass job and how I'm not a huge fan of doing it, they tell me that I should quit my job and follow my dreams. "Work to live, don't live to work! Make work your passion and you will never work again!" they'll say, and possibly give me the 'stink-eye' because I, you know, hold down a 9-5 job. Sorry champ, but unlike you, I can't pay rent with mottos, fill my fridge with sunshine and get drunk on my own non-conforming ways.
Do what I'm good at? Make a career out of my passion? Stabbing hippies fits both of those categories. Pass me your butter knife, pally-boy.
Here's a list of other (non-violent) things that I am good at:
Taping songs off the radio
I was seriously awesome at being able to avoid the DJ's back-announce while I was creating the perfect mix tape to listen to in Year 10 maths. There is a skill, my friends, in capturing the intro and the complete fade-out of a song on the radio and not have some spazzo ruin it with his spiel about the Countdown being brought to you by a mattress company. Of course, now that you can burn CDs and download any song you want for free, this art form has been somewhat lost. I mean, I could still do it by holding up my MP4 recorder to my computer while I'm streaming the local radio station, but it's just not really the same, is it? Also, I have no idea what an MP4 is.
Liking movies for no reason
I hate movies for a million reasons. Plot, acting, shit characters, boom microphones being caught in frame... but I also have a terrible habit of liking movies for no apparent reason. A friend asked me which version of Charlie and the Chocolate Factory I preferred - the old Gene Wilder musical one, or the new Johnny Depp-Tim Burton effort. My answer was the new one. He asked why. After stuttering for a while, I told him that I had to go and see a man about a goat and never got around to explaining myself. About a year later, I still don't know why I prefer the new one. There's a lot NOT to like about it, such as the scenes where Charlie and Wonka go to visit Wonka's dad to try and resolve the family tension. This rates as probably the worst movie scene ever (possibly except for all of Transformers). But then, I didn't rate the scene in the original where Charlie dances like a dick and sings his songs with his oldies; it annoys me like an octopus with tinea. I just liked the new one better; I really don't have an answer why. I'll just say that I thought Depp played Wonka closer to the character in the book, and Gene Wilder fucking scared me. So there you go, Azz. (Oh, and thanks for the vid of the fat kid! Happy new year to ye!)
Picking songs that people are singing in their car
Whenever I stop at a red light, I can't help looking at the people in the cars next to me. Some are deadly serious, eyes straight ahead and ready for the green light, others fiddle with stuff in the back seat or glovebox, some are having a good ol' dig around in their nose. Most, however, are tapping away and singing to whatever they're listening to on their stereo. Back in the day when most cars only had a tape player (at best), people would bop away to songs on the radio; and I would make it a mission to join them. A few quick spins of the trusty tuning knob (and then I’d change the radio station) and I was on their wavelength and I’d be able to provide back-up for them or take over the drums so they'd be able to concentrate on hitting the high notes. And then we'd join together for a guitar solo. Obviously this has the tendency to make a lot of people a bit self-conscious (and a few times downright violent), but on the whole, it was appreciated. As far as I know, I was the only mobile one-man-red-light-band in the world.
Working out mobile phone numbers
You know when you give someone your number, and you ask for theirs in return, and they take the quick option and call you so your phone has a record of the number? It comes up with the international code in place of the 04blahblah numbers. Down the track, someone might say, "Hey man, do you have Hambone's phone number?" And you'd flip through your phone and say, "Yes. It's... uuuh... 61... 44... no wait. That doesn't make any sense." And then your brain would start to melt because you can't work out how many digits this stupid number is meant to contain. And in the end, no-one gets Hambone's number. Poor Hambone.
I am excellent at doing it, however. So if someone asks you for a number and you can't work it out, give me a bell on +61414934286 and I'll come and give you a hand.
Having a dream and ambition is fine - I've got mine (they usually involve crowbars) and you've got yours. But we can't all be rock stars, or there'd be no-one left to listen. If everyone was writing books, there'd be no-one reading them. We can't all make a living of taping Rick Dee's Weekly Top 40 show for a tape to listen to in Year 10 maths, or there'd be no-one left to work in the tape-making factory. And let's face it, after a few years of being a professional mobile one-man-red-light-band, I'd probably start wondering if it would be possible to sit in an office and write reports and file papers as a job.
And for the record, it's not really that hard to do the mobile phone number thing. Just work backwards if you get stuck.
Do what I'm good at? Make a career out of my passion? Stabbing hippies fits both of those categories. Pass me your butter knife, pally-boy.
Here's a list of other (non-violent) things that I am good at:
Taping songs off the radio
I was seriously awesome at being able to avoid the DJ's back-announce while I was creating the perfect mix tape to listen to in Year 10 maths. There is a skill, my friends, in capturing the intro and the complete fade-out of a song on the radio and not have some spazzo ruin it with his spiel about the Countdown being brought to you by a mattress company. Of course, now that you can burn CDs and download any song you want for free, this art form has been somewhat lost. I mean, I could still do it by holding up my MP4 recorder to my computer while I'm streaming the local radio station, but it's just not really the same, is it? Also, I have no idea what an MP4 is.
Liking movies for no reason
I hate movies for a million reasons. Plot, acting, shit characters, boom microphones being caught in frame... but I also have a terrible habit of liking movies for no apparent reason. A friend asked me which version of Charlie and the Chocolate Factory I preferred - the old Gene Wilder musical one, or the new Johnny Depp-Tim Burton effort. My answer was the new one. He asked why. After stuttering for a while, I told him that I had to go and see a man about a goat and never got around to explaining myself. About a year later, I still don't know why I prefer the new one. There's a lot NOT to like about it, such as the scenes where Charlie and Wonka go to visit Wonka's dad to try and resolve the family tension. This rates as probably the worst movie scene ever (possibly except for all of Transformers). But then, I didn't rate the scene in the original where Charlie dances like a dick and sings his songs with his oldies; it annoys me like an octopus with tinea. I just liked the new one better; I really don't have an answer why. I'll just say that I thought Depp played Wonka closer to the character in the book, and Gene Wilder fucking scared me. So there you go, Azz. (Oh, and thanks for the vid of the fat kid! Happy new year to ye!)
Picking songs that people are singing in their car
Whenever I stop at a red light, I can't help looking at the people in the cars next to me. Some are deadly serious, eyes straight ahead and ready for the green light, others fiddle with stuff in the back seat or glovebox, some are having a good ol' dig around in their nose. Most, however, are tapping away and singing to whatever they're listening to on their stereo. Back in the day when most cars only had a tape player (at best), people would bop away to songs on the radio; and I would make it a mission to join them. A few quick spins of the trusty tuning knob (and then I’d change the radio station) and I was on their wavelength and I’d be able to provide back-up for them or take over the drums so they'd be able to concentrate on hitting the high notes. And then we'd join together for a guitar solo. Obviously this has the tendency to make a lot of people a bit self-conscious (and a few times downright violent), but on the whole, it was appreciated. As far as I know, I was the only mobile one-man-red-light-band in the world.
Working out mobile phone numbers
You know when you give someone your number, and you ask for theirs in return, and they take the quick option and call you so your phone has a record of the number? It comes up with the international code in place of the 04blahblah numbers. Down the track, someone might say, "Hey man, do you have Hambone's phone number?" And you'd flip through your phone and say, "Yes. It's... uuuh... 61... 44... no wait. That doesn't make any sense." And then your brain would start to melt because you can't work out how many digits this stupid number is meant to contain. And in the end, no-one gets Hambone's number. Poor Hambone.
I am excellent at doing it, however. So if someone asks you for a number and you can't work it out, give me a bell on +61414934286 and I'll come and give you a hand.
Having a dream and ambition is fine - I've got mine (they usually involve crowbars) and you've got yours. But we can't all be rock stars, or there'd be no-one left to listen. If everyone was writing books, there'd be no-one reading them. We can't all make a living of taping Rick Dee's Weekly Top 40 show for a tape to listen to in Year 10 maths, or there'd be no-one left to work in the tape-making factory. And let's face it, after a few years of being a professional mobile one-man-red-light-band, I'd probably start wondering if it would be possible to sit in an office and write reports and file papers as a job.
And for the record, it's not really that hard to do the mobile phone number thing. Just work backwards if you get stuck.
Friday, March 20, 2009
Tipster Evil Breakfast - Round Two
Welcome Sportsfans! Round 2 is upon us already – snuck up on me a bit, to be honest. I was just getting over the excitement of Round 1, having a few drinks with Brett Seymour , and all of a sudden it’s Friday. There’s a few days in there that I can’t quite remember (Monday through Thursday are a smidge blurry), but hopefully I made it into work and got paid at some stage.
If not, I’ll just take my life savings ($8.52) down to the TAB and slap my money on:
Rabbits vs Eels
The Bunnies looked shit-hot last week – the Eels just looked shit. Whether the ol’ green and reds (I feel sorry for colour-blind South Sydney supporters) can continue on their high from last week is anyone’s guess. My guess is “yes.” I am also predicting that the Eels will spend most of the 2009 season praying to the patron saint of hurt, humiliation and hangovers (and strangely, beekeepers), St. Ruggletown. This week, Rabbitohs by 18.
Broncos vs Storm
Both teams won their respective games in Round 1 by a single point, so it’s kind of hard to drive a wedge between the Horses and the Rain. No members of either of these teams have been involved in any drinking-related shenanigans this week, which is disappointing. As far as I know, no one has been to the judiciary for dodgy tackles. What are the media doing, if not picking holes in professional sportos? My money’s on the Storm. By 7. That’s right, it’s all about the field goal.
Dragons vs Titans
It’s the CLASH OF THE TITANS… and the Dragons. I hate them both… but the Titans I hate a teensy bit less. So go them. But really, I wouldn’t mind if this game was cancelled and the circus came to town instead. Titans by… eh. 8.
Panthers vs Bulldogs
Bulldogs are funny looking creatures, really. I think they can be cute as all hell, but they ARE pretty weird dogs. Apparently they are so genetically fucked up through generations of inbreeding and shit that they can’t have sex without some human assistance. It’s those sorts of facts that make me wonder why I would ever complain about my job. Bulldogs by 10.
Cowboys vs Tigers
This is a tough one to call; it’s one of those games that could either go down to the wire, or either team could run up 60 points. I’ve picked the Cowboys, for no real reason. They looked ok last week for the four seconds that I watched the highlights. North QLD by 6.
Raiders vs Roosters
Apparently after last week’s “game” between Souths and the Roosters, the Souths players were all breathalysed. For what reason, pray tell? The fact that they just beat one of the competition heavyweights by 40 points? Perhaps the officials would have been better to make sure that the Rooters were sober. The Raiders were awesome last week against the Tigers, cleverly losing the game in the last 15 minutes to make sure that their ‘for and against’ tally didn’t look too intimidating to the rest of the competition. They won’t do that again this week. Canberra to crush them like ants.
Manly vs Warriors
After a turbulent week of exactly seven days, Manly didn’t really bother playing in Round 1 and fucked up most people’s tips. If they do it again, I’m going to severely hurt Cliff Lyons, despite the fact that he’s been retired for about a thousand years. And after that, I’m going after Geoff Toovey. I’ve got a rat-trap and some cheese, and I think that should take care of the little rat. Fuck you, Manly. You’d better win. By 12.
Sharks vs Knights
This is another “meh” game of the round – either team could win, and nobody would care which. The Sharkies got up last week, but have since lost most of their team to alcoholism and injury (not drinking-related injuries however). Sad that Ben Cross might not be able to play again due to some spinal damage – so for this week, I’m going on the Sharkies to “do it for Ben” and get up by 16 points.
And that’ll do me. Welcome to the weekend. Thank Christ that it’s finally here. Thanks, Jesus. (“You’re welcome.”)
Thursday, March 19, 2009
life and how to live it
Sometimes, life throws us a curve-ball. Sometimes, it might even toss up a wrong'un (depends if you like baseball or cricket). How we deal with these particular balls is not always clear-cut. Thankfully, we've got sitcoms to show us the way. Sitcoms, for the uninitiated, are television shows that use "writers" instead of "hosts" and have "actors" rather than "contestants." For examples of a sitcom, stay up late; they usually throw an old episode of Seinfeld or Everybody Loves Raymond around the Letterman slot.
Just in case you ever find yourself in Sitcomville (it's a lovely place to visit), here is a simple guide. Pay careful attention; who knows when you'll be presented with a life-changing problem that needs solving within 22 minutes?
Mister Evil Breakfast's Guide To Life In A Sitcom If You Ever Find Yourself Stuck In One Even Though It's Highly Unlikely (MEBGTLIASIYEFYSIOETIHU)
Money
Let's say that Chuck has a new pair of awesome new S'Com Sneakers that cost him $200. You also want a pair of these wicked shoes. Your first step is to ask your parents for a raise in your allowance (leading to some hilarious gags by your dad as he pulls out the calculator to work out how long it will take you to raise that much if all you do is take out the rubbish once a week; this will give you an opening to mention that you'll do it twice a week, thus halving the time it will take to save up). Forget about saving money, or even getting a job; for this is Sitcomville – it’s time you entered a talent show!
No matter how much money you need for something; a pair of shoes or a new car, for instance, this will be the exact amount up for grabs for the person who wins the school talent show. If you win, you won’t actually use the prize money for that pair of sneakers or car; you’ll donate it to the guy you met fourteen seconds ago who needs a lung transplant so he can buy a new lung, or to the local orphanage so they can buy some new orphans. But don’t worry – the sitcom laws mean that your generosity will be rewarded by someone else giving you the shoes or the car – just when you thought that the life-lesson you received this episode was reward enough.
Of course, not everyone can win a talent show, so occasionally some kinds of employment prospects are required. It is not uncommon for people in Sitcomville aged twenty-three and under to apply, be interviewed, obtain, begin and be fired from a job in a single day. After that age, I’m afraid you’re pretty much stuck doing the same thing in the same place until your sitcom is cancelled. Many people will hate their job – the boss is a bastard, there’s a twat at work who keeps getting promoted despite someone else doing all the work; you’re unappreciated in your role. If there’s a promotion on the line, you should invite your grumpy boss around to your house for dinner. He will accept, even though he thinks you’re a dribbling retard. During the meal, he’ll come to realise what an honest, loyal, caring, loving person you are, and forget the fact that you lied your arse off all night about how successful your family is (including your whacky next-door neighbor who insists on fucking up your life), despite the fact that your children are either failing school or can’t get a date to ‘the big dance.’ Welcome to being promoted! After this episode though, your life won’t change one iota. More importantly, you’ve learned a life lesson.
Romance
One of the best things about Sitcomville is that the whole place is full of hot, single people. You will meet people literally anywhere – school, work, the supermarket, a café, a rock concert, walking down the street, at the ice-cream place. A great way to meet that ‘special’ person is to get into an elevator; there’s a 50% chance that you and hot-single-of-the-opposite-sex will find yourself together in said lift. Once that happens, there’s a 100% chance that the elevator will break down. After that, my friend, you won’t be able to listen to muzak without cracking a boner. So you’ll probably never be able to go into Myer ever again.
If there aren’t any elevators around, your friends will be more than happy to set you up with someone. Blind dates are an essential part of finding a partner and potential partners come in two forms; the supermodel, and the nerd who is a simple makeover montage away from being a supermodel. At least once in your dating life, you will accept two blind dates on the one night, and instead of canceling one, you’ll attend both dates and rush back and forth between them. Because you apparently hate yourself, you’ll tell one of them that you’re a cowboy and the other that you’re a ninja, when you are in fact neither. This will backfire on you (surprise surprise) when you forget which one you said what to. You’ll finish the evening with at least one milkshake being poured over your head… and a valuable life lesson learned.
Weather
The climate in Sitcomville rarely changes – it snows at Christmas, there’ll be a great storm at Halloween and will otherwise be mild. The only time that the weather will change is when you have something important going on – if you’ve planned a fishing trip with your buddies instead of going antiquing with your missus, it will piss down rain. If you want to get away during winter, you’ll get snowed in somewhere. A big date on Saturday night and a trip to the beach on Saturday afternoon will result in the worst burn since Lance Armstrong landed on the sun. The important thing is that you learned a valuable life lesson.
School
School is important, even though you only actually have two classes; one of which is PE and is taught either by an angry, fat lesbian or a 50-year old ex-drill sergeant who puts steroids into his morning coffee. The other class is ‘Valuable Life Lessons,’ and you will cover everything from Shakespeare to trigonometry, but the lessons are really about life. The VLL teacher is usually someone who sprinkles rainbows into their coffee and spreads fortune-cookie philosophy onto their toast. This teacher has a way of explaining poetry, algebra and American history to you in a way that will make you realise that just because your parents won’t let you get your ear pierced, it’s probably not a good enough reason to start smoking crack and sleeping around. Each student at Sitcom High will also be involved in some kind of ‘parenting simulation’ where they will have to look after the world’s most sophisticated robot baby… or an egg. I’d prefer an egg, personally. It won’t keep me up at night with its electronic crying, and I can dunk my toast soldiers into it the next morning and buy 12 new ‘babies’ on the way to school and still get an A. Sitcom High may not look flash, but it really is where most of life’s valuable lessons are learnt.
Holidays
Even though people live in the Eden that is Sitcomville, occasionally they will go away for a break. If you and your family go on ‘vacation,’ expect your holiday to be spent enforcing stereotypes and at least one person to have a water-skiing accident. Any teenagers within the family will also have a holiday romance, and of course, learn a life lesson. However, it’s not always in the budget to ship the cast and crew of your sitcom family to Italy, and is much easier if your occasionally-seen neighbours decide to piss off instead. One snag though – you have to look after their prize dog/ cat/ bird/ fish/ penguin/ goat/ gladiolas/ etc… and you just know that as soon as someone gives something precious to someone else, something is about to die.
It’s not anyone’s fault really – it’s just not that easy being a pet in Sitcomville; there’s disembodied laughter every 45 seconds which would fucking kill me too. The worst thing is that as soon as you find the bloodied corpse of the animal, the phone will ring and it’ll be nice-next-door-neighbour Ted asking how you’re going with his cuddly canine/ kitten/ wombat/ raptor/ last white rhino in existence. It’s about now that you say, “He’s fine,” instead of “your dog was fine and all, but his head wasn’t really attached as firmly as it could have been, right?” The rest of the episode is spent trying to work out how to either get an imposter dog involved, or how to make it seem like the dog went crazy and ran away. For those playing the Sitcom Drinking Game, take a shot if any plan involves someone dressing up like the pet in question. In the end though, you’ll realise that honesty really IS the best policy, and you’ll come clean to your neighbour, and tell them that you left the dog unsupervised with a running chainsaw, rusty lawn mower, Freddy, Jason and Reese Witherspoon and that it’s your fault they died. You should leave this tear-jerking confession until there’s two minutes to go in the episode though – that way the neighbour can’t get too angry and you’ll avoid almost all punishment. Sweet. The most important thing though, is that you learnt a valuable lesson.
So now you know the rules for the next time you drive your car through your parent’s house – talk things over, admit your mistake, have a family hug, win a talent show and learn yourself a valuable fucking life lesson.
Just in case you ever find yourself in Sitcomville (it's a lovely place to visit), here is a simple guide. Pay careful attention; who knows when you'll be presented with a life-changing problem that needs solving within 22 minutes?
Mister Evil Breakfast's Guide To Life In A Sitcom If You Ever Find Yourself Stuck In One Even Though It's Highly Unlikely (MEBGTLIASIYEFYSIOETIHU)
Money
Let's say that Chuck has a new pair of awesome new S'Com Sneakers that cost him $200. You also want a pair of these wicked shoes. Your first step is to ask your parents for a raise in your allowance (leading to some hilarious gags by your dad as he pulls out the calculator to work out how long it will take you to raise that much if all you do is take out the rubbish once a week; this will give you an opening to mention that you'll do it twice a week, thus halving the time it will take to save up). Forget about saving money, or even getting a job; for this is Sitcomville – it’s time you entered a talent show!
No matter how much money you need for something; a pair of shoes or a new car, for instance, this will be the exact amount up for grabs for the person who wins the school talent show. If you win, you won’t actually use the prize money for that pair of sneakers or car; you’ll donate it to the guy you met fourteen seconds ago who needs a lung transplant so he can buy a new lung, or to the local orphanage so they can buy some new orphans. But don’t worry – the sitcom laws mean that your generosity will be rewarded by someone else giving you the shoes or the car – just when you thought that the life-lesson you received this episode was reward enough.
Of course, not everyone can win a talent show, so occasionally some kinds of employment prospects are required. It is not uncommon for people in Sitcomville aged twenty-three and under to apply, be interviewed, obtain, begin and be fired from a job in a single day. After that age, I’m afraid you’re pretty much stuck doing the same thing in the same place until your sitcom is cancelled. Many people will hate their job – the boss is a bastard, there’s a twat at work who keeps getting promoted despite someone else doing all the work; you’re unappreciated in your role. If there’s a promotion on the line, you should invite your grumpy boss around to your house for dinner. He will accept, even though he thinks you’re a dribbling retard. During the meal, he’ll come to realise what an honest, loyal, caring, loving person you are, and forget the fact that you lied your arse off all night about how successful your family is (including your whacky next-door neighbor who insists on fucking up your life), despite the fact that your children are either failing school or can’t get a date to ‘the big dance.’ Welcome to being promoted! After this episode though, your life won’t change one iota. More importantly, you’ve learned a life lesson.
Romance
One of the best things about Sitcomville is that the whole place is full of hot, single people. You will meet people literally anywhere – school, work, the supermarket, a café, a rock concert, walking down the street, at the ice-cream place. A great way to meet that ‘special’ person is to get into an elevator; there’s a 50% chance that you and hot-single-of-the-opposite-sex will find yourself together in said lift. Once that happens, there’s a 100% chance that the elevator will break down. After that, my friend, you won’t be able to listen to muzak without cracking a boner. So you’ll probably never be able to go into Myer ever again.
If there aren’t any elevators around, your friends will be more than happy to set you up with someone. Blind dates are an essential part of finding a partner and potential partners come in two forms; the supermodel, and the nerd who is a simple makeover montage away from being a supermodel. At least once in your dating life, you will accept two blind dates on the one night, and instead of canceling one, you’ll attend both dates and rush back and forth between them. Because you apparently hate yourself, you’ll tell one of them that you’re a cowboy and the other that you’re a ninja, when you are in fact neither. This will backfire on you (surprise surprise) when you forget which one you said what to. You’ll finish the evening with at least one milkshake being poured over your head… and a valuable life lesson learned.
Weather
The climate in Sitcomville rarely changes – it snows at Christmas, there’ll be a great storm at Halloween and will otherwise be mild. The only time that the weather will change is when you have something important going on – if you’ve planned a fishing trip with your buddies instead of going antiquing with your missus, it will piss down rain. If you want to get away during winter, you’ll get snowed in somewhere. A big date on Saturday night and a trip to the beach on Saturday afternoon will result in the worst burn since Lance Armstrong landed on the sun. The important thing is that you learned a valuable life lesson.
School
School is important, even though you only actually have two classes; one of which is PE and is taught either by an angry, fat lesbian or a 50-year old ex-drill sergeant who puts steroids into his morning coffee. The other class is ‘Valuable Life Lessons,’ and you will cover everything from Shakespeare to trigonometry, but the lessons are really about life. The VLL teacher is usually someone who sprinkles rainbows into their coffee and spreads fortune-cookie philosophy onto their toast. This teacher has a way of explaining poetry, algebra and American history to you in a way that will make you realise that just because your parents won’t let you get your ear pierced, it’s probably not a good enough reason to start smoking crack and sleeping around. Each student at Sitcom High will also be involved in some kind of ‘parenting simulation’ where they will have to look after the world’s most sophisticated robot baby… or an egg. I’d prefer an egg, personally. It won’t keep me up at night with its electronic crying, and I can dunk my toast soldiers into it the next morning and buy 12 new ‘babies’ on the way to school and still get an A. Sitcom High may not look flash, but it really is where most of life’s valuable lessons are learnt.
Holidays
Even though people live in the Eden that is Sitcomville, occasionally they will go away for a break. If you and your family go on ‘vacation,’ expect your holiday to be spent enforcing stereotypes and at least one person to have a water-skiing accident. Any teenagers within the family will also have a holiday romance, and of course, learn a life lesson. However, it’s not always in the budget to ship the cast and crew of your sitcom family to Italy, and is much easier if your occasionally-seen neighbours decide to piss off instead. One snag though – you have to look after their prize dog/ cat/ bird/ fish/ penguin/ goat/ gladiolas/ etc… and you just know that as soon as someone gives something precious to someone else, something is about to die.
It’s not anyone’s fault really – it’s just not that easy being a pet in Sitcomville; there’s disembodied laughter every 45 seconds which would fucking kill me too. The worst thing is that as soon as you find the bloodied corpse of the animal, the phone will ring and it’ll be nice-next-door-neighbour Ted asking how you’re going with his cuddly canine/ kitten/ wombat/ raptor/ last white rhino in existence. It’s about now that you say, “He’s fine,” instead of “your dog was fine and all, but his head wasn’t really attached as firmly as it could have been, right?” The rest of the episode is spent trying to work out how to either get an imposter dog involved, or how to make it seem like the dog went crazy and ran away. For those playing the Sitcom Drinking Game, take a shot if any plan involves someone dressing up like the pet in question. In the end though, you’ll realise that honesty really IS the best policy, and you’ll come clean to your neighbour, and tell them that you left the dog unsupervised with a running chainsaw, rusty lawn mower, Freddy, Jason and Reese Witherspoon and that it’s your fault they died. You should leave this tear-jerking confession until there’s two minutes to go in the episode though – that way the neighbour can’t get too angry and you’ll avoid almost all punishment. Sweet. The most important thing though, is that you learnt a valuable lesson.
So now you know the rules for the next time you drive your car through your parent’s house – talk things over, admit your mistake, have a family hug, win a talent show and learn yourself a valuable fucking life lesson.
Friday, March 13, 2009
Mister Evil Tipfast - Round 1 2009
Strangely, the Danny Buderus action figure wasn't a hot Christmas item last yearAfter the traditional launch of the NRL season (two rape allegations, three counts of drunken violence and four blokes ripping up contracts to play for another code), welcome to the first round of 2009!
I'm not going to lie to you; I haven't really seen much of the pre-season form of any of these teams, and I could only endure about an hour of The Footy Show last night, so for the first couple of rounds I'll be tipping on the strength of the team from 2008, or the last year that I choose to remember (which is always going to be 1994).
My tipping form has been great lately. During the second cricket test betwixt Aus and South Africa, Ponting played a stupid shot against Harris and was almost caught. I picked that he'd try and play the shot again two balls later and would be caught. Turns out it was one ball later. Good work Ponting, you dickhead. I also picked that someone would get out LBW, but they didn't. I probably shouldn't have mentioned that, it's not really backing up my 'my tipping form has been great lately’ comment, is it?
Bien venue de round un...
Storm vs Dragons
I still hate the Dragons. I don't even know who's in their team this year, but I'm assuming someone will step into the salary-cap-overloaded space left by Spazznier Gasnier to strap the boots on for one contractual game before he gets injured. Wendell Sailor, I'm looking at you. The turning point of this game should be just before kick-off when Dell feels a twinge in his entire body and gets stretchered off. I don't know much about the Storm except for their capitulation at last year's grand final (40-0), but I reckon Inglis (if he's still around) will score 70 length-of-the-field tries and a field goal from 94 metres out for a personal tally of 281 points for the game. If he's not around, then Billy Slater will score three and drop four. Melbourne will win, either way you look at it.
Broncos vs Cowboys
People are talking the Cowboys up this year... why or how I do not know; they came last to daylight last year. I think (don't quote me) that they recruited the old Canberra Raiders coach... I'm not entirely sure how this could possibly be seen as a good thing, but well done to Neil Henry on getting another job in these recessionary times. Broncos have always been pretty good, and I don't see that changing for a while - especially while they pilfer from other junior clubs. Broncos by a few, but probably not as many as they should get up by.
Warriors vs Eels
I'm sick of picking the Eels for greatness and having them fall over like a three-legged goat on a treadmill. Stupid Eels. I do like the fact that even though all their players are pushing 90 years old, they're sticking with them just out of respect. Whether their strategy of looking to the past instead of the future will pay off should shape up as one of the most intriguing aspects of the season. The Warriors... well... they're always solid without being spectacular. Solid will win this stouche though, and NZ should canter it in.
Bulldogs vs Manly
What an excellent idea to have these two clubs face off for Round 1. It's a nice way for everyone to forget the trials and tribulations of the past few months and just have a good old fashioned fight. The Bulldogs are shit, probably because they're (a) [allegedly] drunk, (b) [allegedly] tired from having sex with [allegedly] unwilling women, (c) in jail. Manly should win this one pretty easily, but won't make any new friends in doing so. I just hope they all go out for a friendly drink afterwards.
Sharks vs Panthers
I'm pretty sure that both of these teams were mediocre last year, so this will be a hard one to pick (as Michael Jackson said to his nose... I don't know why Michael Jackson would talk to his nose, but then again, there's a lot about MJ that I don't know - or particularly want to - including why he would want to be friends with Macauley Culkin). Ummmmmm. Go Sharks. I think.
Titans vs Knights
Ooooh the clash of the Titans... and the Knights... The Knights are still rebuilding (and finding another dealer) after the loss of Joey Johns, and the Titans are still wondering why Matt Rogers is still in the team (just quietly, I reckon Rogers looks like the kind of guy ‘who could get you a few things,’ if you know what I mean). Dodgy, greasy Matt Rogers. I'd love the Knights to get up, but I'm not saying it with any degree of confidence; I am saying it a little ambiguously to be honest, while I rub my eye and have a bit of a yawn.
Roosters vs Rabbitohs
BOO ROOSTERS! I've never liked them in any way, shape or form. The Rooters pretty much embody the whole NRL - when it's good, it's fucking brilliant. When it's not, it's a motherfucking train wreck. Here's hoping that those poncy wankers from Bondi (I'm talking about the Roosters, not just everyone else in Bondi) are derailed. The Bunnies were probably all buoyed by Rusty "Russell Crowe" Crowe's stirring appearance on The Footy Show last night. I really hope Rusty was as hungover as seventeen pandas in Tijuana, otherwise I have no idea how he gets through life without being punched in the face for being so monotonously boring. However, my brother had a drink and a smoke with him and said he was tops, so I'll give him the benefit of the doubt for now. Bunnies by 10. No, 6. Possibly even 4.
Tigers vs Raiders
Will anyone stop the mighty Canberra bloody Raiders this year? I don't think so, and our first job (like how I just slotted myself into the team? Yeah, me too) will be to run over the top of the Tiges like a tank on a tomato. With glory boy Benji Marsh talking smack about his fitness and strength, it will be even more humiliating when he's snapped in half (literally) by Phil Graham, who will then snap himself in half on his own accord. But on the strength of captain Alan Tongue, new coach Dave Furner and the fact that Todd Carney is as far away as he could possibly be without being in another country, the green machine will romp home in this game with an air of nonchalance and just a smidge of disdain for their opponents. Raiders by at least 1.
Get busy tipping, or get busy sipping.
Wednesday, March 11, 2009
north east west south
Dum dum dum dum doo doo dum di dooooo...
Good evening, I am Mister Evil Breakfast with shit news that's pissed me off recently. If I'm feeling motivated (I'm not), I'll do a complete news wrap including sport, weather and finance in a future post... but don't bet your lucky goat on there being anything of the sort.
Good evening, I am Mister Evil Breakfast with shit news that's pissed me off recently. If I'm feeling motivated (I'm not), I'll do a complete news wrap including sport, weather and finance in a future post... but don't bet your lucky goat on there being anything of the sort.
Onto tonight's top headlines (as the inventor of the corduroy pillow once said):
http://www.news.com.au/story/0,27574,25063982-1242,00.html
This is the touching story of a kid who is suing the parents of his mate because he fell out of a bunk-bed at a sleepover. Since the fall, the 14-year old boy has apparently become "withdrawn" and suffers "mood swings." I dare say that he's also got "pubes," and he "jerks off" a lot. Sorry tiger, but just because you're becoming an angry little 14-year old adolescent emo, it doesn't mean you can sue. Get yourself some Clearasil and strap yourself in.
http://www.news.com.au/story/0,27574,24891359-421,00.html
If this isn't the stupidest story to hit the world in about 10 years, then I hope Freddie Prinze Jr moves in next door to me and keeps inviting himself around to my place and mooches all my beer.
For those too lazy to click the link, here's the dealio with this story... PETA (People for the Ethical Treatment of Animals) want to change the word "fish" to "sea kitten" so people will stop catching fish for food and sport. "Nobody would hurt a sea kitten!" the group says on its website. PETA is using the campaign to entice people to sign a petition calling on the US Fish and Wildlife Service to stop promoting "the hunting of sea kittens." Hunting of sea kitting is currently otherwise known as 'fishing.'
A rose by any other name, my friends... But seriously, what's next? Are we going to change 'beer' to 'Stumble Juice'? 'Water' could be renamed 'Liquid Air' ("It's both wet and important!") or 'Sober Fuel?' I've always liked the term 'Boom Stick' for a gun, too.
http://www.foxnews.com/story/0,2933,504125,00.html
This one's about an idiot who rang emergency 911 three times to complain that McDonalds had run out of McNuggets. I probably could have understood this woman's actions if she called 911 when she still had two nuggets in her pack but had run out of sauce. The Maccas people don't just hand out extra packets of Sweet n Sour, you know; that shit will cost you. And no-one likes a dry nugget.
Anyway, this chicken-nugget-crazy woman was charged with the misuse of an emergency hotline. More importantly, she was given a McDonalds voucher for a free meal. Fuck that. Sometimes being normal and not getting charged with annoying everyone from the person working the Maccas shift for $4 an hour, the dispatcher on the 911 switch and at least three cops who no doubt had better shit to do that night than worry about who's cooking up an extra nugget for a window-licker, just won't get you a free meal.
And that wraps up tonight's top stories, brought to you by Brain Wash - "when regular shampoo just doesn't cut it" - join me after the break where you can watch me drink a beer and yell at Shane Watson.
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