Motel Blast Radius.

Do you find aminals (sic) sexually attractive?

Me neither, but I have a reputation for asking the wrong questions whenever I'm in social situations, so I figured I should extend it to my blog.

Like:

(to John Howard, Prime Minister of Australia) "Hey Johnny, wanna see my penis? It's pierced."
(John Howard, Prime Minister of Australia, to me) "No".

(to Gaz Coombes, singer/guitarist of The Supergrass) "Hey Gaz, wanna see my penis? It's pierced."
(Gaz Coombes, singer/guitarist of The Supergrass, to me) "For sure mate, let's have ya then".

You get the picture.

Here's another question (and another picture for you to get):
"How much ass do horses kick?"

The answer of course, is "Maximum ass"!!!


Proof of orsumosity.

When 'en vacance' in France, I learned they call them 'cheveaux'. What a majestic and altogether penis-hardening name, except for the fact that it rhymes with 'gateaux', which isn't so majestic sounding after all. Fuck it.

My point here is, clearly horses rock in a way we humans will never truly understand.

Just look at them kick-assing through the river like a bunch of sentient white S.U.V's, high on life and positively shitfaced on their own good looks and pulling power.

Pulling power...God, I slay me.

Here's my last question of the night:
"When do horses not kick ass?"

The answer: "When they're dead".


"Shit".

Which brings me to my point (for once).

Lately, I've been having the weirdest dreams.
Normally, my dreams aren't very detailed (although they are in colour).

In my dreams, I'm walking down Swanston Street in Melbourne city, where they have horse-drawn carriage rides in real life.

Anyway, one of these horses dies, and it keels over on the tram tracks.

And I'm standing there, looking at this incredible aminal (sic), eyes rolling into the back of its head, breathing its last breath, haunches quivering and tightening..and...

And all I can think is "Christ, I totally don't have a forklift right now".

I don't know if you've ever tried to pick up a horse (not in a bar, deviant).

They're heavier than Black Sabbath, and that's really saying something, because Black Sabbath tend to sing about illegal drugs, and Satan. Heavy.

You really do need a forklift, or just go home and forget about it.

Anyway, because I'm the guy people tend to look to when situations like these arise (and they arise with alarming regularity), it's up to me to find a solution.

I may not have a forklift, but I do have my mag-lite that doubles as a shrink ray (we're dreaming, remember?), so I shrink the horse, AND IT COMES BACK TO LIFE!

But wait, there's more.

Then I take it home, and let it roam free, on the coffee table, upon which miniature herds of elephants and a few herbivorous dinosaurs live their lives, drinking from the orange cordial I spilled near the remote, and getting all buck-wild and jiggy from it.

And you thought having a fish tank was relaxing!

I also have dreams of the original Van Halen lineup getting back together and touring again, but i think we all have those.

So now you know why I stay up/out all night, every night.

I need a vacation, or a high-class prostitute.

You decide.


"Mommy, where do horses go when they die?"



This is knifey, from 'the internet'.