LATE BLOOMING FLOWERS BEAR THE SWEETEST SCENT

Last night, three years ago, a bunch of us played spin the bottle in an alleyway with a bottle of black sambucca stolen from a nearby bar. It was my turn. As I watched the bottle spin, I realised I was finally making up for what I had missed out in highschool. And university. And every year of my life up until the age of 22…

PARADISE FOUND

… I was a ‘late bloomer’ in the ‘biological reproductive act’/’complex pscyho/spiritual/emotional phenomenon commonly referred to by the problematic and grossly inadequate term, ‘love”, department – possibly due to my insistence during courtships rituals on referring to the sexual act as the ‘biological reproductive act’ and love as the “complex psycho/spiritual/emotional phenomenon commonly referred to by the problematic and grossly inadequate term ‘love’- which tended to destroy the romance, or as i called it, ‘Quasi delusional mental state caused by idealised wish-fulfillment misrepresentations in the capitalist-driven mass media.’
The main reason for my late flowering was that between the ages of 14- 22 i never left my room, because I couldn’t find my shoes and it was very difficult to meet a mutual personal space coinhabitant in my room, other than myself, my hand and my varied arsenal of whacky character voices.
22 years I endured this desert, chasing mirages that evaporated upon the horizon. 22 long years of enforced monkhood finally brought to a brutal end one night in an Edinburgh broom closet, under the calm management of a Swedish single mother and nurse, ten years my senior. ‘Are you really a virgin?’ Maria asked as she consensually raped me, and after a few misguided strokes, she responded to her own question with, ‘Oh. I see.’. My rancid cherry was not so much popped more than squished, a rotten, foetid odour released into the air as the monkey on my back fell to the floor, dead and glad, both it’s hands curled into a double thumbs up sign upon it’s final exhalation. I kicked it’s tired corpse into a bloody pulp all night, trying to drain Maria’s oasis of all the water i had never drunk, even attempting at one point to crawl up inside of her womb to eat cake and hide from all the bad things until the time came to begin again.
Oh the horror.
The horror.

NOT A FAGGOT

The bottle came slowly to a stop, pointing directly to my gay friend.
‘Hmmm.’ I said.
‘Well are you gonna kiss me or are you gonna be a faggot about it?’ he asked.
As my tongue systematically explored his firm male mouth with all the detachment of a scientist mapping the terrain of an alien world, i involuntarily reminisced about the only other time i had ever had my otherwise extreme, alpha-warrior, hetero-masculine gender identity seriously challenged, the memory breaking into conciousness in the form of the following poem:

HEARTBREAK/SEXCHANGE/GOODNEWSWEEK

Age 25, dumped
first true love denied
my dog had just died
Love like a knife
plunging in whispering,
‘I love you.’
pulled out again and
you aren’t sure
which was worse?
Knife in? knife out?
(Knife out definitely)

Bad times.

Poly-drug binge
to help lift the weight
backfires
bad shrooms, bad pills,
bad times
Instead of being high,
Trapped in a sad hell
can’t stop crying
inhaling nitrous oxide till
Out of body experience
talking to entities
who called themselves,
‘The Architects’:
Who were living parts
of the same superstructure
they were building:
a hyper-dimensional haunted house
with wall’s full of poltergeists
perpetually renovating

Shit was fucked up yo.

And then:
images of me as a female
flood my mind.
Fear, panic, terror.
Black.

Next day im down.
but female me
still inside
won’t go away.
Can’t stop thinking
‘Am I a girl? Do I need a sex change?’
on a loop
fear, panic, terror.

At the time
doing a writing internship
for the Channel 10 show,‘Good News Week’
In a little office on a laptop
tapping away one liners about
topical forgettable stuff who cares
all the while
thinking
‘Am I a girl? Do I need a sex change?’
on a loop

In the boardroom
reviewing jokes
‘What about this one? What about that one?’
Not there. Thinking,
‘Am I girl? Do I need a sex change?’
on a loop.

Final day of shoot,
binge eating at catering table
The head writer tells me, I’m a cunt
Word got back
I said the
show was boring
truth sucks sometimes
Staring at him tell me im not welcome back
Staring at him calling me a cunt,
but can’t hear his words
thinking
‘Am I girl? Do I need a sex change?’
on a loop.

Walk home.
Must do something.
Call my lesbian friend,
‘Jen… Hi I need you to dress me up as a girl.’
‘Sure.’ She says.
Open door Understanding hug relief.
It’s the secrecy of shame
that kills us in the end,
not the urge.
underwear, bra, stockings, wig,
dress, make up,
mirror…

I laugh.
staring at a dude in a dress
with make up on his face,
accepting his Anima,
‘Am I girl? Do I need a sex change?’
No and no.
Very glad, it would’ve been
So inconvenient.

I laugh.
Staring at a dude in a dress
with make up on his face
In the wake of first heartbreak
attempting to become
his own replacement girlfriend
by cutting out the middlewoman

It would never of worked out.
loop ends

Our lips parted. ‘Definitely not gay.’ I told the man i had just kissed.(Ed note: sorry gay fans)
‘Are you reverse coming out to me? Really, at a time like this?’ He asked.
The game continued.

At the time, I was seeing this girl. She was a wild one. She’d begun talking to one of her female acquaintances in hushed tones. The game wore on and people began to leave. Soon it was just the three of us left, watching an empty black sambucca bottle come spinning slowly to a stop and pointing into the neutral space between us.
‘(Long pause)So… Like do you wanna have a threesome tonight?’ the wild one asked me.
‘Uhh…’ I replied…

SHARINGS CARINGS BRO

… I wasn’t too sure. Other than that time when i masturbated wearing fingerpuppets, the only other threesome i’d ever been involved in had happened at this party in London, when an English hipster and a Motley Crue T-shirt wearing Rock Chic, who hadn’t met each other up until they began to fuck on the spare mattress four feet away from where a Maltese-Australian Plumber and I attempted to sleep on some couches.
I remember thinking as I pretended to sleep, ‘Maybe they are just dry humping.’ But then i heard squelches and after some preliminary detective work, I concluded that it couldn’t be the sound of dry humping because there was definitely some moisture involved.
Suddenly the plumber awoke, roused from his drunken slumber by the sounds of the biological reproductive act taking place nearby. He sat up, saw what was happening and loudly announced, ‘I’ll have a piece of that.’ then got up and joined in, causing the hipster to immediately disengage, jump up into a defensive wingchun stance and say,
‘What the fuck? What the fuck?’
A dissagreement took place.
‘When i have a threesome, it’s me and two girl’s, not me, a girl and some other dude.’ Said the hipster.
‘Chillout mate, sharin’s carin’s bro.’ the plumber actually said.
‘Ridiculous.’ the hipster grumbled, gathering his things and preparing for a premature ejection.
I stood up from the couch, grabbed my coat and made my way to the exit.
‘Hey guys, i can pretend to sleep while two people fuck, but I can’t pretend to sleep while two people fuck and another one argues, it makes me feel like a pervert with a very obscure fetish. But have fun and enjoy!’
‘Can you believe this?’ Asked the English hipster, turning to me for support as he dressed.
‘Well i guess the moral of the story is maybe next time don’t fuck in front of strangers, cause one of them might try and join in.’ I said.
‘I guess it’s just another story to tell the grandkids.’ He replied.
I pictured him as an old, no longer hip, hipster, putting his grandkids on his knee and traumatising them with the innappropriate type of bedtime stories they never asked for.
‘I don’t think your grandkids need to hear about this, and if this is the sort of stuff you plan to tell your grandkids, i dont think you should be a grandfather.’

NOT A MAN/MALE GENDER STEREOTYPE

‘So are you in or what?’ The wild one asked. ‘Sure.’ I slurred. Perhaps i could get some material out of this. We all went back to her sharehouse. She had a kitten that she kept in her room all day because it was still too small to wander the streets. As a result, her room smelt like a kitten toilet. I am allergic to cat byproducts in high concentrations and upon entering the room, I immediately began to produce copious amounts of mucus from all of my faceholes. I had no tissue paper. It was torture. In the end I used an old crumpled setlist of jokes, the mucus smearing the ink onto my face.
She lay a rust stained mattress on the floor and we all got naked and started kissing and making ‘MmmmMmmmm’ noises. Our mouths all had that dry, sweet, licorice, black sambucca drunk stink that cut the ambient smell of kitten piss and shit at an interesting angle. Then things progressed very suddenly and life became hard. Or not. I couldn’t get it up. I’d discovered at a very inappropriate time, during a very high pressure situation, that I didn’t feel so comfortable with putting it in someone I barely knew, or putting it in someone I knew, while someone I barely knew licked my balls. It went from ‘Hi’ to ‘Put it in’ to ‘Let me lick your balls’ way too quickly for my liking. There had to be at least a few more frames in between, to link each disparate point fluidly enough, for me to want to put it into someone that I didn’t know, who was licking my balls.
I tried to wake it up with whispered threats of physical violence but it was no use. Not only had I failed the societal expectations of my traditional gender role but two women as well, all at the same time. I wasn’t a man/traditional male gender stereotype.
Shit.
The two female goddesses entwined around me like twin snakes around a flaccid staff, a failed caduceus. I kept trying to get hard so I could join in the show that i didnt want to be a part of and salvage what was left of my wounded masculinity, thinking that this was pretty much most men’s dreams, but I couldn’t be a part of this dream because 19 years ago, all these kids had called me fat in school all the time and made me hate my body and myself. I thought about building a time machine and going back in time to molest the children who had done this to me as revenge for what was happening now. Thinking about this, I managed to get a semi-erection, more from the vengeance aspect of the fantasy then any latent paedophilic urges.
To be fair, aside from drunkeness and a lack of coordination, multi-tasking was never my strong point. It was hard to switch from one lady to the next, with one hand doing one thing and the other hand doing another thing somewhere else, rubbing and licking and stroking and kissing all while they themselves were doing a variety of things to my body. I found it difficult to concentrate. It was like trying to defecate at gunpoint while being forcefed neverending sushi train, on an actual train heading towards a cliff. It was exhausting and confusing. Input, output, input, output, output, input, input, input, output, output, input, repeat, reverse, reverse repeat etc…
In the end i was relegated to the role of towel boy. Nude, useless, thinking mostly bad thoughts while I watched them frig each other, occasionally patting them on the back, saying stuff like, ‘Good for you.’, ‘Good for you too.’ ‘You’re doing well.’ ‘I’m so proud of both of you.’ like some impotent, creepy cheersquad. They didn’t seem to take notice, they were occupied with other things.
I didn’t know what to do while they did it. ‘Perhaps I should bring them some half-time oranges.’ I thought. Instead I played dead, pretending to sleep next to them while they did things to each other. I felt pretty creepy laying there with my cat allergen puffy eyes closed and making snoring sounds but I was too drunk, too tired and too far away to go home. Finally they stopped. The other girl got her things and left the house without her shoes while the wild one snuggled up against me and we lay there listening to the sounds of the city waking up as the sick dawn trickled through the dirty windows and I stared at the ceiling with kitten allergen mucus dripping out of my joke-stained face wondering if what had just happened qualified as a threesome, or if it was just a twosome plus some other guy.
Either way, I realised I’d probably have to watch what had just happened again as i died, the grainy footage of a failed sex scene in my own low budget home porno biopic with not enough porno and not enough plot in it.
My cracked petals parted into a smile that bore the sweet scent of stolen liquor.

CIRCLE OF LIFE

 

I was living with a cat on heat.

I was the closest thing she could find to a male of her species, so she would just sit and stare at me while mewling- a low, frustrated whining noise that sounded like a complaining child that wanted something that it couldn’t get, and that something was some hot cat dong jammed in her cat pussy.

Then it would raise its tail and present itself to me and wait, and when I didn’t respond, it would back into my shin, like a reversing truck waiting to be loaded full of fresh hot catdogs at the fresh hot catdog factory.

Occasionally it would turn it’s head to look up and meow at me as if to say,

‘Don’t you like what you see?’ and I would picture one of those sassy black women on Jerry springer who would move their head from side to side when they yelled at their man.

While on some level I was flattered by her attentions, it was mostly off-putting and I began to avoid the cat.

‘How come most of the females who are attracted to me are the ones I’m not attracted to?’ I wondered. Life wasn’t fair like they had told us it was supposed to be, back when our heads were soft and dumb.

My best efforts to avoid the cat were in vain. The more I pushed her away, the more she wanted a piece of me. It was the cat and string theory as demonstrated in real-life, but with a real cat as the cat and my hot fresh humandog as the string. She would sit by the closed door and mewl and scratch for hours on end, while I tried to write more hard-hitting comedy material to justify my pointless existence.

‘Go away cat! Wrong species!’ I would keep yelling at her, while trying to work out another insightful, truth-illuminating satire about jerking off.

‘I’m sorry cat! It’s not going to happen. Society would frown upon us. Besides, what would we tell our parents?’

 

I was sleeping on a futon at the time, and one morning I awoke to my alarm and opened my eyes to see the cat’s vagina 3 inches from my face.

There’s a very obvious joke here involving the multiple use of the word ‘Pussy’ but there have already been way too many references to cat genitalia in this piece, so if you want it bad enough, you will just have to write your own.

The point is that seeing a cat’s vagina while hearing your alarm clock ring as the first experience of your day puts a surreal spin on the remaining waking hours of that cycle. It’s impossible to move through your mundane daily routine without hearing alarm bells and seeing that image as mental wallpaper every time you close your eyes.

I just lay on the futon not moving, staring at it, not fully awake enough to process what it was, and when I finally did, I just lay there in denial, watching it’s tail slowly swish hypnotically from side to side like a pendulum, in what I thought it hoped was a seductive manner.

There was no doubt about it.

I was in.

Nothing happened mind you, but if I’d wanted it to, she’d of let me.

I stared at it and thought about the girl I’d recently broken up with. If only she could see me now. I stared at it and saw civilisations rise and fall in the blink of a second. I saw millions of planets floating in black space. I saw leaves falling from maple trees that lined an endless country road in the autumn. I saw the end of the human race. I saw a paramecium divide endlessly on a speck of dust floating in a boarded up room in Baltimore. I saw time was a circle. I saw boats in the Aegean sea rubbing up against the wooden slats of the wharves they were moored to.

I saw a cat’s vagina.

The more I stared at it, rubbing the sleep out of my eyes, the more I couldn’t help but feel sorry for the animal.

Us humans take for granted our opposable thumbs which grant us many luxuries, one being the power of self-pleasure. This poor quadraped animal did not have this power. I kept picturing diagrams in my head demonstrating various ways a cat might be able to get itself off, but they were all rejected on grounds of implausibility. A cat couldn’t afford, let alone construct a low-positioned, wall-mounted dildo. I briefly contemplated bringing it off as an act of buddhist compassion more than perversion. I would have to wear gloves though, and then probably some kind of lube so the gloves wouldn’t chafe.

What would Buddha do?

In the end I just did what I had done to most of the women in my life up till that point: I pushed her away from me while apologising profusely.

‘I’m so sorry, but this just isn’t going to work out.’ I said.

‘It’s not me, it’s you’re a cat.’

 

A few days later I heard all this caterwauling on the balcony and went to the kitchen window to check out what was happening.

My cat and some Tomcat were fucking on the balcony.

I couldn’t help noticing that she was getting fucked good.

I stood at the window with my hands on my hip and a smile of satisfaction on my lips, watching them fuck good like a proud parent watching his children fuck good. I decided to do the washing up while watching them fuck so as to be productive.

While I watched them fuck, I thought about how straight forward non-human animal courtship rituals were as opposed to human courtship rituals. If you were a female cat and you wanted a fuck, you would just throw off a scent and whine and mewl and keep pushing your cat vagina into various animal’s faces until you got to the right species. If that female cat was a female human and acted like that, she would be called a slut or something and be ostracised.

And if you were a male cat and you wanted a fuck, you would just go to where the female cat was who you knew wanted a fuck, cause you could smell it in her scent and then you would just jump on board the cat fuck train and ride it all the way into the white, sticky sunset.

Instead because I was a human, I had to go out to clubs and wait for a female to start dancing near to me with that look on her face like she was ignoring me, but also inviting me to talk to her, but not being obvious enough to allay the tremendous self doubt at my core that destroyed my confidence and then I’d have to be all charming and funny and not nervous at all and then get their number and then work up the courage to call them after waiting the correct time period that both parties knew they were waiting and then go on a date with them but say that it wasn’t a date, so there would be no pressure or expectations in case it got awkward if the non-date date didn’t work out, and be all presentable and funny and comfortable and appeal to all sorts of standards and criterias and variables in her head enough for her to let me access her non-cat vagina which she wouldn’t shove in my face the first thing in the morning, but instead have me work up to it and really earn the right to access it, if she allowed me to…

It was enough to make man want to fuck a cat.

I watched them fuck through the window wistfully, washing the dishes, wishing I was the male cat so my romantic life would be a lot simpler and active.

I watched them fuck through the window, wondering how long I could watch them fuck before I was considered a pervert.

I moved out soon after.

 

A few months later, I visited my old house and the cat had just had two cute kittens. They had faces the size of thumbprints. Fucking Christ they were cute. They were climbing all over her with their new kitten energy that she barely tolerated. She had aged heaps, even though I had only been away for six months and she was still only 2 years old, but her cat titties drooped and she was all fat and tired and had that harassed mother in a shopping centre look about her.

We made eye contact and she gave me a look as if to say, ‘I’m over this.’ and then lay her head on the ground and sighed. Her clubbing days were over.

I watched the kitten’s climb over their mother’s inert body, splayed out in resignation on the floor, while reflecting on the inevitable passage of time that would eventually break us all.

Her days of pushing her vagina into strange men’s faces first thing in the morning were over.

It was time for the both of us to move on to the next stage of life.

I had missed the pussy pussy boat.

 

REVIEW OF MICHAEL WARD’S REVIEW OF NICK SUN’S (FOR(YO(ME)O)EVA)x

(I don’t know how to do links on wordpress so you will just have to cut and paste the following address to get to the review: http://www.heraldsun.com.au/entertainment/comedy-festival/nick-sun-in-foryomeuevax/story-fni0fdju-1226881803499)

Michael Ward’s review of Nick Sun’s (FOR(YO(ME)O)EVA)x is one-sided, incomplete and lazy. Firstly, the twenty minute late start Ward mentions had nothing to do with Nick, but with the venue’s previous shows running over time. Secondly, Ward portrays Nick as some kind of chaotic anti-comedian with no jokes, when in actual fact, Ward seems to of conveniently forgotten the huge chunks of material Nick did about boat people, the idiocy of nationalism, the extended act out of ways to kill Tony Abbot, the relativity of suffering in the first vs. third world, the perils of aging, putting women/men in basements as an alternative to dating, the mindless worship of youth in the media, not to mention the call centre dialogues and the surrealist story about the dream Nick had on his 30th birthday exploring the theme of lost innocence. Ward goes on to say that he ‘gets it’ when he clearly does not. Sure, Nick has anti-comedic elements in his peformance, but they are mere dressage to the beating heart of Nick’s act which is basically jokes. Jokes that admittedly derail and wander off into different things but ultimately come back together again by the end. It is by no means a traditional show, but Ward mistakes stylistic choices for mere error. Ward mentions that Nick does not have a flow, when he does, it is simply non-traditional and on the off-beat, utilising rhythmic displacement to achieve an off-kilter rhythm which Ward may of noticed if he wasn’t so blinded by his innate critical prejudices. Ward also does not mention that the majority of the audience enjoyed the show and that it was a good gig (with several punters complimenting Nick post show). One cannot deny that something is of value just because it is not to his subjective taste, which judging from Ward’s other reviews are mostly the kind of inoffensive shows that pretentious yet conservative middle to upper-middle class phoney baloneys (that seem to infest Melbourne in abundance) like to see. Ward also neglects to mention that Nick may of prejudiced his review by saying during the gig that, ‘The Herald Sun is an awful right-wing, hate and fear mongering piece of Murdoch sponsored shit.’ (which it is) and that, ‘Any publication that offers Andrew Bolt a platform to spout his idiotic garbage should be used as nothing more than toilet paper and/or fuel for fire…’ A fire that Michael Ward may perhaps want to step into, out of guilt for writing for such a terrible waste of trees. He also neglects to mention that in a moment of spontaneity, Nick also said, ‘Now I’m not saying you are a cunt for writing for the Herald Sun… But you probably are.’ Which Nick admits in retrospect was perhaps an untoward thing to say to a critic and that this may of in some way negatively biased the review but have a sense of humour about it you fucking wanker.
After some background research, it was discovered that Michael Ward has written and produced for the following hilarious and comedically progressive programs:
- Spicks and specks
- RocKwiz
- Talkin’ Bout Your Generation
- You’re Skitting me
- Skithouse
- TV burp
- Newstopia
- Rove live
- The Footy Show

So judging from Ward’s very impressive CV of cutting edge hilarious television that he has written for, televisual socio-cultural artifacts that will live forever not just in the Australian psyche, but the global collective consciousness at large, it can be deduced that Michael Ward is a stupid piece of shit who doesn’t know jack about what he’s talking about and I hope you die motherfucker with the shrapnel scarred hands of a flashbacking 3rd-world refugee wrapped around your useless, pointless throat you cunt.

NO STARS

ONE ANGRY POEM, ONE NICE POEM

BAD CROWD

I don’t know who’s fault it was
don’t know why i got this hate
in me
for you
don’t know why you did not like me
until I racially framed myself
for you
in me
upon which
you exploded
into laughter a boil
full of shit
lanced
in that instance
hating you all
so much
deeply
an intense despair for humanity
for my uncertain
future realizing
my hatred for the majority
of this species
a major obstacle
standing in the way of
suc(k)cess(pool)

To make people I don’t like
like me
to entertain the undeserving
oh the irony
the horror

I try
to understand why
you are like this why
you don’t want to change
I try
to feel compassion
but pity is all
I can find for your
proud ignorance
looking out
at you in the dark while you
call me nasty things
over the top of my punchlines
and boo when I’m not what you want
staring like I’m the weird guy
you fucking peasants
make a good case for
fascism

wondering,
wondering,
how we can be so different yet still the same species

wondering,
wondering,
what I’d have to do to make you get my existence

I suspect severe adjustments to my innate being
that I’m not willing to make

So
stale mate
mate

(I’m not your friend)
(I don’t want to hang out with you)
(I’m not sorry)

I look out at you in the
darkness
all I see is
darkness
with individual tiny lights
keeping me bright in the
darkness
I love those tiny lights
so warm so light
but the rest of you are
an insult to all
human potential
the gift of life is
wasted on you
wish there was a
shiny red button
to press right now
releasing zyclon b
from the walls
to make this
a better world
one bad audience
at a time

I wear a gasmask
and sleep well
knowing one day
you will
all be
dead
so get
fucked
you
fucked
fucking
cunted
cunts

(Okay
I’m letting it go,
got another gig tonight
to redeem myself plus
nothing really matters
peasout don’t sweat
the small stuff
ROFLOLOYOLO

burninhellbutasamasochistsoyouenjoyit

Humanitarian from a
distance I love you
more the further
you are away
from
me

happyflowerspuppydogscakesinthesunswimming
)

THINGS WE DO

USE TO WORK FOR A DENTIST
handing out flyers
in a giant tooth suit
but it was all dirty
didn’t fit me
properly
looked stupid
gave me license to
dance in public
like a weirdo
at people on their way
to more qualified
jobs
sometimes forgot to handout
the flyers too busy dancing
like a weirdo
giant dirty
crooked tooth trouser legs
sticking out the bottom dancing
like a weirdo
no one noticing
how strange it all was
(only black people
took the flyers
don’t know why)
Best job ever
except
6am start.

USED TO WORK FOR A DENTIST
putting flyers in letterboxes
Couldn’t be fucked
wearing an ill-fitting tooth suit
(gave me a bad back)
too early in the morning
(Not a morning/night person
more an afternoon person)
anymore fine with me
best job ever
got very fit walking around
five hours every other day
clocking in late clocking
out early long lunches
getting high
on the job no one to tell
us what to do no need
to show up if you didn’t feel
like it no need to tell
anyone you weren’t coming in
occasionally
old people waiting
by the letterbox to tell
us off like they had been
waiting all day
to talk to someone
a lifetime of regret
spewed onto you
for putting a piece of paper
in their mailbox (just junkmail
and bills addressed to people who
didn’t live there anymore)
I don’t know
maybe I was reading into it
too much but I guess when we
get old we all go crazy
from spending too much time
in ourselves
by ourselves
being ourselves
it’s frightening to think
about the inevitable once your
wave breaks and slides back in
plus you shit
and piss yourself
yecch.

USE TO WORK FOR A DENTIST
who got us to rip
apart his old dentistry
we took to it with
hammers
crowbars
best job ever!!!
demolishing
walls
counter tops
tables
panelling
etc…
My friend patiently
pulling things apart
systematically
Me running screaming swinging
a hammer savouring the noise
of things breaking violent
orgasm catharsis
therapeutic
plus we salvaged
mouthwash water
filter oral hygiene
goods slightly out of date
stripped copper
wiring from walls
to sell to gypsies
(never did it just sat
under a ping pong table
in a garbage bag
after we found it would only
get us 20 quid)
also:
a canister of pure oxygen
when inhaled the world
became sharper clearer
an extended moment
wondered if we were in a
world with not enough
oxygen in it this whole
life deprived but
not realising
if only it could be that clear
and sharp all the time
Then looked
metal tag oxygen
past expiration date
by a couple of years
never knew air could spoil.

USED TO WORK FOR A DENTIST
Mike
cool guy
tall jovial chap big
laugh lots of girlfriends
sold his practise
for millions
to retire
Bahamas age 40
good for him nice
to know someone
occasionally wins
the game good
people are a minority
but they are out there
when you look thanks
Mike I hope
you’re happy
on the beach
in the sun
having a laugh
with your girl
drinking a
tropical
cocktail
with a
tiny
um
brel
la.

DEATH DREAM

Last night, I dreamt I was dying of pancreatic cancer.
I can’t remember who diagnosed me, all that I knew was that I had pancreatic cancer and I was going to die and all I could think of was, ’Fuck does this make me a hack, dying from the same cancer as Bill Hicks?’
But then thought, even though I am almost the same age as Bill Hicks when he died, I hadn’t achieved nearly as much as him and neither was I as good as a comedian as he was and I felt depressed.
My legacy would be nothing more than the epitaph I’d leave on my tombstone that would read, ‘I am gay.’
Then I thought, ‘Maybe seeing as that I am dying, I will finally start writing some good shit already. Maybe now that I am dying I can write some really fucking memorable REAL shit that doesn’t end in some cheap wank, sex, retard or death reference like all the other shit I hate yet can’t help writing, but then I realized hey my new stuff inspired by my impending mortality would just replace all the cheap wank, sex and retard references with more death references on top of the usual ones and I realized you can never get out of a box when you are the box, you can only take to it with a razorblade and scatter the cardboard pieces in the recycling bin you stupid fuck.’
Then I stopped thinking and felt nothing but total fear and maximum regret wash over me and pull me under and I can’t really remember what happened afterwards but it was just a general vague feeling of all encompassing yet unfocussed wild panic.
I just ran around the indistinct dreamscape and whoever I ran into, I would just grab them by the shirt and shamelessly blurt out, ‘I’m dying of pancreatic cancer!’ into their featureless faces with absolutely no dignity. Not even with a ‘Hi.’ Or ‘How are you going by the way?’ but it didn’t matter because apparently tokenistic sympathy from faceless dream mannequins doesn’t cure dream pancreatic cancer in my dream body effectively enough to make me stop doing what I was doing.
I didn’t know what to do or where to begin doing the things I had always planned to do but kept putting off, because now at the top of the list of my things to do before I was dead in big, black, block letters was ‘DIE YOU WORM.’
I woke up, glad to be awake for the first time in a while.
I got dressed and went to work a ten hour shift in hell.
On my way to work I tried to figure out if that was a premonition dream and if I should go see a doctor and what would happen if the dream turned out to be true.
What would I do?
What would I change?
It was too immense to even contemplate. I would cross that bridge once I had burnt it. But at a stretch, I decided I would go to Burning Man and blow all my money on a holiday in a country on the brink of collapse or something.

Maybe I will do that one day.

TRANSCRIPTS OF REAL-LIFE CALL CENTRE DIALOGUES

DIALOGUE # 98

NICK: Hi my name Nick, I’m just calling on behalf of (Name deleted for legal reasons) How are you?
MAN: Mate, do you really want to know how I’m doing?
NICK: Yeah?
MAN: Well mate, it hasn’t rained for three years up where I’m at and my bloody farm is going under.
NICK: That sounds pretty tough mate.
MAN: Mate, you have no bloody idea. I’m in debt a couple of hundred grand. I just had to go kill a bunch of my sheep the other day.
NICK: Why did you do that?
MAN: Mate, why do you think?
NICK: I don’t know, maybe you didn’t like them.
MAN: Mate, there’s not enough food for them!
NICK: What a waste huh?
MAN: You’re telling me mate! A bloody waste. This fucking drought.
(PAUSE)
NICK: When was the last time there wasn’t a drought? There always seems to be drought on.
MAN: A long time mate, it hasn’t been good for a while now.
NICK: How long?
MAN: A good 15-20 years I reckon.
NICK: That’s a long time. And before that?
MAN: It was okay… I guess. Not great but okay yeah.
NICK: … Compared to how things are now.
MAN: Yeah. Things are fucking lousy at the moment.
NICK: Maybe it’s not a drought, maybe we shouldn’t farm sheep in a desert.
MAN: Yeah it’s hard.
NICK: What about camels?
MAN: Nah fuck camels mate.
NICK: Don’t like camels huh?
MAN: Fuckem.
NICK: Kangaroos?
MAN: Not enough demand for em.
NICK: I quite like kangaroo meat. It’s very lean and tastes good.
MAN: I don’t like it. Fuck kangaroos.
NICK: Don’t like kangaroos either huh?
MAN: Yeah fuckem.

(CONVERSATION PETERS OUT. NO SALE)

DIALOGUE #23

NICK: Hi my name Nick, I’m just calling on behalf of (Name deleted for legal reasons) How are you?
WOMAN: (Shouting) HUH? WHAT YOU WANT?
NICK: I’m just calling on behalf of the (name deleted for legal reasons)
WOMAN: WHO? I DON’T KNOW.
NICK: We just provide funding support for the (name deleted for legal reasons)
WOMAN: I DON’T KNOW.
NICK: Ok, well you know the volunteer fire fighters?
WOMAN: NO.
NICK: Okay well you know fire fighters?
WOMAN: NO.
NICK: Well you know bush fires?
WOMAN: NO.
NICK: You don’t know what a bush fire is?
WOMAN: NO.
NICK: Well you know fire?
WOMAN: HUH?
NICK: Fire. You know what fire is?
(PAUSE)
WOMAN: YEAH.

(WOMAN HANGS UP. NO SALE.)

DIALOGUE #1-

NICK: Hi my name Nick, I’m just calling on behalf of (Name deleted for legal reasons) uuhhh… How are you?
OLD WOMAN: Not well.
NICK: Oh… Why’s that?
WOMAN: My husband and my only son recently passed away within 4 months of each other.
NICK: Oh god… That’s not very good is it?
WOMAN: I’m all alone.
NICK: Oh… Umm… Gee’s…
WOMAN: Well… You just have to deal with it… There’s nothing you can do except to keep on going…
NICK: Yep… You just got to keep on going I guess.
WOMAN: Yep… Nothing you can do except sometimes just go somewhere and just… Just… (starts crying)…
NICK: Uh…
WOMAN: (crying) I miss them so much.
NICK: Oh god…
WOMAN: (crying) My husband was so good to me… And my Son… And…
NICK: There, there.
(WOMAN crying)
NICK: I’m sorry…
WOMAN: (crying) I’m an old woman… I got nobody…
NICK: Uhh… well umm… Look I’m sure you will get through it.
WOMAN: I will.
NICK: Well…
WOMAN: I don’t know… I don’t know… I just… What did you want?
NICK: Uhh look don’t worry about it… Hope things get better…

(HANGS UP. NO SALE)

strong>DIALOGUE #19

NICK: Hi my name Nick, I’m just calling on behalf of (Name deleted for legal reasons)… How are you?
OLD MAN: Not bad mate, not bad…
NICK: How’s the weather there in… (suppressing a laugh) Cumboogle?
OLD MAN: Pretty good actually. Lots of rain.
NICK: What’s it like living in… (suppressing a laugh) Cumboogle?
OLD MAN: Pretty quiet really… Nice, small place, not many people. Just a few houses. Lot’s of rain at the moment… The lawn’s getting pretty long…
NICK: You got a long lawn huh?
OLD MAN: Yeah, yeah… Gettin pretty long yeah…
NICK: Long lawn, long lawn… (pause) Are you going to cut it soon?
OLD MAN: Yeah, yeah.
NICK: Make it a short lawn huh?
OLD MAN: (Chuckling) Oh yeah, yeah…
NICK: Do you like shortening your lawn?
OLD MAN: Hmm? Nah… It’s a hassle now that I’m old…
NICK: Oh really?
OLD MAN: Yep.
NICK: Are you old?
OLD MAN: Yep.
NICK: You know what you need to cut your lawn?
OLD MAN: What?
NICK: Goats.
OLD MAN: Yeah?
NICK Yep you just need a herd of goats. They will keep your lawn short and you won’t have to do a thing. Just let them eat your lawn.
OLD MAN: (Chuckling) Yeah, yeah I could do that.
NICK: … Plus you could milk them as well.
OLD MAN: Yeah I guess I could do that.
NICK: Think about it – all the goat’s milk you’d ever want, plus long lawn no more.
OLD MAN: (Chuckling) Yeah.
NICK: You ever tried fresh goat’s milk?
OLD MAN: No. No I haven’t.
NICK: Do you know what it tastes like?
OLD MAN: What?
NICK: It tastes like how a goat smells!
OLD MAN: Yuck.
NICK: Yep, I put it in my coffee, and it made my coffee taste like the smell of a goat.
OLD MAN: Yuck.
NICK: Yep. It was pretty yuck. I think maybe goat’s milk is more suitable in savoury dishes I reckon.
OLD MAN: You reckon?
NICK: Well I don’t know really. I have had goat’s milk cheese. That’s pretty good.
OLD MAN: Never tried that. I’m more of a cow man.
NICK: You are a cow man?
OLD MAN: Yep I’m a cow man.
NICK: Half-cow, half-man?
OLD MAN: Oh no, I mean I like cows.
NICK: I’d like to think I’m more of a goat man but when it comes to the crunch, I’m a cow man too.
OLD MAN: Yep.
NICK: Well anyway, it’s been a pleasure chatting with you mate, I hope you get your long lawn short again somehow without too much hassle.
OLD MAN: Yep, will do, will do.
NICK: No worries man, thanks heaps and have a good day.
OLD MAN: You too mate, you too. Nice chatting.

(HANGS UP. NO SALE)

NB: You will notice the complete absence of sales pitch, as if NICK had just randomly called OLD MAN up purely to discuss the length of his lawn and various aspects of goats.

HUMAN BLACKHOLE

I was living with this human black hole who was so depressing he could make paintings of children cry, fuck he was depressing, what a wastehole.

But he did let me live in his house virtually for free so he was okay.

Just before I finally left, he demanded money off of me, but i had none left and he got pissed off at me even though the agreement was that I could live there basically for free.
I did the washing up a lot though.
He made me really racist, because he typified everything bad in the English character:
Dirty, mean, passive-aggressive, whinging, depressing, racist etc…

But he did let me live at his house virtually for free so he was okay.

Well actually, about 85 percent of the time he was a loathsome piece of shit.
15 percent of time, he was a nice guy, even likable at times.
He did teach me a few things about life though:
1. Never complain.
2. Depressing people suck and are horrible to be around.
3. Never again be at the whim of a man who has power of you because he is letting you stay in his house virtually for free.

I only realised how depressing he was when I’d leave the house to go on tour and it would feel like a heavy weight was lifted from me and I’d feel bouyant, as if I were a balloon that had been caught in a tree for a long time that had suddenly been freed so it could float into the sun and burn to death.

He would complain about being depressed all the time and how hard his illness was, but it was difficult for me to sympathise with his condition because he did nothing to help it. He didn’t take his medication. He’d sit in his room watching TV from about 4pm to 9am chainsmoking joints and eating shit food and talking about how depressed he was.
I think he got off on being depressed.
He was a nice guy a few times and it was like getting a glimpse of the person he could be if he wasn’t such a fucking cunt piece of shit.
He was from a broken home. Is that a good enough excuse? I don’t know…
He was a ‘comedian’ but the only remotely funny thing about him was his humourlessness.
He took himself so seriously it made me want to throw up.
I hated his guts i fucking really hated him so much believe me.

But he let me stay at his house virtually for free so he was okay.

He had this nice girlfriend, but she would get pulled into his orbit and all the negative characteristics of her personality would come out.
When I was finally leaving, I pulled her aside- and I’m never one to intervene- and I was like, ‘Hey you gotta save yourself, this guy is like a fucking black hole, you have to get out or you’ll get sucked down.’
She said she was going to stay by him. She said he just needed to be loved.
Women.
And their love of bad things.
And their love of trying to save shit with their love.
God blessem.
I heard recently they had a really nasty break up, and three days after dumping her, he met his new girlfriend on the internet.
Good luck to them.

He had this pet bunny and this pet cat and he was very tender with them.
Well, after he got the cat, he neglected the bunny.
It would just sit out in the snow in it’s own shit, surrounded by it’s rotting food and i would feel sorry for it.
It’s probably dead now.
I just wanted to get out so badly, but I was in a tight situation so what are you going to do?
I just ended up spending as much time out of the house as possible.
When i was away, I would find myself for days on end getting into arguments with him in my head, it really drove me crazy.
It would always end up with me screaming,
‘FUCK YOU!’ at his imaginary image while i was on a bus or walking down the street or something.
I tried to confront him non-aggressively about himself and i felt we made headway, but then the next day it was back to normal again.
I guess it’s very difficult to tell somone they are a terrible person and that they should kill themselves in polite terms.
Everytime I looked at him, I would see a twisted hate filled old man that he seemed destined to become.
Everytime I looked at him, towards the end of my stay, I would see me slowly pushing his head beneath black water until he was no longer there.

But he let me stay at his house virtually for free so i guess he was okay.

Well no, even though i didn’t have to pay to stay, it wasn’t free, because i had to act as a buffer and psychic sponge for all the demon filth that spilled out of his pores, polluting his immediate surroundings and infecting anyone in it.

I thought about writing a story based on him about a man who was so depressing and negative that any living thing that came within a 5 foot radius of his bandwidth rapidly aged and dies.
He becomes a vaccuum of anti-matter. Darkness seeks to absorb as much light as possible and it’s hunger is never-ending.
All he wants though is love and affection, but he cannot get it, because no one can get close enough to him to give him a reassuring hug without dying because he is so depressing.
He consults an experimental sock puppet psychiatrist who counsels him at a safe distance with the aid of a megaphone.
He discovers that although he is frightfully unhappy, he is attached to his misery and on a sick level enjoys being depressed. While his motives have been brought to light, it does nothing to fix him and despondent as always, searches far and wide for a cure to no avail.
Finally during his endless travels he meets a woman with a similar affliction.
When they come into contact with each other they have a depression off, trying to out depress each other as their force-fields of anti-matter clash throwing off bright black light. They declare a truce and move in together. While living with each other, they both come to the same conclusion that living with a depressed person is a tedious bore and they both agree that life isn’t all bad and decide to cheer the fuck up.
Their romantic and sexual tension is not resolved to ensure continued reader interest.
While my story idea had a happy ending, his does not really.

I heard he recently made some disparaging comments about another comedian on the internet and that comic didn’t take too kindly to him, so he followed him down an alleyway one night and beat the shit out of him.
Hearing about this made me feel good inside,
but then i realised that he let me stay at his house for virtually free, so i shouldn’t feel good.
I still felt good.
Then some more disparaging remarks were made pertaining to his attacker’s Muslim background and charges of racism were made against him.
I didn’t even know racism was a legally recognised crime.
I don’t know if he was racist. I suspected it heavily. He would make those jokes against various races, mostly black people and muslims in that ironic ‘I’m joking, but I’m not joking.’ racist way, but he would do it enough times in that, to make me sense that maybe that was how he truly felt.

But he let me stay in house virtually for free, so I’m sure he wasn’t a racist.

I hope he has a happy ending, but I don’t know what his chances are because he has to keep on being him.

My story had somewhat of a happy ending because i left and will probably never see him again.

I’m glad to be away from him and I hope I never see him again.

But he let me stay in house virtually for free, so I wish him all the best for the future.

P.S. If he is reading this, thanks for letting me stay at your place, I really do appreciate it, but christ you were a cunt 85% of the time and i hope you’re not like that anymore. Good luck.

(HAPPY THOUGHTS THINK HAPPY THOUGHTS)

1. Patting a doggy and the doggy is wagging it’s tail and you look into the doggy’s eyes and it’s staring back at you and you know that it loves you and you love him and you hug him and you can feel his tail swish back and forth against your legs…
Mmmmmm… Feels good!

2. Kissing your lover feels good cuddling each other in the night like there’s no one else left in the world, safe under the covers, and you know everything is going to be okay, at least for now.

3. Autumn, in the forest, breeze through trees sounding like a tambourine going shhkashhkashhkashhkashhka… Afternoon sun filtering through coloured leaves like everything’s been dipped in caramel tastes sweet on your skin holy shit brzang!

4. Summer swimming in the ocean water’s like sliding through sheets so smooth you forget you’re wet lost in the waves totally gone.

5. Green field, windy day, lying in the sun penetrating through every cell of your body, thinking nothing.

6. Buying presents for your friends and family.

7. Eating delicious ice cream lick-by-lick and it goes on for ages.

8. Seeing your favourite band play songs you really love, live.

9. We are so lucky to be alive it’s so amazing that we are alive and living in a world with lots of amazing stuff in it. WE ARE SO LUCKY TO BE ALIVE IT’S SO AMAZING WE ARE ALIVE.

10. Cute little kittens with faces the size of thumb prints dancing around a yard how they frolick with abandon like organic anti-robots! Long live kitten anti-robots! Woohoo! Bleep bleep!

11. One day a nice little rainbow made friends with a baby unicorn and they had such a good time prancing in the pastures, it’s hard to not want to fall on your knees and say, ‘Oh my god! Like, oh my fucking god! This is amazing! Life is amazing!’

12. One day a lime was kissing a piece of sugarcane in a waterfall and as their juices melded they both cried out, ‘Ah! I am in love!’ And thousands of pealing bells rang!

13. Orphaned children selling crack to their shadows in an abandoned building.

14. HAPPY THOUGHTS THINK HAPPY THOUGHTS

15. Ummm…

16.

17. Hey how awful is it that yoghurt tastes so good? What gives acidophilus?

18. RUSSIA INVADES UKRAINE NIET NIET.

19. PLANE LOST AT SEA OR POSSIBLY HIJACKED BY REMOTE CONTROL DRONE TERRORISTS PASSENGERS SUBJECTED TO HORRIFIC TORTURE PROCEDURES.

20. AUSTRALIAN NATIONAL PARKS TO BE OPENED FOR LOGGING.

21. HUGE MINE AND SHIPPING LANE TO BE BUILT THROUGH THE GREAT BARRIER REEF.

22. TERRIBLE THINGS HAPPENING TO REGULAR PEOPLE JUST LIKE YOU, AT RANDOM, ALL OVER THE WORLD, ALL THE TIME.

23. UHHH FAIRY BREAD! FAIRY BREAD AT A FOUR YEAR OLD’S BIRTHDAY PARTY PASS THE PARCEL AND THE MUSIC STOPS WHEN IT’S FRONT OF YOU AND IT’S THE PRIZE YOU WANT HAHA! AND EVERYONE GETS SOMETHING CAUSE THE GAME HAS BEEN RIGGED HAHA

24. RACIST GOVERNMENT PRO–MINING AGENDA MEDIA SPREADING ANTI-IMMIGRANT HATE AAAAHHHH AAAHHHH WHAT HAPPENED TO THE HAPPY MAN

25. DON’T FEEL SO GOOD, 32, FAILURE HANGS OVERHEAD LIKE CROSSBEAMS SEDUCTIVE PROMISE OF FREEDOM BIRD IN A CAGE BIRD IN A CAGE IN A BIRD CAGE IN A CAGE IN A BIRD IN A CAGE IN A CAGED BIRD.
CAGE IN A CAGED BIRD
CAGE IN A CAGED BIRD

26. WHY CANT YOU JUST WRITE NICE THINGS WHY DO YOU ALWAYS HAVE TO RUIN IT WHY CAN’T YOU JUST BE GENUINE FOR ONCE.

27. Lollipop licked by a little girl who never grows up in the clouds while angels with creamed cheese salmon bagels for halos singing happy birthday to her while feeding her favourite flavoured jello.

28. I DON’T BELIEVE YOU I DON’T BELIEVE YOU FRAUD FRAUD FRAUD.

29. Gardening.

30. Tired.

31. Bed.

CALL CENTRE POOETRY

HOLES

There was
a huge hole in my pants that I needed to sew
up, but the gap between thought and action was a few
days spent walking around at work with a huge
hole in my pants cos they don’t let me wear shorts in
hot
weather because… I don’t know a lot of
rules at work don’t make much sense
butt
I guess they would rather me walk around in
pants with a huge hole from the middle of my
butt
all the way up to my
crotch
(than shorts) so if you were a midget
and standing really close to me my
ass
and
crotch
would be in your face bad news on a hot day stinking
but no one noticed, or if they did,
said nothing.

Last week I finally
took the time to sew the hole up
with pink thread so it looked
vaguely
vaginal
but I realized while sewing I don’t know much
about sewing it was only a few days before it
tore again and now there is hole where my
vagina
would be if I had one with bits of ripped pink thread
dangling down like artificial fairy
pubic
hair I don’t know why im writing about this.

SHITS WHACK YO

Too many
shampoos
To choose
from why do
they all have
things you
eat for dessert
In them?

Blueberries,
Melon,
Chocolate,
Peach,
Papaya,
Mint,
Mango,
Honey,
Almond,
Coconut,

It’s soap for your
Hair not fucking
Ice cream topping

I am free
to choose
the things
I can afford
to buy
I am free
to not
afford
free shit
I am free
to wash my
hair with
fruit based
jam suds
I put some
Shampoo
On my hand
And lick it
Tastes
bitter

shits whack yo

WORK WTF???

who the fuck
invented this work
bullshit?
we liberated ourselves
from the foodchain only
to put ourselves in
chains
of a different sort.
9-5,
5 days a week,
48 weeks a year,
from ages 18- 60,
best years of our lives
down the drain
repetitive task based
labour it’s a bum deal
getting fucked
For 20 bucks
an hour plus Tax
and superannuation
I just want to live in an
air-conditioned heated
cave by the seaside
with an x-box and
eat what I find
and catch
in the home-delivery
grocery truck
fish,
quinoa,
fern roots,
oysters,
(The world is your)
but they cost 20 bucks
a dozen and I don’t have
money cause I cancelled
work again to write
in the cemetery in the sun
using some cunt’s grave as
a desk and a milk crate for
a seat and everytime I stare
at these
dollar dollar bills yo
fake ass the plasstic
they’re made from that get
shit out of a machine
I don’t understand how it works
wondering why the queen’s
face is on it, she doesn’t
have to work she’s
the world’s worst
welfare bludger she
never had to cold call
regional frosty to
canvas charity
raffle tickets ten hours
straight I think I’m
going out of my mind
can’t tell if its making
me stronger or killing
all feeling if I ever get
waterboarded it will
be a walk in the park
compared to this
waiting for them to
fire me I hope they
fire me soon
fire me
fire

HOPIATE

Hope,
the opiate of the masses
Weapon of mass distraction
I had to read several horoscopes till I got the one I wanted
Before I could start my day,
It was the one that said everything was going to work out
okay and I’d never have to worry
about anything ever again.
OK.

I hope the terrorists bomb Hollywood
already
I hope viruses become celebrities
already
Just cremate me in a pizza oven
already
With extra garlic
And feed me to the homeless.
already

I want my first words to be my last
So my entire body of work will be every noise I utter
That joins up, beginning to end
And people will be like,
‘Who gives a shit.’


STD’S ARE THE COOLEST FASHION ACCESSORIES MONEY CAN BUY

Knock, knock, who cares?
All major world leaders have
at some point jerked off
or fingered themselves
(Some still do)

You are not alive, you’re just
addicted to breathing
Butt fuck, who am I to judge?
(I will still judge)

When I grow up I want
to be a dog.
With a cinnamon donut halo.
You can pat me
But I can smell it if you’ve been
(beating your kids)

My happy place is a selfie with me not in it,
I measure how depressed I am by how much
Time I spend on facebook, reading posts from
people I have never met
in real life, who I already hate.
(I want to stop using the word, ‘I’.)

Cancelled work while taking a shit today
‘Not coming in.’ Said as a turd fell out of ass.
(Felt good)

MASTURBATION FANTASY #34

DISCLAIMER: All characters appearing in this work are fictitious. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

*Ed Note- Some subliminal messages may or may not be present in (KILL TONY ABBOT) the following text.

‘I’m sorry.’ Tony Abbot lied.
‘Apology denied.’ A volley of bullets discharged into the back of his knees, shredding cartilage, tendons, muscles, bones and tissue. He fell to the floor of the boat, screaming in agony. He would never walk again.
‘OH GOD! OH FUCK GOD! OH GOD!’
‘Feel it.’ I whispered. The hot gun felt alive against my bosom. It was only beginning. I tore the black hood off of his head (KILL TONY ABBOT) to reveal a face contorted in pain.
‘You… won’t… get… away… with… this!’ He strained. I spat on his face.
He looked up at me, the corners of his wide muppet mouth sagging in hate as saliva dripped down his face.
‘I knew I was right not to let your kind in… You belong in the detention camp laundry, ironing clothes like the good Australian women here… You fucken… Nigger bitch!’
I shook my head sadly, removing a large hunting knife from my ankle sheath.
‘As punishment for not listening to the public… I am liberating these jug ears from your head.’
I slashed through his left ear, sighing in ecstasy as the knife passed from air into flesh. He jerked his head back, causing the knife to tear unevenly through the cartilage, leaving half of his ear dangling from the side of his head. Blood poured from the wound as he lay there in shock. His face was white and breathing shallow.
‘Don’t want you to (KILL TONY ABBOTT) pass out… Where’s the fun in that?’
I dipped my hand into the ocean and splashed the salt water onto his open wound.
‘Aaarrghhh!!!! It burns! It burns!’ He yelped.
‘I know it does Tony. I know it does. Justice does burn. Like a fire, turning all impurities into ash.’
‘You stupid fucking woman! You fucking crazy dirty-skinned boat bitch!’ he screamed, holding what was left of his left ear.
‘Crazy? I’m not the one who said that, ‘Timber workers are the greatest conservationists.’ I’m not the one that said that, ‘Jesus knew that there was a place for everything and it’s not necessarily everyone’s place to come to Australia.’ I’m not the one that said that ‘Abortion is the easy way out.It’s hardly surprising that people should choose the most convenient exit from awkward situations.’ I’m not the one who wants to run a shipping lane through the Barrier Reef… According to these statements and policies of yours, it seems the definition of crazy is completely subjective.’
I sliced his right ear off of his head so quickly he didn’t realize it had happened until he saw the appendage hit the ground in front of him. Instinctively, he dived to get it, but I kicked it away from him. It bounced off the side of the boat and into the ocean, where a shark waiting near the surface quickly swallowed it.
‘Obviously a specimen that survived the cull instigated by one of your ministers.’
‘No! No! My jug ear!’ he squealed, watching the shark disappear into the murky blue depths below.
He looked at me, covered in blood, mutilated and wild-eyed. His true self. His final self.
You look like Chopper Read now, if only Chopper Read was more of a criminal.’ I remarked.
‘When you get caught, you will be put in Manus island where you belong!’
‘When you die, you will burn in hell, because as a committed Christian, you (KILL TONY ABBOT) believe in such backwards ideas.’
‘Forget about it boat bitch! You will never be an Australian!’ He spat.
‘Neither will you. Born in London to an English Father and an ex-pat mother, immigrating to a stolen country in 1960 as part of the ten pound pom scheme- an extension of the white Australia policy- Tony Abbot, you are a hypocrite, you are an illegal immigrant, you are a boat person, you are everything you hate.’
I kicked him over onto his back.
‘This is for your misogyny.’ I said, plunging the knife deep into his crotch.
An unearthly scream exploded from his mouth, instantly rupturing his voice box.
‘This is for your misogyny.’ I said, plunging the knife deep into his crotch again. He screamed, the sound muted by his ruined larynx, mouth gaping like a fish (KILL TONY ABBOT) drowning in air.
‘This is for your misogyny.’ I plunged the knife, again, deep into his crotch, and then again and again, and again and again and again.
The sounds he was making were as indistinct as the pulpy mess between his legs.
I took out some lipstick and smeared it unevenly on his lips.
‘You look so pretty like this… After all, you are the lucky bride and tonight is your wedding night…’
‘Luuurrgghhhh…’
‘If only you could marry yourself, so you could fuck yourself on your honeymoon as hard as you fuck everyone who isn’t you or your superiors… But you banned gay marriage, so I guess tonight, Death will be your husband.’
‘Llluuurrggllrhhh…’
I lifted my semi-automatic rifle high up into the air and brought the butt down onto his smug, shit-eating-grin shitting face with all my weight. It caved in like a blocked toilet collapsing under the weight of all the shit it had held inside (KILL TONY ABBOT). His body shook in death orgasm. I brought the gun butt up and down onto his face again and again and again, and again and again and again, until there was nothing left but bloodied, pulpy mash that segued into the beginnings of a neck.
I threw his body over the side of the boat and watched the sharks slowly swarm over his remains.
‘Thanks human!’ A shark said, rising out of the water and giving me a fin wave.
‘No problemo sharky!’
‘Even though he tastes like a ventriloquist puppet sculpted from Rupert Murdoch and Gina Rhinehart’s shit, it seems like our duty to eat him so we can have the satisfaction of shitting him out later.’
‘I understand Sharky.’
‘He was a massive cunt.’
‘Yes he was a massive cunt.’
‘KILL TONY ABBOT.’
‘I just did Sharky.’
‘KILL TONY ABBOT.’
‘KILL TONY ABBOT.’
I lit a cigarette and inhaled deeply, staring at the hot peach sunset over the ocean and thought about my lesbian life partner waiting for me back at home. I exhaled.
(KILL TONY ABBOT)
‘Fuck yeah.’ I said.
(KILL TONY ABBOT ASAP)
(KILL TONY ABBOT ASAP)
I turned the motor on and slowly puttered into the sunset.
(YOU MUST KILL TONY ABBOT)
(YOU MUST KILL TONY ABBOT ASAP)
YOU MUST KILL TONY ABBOT ASAP
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KILL TONY ABBOT
And everyone lived KILL TONY ABBOT happily ever after.
KILL TONY ABBOT
KILL TONY ABBOT

THE END

P.S. KILL TONY ABBOT