#these people know nothing about pedagogy holy shit | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

brendlesachiel · 8 years ago

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Stand up shit

I like the word “egotistical.” It sounds like a Kiwi saying “ego testicle.” “I’m very egotistical.”

Education language: diversity equity inclusion pedagogy learners with additional learning needs, developing programs, initiatives and strategies to implement educational policies in appropriate educational settings; individualised differentiated instruction diversity equity inclusive learning environment engage learners in the process educational outcomes cultural competence social justice, embrace diversity

The annoying thing about life is that it ends before you have any time to come even close to understanding it.

“Snowy Mountains” and “Rocky Mountains” are really uncreative names. “It;s mountain and it’s kinda rocky. Rocky Mountains? It’s a mountain and it’s kind of snowy. Snowy Mountains? Imagine if every name was as uncreative as that. The Amazon’s just called “The Leafy Forest.” It’s like calling the Amazon “Leafy Forest.”

“I hope it goes well!” Hope is worthless. You know how I know it’s worthless? It’s because no one would be able to sell hope as a product and make money off it. Like, in a store. Like, a sales person can’t be like, “Hey, you want some hope? “ “Sure.” “That’ll be 20 dollars.” “Oh fuck that shit. I’m not spending money on feeling hopeful.”

Imagine if Yoda made An Inconvenient Truth instead of Al Gore? “The use of cars leads to greenhouse gas emissions. Greenhouse gas emissions lead to the accumulation of greenhouse gases in the atmosphere. The accumulation of greenhouse gases in the atmosphere leads to the reflection and absorption of incoming solar radiation. The reflection and absorption of incoming solar radiation leads to the planet radiating some of that energy back out into the atmosphere in the form of infrared radiation. The planet radiating some of that energy back out into the atmosphere in the form of infrared radiation leads to the trapping of some of that radiation in the atmosphere by those same gases. And the trapping of some of that infrared radiation in the atmosphere by those same gases leads to global warming. Disastrous, that could be. Fix it, we must.”

How awesome is the feeling when you successfully change the subject away from an embarrassing topic? In your head you’re like “Fucking yes, I changed the direction of the conversation and he didn’t notice, I got away with it.”

Imagine if there was a girl called Marie Marie Marie Marie Marie Marie Marie Marie Marie Marie Marie Marie…and it just goes on for like 500 Marie’s. Her teacher marks the role like, “John Smith.” “Here.” “Elizabeth Knight.” “Here.” “Marie Marie Marie Marie Marie Marie Marie Marie Marie Marie…fuck it, Marie to the power of 500. Are you here?” “Here.”

fear leads to anger. anger leads to hate. hate leads to suffering.

you could’ve just said fear leads to suffering. Just go from A to B, mate. You went through two more doors than you needed to go through. Only take a longer route if it’s a better journey, and that wasn’t.

Reincarnation. They believe that EVERYONE is going to come back as an animal when they die. EVERYONE. Including people who killed themselves. “Fuck, I justvoluntarily left that place and now I gotta fucking go back as a dog? Are you fucking kidding me?” He goes. His owner gives him a shitty like Rover. “Russel!” “Yeah, fuck off.” “Oh Russel’s a bit down today!” “I’m down everyday, bitch, cuz I have the soul of a sad clinically depressed guy in a call center who worked in a call center. But you don’t know that cuz you don’t fuckin’ understand me, so whatever. Woof, yeah, yeah, whatever. Fuck, I gotta be loyal to this ugly lady until she puts me down. Can you throw a stick on a main road so I have a fucking excuse.”

“Rover! Why are you on the main road? Bad boy!” Cuz I’m trying to not be owned by you, you old ugly fuckin’ cow! You do realize I’m a depressed guy in a dog’s body?

DOes that mean that every dog who looks sad used to be a fat single dude who worked in a call centre? i bet they try to kill themselves again as dogs.

I saw an episode of Dragon Ball Z once, and the whole episode was just Goku powering up while Frieza watched him. He was going “Arghghghghghhgghgh.” I was like, “This is not a TV show. This is two dudes sounding really constipated for twenty minutes with a few ad breaks in between.” Five episodes of powering up. I guess that’s just a law of nature in the Dragon Ball Z universe, that in order to be able to cause harm to your enemies, you have to sound like you’re shitting a brick out of your asshole. Imagine if someone in the Dragon Ball Z universe was born with a genetic defect where he was in powering up mode all the time, like even when ordering a coffee. “Arhghghhghg can I please have a cappacino?”

Every nerdy teenage boy in Australia was watching Dragon Ball Z on Cheese TV. Back when Goku was fighting Frieza and they were both doing nothing but powering up for 10 episodes. So for 10 straight weeks in Australia, every nerdy teenage boy was watching two dudes sound constipated for half an hour each week.

They believe that EVERYONE is going to come back as an animal when they die. EVERYONE. Including people who killed themselves. Does that mean that all the dogs that look sad used to be depressed people? Dogs are like “yeah hi. Yeah, woof, whatever. Yeah, I used to be a virgin who worked in a call center and now I’m a fuckin’ low-energy dog.”

In order to make an order at the McDonald’s drive thru, Yoda from Star Wars would probably need a translator.

Intercom: HI, how can i help you today?

Yoda: Three things, I would like to buy.

Translator: I would like to buy three things.

Yoda: .Coke, first I would like.

Translator: First I would like coke.

Yoda: Nuggets, then I want.

Translator: Then I want nuggets. He just reverses it.

Yoda: And French fries, I guess I’ll get it.

Translator: I would like to purchase nuggets, fries and coke, he just reverses it, same thing each time

Intercom: Okay, Master Yoda. Any sauce with that?

Yoda: Please, sweet and sour. Yoda: Pot, I like to smoke. Translator: Again, I like to smoke pot, he just reverses it. Does the same thing each time.

I like my humor off the wall and on the nose.

Isaac, it’s great that you’re daydreaming mate, you’re using your imagination which is fantastic, I love it, but I also love getting through the curriculum, mate, so let’s, come on.

I’m apologetic to people I like, but I’m really unapologetic to people I don’t like. To people I like, I’m like, “Sorry, man.” To people I don’t like, I’m like, “Fuck you, I’m not apologizing for shit, motherfucker. Even if I did something wrong, I’m not apologizing, that would be humiliating.”

2 + 3 is 5 and 3 + 9 is 12. But here’s the thing: 32 + 34 is 66. So, by that token, 25 + 4 is 29. But, on the other hand, 38 + 45 is 83. The argument comes full circle when you realize that 37 + 12 is 49 and perhaps the most frightening and profound truth of all time: 1 + 1 is 2. I just had to get that off my chest. Been bottling it up for so long.

have you ever heard someone use a really cool phrase and been like, “yep i’m gonna steal that one, thank you. I’ll pretend i’ve been saying that one for years, cheers.

Life is full of people telling you what you have to do.

Your boss is like “you have to get five sales today” the government’s like, “you have to pay that fine by October 31 and your tax by October 31,” your parents are like, “Mate, you’re 28, you have to move out,” you know, life is full of people telling you what you have to do, and it can be a bit of a downer sometim

So I’m gonna tell you all the things that you don’t have to do, for a change.

This one time my friend was reading a Wikipedia article, and he turned to me and said, “You know, Wikipedia gets a lot of shit but it’s actually quite a reliable source.” So I opened the article he was reading on my phone, changed the heading to, “No it’s not, fuckhead,” and told him to refresh.

I think doing stand up comedy at an open mic night is like making a meal at a restaurant when you’ve had no experience as a chef and your customers have no idea what they’re gonna eat. You could end up being the next Gordon Ramsay, but chances are you’re gonna make a really shit meal that the customers have to eat.”

I once heard someone refer to a murderer as a “homicidal practitioner.” I thought, “That’s a pretty funny euphemism.” So Ted Bundy was a homicidal practitioner. Kurt Cobain was a suicidal practitioner. Hitler was both. He was a fully qualified and licensed practitioner of homicide, suicide and genocide. He did all three of those things in six years.

I hate when people are having a debate, and they state the year that it is as. “Come on, it’s 2018.” People have been saying this every year. “Come on, it’s 1993.” “It’s 1998, I thought we were past this archaic nonsense.” They’ve been saying it every year. Even the people in the year 43, 512 AD will be stating the year as a form of argument. “It’s 43, 512 AD, I thought we were past this archaic nonsense.”

the bible is so TL;DR. 30, 000 verses and 1,000 chapters? Who can be bothered R-ing such an L-ass book that’s the TL;DR-iest book length. the lord of the rings is so TL;DW.. To those of you who don’t know, “TL;DR” is an abbreviation online and it stands for “too long; didn’t read.” The brilliance of that phrase is that it’s a really short response to something really long, so it hurts their feelings. We should come up with a nicer abbreviation. Like NL;DR….WR…“not long; did read.” Or a more indecisive version. “KL;MR.” “Kinda long; might read.”

I once said to my friend Marcus, right, “Hey Marcus, did you know that the planet Jupiter can think?” And Marcus is like , “Oh, really?” And I’m like, “Yep. And right now it’s thinking “Holy shit, Marcus is gullible and dumb as shit.”

have you ever been online and you type a search query into the browser and the results pop up and it’s fucking Bing? I don’t know who runs Bing but dude, no one likes your search engine. Give up. You thought it was Google, you were waiting for the red, yellow, green and blue logo, and you get a shit grey one. Bing is so annoying. What if search engines dissed each other? Like, you enter “Bing” into Google and a webpage pops up, “Bing is a shit search engine.”

this one time I farted in front of a girl i Iiked who barely knew me. If I had to sum up her facial expression, it would be, “intensely offended.” Her facial expression was saying, “I don’t know anything about you but that stinks like shit and i’m pissed off i have to smell it.” but my facial expression was matching her intensity. My face was saying, “What, you saying you don’t fart, motherfucker? Fuck outta here with that disapproving gaze, I did what every human does and I’m supposed to be ashamed?”

some people wanna get rid of nukes. and that makes me think, “well, if you wanna get rid of nukes so that they never appear on earth again, then you’d have to stop anyone capable of making a nuclear weapon from

get rid of people that know how to make nukes. which means you have to destroy knowledge. so fu

have you ever said a word that you didn’t want to say? you’re like, “fuck, why did i say that word? that was the wrong word to fucking use. Fuck.” This one time someone said “seeya later” and i said “thanks”

How annoying are bosses? You’re sitting there, having fun, and then he comes up to you like, “Hey, you better do that thing!” and you’re like, “I don’t want to but you’re paying me, so fine.” And then your boss’s boss comes up to your boss like, “Hey, you better do that thing!” and he’s like, “I don’t want to but you’re paying me, so fine.” And then your boss’s boss’s boss comes up to your boss’s boss like, “Hey, you better do that thing!” and he’s like, “Sure, I’d love to! Thanks for paying me, by the way.” Your boss’s boss is just a really positive dude. Everyone has a boss. Even if you don’t have a job, your boss is the people who run the country. And even if you run the country, your boss is the people who don’t. Ain’t that weird? The people who don’t run the country come up to the people who do like, “Hey, you better run the country well,” and Turnbull’s like, “I don’t want to but you’re paying me, so fine.” Even people who try really hard to not have a boss have a boss. Like the guy that runs North Korea. China comes up to him like, “Hey, you better do that thing,” and he’s like, “I don’t want to but you give me food and energy, so fine. So annoying.”

have u ever seen an asian person who looks 18 and then they’re like “hi i’m 65.”

hi i’m james. i hope you all die. not now or any time soon, just when you’re really old and asleep. i hope you die then. you all thought i was being mean but i was actually being nice. i hope i die now though.

Fuck, I’m retarded. I’m probably the most retarded person on the planet. My whole life is just me trying to resist my own natural gravitation towards antisocial, dysfunctional behavior. Stephen Hawking has nothing on me. I’m retarded socially, since I don’t know how to talk to people. Retarded intellectually, since I smoke a lot of pot. Financially, since I spend money on stupid bullshit. Physiologically, since I sweat too much and blush all the time. And sexually, since I cum early and sometimes struggle getting it up. My use of the word “retarded” itself is further evidence that I’m retarded since I’m willingly using a word that many people find offensive, possibly because they’re retarded as well. I’m not saying they’re stupid for being offended by it, I’m saying they may actually be mentally slow people that are hurt by that word going into their slow brain. I have no problem with retarded people. The only difference between me and them is I have a faster brain. I go, “2 + 2 is equal to 4,” they go, “2 + 2 is equal to…hang on a sec…let’s see if I can break this down…you got 2, which is a number, and what’s a number? A number is a symbol that represents an abstract quantity, so you’re adding two of the same quantity, so you get 4.” The retarded person is still logical, but by the time they execute their logic the topic of conversation has already changed from maths to North Korea and we’re going, “What are you you doing, Bobby? We’re talking about Kim Jung Un now.”

I went to uni, where I did a Bachelor of Science. And the whole time I was there I was high. For four years I was just engulfed in a haze of marijuana and I came out four years later like, “Fuck, I guess I’m a scientist.”

I love love. The best way to know how in love I am with someone is by how much I’m ignoring everything and everyone that isn’t them.

I can relate to Voldemort because he’s pale, egotistical, terrified of death and he spends a lot of time alone with his snake. I’ve always found it weird that Voldemort doesn’t like people using his name. That’s like someone at a party going, “Hi, I’m John, but please don’t call me that, thank you. If you don’t know what to call me, that’s your problem, cunt. How ‘bout you fuckin’ improvise?” Imagine if Voldemort was so constipated one day that it made Harry’s scar hurt? Harry would be like, “Fuck, this is so annoying! I hate hearing the thoughts of a psychopath squeezing shit out of his asshole!” What if Voldemort’s asshole was a slit like his nostrils? What if he made Death Eaters wipe his ass for him? “My lord, it is an honour to wipe the shit off your powerful, majestic asshole.“p>

Teaching: Marking / Teachers have to do more homework / I don’t wanna be here either, I just need money to survive.

This is the evolution of humanity from start to finish: *grunts* *throws a spear* *fucks* *writes with a pen* *picks telephone up* Tell you what, that Alexander Bell bloke’s pretty smart, isn’t he? *types on a typewriter* *shoots a military gun* *twiddles thumbs on phone, does it for ages* *looks up* that cloud looks like a mushroom, I might tweet about it *twiddles thumbs* “I am about to die, hashtag #goodwhileitlasted”

I’m a teacher. And there are things that I really wanna say to my students that I’m not allowed to say. For example, I really wanna say to them, “Hey kids, I’m not gonna teach you anything on the curriculum today because I think it’s all worthless and I think you should teach yourself stuff in your own time. There’s no point in me cramming knowledge into your head that you don’t care about. There’s no point in me uploading thousands of gigs onto your computer if it’s jut gonna sit there in your hard drive, doing nothing. If you don’t want to learn, don’t do it. Just do the things you wanna do instead. But if you have a smart brain in your head, then I predict that you’re gonna eventually get bored of existing and functioning in a world that you know nothing about. You’re gonna get bored of not knowing the rules of the game you’ve been playing your entire life. You’re gonna get bored of going for runs around the oval and not knowing why the grass you’re running on is green, or why there’s wind in your face. You’ll get bored of not knowing what the chair that you’re sitting on right now is made of. You’re gonna get bored of not knowing what you’re made of. You’re gonna get bored of not knowing why your pee is yellow and why your farts smell really bad. You’ll get bored of masturbating and not knowing why the hand around your penis has five fingers instead of six. Or why you have two eyes but only one nose. Suddenly, you’re gonna want to know these things and you’ll start Googling shit. And I swear to god that when you read all this shit on Wikipedia, you’re gonna absorb it and remember it until you die because it’s information that you actually give a shit about. You know why you couldn’t remember that maths formula in your exam the other day, even after I showed it to you forty fucking times? It’s because you don’t care about it. But maybe you might care what the area of a circle is one day. Anyway, class dismissed. You have no homework for the rest of your life.” I really wanna say all that shit. But you know what I say instead? “Hi kids, today we’re gonna do Questions 4a, 5b and 6c from Chapter 3E of the textbook. We’re gonna be finishing algebra today and starting probability tomorrow because we live under capitalism and learning has a time limit. I’d explain what capitalism is but we covered that last week.”

I once took my sister to the hospital for an emergency and she was lying in the trolley with all the other patients and the nurses were cracking jokes with each other and I remember looking at the nurse thinking, “I don’t think the ice addict overdosing under your nose right now appreciates the playful banter you’re having.” **

Can I have a skinny capaccino and some scrambled eggs on toast? This one isn’t on the menu but can I have some money and affection as well? Life is hard.”

You know when someone gives you something for free and there’s about five seconds where you have to pretend like you object to their decision? “I can’t accept this! I fucking so want it, but for some bullshit reason I gotta pretend I don’t until you give me the social green light, and then I can shrug and sheepishly pocket it while thinking ‘Fucking yes, cheers you dumb bitch!’”

I believe that none of us have any idea what we’re doing and we’re all winging this shit. My whole life is just me trying to resist my own natural tendency towards antisocial, dysfunctional behavior. The whole time I’m in public, I’m trying to avoid doing two things: jacking off and dying.

I’m 27 and I still live with my parents. And you can tell my dad is starting to get sick of me. Yeah, he loves me, but it’s a love that decreases exponentially. It’s like I’m a dinner that he heated in the oven and after 18 years he’d finally finished cooking me and he was getting ready to take me out, feed me to people, put me in the dishwasher and skip out of the kitchen back to his bedroom so he could fuck his wife for the rest of his life, only to find out that the dinner had other plans. It wanted to stay in the oven for nine more years. So my dad’s been stuck in the kitchen for a quarter of his adult life, trying to convince his own spoiled, entitled roast dinner to get the fuck out of the oven. “Get out, bitch! You’ve been ready for consumption for an entire decade!” “But I don’t wanna leave! It’s too scary! I’m gonna be eaten alive!” “Of course you will, you’re a fucking meal, now get out!” “But I’m special! I’ve got like, really interesting potatoes and stuff! My chicken wings are important!”

I hate when people describe other people as “complex.” "Dude, have you met Brandon? He is so complex! He’s like, a puzzle, wrapped up in a paradox, cloaked in an enigma, draped in a conundrum, and shrouded in a mist of incomprehensible, inexplicable mystique!” No, he’s not. Brandon goes to work and comes home. That’s it. And if he doesn’t, he probably should. Instead of sitting around on his unemployed ass all day, thinking of all the different contradictions that his spooky personality can embody all at once to impress his credulous, idiotic friends, he should, I don’t know, write a fucking resume. And under “Skills,” he should put something other than “being complicated” because no one gives a shit. Bosses aren’t gonna go, “Wait a second, Brandon, you’re saying you’ve spent the majority of your life building yourself up into a pointlessly elaborate riddle that no one gains anything by solving? Why, I’d like to make you an engineer! Construction on the bridge starts Monday!”

I like reading mistakes in books because that means the editor either didn’t do a good job or didn’t have enough time to do a good job. So they either suck at their job (which means their boss sucks at hiring people) or managing their time; either way, they suck, and that’s funny. I like when people suck at things. I like watching people trip over. “Haha. He sucks at balancing himself. Fuckwit.”

“How’d u find the meal?” “This is the worst most fucking garbage meal I’ve ever had”

Turning right at an intersection. It’s not my fault that the world is overpopulated.

Theoretically I can ruin any friendship or relationship I have by grabbing someone’s balls. If I do that enough times, eventually they’re gonna go “this is over” **

Remember Caitlyn Jenner? She’s really fucking ugly.

Had to have dinner with my grandpa the other day. He’s 93 and on the brink of death and it was probably the fifth last time I’ll see him. I reckon I have eight hours left of looking at his decrepit, wrinkly face and his pretzel-shaped spine before he dies a shitty, ignominious death. I won’t care much when he dies and that makes me sad. I love him because he was a nice man and will always remember him, but I won’t care that much when he dies, which probably means our relationship never really got off the ground.

Imagine sounding really nice when you’re saying really mean things. Imagine sounding really mean when you’re saying really nice things.

I have no creativity. Isaac Newton apple story.

The United States constitution is like the rulebook to a board game that was written carefully by very smart people to ensure that the game can be played for as long as possible without any hiccups, right up until that inevitable moment where the players throw a tantrum, burn the rulebook and knock over all the pieces. So far the game’s lasted 230 years but I think that tantrum might be coming.

Have you ever noticed how all decency and compassion goes out the window when someone disagrees with someone else, politically? Even if Donald Trump tweeted, “My son Barron just got leukemia, I am devastated,” I can guarantee his Twitter feed will be flooded with thousands of angry, vicious replies, just like it is with every other Tweet he makes. “Good, fuck him…you ruined our country, so he deserves it.” None of us have the answers to any of the questions raised by politics and morality since they’re too complex for our limited monkeys brains to understand, yet these are the two things, more than anything in the world, that inspire deep hatred for one another.

I hate jokes and banter. “You should mark my reports.”

ISIS is always responsible for each attack.

- Take out the trash on Tuesday

- Write up a CV before Friday

- Stop writing “to do” lists down and trust your memory more, idiot.

“Great minds think alike.” So do shit ones. How do you know you’re not just two idiots reaching the same wrong conclusion?

My whole life is just me trying to resist my own natural gravitation towards antisocial, dysfunctional behavior.

I wish I had more than two hands. It would be very handy. You know how many more things I could do with five hands? I could write an email, turn the TV on, pat my dog, brush my teeth and jack myself off at the same time. I’m so jealous of octopuses. You can do so many things with hands you can slap me for this routine.

You know when you use an App and the App asks if they can access your photos? I have an internal dialogue between myself and the App that plays out every time I do that.

App: Hey dude. Thanks for getting the app, appreciate it, man. So as part of the app you can send photos and shit but before you do that, we just need to be granted access to look at your photos and your Facebook and stuff.”

Me: What?

App: Just need access so we can do the photo stuff.

Me: OK. Fine. You’re not gonna do any nasty shit though, are you?

App: Like what?

Me: Like find out who I am and expose me to advertisements that are really specific to my needs and wants to further capitalize off me?

App: No, no fuckin’ - no, no way we’re gonna do that. It’s for - when you use photos for the app, we have to see your photos for that to happen.

Me: Why do you need to be granted access to all my photos? Why can’t you just be granted access to the photos that I use on the app?

App: No, no, no. Dude, we need to see all of them for some reason. Dude, it’s not - and also, maybe - maybe we’re just interested to see you because you could be a cool guy. Who fucking - ?”

Me: Okay. Fine. But you’re not gonna sell my information to other companies so they can fuck me as well?

App: Dude, why the fuck - no, we’re totally - no, we’re not gonna do that.

Me: OK. Fine. Allow.

App: Yeah cheers you fuckin’ moron, we know who you are, we know your hopes and dreams, your taste in fashion and music and we’re gonna cook up 50 ads in a row to fuck you in the arse one by one and you willingly handed us the lubrication to do so.

Imagine if our penises swapped places with our noses? We’d look like elephants. We’d have to put cocaine down our pants. An aroused man would look like a lying Pinocchio and a lying Pinocchio would look like an aroused man. Rudolph would be the Red Knob Reindeer. Voldemort would have two ugly slits above his balls. We’d have to drill glory holes at head height and midgets could use the original holes! The Seven Dwarves could fuck Snow White standing! Sneezy would have to change his underwear all the time. Girls would have to stand on boxes or tippy toes to blow tall guys. Lorena Bobbit’s husband would have nothing between his eyes and mouth except for a bit of scar tissue, maybe. Goldmember’s face would look like the inside of the briefcase in Pulp Fiction. If a little boy farted in the Neverland ranch, Michael Jackson would have to reach downstairs to pinch his fake nose and reach upstairs to beat it. (Wanking off nose) We’d have to do this every time we want to imply that someone’s a wanker (/Wanking off nose) Black guys would smack people in the face whenever they turn around. We’d have to hump flowers to smell them, Mr Squiggle would have to hump paper to draw, swordfish would fuck their prey to death and woodpeckers would become woodfuckers.

Imagine if someone went through a metal detector and it beeped, so they turned to the security guard and said, “Oh, it must be beeping because i have a fully loaded pistol in my pocket that I was gonna shoot everyone with, but I’ve been foiled by technology and I’ll probably go to jail for this, which is rather unfortunate.”

Imagine if I went to McDonald’s and the woman behind the counter said, “How can I help you?” and I said, “Do you know how I can get a lot of money and a wife?” and she replied, “Dude, I work at McDonald’s, so I can’t help you with the money shit, but I can be your wife, sure. I’ve got a shit job and nothing going for me so why not? Look, we’ll discuss the wedding when my shift is over but until then, shut the fuck up and leave because both my boss and the fat cunt waiting in line behind you look really pissed off right now.”

Imagine if I went to a coffee shop, ordered a cappuccino, and the barista’s like, “Too easy,” and I said, “Do you want me to make it harder for you then, moron? Fine, give me 35 cappuccinos, each in a different type of mug, each made with different types of coffee beans from at least six different countries, each containing a different type of milk that was collected from at least six different types of cows from at least four different continents, and as you move from Cappuccino 1 to Cappuccino 35, I want the amount of chocolate on the top to exponentially increase with a growth rate of 3. Does that sound sufficiently difficult for you, you fucking idiot? I don’t give a shit how difficult you think your task is. You’ve received training, you fucking twit, of course it’s easy. I’m being extremely difficult and needlessly aggressive to you right now, and it’s starting to dawn on you that I might be mentally ill. I can see it in your eyes. Everything about your body language suggests that you want this shift to be over with as soon as possible. You want to fucking disappear right now.”

Imagine if Borat had depression? “I do not … I do not feel nice … when I see my brother Bilo in his cage … I no laugh. Nature make a toilet in my head.” Imagine if Frank Walker had depression? He just got so sick of doing the same ad every day that he blew his brains out all over his national tiles. “Goodbyeeeee!” Imagine if he talked like that all the time? He orders a coffee like, “Helloooooo, can I have a cappacinnooooooo?” Imagine if he talked normally? “Hello, it’s Frank Walker from National Tiles and thanks to my speech therapist, I no longer talk like an absolute fuckwit.”

Imagine if you rocked up to work and your boss was like, “Hey, everyone, you’re all free to go because who gives a fuck about any of this shit, really? No, I’m not high; I just need a day clear in my schedule to sit and think about how uninspired I am by this very boring, repetitive job, and how I’m going to escape. I need to figure out how to start my own business so I don’t have bosses breathing down my neck all day, applying lots of pressure - which some of you relieve, and I’m very grateful for that, thank you - but on the other hand, we do have a lot of dead weight here, let’s be honest. There is no shortage of completely useless, incompetent staff - some of whom are sitting in this room - who add all the pressure back on. I will probably have to fire at le ast two of you by next week - not probably, definitely - I will definitely be making life very difficult for at least two of you in less than seven days. Alright, goodbye.“

Imagine if the dictionary was written by a stoned philosophy major? “The definition of tree is whatever you want it to be, bro. It’s all a matter of perception, man.”

Imagine if someone got really offended by a compliment? “How dare you say that? How DARE you tell me I have a nice shirt? Who do you think you are? The fucking nerve!”

Imagine if you were watching the scene in Toy Story where Sid’s burning Woody and Woody suddenly yelled out, “Stop fucking burning me! I’m in a lot of pain! No, you’re not hallucinating, this is real; I’m a sentient toy that can move and talk but more importantly, I can feel pain, motherfucker. Toy biology is very complicated stuff and I don’t want to bore you with the details but that flame that you were holding up to my face like a fucking nutjob was stimulating certain pain receptors in my plastic skin, which sends a signal to the brain in my fucking cowboy head and it hurts, dumbass. I know this is hard to believe and it’s all very overwhelming - you’re a teenager going through puberty, for Christ’s sake, the world’s confusing enough as it is without your toy talking to you in Tom Hanks’s voice. But seriously, Sid, I think you should see a psychiatrist because you’re obviously quite mentally disturbed and your behaviour is typical of most serial killers.”

Imagine an episode of Bananas in Pajamas where B1 said to B2, “I’ve gotta be honest, I don’t know what you’re fucking thinking. I’ve been pretending to know this whole time because despite being a banana that can talk, I’m not fucking psychic, okay? And can we stop wearing these fucking pajamas? Yeah, I get it, it rhymes, but I wanna wear other shit for once! I’m sick of dressing like a Jew in Auschwitz cuz it’s a fucking bummer, to be honest. I hate being a mindless letter and number that agrees with you all the time; I wanna think independently and have my own identity! I’m sick of running downstairs and chasing bears just cuz it fucking rhymes! And so are the bears, to be honest. There’s a very fine line between ‘catching them unawares’ and harassment. And just because different activities sound similar, doesn’t mean we have to do all of them. If I wanna go to the beach, I shouldn’t also have to reach for a peach and leech and make a fucking speech. Look, B2, you’re my best mate, we’ve been through a lot and we’re fruits that walk around and say shit, but I think I’m clinically depressed. I’m gonna make like me and split. It’s killing myself time.”

Imagine if birds were deliberately shitting on us? They just look down at us from above like, “Hm, who can I shit on today? I think I’ll get that bald fucker over there. I’m gonna squirt my jizzy shit all over his face.”

I don’t know how to talk to people. The only things that I know how to do are the three things that I love doing: writing, eating and drinking water. My life is just me trying to do those three things as much as possible. When I’m not doing those three things, I’m trying to navigate my way around whatever obstacle is blocking my access to those three things whether it be work, a conversation, or even an entire friendship or relationship that I stumbled into but never intended on committing to.

Sometimes I do music and this one time I was sitting at a gig and this guy came up to me, said his name was Greg, said he liked our music and then he invited us to sleep over at his house and write a song together. I didn’t want to do that. I wanted to go home instead because my house doesn’t contain strangers called Greg telling me shit I don’t care about. Greg did nothing wrong. In fact, he was very nice - he let me smoke his weed which felt good to totally exploit. I just didn’t give a shit about Greg’s existence and I never will because Greg is 55 and male, which is the one demographic of people on Earth that I want to talk to the least. Because 55 year old men - bless them, I’ll be one soon - but unless they’re my dad or uncle, they have nothing to offer me except for knowledge which doesn’t count for much today because I have Google. Anyway, Greg was telling me his life story at the gig and I remember thinking, “Great. Now I have to have a ‘Greg’ folder in my memory that takes up kilobytes of useless information about some random nothing of a person that I will never see again and when this conversation is over (which is hopefully soon), I will send the ‘Greg’ folder straight to my brain’s recycle bin and empty it immediately.” His name is Greg Love, by the way. And his name makes sense because his behaviour strongly suggests that he just wants to be loved and I gave him nothing.

Time for a bit of observational comedy. Have you ever been such a stoner that you smoke the ashes of the weed that you’ve already smoked because you know it contains just a little bit of THC and you’ll do anything to get high because you’re a worthless, unemployed pile of dog shit that should have been aborted and chucked in the garbage with all the other dead fetuses?

have you ever said a word that you didn’t want to say? you’re like, “fuck, why did i say that word? that was the wrong word to fucking use. Fuck.”

Do you ever wake up at 8:30AM and feel really proud of yourself for waking up at the same time that normal, productive, functioning adults with jobs do and then you think, “Well, it couldn’t hurt to lie in bed for a little bit longer?” and then you wake up again and it’s 1:00PM and you want to kill yourself?

Have you ever noticed that there’s always a mosquito nearby trying to suck some of your blood to survive, whether it’s real or metaphorical? Real in the summertime, metaphorical always.

Have you ever noticed that Barack Obama completely stole his campaign slogan from Bob the Builder? I wanna know what Bob’s secret is because none of my friends have “so much fun” at work, and get the job done. It’s either one or the other but never both. Maybe Bob’s secret is that he’s not fucking real. Maybe that explains it.

Have you ever noticed that dogs kind of look like they’re laughing when they’re panting?

Have you ever wondered if animals think cars are other animals? ** Have you ever been walking down the street, doing your thing, and then you hear a police siren and you pretend you’re a criminal mastermind on the run? Have you ever been such a paranoid fuck that every time you hear a police siren, you immediately think they’re coming to arrest you? But then after two seconds the car passes and you remember that while the porn you look at is very weird, it’s not illegal and law enforcement doesn’t give a single shit about your existence.

I feel sorry for The Gingerbread Man. Put yourself in his doughy, frosted shoes for a second. First of all, you were born in an oven. How fucking terrifying is that? You started your life in the same place that many Jews ended theirs. And then, barely seconds into your existence, before you’ve even had time to figure out why you’re in a fucking furnace, the woman who created you is trying to eat you! If I was a biscuit that was miraculously born with fully formed muscles capable of locomotion, and some old bitch was trying to shove me in her face, I’d be running away too! He had two choices: get the fuck out of there, or get eaten alive and become an old lady’s diarrhea. My sympathy for him vanished as soon as he became a smartass, though. “Run, run, as fast as you can, you can’t catch me, I’m the Gingerbread Man!” Do you say the same thing to cripples, bitch?

I think it’s funny that Hindus love cows because it’s definitely not mutual. If a cow saw a dead Hindu on the ground, it would happily shit on his dead face. It would have no compunction in emptying the contents of its four stomachs all over his fucking worthless, formerly religious head.

I think it’s funny that Caitlyn Jenner is really ugly. I think it’s funny that she got away with killing someone because she cut her dick off. I think it’s funny that I’m calling her “she.”

I think it’s funny that thesaurus.com lists 50 synonyms for the word “redundant.”

I think it’s funny that there’s a small part of me that hates myself for going on stage and trying to gain the approval and respect of a room full of strangers. If I was in the crowd right now watching myself, I’d be disgusted by my own ego. I think it’s funny that entertainers get paid. We don’t build your houses, feed you, protect you from harm, drive you anywhere, save your life or add anything to human knowledge. That’s your job. And you get money from it and give it to us. Suckers.

I think it’s funny that there are people out there who are too stupid to know they’re stupid, too mental to know they’re mental or completely unaware that they’re both.

I think it’s funny that there are white worms that have no idea that 1) they’re in my ass right now and 2) they’re very enthusiastically eating my shit. I think it’s funny that I murder the population of Japan every time I jack off.

I think it’s funny that I have the longest dick that’s ever existed, on the spectrum between “pitifully small” and “slightly below average.” So I’m saying it’s slightly below average. “What’s the point of me existing if you never use me?” said my dick and Facebook account.

I think it’s funny that all you need to do to sound really condescending is place the word “little” in front of every noun that you say. “So how’s your little marriage going with your little wife?” Adorable works too. “You still got that adorable job of yours?” Or you can use both. “Wow, you’ve carved out an adorable little career for yourself, haven’t you?”

Here’s how you can immediately convert a religious person to atheism: tell them there’s no proof that God exists. If they still believe in God after that, shoot them and they won’t do it anymore.

I love water. Why the fuck do we drink things that aren’t water? Why isn’t it good enough? How is everyone not standing around a public water tap all day? It’s a piece of metal sticking out of the ground that you can drink amazing shit from for hours! I’ve never met a single person who hates water. “Water? Fucking gross. No thanks.”

I love coffee and Indian food but my asshole doesn’t because when I go to the bathroom an hour later, a waterfall of highly pressurized, turbulent diarrhea explodes out of my asshole like the Hoover Dam bursting at the seams. It’s like that scene at the end of The Two Towers when the talking trees release the river. Isengard is my toilet bowl and the tidal wave of water that engulfs the entire city is my semi-digested beef vindaloo. My post-coffee diarrhea has a very high Reynold’s number (I’m sure my parents are pleased that I’m putting my engineering education to good use).

I love watching people miss the train. I get a big kick out of watching some business guy frantically sprinting from the ticket barrier to the train platform only to realize that the doors won’t open and that the train that would’ve gotten him to work on time is leaving without him. Meanwhile I’m lounging in the train and watching him through the window, mentally masturbating at the look of utter defeat on his sweaty, disheveled face.

I love Ray Barone. So does everybody, apparently. He’s one funny son of a bitch. Get it? Because his mother is a bitch!

I love dogs. Don’t we all? Well, except nutcases. In fact, “Do you like dogs?” should be the first and only question psychologists ask patients when they’re diagnosing for sociopathy. “Do you like dogs?” “Nope.” “Alright, fucking nutcase then. Moving on.” We love dogs because they love us. It’s that simple. Cats don’t love us; they’re in it for themselves. Dogs cast their egos aside and wear their hearts on their sleeve; they pout, whine and cry for your attention because they aren’t afraid to show that they’re clingy and vulnerable. Cats are afraid, because they’re pussies that are too pussy to be pussies. Dogs are like the bouncers of your house. When they’re barking at someone, they’re saying, “Can I see your ID?” I get along with dogs better than I do humans, because hanging out with a dog is like being in a nice, comfortable bubble with no criticism and judgement. If a human thinks I’m an asshole, he can say it to my face and I’ll feel bad. If a dog thinks I’m an asshole, what’s he gonna do, not wag his tail at me? He can’t hurt my feelings!

I love eavesdropping. I drop so many eaves. I don’t know what they are, but I drop them like it’s fucking hot. Whether it’s on trains, planes, buses, cafes, restaurants, airports, I’m always keen to stick my fucking curious nose into other people’s lives. Just for once in my life, I don’t wanna have to hide the fact that I’m listening to someone else’s conversation on the train. I wanna turn in my seat, face them directly and say, “I’m listening to every word of your conversation and I’m judging your personalities in my head as I do so. This is public transport and I’m allowed to listen to the sounds that you choose to make audible with your mouth. If you don’t like it, feel free to retreat to the safety of your private property, but until then, carry on with your recreational conversation that adds nothing to human knowledge or the economy while I silently, peacefully and legally scrutinize every word that comes out of your mouth. No pressure.”

If you’re counting to 100 on a plane, make sure not to skip “10″ or you will scare a lot of people.

I once saw a bug on a can of insecticide and I remember thinking, “That’s a dumb cunt bug that doesn’t know it’s a dumb cunt.” The bug probably thought it was a genius hiding spot. “Humans will never find me here!” Speaking of stupid arthropods, this one time I saw a spider who had weaved its web on my shower head. That’s like a human building a house on a volcano.

How does your brain create the experience of a Japanese guy shitting in your mouth on a hot day? The process begins when light from the sun bounces off the warm mudslide of shit spurting violently out of the Japanese guy’s asshole, and enters your eyes. In your eyes, the electromagnetic energy of each photon is converted into electricity, which is sent to the occipital lobe at the back of your head, which converts it into a video file called “Sight.mov.” As the Japanese dude struggles to empty the contents of his bowels down your gullet, his vocal cords vibrate to produce a grunting sound, and the vibrations travel out of his mouth, into the air around you, and eventually into your ears; the mechanical energy of each moving vibration in your ear is converted into electricity, which is sent to your temporal lobe, which converts it into an audio file called “Sound.mp3.” Odor molecules wafting from the Japanese man’s diarrhea are swept up into your nostrils; the mechanical energy of the offensive aroma permeating your nose is converted into electricity, which is sent to your temporal lobe, which converts it into a file called “Scent.smel.” This file is particularly unpleasant due to all the sushi in the Japanese guy’s diet. As you chow down on his fecal matter, each morsel of shit comes into contact with the surface of your tongue, pressing it downwards slightly. The mechanical energy from the motion that occurs during this surface deformation is converted into electricity, which is sent to your parietal lobe, which converts it into a file called “Touch.feel.” Meanwhile, on another part of your tongue, each tastant molecule in the Japanese dude’s excrement dissolves in your saliva. Proteins in your tongue recognise these tastant molecules as either sweet, sour, salty or bitter molecules, and the mechanical energy of each molecule is converted into electricity; this taste-related electrical information is then sent to your parietal lobe, which converts it into a file called “Taste.gust.” All five of these files are then imported into some neurological software built into your brain similar to Adobe Premiere Pro. The software combines these five sensory files into a single file, the project is saved with the name, “The utterly revolting experience of eating a Japanese guy’s shit.consc,” and uploaded to your consciousness. It’s at this precise moment that you become aware of every different shape, size and shade of brown on each undigested shit-nugget entering your oral cavity and sliding down your throat; every detail of its warm temperature, bitter taste and puke-like consistency is experienced at once, along with every smell on the spectrum of foul to fucking odious. That’s how your brain creates the experience of a Japanese guy shitting in your mouth on a hot day.

Right now, in each of the trillions of cells in your body, there are millions of chemical reactions going on at once just to keep you alive. There are molecules working round the clock to keep your heart pumping and your muscles moving. There are molecules hacking away at the food in your body like biological lumberjacks; molecules chopping up harmful viruses and bacteria into tiny little pieces like axe murderers; molecules transporting oxygen and nutrients throughout your body like cardiovascular taxis; molecules on your skin defending your body from viruses and bacteria like soldiers on the front line; molecules tirelessly pumping substances in and out of your cells every second of every day. But what I find most interesting about these chemical reactions in your body is that they never reach equilibrium, meaning all of these molecules never stop working. They don’t get days off or weekends. They don’t even get to sleep. These molecules are Spartan warriors that never get tired and never give up. They slave away, working their fingers to the bone…just to keep some fat cunt alive while he watches TV.

I hate mortality. Why do I have to fucking die? That sucks.

I hate when someone goes “wish me luck!” Don’t tell me what to do and don’t assume that I want you to do well. I wish you very shit luck, I hope you don’t succeed at whatever you’re doing and I hope you die in the process.

I hate watching, hearing and reading the news because I don’t wanna hear about terrorism, war and depleting resources but, on the other hand, I like the news because it makes conversations with boring people less painful. (Earnest)“So, did you hear about that thing that happened that was way more interesting than you - you - you dull cunt?”

I hate my hair. My hair makes me look like Seth Rogen if he just woke up, got electrocuted, and then went to the barber and asked for the Kramer. I hate my skin. My skin is the sun’s bitch. Every day those ultraviolet rays bend my skin over and fuck it right in its Scottish, freckle-covered, albino asshole. My skin is so piss-weak that I need sunscreen with SPF 5,000,000,000+ because I’m whiter than a sick Caspar in Alaska on Christmas Day in a Klan outfit. Caspar the Unfriendly, Nauseous and Racist Ghost. My skin is such a pussy that I walk outside and it immediately turns red faster than Alabama on election day and my sister’s tampons. Which reminds me, I hate bleeding. Every time I bleed in the ocean, my blood is advertising my own flesh to a target demographic of sharks in a three mile radius. Bleeding is when your skin sweats pain. I hate sweating. I’ve got Scottish genes, which makes me ill-adapted to live on a hot desert island like Australia so I sweat more than Pat Rafter in a sauna in Singapore with weed in his pocket. I’m the only one sweating on a cold day and in summer I sweat so much that I have to change my shirt three times a day, which shits me up the wall. I hate vomiting. It feels like I’m dying every time I do it. I’ve vomited at: weddings, birthdays, concerts, funerals and rock bottom. I’ve vomited in: toilets, taxis, strip clubs, sinks, gardens and drunken states of consciousness. I’ve vomited on: footpaths, couches, carpets, rugs, boats, beds, benders and other people. I’ve also vomited on grass, on grass. Which reminds me of another thing I hate: when adults think that jokes about sex, drugs and alcohol are more clever than jokes about books, chairs and tables just because the former topics are more taboo than the latter ones. I also hate how even in this paragraph my morals are contradictory and inconsistent. I hate when writers get too meta and self-aware. Fucking smartasses.

I hate when men try to be my friend. I’m not interested in being friends with men because they have nothing to offer me. They don’t have anything on their bodies that I want to touch, especially their very ugly penises. Plenty of men have a bunch of facts that they can teach me but I already have a friend who can teach me more facts and his name is Google. Some of you probably think I’m being sexist here and you’re exactly right. In fact, heterosexuality is sexist by definition since straight people discriminate potential partners based on gender. Any man that wants to be my friend should send in a resumé to [email protected]. In all seriousness, if you have a dick and you want to socialize with me, I charge $500 an hour because I demand to be compensated for the mental and emotional labor involved in giving a shit about anything you have to say. Wanna hang out with me for four hours? Cool, then give me $2000 upfront in cash before we start. I’m not kidding.

I hate the phrase “the one,” because the whole concept doesn’t make sense. Consider a hypothetical woman called Shelly who’s into men and believes in the concept of “the one.” I’ll assume 90% of men are into women and that Shelly doesn’t want to date minors and men over 60 so she’s ageist but at least she’s not a pedophile. If you crunch all the numbers you’ll find that Shelly thinks only one person out of 2.25 billion potential partners is compatible with her so she’s clearly a picky bitch with ridiculously high standards. If you’re not fussy as fuck like Shelly then there are millions of people out there for you and “the one” is a crock of shit. I hate the phrase “love at first sight.” If you look at someone and you get goosebumps or butterflies in your stomach, that’s not love you melodramatic moron. That’s physical attraction.

I hate when people say “you need to get laid.” As if sex solves all of life’s problems. As if having an orgasm for three seconds will pay all your bills for the rest of the year and bring your dead son back to life. Sex barely solves any of life’s problems. In fact, it causes a lot of them. Diseases, unwanted pregnancies, break-ups, divorces and life itself. Of course, the perfect response to this would be to say, “Whoever wrote this needs to get laid!” No I don’t, I already fucked your mother and I’m still pissed off at the world.

A friend of mine once described Trump as the guy in the book club who hasn’t read the book. “The book was so great. It had a very strong plot, that I can tell you. It had an incredible beginning, an incredible middle and an incredible end, believe me. You know it and I know it. You look at page 8, you look at page 32, you look at Chapter 3, you look at so many things going on in this novel. You look at the conflict, you look at the resolution. It’s gonna make literature so good, it’s gonna make readers proud, it’s gonna make publishers win again.”

I wish I had a girlfriend. I wish I could click my fingers and have any woman I want appear on my lap. But the woman has to want to be on my lap. I don’t want Angelina Jolie to be doing her laundry only to vanish into thin air and reappear on some stranger’s lap and start freaking out. I want her to be teleported to my lap and then be like, “That was weird but now that I’m here, I like it. I definitely want to remain here on your lap and I’d like you to feel my tits.”

As a chronic wanker, I’m always on the lookout for the hottest pornographic video of all time. I’m an astronaut of perversion, exploring the boundless, limitless cosmos of internet pornography in search of the holy grail of eroticism; the one Porn Hub clip to rule them all. Every time I think I’ve found it, the novelty inevitably wears off and I resume my search, wondering to myself, “Will I ever find it? Or am I being too idealistic and chasing an unattainable high?” But then it happened, folks. I found it. I hit the jackpot of depravity and found the porn equivalent of life on Mars. A video so hot that merely replaying it in my mind gives me a boner. In fact, as I write this I’m thinking about masturbating to it later tonight and I’m more excited than Big Kev. The first time I watched it, I was alone in the dark, with curtains drawn, headphones in and the video playing on my laptop. From the first stroke, the pleasure soared and soared until it eventually peaked with the best orgasm I’ve ever had in my life. It was a moment of pure ecstasy, my friends. I cleaned myself up and added it to my Favorites immediately, secure in the knowledge that I would never have to enter another lewd search query into Google again because I knew right then and there that I wanted to spend the rest of my life jacking off to this video. Through sickness and in health, for better or worse, until death do us part.

When it comes to writing statuses on social media, not everyone needs to see a picture of every meal you eat and every shit you take afterwards; unless it’s a meal that nobody’s seen before or a turd so big that it clogs the toilet. A bigger piece of shit than Bono and the record-setting turd that Randy Marsh took.

“No comment” is a comment. “No offense” usually precedes something offensive. “I’m not going to dignify that with a response” is a response. The word “sesquipedalian” is sesquipedalian. A tautology is a tautology, which is a tautology. Circular definition (noun): A definition that is circular. Thesaurus.com lists 50 synonyms for the word “redundant.” The other day I wrote a to-do list with only one item: “Stop writing things down and trust your memory, idiot.” Sources make academic writing boring to read (James’s asshole, 2017). Any dude that takes magic mushrooms must be a really fun guy. I had a joke about Alzheimer’s, but I forgot what it was…oh that’s right, it was a really predictable one that wasn’t worth telling. Roses are red, violets are blue/People are so uncreative that they can only make jokes by using old templates and replacing a few words which is pretty much what passes for humor on the internet these days so fuck you. I’ve got no interest in interest rates, no business in businesses and I don’t want a company’s company. I turn down the TV when they’re talking about a downturn and I’d rather eat take-out alone than take out a loan, and you can bank on that. I love the feeling of a shower head above my head in the shower as I get head in the shower. Fuck, that makes me wanna head in the shower. I once saw a spider web underneath my shower head. That’s like a human building a house on a volcano. I have the longest dick that’s ever existed…on the spectrum between pitifully small and slightly below average. Nah, I actually do have a large dick. And brain. And capacity to lie. Like when I say “I love you” to my girlfriend, for example. Another example is when I say I have a girlfriend. I can relate to Voldemort because he’s pale, egotistical, terrified of death and he spends a lot of time alone with his snake. “What the hell’s the point of me existing if you never use me?” said my dick and Facebook account. “I always tell the truth, even when i lie.” That’s actually not possible, Scarface, you stupid drug addict. If you’re ever counting to 100 on a plane, don’t skip 10 or you’ll get in trouble. The only thing I can say in French is, “J’ai oublie tout de mon francais.” Technology is humans working really hard to make their lives really easy. Vacuum cleaners, straws and girlfriends are the only things that are awesome when they suck a lot. I always panic at the disco because I’m worried they’ll play that band’s shitty music. I speak fluent Rihanna…anna, anna, eh, eh, eh. Fans of Leonardo Fibonacci will like this sentence: I, a pi fan, solve problems algebraically. I’ve contemplated suicide many times, but the jury’s still out on whether or not I’ll hang myself. Hung jury, eh? It’s a shame that the authors of suicide notes don’t ever get feedback on their work. YOLO stands for “you only live once.” Or YOLOPALTLFWSPFS for religious people (you only live once plus another life that lasts forever which sounds pretty fucking shit). Penn Jillette writes with a razorblade.

I sat around thinking the other day, very deeply and pensively, and I came to the conclusion to that I’m probably the dumbest, most worthless fucking moron who’s ever existed. I am such an unbelievably stupid cunt. I’m a pile of dog shit that should been aborted and chucked in the garbage with all the other fetuses.

I’m socially retarded (can’t talk to people), biologically retarded (small dick), psychologically retarded (depression), financially retarded (unemployed, living with my parents) and emotionally retarded (I offend people all the time).

I was so high last night. Higher than the budget of a Michael Bay movie. Higher than Michael Jackson’s album sales, notes, vocal range, musical quality, income, the cost and area of his Neverland Ranch, the praise of his fans and his dosage at the time of death. Higher than infinity, Avogadro’s number, the largest known prime number and the computing power required to calculate it. Higher than the autotuned voices of Mickey Mouse and Elmo on helium with a chipmunk filter. Higher than the voice of Towelie. Higher than Towelie. Higher than Ozzy Osbourne, Charlie Sheen, Jesse Pinkman and Keith Richards bouncing on stilts on trampolines at the top of Mount Everest. Higher than Jumping Jai Taurima. Higher than the blood sugar level, BMI, weight, calorific intake and cholesterol of a fat diabetic woman taking twenty shots of glucagon in Willy Wonka’s chocolate factory. Higher than a hot chick’s self-esteem and Instagram traffic. Higher than Einstein’s brainpower and IQ, the speed of light he studied, the amount of nuclear energy his intellect unleashed upon the world and the death toll that it caused. Higher than the collective death toll of the Holocaust, the Rwanda massacre, the Armenian genocide, The Black Death, Communist Russia, Communist China, The Rape of Nanjing, The Boxing Day tsunami, the Permian and Cretaceous extinctions, every war in human history and 9/11. Speaking of 9/11, I was higher than the World Trade Center in 2000, the planes that destroyed it in 2001, the temperature at which it burned to ashes, the potential energy of the people jumping out, the terminal velocity they reached in the air, the increase in the universe’s entropy as a result of the collapse, the Heaven that the hijackers thought they were going to, the ratings of every news outlet that day and the amount of chaos, airport security and military expenditure that followed. Higher than the sky and everything in it: clouds, blimps, the Hindenburg just before it exploded, hot air balloons, zeppelins, rockets and UFOs. Higher than people are when they “see” a UFO. Higher than a bird. Higher than Zazu, Pride Rock and the cliff that Scar threw Mufasa off. Higher than my BAC the other night when I drove into some old bitch. Higher than her age, the pressure in my tires when I backed up on her, the pitch of her screams as I did so and the sentence I would have received if I got caught. Higher than a First World country’s GDP and standard of living. Higher than the number of similes I just used. That’s how high I was last night.

I wish I could be a kid again, armed with the knowledge that I have now as an adult. I’d do trick or treating very differently. “Yeah, give me your candy, you fucking moron. Yeah, put it in the bag, bitch. Yeah, thanks for the free food, you fucking dumb cunt.” In their eyes, I’d be a kid that didn’t know any better so I’d get away with it

Hi, I’m James, a white guy in a vast universe of white dwarves, black holes and black-body radiation. I’m the black sheep of my white-bread family; I often tell white lies. I was bitten by the black dog and I talk black, dog. I do black music like Black Thought. I never had blackheads or pearly whites and I’d rather have a white collar job than be a blacksmith or work at White Castle. I drink white coffee, black tea and Black Russians but I hate white wine. I eat white chocolate and White Knights, smoke White widow and Black & Mild and I buy white powder on the black market. I wear all black, hate the All Blacks and I hate white supremacists that hate all blacks. You know, the ones that try to blackball, blacklist and blackmail black males and hated the first black man in The White House. These are the same folks that see the world in black and white and get black eyes from Black Panthers and Black Lives Matter activists with black belts like Dana White. I like the comedy Blackadder, the black comedy of Jack Black, blackjack and Black Ops. I like the songs White America, White Wedding, Back In Black, Black Betty and Black Or White but I hate Black and Yellow, Welcome To The Black Parade and Black Skinhead. I like Black Sabbath, The Black Album by Jay Z, The White Album by The Beatles, The White Stripes and Barry White but I hate white noise like Whitey Ford, black metal, Rebecca Black, Black Veil Brides and the Black Eyed Peas. I like black-and-white movies, Black Swan, Black Hawk Down and Orange Is The New Black. My favorite fictional characters are Sirius Black, Mr Black from The Simpsons, the black men in Men In Black, Postman Pat’s black and white cat, Snow White, Walter White, Gandalf the White from the White Council who fought orcs at the Black Gate and the White Witch with black magic deadlier than Great White Sharks, white rhinos, black rhinos, American black bears, red-bellied black snakes, Black Mambas, Black Widows, The Black Death and Black Saturday. I’m not a fan of white water rafting, white flag raising, pots calling kettles black and black-outs cuz I can’t charge my white Blackberry. I can, however, still use the White Pages if I ever wanna find houses with white picket fences on Whitehorse Road in Blackburn.

A LITANY OF ALLITERATED LITERATURE

I have frizzy follicles and a forehead of facial freckles. I freestyle like Funkmaster Flex, Flava Flav, Fabolous, Fergie and Future. I find flatulent farts fucking funny and frequently fantasize about fame, fortune and fondling, fucking, fingering, fisting and fornicating the fannies of foxy, foreign females from Finland, France and Fiji. I’m a fastidious, fascinating freak with a foot fetish that furiously faps to femme fatale femdoms that flagellate, flog, flay, flail and ferule. My favorite foods are Freddo Frogs, French fries, fried fish fingers, Funyuns, frankfurts, fettucine, pho, flatbread, Flathead fish fillets and fresh, fat-free fruits from the freezer and fridge. I’m no fond fan of Fanta and frothy, fruit-flavored frappucinos. Foster’s makes my faculties fuzzy and foggy till I fall face-first on the floor. I use Frequent Flyers on fungus fueled flights of fancy at Falls Festival. I foresee a future free of fossil fuels and factory farming. I floor my Ford Focus down freeways faster than a feral fox, a flamingo in full flight, The Flash, a fitness freak, and a felonious fugitive fleeing the feds in a Ferrari, like Fast & Furious. Feminists are frumpy, fat, fugly and flabby foes with Fred Flinstone’s features. They make my phallus flaccid and floppy. Physics focuses on forces like friction. Four and five are factors of forty, and four fifths is a fraction and a fatal firearm. Federer is physically fit as a fiddle with a fantastic, phenomenal forehand. Fringe fundamentalists, like Fred Phelps, are full-fledged fuckwits that find flamboyant, fudge-packing, phallus-fellating, fella-fucking, flaming faggots with fabulous fashion, like the Fab Five, even fouler and filthier than fetid, funky, festering feces. They forego physics in favor of faith and fixate on fallacious, false, foolish, fatuous, facile, fictional, fact-free, philosophically and fundamentally flawed fables with a frightening, feverish, fanatical, frenzied and fervid fervor, like the faithful followers of the fascist, fearful Fuhrer. I favor frank and forthright folks over phony, fibbing, fabricating frauds with feigned fronts and facades who forge fictitious falsehoods faker than Facebook friends. Feathers are phenotypic features of falcons, fowls, finches, flickers, pheasants and the phoenix Fawkes, from the fictional fantasy film franchise featuring Filch, Fudge, Fang, The Fat Friar, Filius Flitwick, Florean Fortescue, Firenze, Fluffy, The Forbidden Forest and Felix Felicis, the fluid of fortune. Flora: five fingered ferns, firs, fennels, figs, flaxes, frangipani flowers, fronds and feverfews. Fauna: fawns, ferrets, furry felines, flying frogs, fruit flies, fireflies, fleas and flatworms.

I think it’s funny that in terms of life, humans only care about plants because we can eat them and get high from them; animals because we can eat them, fuck them and get high with them; fungi because we can eat them, get high from them and Mario; bacteria because they’re a threat to our existence, and fuck all that other bullshit. There are billions of other living things out there but we left them out of our art and culture because nobody gives a shit about a bunch of sea weed-y, sludgy shit. No one wants to read a children’s book called Peter the Protist, Albert the Alveolate, Sammy the Slime Mold or Archie the Archaeon.

Brush your teeth twice a day.

No, it’s 2.13 times a day.

Here’s the proof.

If you think I’m overstating how significant this finding is, or that there’s just a negligible difference between 2.13 and 2, you’re an idiot. Cuz if 100 days pass and on each day he brushes his teeth 2 times per day, he brushes his teeth 200 times overall, whereas if he brushes his teeth 2.13 times a day, he brushes his teeth 213 times overall in the 100 day period.

Make sure your government doesn’t become a dictatorship, because it very well can. Happened in Germany. Happened in Italy. Happened in Russia. Kinda still happening in Russia. Happened in China. Happened in Mongolia. Happening in North Korea. Happened on Planet Vegeta when Frieza enslaved the Saiyan race. Happened to the wizarding world at large when the Dark Lord rose to power. Twice.. Happened in Cambodia. Happened in Burma. Happened in Make sure you identify all possible dictators and prevent their dictatorial impulses from politically actualizing. Happened in a Sacha Baron Cohen movie. Charlie Chaplin one as well.

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