Where Do I Get My Grenades At?

Last year in novel, my teacher (we'll call him Ari) had us rewrite the lyrics of I AM WOMAN by Helen Reddy and Ray Burton to accomodate for the bogans of the world. We all had good fun, so this is what I produced.

I'm a bogan watch me gore
We drink in packs of four of more
And I know fuck all so I guess I can't pretend
'cause you've bitched it all before
When I throw up on the floor
And I can't be stuffed to clean that shit up again

CHORUS

Oh yes, I am wide
And it's cracksores all again
Yes, I skipped the price
But look at the weight that I just gained
If I feel like it, I won't do anything
I am bum (bum)
I am unbearable (unbearable)
I am bogan

You can slap and kick me down
'cause it's what everybody wants
More determined to demolish me dingy hole
And I come back smelling pongier
Not a genius any longer
'cause you've doubled me conviction for assault

CHORUS

I am bogan hear me groan
See me stand up for the court
Cos I threw me outstretched hands around your neck
But I'm still a fat yobbo
With a fat arsed way to go
Until I make my first parole

Oh yes, I am wide
And it's cracksores all again
Yes, I skipped the price
But look at the weight I just gained
If I feel like it, I won't do anything
I am bum (bum)
I am unbearable (unbearable)
I am bogan
Oh, I am bogan
I am unbearable
I am bum

REPEAT FINAL LINES AND FADE

I Thought This Would Be Hard

For the final novel class of the term, my teacher, who I shall call Monday Esme (I have two teachers I'll call Esme, one for Monday and the other on Friday), instructed us to write a sex scene. Many of us were nervous, and a little shy. I'll have to say that my friend, who I'll call Janet, might have been scared since she writes for children.

But Monday Esme made it easy, and boy did she. The sex scene had to be awkward she tells us, and I thought... I can work with this. So, over the course of a Sunday afternoon, I wrote my scene, which I then read to my mother who couldn't help but laugh. Everyone else who heard it laughed as well, so I thought again... this could work.

Garritt and Stella were giggling, much like young lovers did on their first time. They were rolling around under the sheets, quickly undressing. 'Hurry up with those,' Stella told him. She was ready to slip the condom on him.

'I'm going, I'm going. Why don't you slow down a bit,' Garritt answered.

'I'm never slow, now hurry up. House is on soon!'

'Yeah, yeah.' A few seconds later his underwear were thrown across the room, hitting the cupboard door. 'There, they're off.'

'Oh my God!'

'What the hell is wrong now?'

'Oh my God, Becky!' Stella shouted, getting off of the bed. She wrapped herself up in the sheets.

'What the hell is wrong with you?' Garritt asked, looking needy.

'You're pierced down there?'

'Wha? Oh yeah, I am. Had it for years.'

'How can you be pierced down there?'

'It was a group decision,' he answered, 'now come back to bed. You said you'd do it with me.'

'Not with your little friend like that. What if it... gets hooked on me.'

'It won't. Hasn't happened before.'

'Don't tell me that,' Stella shouted whilst pacing the floor. 'This isn't going to happen mate.'

'Come on!' he whined.

'No! Honestly, why couldn't it be a little tatt saying All Aboard Sailors.'

'Can't get a tatt,' Garritt told her. 'Mum said it was a ring or nothing.'

'You're mum wanted you to get it down there?'

'Nah, she said anywhere was fine by her.'

My Enchanted Flying Elephant

This here is a piece of writing I did for my editing class. Our teacher, who I'll call Esme told us the pieces we'd have written would go into an anthology, but I recently learnt that Esme told us a little phib. To be honest, I didn't mind since I could just blog my work, and I couldn't help but praise Esme on her ability to lie so convincingly. The greatest liars in the world are generally the most honest ones.

Anyway, the prose I had written was meant to incorporate the them "Immunise Your Soul". To be honest, I didn't have much of an idea of what to write, so I just did what I always do when I'm stuck on something, a mindless rant. I hope you readers (if you truely do exist) enjoy this.

Immunise your soul, what the hell? I mean; what am I supposed to do with this, huh, save the damn world? Of course the world needs saving, what with Krispy Kreme and Tom Cruise running around. That man's like a plague, I tell you.

Anyway, that's what I thought when I was given this theme. When I read these three little words, the first thing that popped into my head was 'meh'. I guess I could work with this. We had an 'average' word length and the option of writing prose or a poetry as well.

Big whoop, big whoopity whoop, I thought. This might be a walk in the park for all I knew, or else. When I think of that, I imagine walking through a room overflowing with Paris Hilton wannabes, suitably dubbed Parisites.

However, it just might be an afternoon with the Parisites, simply because I've got no fucking idea as to what 'immunise your soul' bloody means. I thought about it long and hard, on the train, during dinner, when I was delivering newspapers for a ridiculously small fee.

I thought I was screwed, just like Britney Spears every day of the damn week. But then I remembered the one thing that could help me. It was ever so clear and out there, yet I'd overlooked it completely. Guess the brainwashing by Wikipedia is to blame for that, convenient bastards.

I am of course talking about... (wait for it) the dictionary. Oh what a joy it is... to school boys who have no lives to speak of, my friend Ingles, and Malcolm X. Why he copied it out when he was doing time and told his spiritual leader all about it, I'll never know. To be honest, I saw it as more of a lifesaver, except dark blue and in the shape of an oblong.

So, I looked up what the damn theme means, and in short form it means, protect your damn soul you doped-up hippie wanker. I thought: How am I going to do this one? Ever so thought provoking... I thought, and then I thought some more, then I ran away, and then I thought some more.

Then, after having my drink spiked by a back-stabbing family member who knows I don't consume alcohol, I decided I couldn't work with this at all. I mean, something could be done with this theme, by someone else. If I took it I could have turned the human soul into an ostrich egg and shoved it up the arse of a tortoise for protection. A giant tortoise to be exact.

There could be so many ways in which to use this theme, yet I knew of none of them. Madness, that's what I thought about it, and then I thought about ice-cream. Surely there was something out there for my good self, but in the end, there wasn't.

After my long, arduous journey to think up an idea for this theme, I humbly got up on my enchanted flying elephant... which was also a robot if you're wondering, and flew away to escape the plague of destruction Krispy Kreme has in store for us. And then it hit me, why not write about the trouble I had with using this theme.

The writing teachers are always encouraging us to not use cliches, share our little diarrhoer inducing berries, and most importantly, be creative. So that's what I did, and here is what I came up with; a page and a half of mindless dribble that will most likely wind up in a cat's litter box somewhere.

I certainly hope you enjoyed the BS I pulled out of my arse. I know Svnof did... well, not all of it.

There Are Too Many Blonds!

Greetings people, just thought I'd tell you all that I've decided to do away with my original plan of writing blog stories about vampires. The decision struck me when I realised that I honestly could not be stuffed with it. Besides, I've got other problems to deal with, such as how my throat is currently on fire.

That's right, I am sick and in pain. Don't really know how it started (don't go blaming wearing shorts in the summer) but I'm hoping my disease will either move on to another unfortunate bastard or disappear completely. Fingers crossed. Besides, this "new" doctor I saw yesterday gave me some medicine which I'm hoping will do the trick sooner than later.

So, my main ranting for today is about the show Heroes. I've been watching it since it started, and one things I've noticed (apart from the fact that Claire Bennet and Peter Petrelli are such emo's now) is that most of the women on the show are blonds. What the hell I said to my good self.

Honestly, they have way to many of them. You've got Hayden Panettiere, Ali Larter, Kristen Bell, Jessalyn Gilsig, Brea Grant etc. I know it's all "speculative fiction", but in that you've got to use a fare bit of realism. One example would definately have to be Buffy the Vampire Slayer, which pulled that off spectacularly.

So that's what I've got to say for the moment, there are too many blonds in the world of Heroes. Real life is fine, because when you're walking down a street and you see seven of them, you're bound to run into nineteen or so brunettes.

PS. Claire and Peter are such emo's!

My Intended Postings

I have recently been looking at the vampire characters of Joss Whedon (best known for Buffy and Serenity) and I've been thinking (yes Kat, I can think), I wouldn't mind creating some of my own little vamps and posting their stories for you good people to hear. What do you think?

I have one in mind, which has been inspired by two characters. One is a Whedon character most people know as Darla. For anyone who doesn't know, Darla is one of his oldest characters and the reason behind the mistake that is Angel (damn I hate him). She was portrayed by Julie Benz who is now on Dexter.

The other character is a cylon from the new Battlestar Galactica (yes, I know I'm a hard core fan, but do I care about the negativity, no). Anyway, her name is Gina Inviere and she's one of the Number Six models played by Tricia Helfer.

So anyway, these two ladies of fiction sort of inspired a vampire character of mine, which, now that I think of it, I will write about on my dear blog. Don't worry about thinking about it now, I'll just start when I can be buggered. Peace.

PS. I'm thinking of naming my vampire after a famous fictional character. Try to figure out which one it is.

Guitar Heroes, How I'm Not One Of Them

My good friends from school, who we'll call Ray and Joanie for this posting were having one of their get gatherings, so I decided to go. I'd missed out on the other two for personal reasons, and my other option for what to do this evening was to attend my brothers dinner thing on Russell St with his friends. Since the Church of Scientology is on Russell St I decided to attend my friends party since I'm pretty sure the church has me on one of their hit lists.

Anyway, tonight wasn't so bad. It was one of those parties where the things you don't regularly see occur, such as a rat named after Stevie Nix, a small bagpipe on the wall and a samurai sword standing up in the corner. Anyway, amongst all of that was the game that nearly everyone I know is talking about, Guitar Hero.

We were all giving it a try, and when I did it I pretty much butchered a KISS song. I was pretty sure Joanie was gonna hurt me since she's a huge KISS fan, but nothing happened. Any of the ways, I decided that this night was the makings of a good posting. Not great, but good. Also my friend, who we'll call Burt was acting like a drugged up groupie at some point, so I think that was pretty memorable too.

Good night to you good people who read my random BS.
PS. To Crazy Chik, wherever you are in the great wide Europe, I just want you to know that I got your text message, and yes, I know you pulled out your gun. Here's to seeing you on Border Patrol, because me and Svnof are looking forward to that. You'll boost ratings.

That's Right, I'm A Writer

So I'm in my Literature class today, and we're learning about modernism. Nothing much sticks out to me, but I learn it anyway, and soon enough my teacher has us doing some writing tasks. The first one is that we had to read a book or document, take five or six lines and turn it into a bit of a poem.

I'm currently reading On The Road by Jack Kerouac, so I took some lines from that and created this little number,

It was a war with social overtones,
He put an ordinary fan in a window frame,
Then it finally happened,
We got to the house where the waitress sisters lived,
It was a wonderful night.

Not too shabby if I don't say so myself. The other writing task was to take an object and write a few lines about it. I took a black coffee mug, and I ended up with some badly written haiku.

Made of cold clay,
Smooth and curved,
Dark as the night,
Easily breakable.

I thought it was a bit crap, but two women in my class (we'll call them Delia and Meg) thought it was really good. Surprised I was. Delia had been praising me for some of the things I'd brought up in class discussions, so I guess she was on a role. Also, Delia and Meg do a bit of poetry, so I guess they know the good stuff when they hear it.

That's all for now good bloggers. Peace.