EIGHT

The Shoddy Blog turns eight today. Fucking internet, I do a google search for "birthday cake" and this is what they give me:

What the hell is this monstrosity? It looks like the 80's video game character Q-Bert. If Q-Bert fell off a cliff and landed in a bucket of fucks. Ignore that shit, here's another cake:

 

That's better. At 36 years of age I'm a little jaded, and I think this Darth Vader vs Batman cake is trying a little too hard. But it's perfect for an eighth birthday. I showed this cake to my neighbour's eight year old kid, and the kid got so excited he leapt head first through a pane glass window.

Now for the biggish news, I have decided to start over at a new site and will bid farewell to this cramped blogger account. I've started polishing up the posts I've collected on my computer over the last few months (mostly film reviews at this point) and I am back dating them to when I first wrote them, hence the posts will have dates from last year. Oh fuck it, you'll work it out. CLICK HERE

Biggish News

Yikes, not too many posts in 2013 was there, my little fuck puppets. I didn't quit - in fact I've written a post or two, but was saving it for something I have mentioned before on this very blog. It's taken me a little longer than I'd hoped (six or so months longer) but it's just about done, and there's an anniversary right around the corner so fuck it - I'll save it for then.

Stay tuned.

Twenny Twelf

I was busy getting ignored by the pretty young secretary at our work Christmas party on Friday the 21st, when a colleague came up and tapped me on the shoulder and said:

”Hey, isn’t the world supposed to end in the next hour or so?”

I had completely forgotten about that Mayan bullshit, the Doomsday predictions harvested from a chunk of Mexican rock. A broken monument I might add, that was missing the glyph that would tell us what was supposed to happen in late 2012 – so people just assumed it meant complete global destruction.  The Mayans could have been warning us about an incoming cold front, or that modern TV shows would be adding the word “adorkable” to our vocabulary. Nah, we assumed the worst.

But guess what, here I am slamming out a quick post before heading off to Victor Harbour for NYE – and the world is still turning.

2012 (aka year of the Gangnam) was an interesting year, I hope to get a few posts up in the next few weeks – it was a particularly great year for cinema, for instance.

But for now, I need to jump in my car to head to Victoria to get on the piss with the Fuller Brothers (god, just reading that sentence out loud makes me feel half drunk).

Hopefully my piece of shit car lasts the journey. Maybe that is what the hidden piece of Mayan rock was predicting? A hieroglyph of my smoking car pulled over on the side of the highway, while some lonely truck driver rapes me in the mouth at knife point? Only one way to find out.

Best wishes for the new year kids.

b

OI OI Fuck

The Olympics are here again, rejoice.

To make it interesting I chucked a few bets on the outcome for Australia (coz god knows my Olympic Gambling always works). I had 80 bucks in my Sportsbet account so went:

40 on Australia to win 12 or more gold medals at 1.68 to 1

And

40 on Australia to win 40 plus total medals at 1.88 to 1

This was before the Olympics started of course, and now we are on day five and I think I might be struggling here.

Australia were favourites for the Men’s 100m freestyle relay and finished fourth. Emily Seebohm was favourite for the 100m Backstroke and finished second*. I turned to the Equestrian events last night for salvation, as this was something Australia always does well in. Sure enough, we started the day in second place and the Aussie rider Sam Griffiths was looking good. Then we change camera and cut to another country’s rider and after a few minutes I can see the Australian Horse galloping past in the background sans-jockey (who had just fallen off).The Horse's name was 'Happy Times', and well you just can't trust a filly with a name like that. He probably ran off to frolic with the forest creatures.

Fuck me. Australia ended up sixth, and a grand total of fifteen riders across the board fell off their horses, which doesn’t surprise me when you consider the mad shit they had to jump over.

 Princess Zara leaps over the planet Saturn.

Try saying that out loud without sounding clown shit insane.

Next up we have James Magnussen racing in the 100m Freestyle tomorrow morning (at half past fuck you AEST), and hopefully he is well rested. Apparently he didn’t sleep for two days before the relay. He was too nervous to slumber, a fact that belies his TV interviews where he always seems cocky as all fuck.

Current medal standings for Australia are 1 Gold, 2 Silver and 1 Bronze. So yeah, I’ve got miles to go to win some moolah. Anyway, here’s a few more pictures from the games.

*Emily Seebohm finished second, but she is still my favourite to win best name of the Olympics. Seebohm – pronounced “C Bomb” def as per Urban Dictionary: A term used to say that someone has used the word Cunt, without saying the word yourself.

For example, Spongebob drops a C-Bomb in the following exchange:

Flakey

Okay, enough time wasting. Besides, there's only so much Octomom porn a guy can watch – it’s time for an update.

How is everybody? It’s been four months since I logged on last. I heard a whole bunch of people died since late February, fuck I hope it wasn’t you guys. That would make me sad, and I don’t want to cry because I am eating a bowl of French onion soup while I type this. One of my greatest fears is crying while eating soup, because your tears keep filling up the bowl no matter how fast you eat, and you end up in this never ending cycle of sobbing and eating. I heard a guy once exploded because of this.

I’m actually feeling pretty good at the moment, having recently gotten over a bad cold I had for a few weeks. I felt pretty run down during that period, but I must admit I have felt far worse. I was bed ridden with a throat virus this time last year that was pure agony, for three straight days it felt like razors every time I swallowed and it drove me to the brink of insanity. Just as I was getting over that, a flu kicked in that left me in bed for a further week, and pretty throttled for over a month. But that was last year, this year has been pretty healthy.

Only other complaint was a migraine I had about a month ago. My parents were staying over, and I hit the pub with my old man, followed by a couple of bottles of red over dinner. A combination of tiredness (I had a 6am start that day) and dehydration helped infest my brain with a migraine later that night. I knew it wasn’t simply a bad headache, because the bathroom lights (I was on the way to the toilet to throw up) felt like stab wounds to my eyes. My mother found me crawling down the hallway muttering in some kind of Flemish dialect, and put me to bed. I lay there in a state of extreme nausea, while my skull felt like there were chainsaws fucking inside it. I started speaking in Dub Step. Rough stuff – but I’m lucky to only get migraines once every few years, my mother, whom I inherited the trait off of, gets them three or four times a year. Anyway, enough about sickness.

In more recent news, I wandered into my lounge room today to find some kind of caveman death threat scrawled on my couch in a brownish painting material. Either that, or a whole bunch of stray dogs with worms had some kind of ass scratching race across the cushions. Took me a while to realise the origins of the mess. I was lying on the couch watching Dexter last night and eating a Cadbury Flake bar. Not sure if that is a global form of confectionery, so think of a chocolate bar that crumbles like a motherfucker and you are not far off. I vaguely remember thinking “I should clean all this chocolate up” as I drifted off to sleep. I woke an hour later, switched the TV off, and went to bed. Today's evidence suggests I rolled around in the chocolate, letting my body heat melt it into the cushions as I slumbered.

Last night.

Today.

Stupid? Maybe.

Horse Fuckers Inc.

Kevin Rudd has resigned from the position of Foreign Minister in a dummy spit so grand, we are still wiping the spittle from our eyes. Seems like there is turmoil in the Labour camp...as usual.

A Couple of years ago Kevin Rudd got chucked on his ass when the team lost faith in him, and Julia Gillard stepped up. Now it seems the kids have lost faith in Gillard, and a few might want Rudd back. Shady, under the counter dealings – and Rudd’s dramatic resignation seems to be some kind of cheeky chess move.

Now there will be a leadership vote on Monday, so we can decide who should really be Prime Minister.

And Jesus Sweaty Christ, hands up if you’re feeling a sense of Deja Fucking Vu.

What does the rest of the world think of the way we treat our leadership? Where you can chop and change Prime Minister every year and a half, like a homeless dude deciding which empty dog food can to lick?

Current odds if you want to gamble on this month's Prime Minister:


The endless loop of bullshit continues, though I must admit it’s kind of background noise to me. There is not a single Politician in Australia who has the power to do enough good, nor harm, for me to really take notice. When the more conservative pricks ban films from South Australian release it hits a little close to home. But at the end of the day, the difference between a banned film and a film you can actually watch, is a single internet download. Who gives a shit?

Now we are left with a battle between the annoying Gillard and that stroppy bully Rudd. And If Labour doesn’t get their shit together, the next major election might see this weird looking fuckwit in power:

None of those choices are very appetising. At this point, I would even settle for that lunatic Mahmoud Ahmadinejad over this lot. Especially after listening to this ballad:



Update (1am), new odds, who gives a shit:

This planet needs more Shod

So I there I was, wandering around the local playground participating in my new favourite past time called Todd Wad. The rules are pretty simple: you have to see how many times you can spit chewing gum into little kids’ hair before being attacked by angry parents. I was cruising towards a new high score quite comfortably, when suddenly, amongst an aroma of spearmint and salty child tears, an epiphany hit me - could I be spending my time doing something more productive?

My thoughts went to the Shoddy Blog - floating out here in cyberspace, lost and neglected like an Astronaut‘s turd.

Working shift work and going back to study (yes, I am a student again) had decreased my spare time last year, and far worse increased my levels of procrastination for endeavours such as this. The twin coat hangers of twitter and facebook have also given the brittle foetus of blogging a decent hammering in recent times. I was all but ready to chuck up a “Thanks for Reading” post and be done with this whole blogging gig – but now I’ve changed my mind for reasons I will make clear in a later post.

Uncle Beef is coming out of Blog Retirement.

I’ll let that sentence wash over, as you drop to your knees on your respective carpets, crippled with uncontrollable sobs of relief.

Now go to your bathrooms and fix your make up, as the emotional weeping has caused your mascara to run down your cheeks, and your faces looked like Pandas dipped in acid. Hideous.



Feel better? Good.

Anyway, this isn’t going to be easy, so bear with me. It’s been almost eight months, and also my keyboard is all funky and sticky like a Doberman has given birth to a litter of puppies on top of it. I’m also pretty hammered – got a blender for Christmas, and here I am at 1am on a Tuesday morning tipsy off frozen Margaritas (shut up fuck off am not an alcoholic).

I’m going to have to keep this update brief, as I’m kind of in a rush. Long story short: I plan to bring this blog up to a grand total of 300 posts (this post you are currently reading is number 262). I’ve given myself no real time scale for this achievement – you kids are fully aware of how tardy I can get.

Once I hit that magic number, I’m putting the Shoddy Blog out to pasture (shutting her down). Then I will either quit this gig for good...or create a brand spanking new revamped shoddy blog 2.0. See how I feel I guess.

Gotta go, just heard a knock at the door. That would be my New Year’s Resolution rocking up – I’m paying a local prostitute to dress up like Punky Brewster and kick me in the nuts repeatedly until I pass out.

Such is life.


Fuck off.

A Gambles we will go

Remember my long standing NFL bet (the one where I picked the winner of the SuperBowl)? My skills of gambling on sports I know fuck all about continue. Here’s the NHL (Ice Hockey, motherfuckaz) Playoffs – and the five teams I chose to win the Stanley Cup (that I picked halfway through the season) highlighted in green.

Click to enlarge, or I will break into your house and rape your pot plants.


It’s looking good. If I win, I’ll use the prize money to buy me some mechanical cat paws.




Dear god, how have I been surviving without these?