I went to a football game the other day with a few friends. One of them
commented that the oval looked smaller than he had expected. I said,
"What do you mean? It's 100 metres wide and 200 metres long! Of course",
I added, "that's only a ballpark figure."
A dictionary gives meanings of words in terms of other words. The trouble
is, if you don't know what those other words mean, you're in real trouble,
because you have to look those ones up too, and eventually you'll come back
to the word which you were looking up in the first place. The word "means"
is a typical example, because whenever I ask someone to tell me what it means,
they say, "Well, Jason, the word 'means' means...", and I interrupt and say,
"but, hang on, you haven't told me what 'means' means, yet", and then smoke
comes out of their ears.
I only realised this the other day, but, in the Star Wars movies, you never
actually find out who Luke Skywalker's mother is. I can only hope
that it isn't Yoda.
There was this news story on TV a while back about a young man who murdered
his parents. When the reporter asked the obviously shocked neighbours
about the man, they told him how quiet and harmless he seemed. Then one
of them remembered how he had made constant death threats against his
parents. Another chipped in with stories of him shooting cats with an
air rifle. And then pandemonium broke out, as the neighbours started
yelling about how he was a crazy freak, and how they all hated his guts.
A clergyman once told me that Jesus managed to feed thousands of people
with a few loaves of bread and a couple of fish. I think he made a clerical
The other day I went to a costume shop, because a friend was having a fancy
dress party, and I was browsing around, looking at various costumes. I
grabbed a nuns outfit off the rack, and held it up to check it out. It
was dirty and mouldy, it had holes in it... man, it was truly horrible.
As I was looking at it, another patron marched over to me, and rather
angrily said, "That's a disgusting habit you've picked up!"
Did you know there was an Indian version of The Beatles? They even went
through a weird stage, hanging out with the Archbishop of Canterbury and
playing acoustic guitars instead of their sitars. Here's the lyrics to one of
their most enduring songs:
Dear Sir and Madam, here's your vindaloo
It took me days and days to cook it up for you
It's based on a recipe I got from my mum
And it's very very hot, so you'll need to have some
It's a lovely curry, with some lovely naan
(there's some popadoms in the frying pan)
Sir, you appear to be turning pale
You're an unsteady sod; so instead of beer
I reckon they should make a watch which measures time as it is perceived,
so that when you're waiting for a bus and you say "Gee, it feels like I've been
waiting for an hour", you'd look at your watch and it would really be an
Why is it that about twenty percent of the books in any library smell
really strange when you open them up? Kinda like someone vomited on them
about fifteen years ago. It's weird, man. It makes me sick, man.
There comes a time in every young boys life when he realizes that the
characters on Sesame Street aren't real; that they are, in fact, mere
puppets. When this dawned on me, I became interested in the puzzle of
how Big Bird's mouth moved. One sad day I made the connection; his
doesn't move at all, it just hangs there limply by his side. Now, what
I want to
know is, what kind of message is that sending to left-handed kiddies?
With modern technology and everything, you'd think they could have done a
better job on bells for bicycles. I mean, you spend a fortune on
your bike, and then you get this little crappy thing which makes an
embarrassing tinkling sound. I want to be able to buy a serious bell so
I can ride around town and blast people with it. "Ain't laughing at me now,
Isn't it interesting how words change their meaning with time? I was reading
a book from 1895 the other day, and I came across a passage which read:
"The chambermaid rushed sobbing from the room, followed by Mr. Dawkins,
who was ejaculating wildly." I was very offended, until I realized that
the word "sobbing" has changed meaning drastically in the last hundred years.
What really irritated me about the X-Files is that Scully and Mulder never
seem to be able to locate a light-switch when they enter an unfamiliar
place. I want to see an episode where Scully yells out "Hey, I found the
light switch!", and proceeds to turn all the lights on. "Good thinking,
Scully", Mulder would say.
My friend plays in an orchestra, but recently she broke her instrument.
I suggested that she repair it with cellotape.
I really hate those corny romantic American movies where, at the end of
the film, the two lovers embrace in a public place and the crowd of
onlookers break into spontaneous applause. I was in a restaurant once
and this guy kissed his girlfriend, so I started clapping and whooping.
But nobody else joined in. And then the guy said "Hey, what are you
doing, buddy?", so I said "I'm clapping man, can't you see that?",
and then came on over and punched me in the nose. So that's why I hate
I get really pissed off walking around my city, especially during the week
when all the grannies are about. They wander around getting in the way of
people who actually have something important to do. I reckon there should
be a law against that sort of thing. We have laws for cars on roads, so
why not laws for pedestrians on footpaths? You should have to keep left,
and do a hand signal if you want to cut across to go into a shop. They
could even have little traffic lights, or a policeman conducting the flow
of people-traffic. The policemen would wear flashing blue lights on their
heads, and they could pull you over for speeding, or walking under the
influence (to prove your sobriety, you'd have to drive a car in a straight
line). You'd have a walkers license, and if you committed too many walking
offences, they'd revoke your license and you'd have to stay at home all day.
That'd keep the grannies off our footpaths!
I was in the city with a girl, and she said to me, "Do you like the sarong
that girl over there is wearing?". I bellowed out, "What sarong?", and a
passing ethnic stereotype yelled back "Nothing's a-wrong, mate! What's
da matter with you, eh?"
I know that parents are really obsessive about keeping a clean and tidy
house, but one thing I've never understood is the concept of drying the
dishes. It's got to be the stupidest, most pointless activity you can do,
because if you don't do anything at all the dishes will quite happpily
dry themselves for you. Even so, my mother never appreciates my offers
to help in the kitchen.
Once I saw a guy with an inverted bald spot. He was entirely bald apart
from a small round patch of healthy growth on the top of his head. I guess
he was from "Bizarro World".
Imagine if you could trade your wife in, the same as you would with your
old car. Brian Gardner would be making TV ads which said "Push her in,
roll her in, get her in anyway you can and we'll give you a minimum
$1000 cash back for your old bomb." Or you could sell your wife
privately, by advertising her in the newspaper. You'd have all these dodgy
types coming around to your house on Saturday morning, looking your wife
up and down, lifting the skirt and so on. "How many miles has she done, then?"
they'd ask. And you'd get the disappointed guys ringing up too late. "Is the
wife gone yet? Ah bugger, sounded like a good deal." Lube jobs would
never be the same again.
If you're ever accosted by an angry man wearing a chicken costume, I'll
bet that his angry red face will look really funny peering out at you from
within the chicken's beak.
I have always found it rather odd that businessmen affect to wear their
ties on their shoulders when outdoors in the city. I think someone should
do a study on it.
I think the next big leap in technology will be smells. It will take just
one geek to come up with some big breakthrough, and in no time at all everyone
will be talking about the great new "smell chip". Sony would develop a sleek
smell machine, with their own smell format, but the other manufacturers would
band together and develop an inferior smell format which would become
successful through clever marketing campaigns. Televisions would be made
"smell compatible". If you wanted to smell in private, you could wear
Musicians would play special smell instruments at gigs, and you'd better
watch out for the door-to-door smell salesman. Smell lovers would complain
about synthetic smells, and they would harp on and on about the good old
days, and how great the natural smells were back then.
Computers would come with an optional "smell card", and software for mixing
smells. You could customize your desktop to have your favourite smell, and
you'd be able to download new smells. When an error occurs, a special smell
would be emitted.
The other day I pointed out a tattoo on a man's arm to a friend. "That's
a Swastika", I said. "You mean its not a real tattoo?", she replied.
Why is it that we care so much about hair? Women shave off most of their
body hair, and then spend hours making sure that what they have left
looks really nice. I wonder; would they shave under their arms if
wondrous golden locks of beautiful flowing hair grew there? And what
if they had pubic hair on their heads? I know it's a preposterous
notion, but it keeps me amused on boring bus journeys!
The say Gatorade puts back what the sweat takes out. Everyone seems to accept
that. Nobody has questioned the whole Gatorade deal. Well, I am here to
dispel a few myths about Gatorade. What sweat takes out of you is sweat.
So when you drink Gatorade, you are drinking orange flavoured sweat. God only
knows how they manufacture so much of the stuff, but I'm willing to bet that
recently used sports clothing is involved somewhere along the line. Why do
you think they put their name on so many t-shirts?
I went to a Chinese Barbeque place a while back, and I wanted to eat something
that I've never had before. So I ordered
brisket. Now, I don't know what brisket is, but when I ordered it, all the
waitresses in the shop started giggling, and the one taking my order asked
me if I'd like to reconsider. Feeling embarrassed, and unwilling to back
insisted that I wanted brisket, and asked her to bring it to me poste
Well, I did get my brisket after a while. The waitress handed it to me like
it was an explosive device, and any sudden movement would set it off. When
I took it from her, she leaned over and whispered to me "It's actually beef".
Those three words have haunted me ever since that fateful day.
Somehow, I managed to eat some of it before my bodily defensive mechanisms
set about their gruesome work. In a strange coincidence, a friend who lives
in the area lost her pet cat, "Brisket", the previous night.
I was thinking the other day about how cool it would be if women had
beards instead of men. Blokes just don't care about how they look,
so every guy either shaves or grows a goatee or something. If girls
had beards, we'd see a lot more creativity with facial hair.
You'd get girls walking around with beards dyed all of the colours
under the sun. They'd plait their beards, or grow the sides really
long and brush them back over their ears. You'd see the latest
beard ideas in women's magazines, and sophisticated barbershops
(with snobbish clientele) would spring up in the chic areas of town.
Actually, I'm glad women don't have beards.
I reckon if you're lucky enough to have a big sticky-out mole on some
weird part of your body, you should paint that mole silver and pretend
that you're into body piercing. People would express amazement at how
you managed to get that part of your body pierced, and they would admire
your impressive looking stud.