I'll explain further... With our beotch (and if you've swallowed all the above so far the rest is a snack) it's a touchy subject to bring out in LJ this early but she understand's my exitement... she's been secretly starting an underground Sylvania Waters chapter of the Worship sisters sponsoring people who trained with "Mick me mate the master farter - aka a song made by Kevin bloody Wilson aka a very poor folk type musical comedian from the eighties who helped her current idol and crush in life (John Safran) to become the "cute arsed, I will marry no other than you, leg humping spunk machine" that he is today. The connection is so obvious.
The beotch get's very teary if you mention it so Mum's the word on this one [nods]... The "way-urd" on streets is that she's channelling the energy out of this chapter group and into her own secret storage devices in a bat cave underneath a very green watered looking suburban above ground pool which is patrolled 24 hours a day by a dog that is so fuck off big that it eats a garage for breakfast. Of course the pooch has to be kept happy otherwise the Oompah Loompahs can take that energy and vapourise it leaving a great chasm in the cosmos that (you guessed it) must be filled my methane to save us all from the deep evil dark overlord centre right fascist communist lefties who may one day build a train station on the very site of the energy storage area. This event alone (although minor in the scheme of things) would pave the way for those same confused and largely useless people to build a block of incredibly non-awe-inspiring architecturally sound units inhabbited by Durker Durkers or dog eating brainless train travellers. You know Di and she couldn't stand this to happen so the only thing to do is to produce more methane and to get the gaurd dog in tip top shape by exercising it regularly.
I think the alternative internet press have been talking to the dog because it's been leaked that this new Sylvania Waters MOFO crew might help our Di Di to train for the 2008 Olympics where she's hoping to represent the Shoire on the Australian Methane Production and Renewable Energy Tree Hugging Team. (They have a kind of pro-anti woodchopping but anti-against natural timber fuel burning approach to their policy writing so it sits well with the stronger members of their team who make money from captuiring the methane but then not burning it because it's against the NSW Workcover rules to do it without a permit or being a member of a union). Essentially they were formed in the first ever microwave oven during the sexual revolution in the seventies when smoking a winnie red in the back of the Sandman Panel meant you were the only people in the world who could teach anyone anything about going down on someone else....
Soooooo.... armed with this key vital clue-giving essential tautology based information, the team with a sexual ego, some receding hair lines and multiple confused past relationship outcomes had to be radiacally changed to suit Di's needs. So she grinded them down week by week, took them off their all red meat diet, took them down the cross for a good blowie and got them into shape. Over time she released them to become the Winnie blue smoking vigililante vegans team. The WBSVVT! The only problem is that they can't agree on anything now. Some examples of the frustration Di is up against on a daily basis: * They're still workshopping a better accronym that has at least one vowel in it so it sounds trendy. * Their extremist fundamentalist minimalist maximus team can't seem to elect a captain because everyone's ego - based on the hot air in the room (and them being high on the methane bi-products caused by too much tofu) won't let them vote for any other person but themselves * They may actually all declare themselves individual countries for the purposes of the Olympics and then reform as a bunch of friend's afterwards (by unfriending and re-friending on LJ of course because that's the right way to do it hey?) * Half of them want to live happily ever after producing enough methane between them to recommence the green hoax ecult helping me through a terrorist attack that landed on me but didn't hurt because bullshit doesn't stick to real people. * Half of them want to sit around smoke pot and whinge about western capitalism - although they want to do it while sitting in all the luxury that capitalism provides them.
So that should give you a fair idea of where Di is at presently.
And that's all I have to say about that, except, the conclusion of the confusion can be summed up well by my art work as follows:
FART!
Here's the wording for my piece above.
This "art" above is not actually "art" depending on what time of day it is or who at the Sydney Uni School of Arts and all things bludgy is marking my ability to complete a degree and therefore determine whether I can become a school teacher educating my interpretation of the popular view into the thousands of kiddies who may cross my path. Sort of like trendy anti-establishment pro-government post-modern and modern individual opinions yet conformist popular views on life being respected in some cases but stabbed in your back in others leaving a conforming non-conforming confused mess for the psychologists to clean up in the Zed generation when they hit that age when cookie monster has to decide on low-fat cookies and manners rather than being the spunky purple eating machine that he is. It's relevant irrelevance is politically correct by also surrounded by in-correctness - which means I'm bound to pass!
The beotch get's very teary if you mention it so Mum's the word on this one [nods]... The "way-urd" on streets is that she's channelling the energy out of this chapter group and into her own secret storage devices in a bat cave underneath a very green watered looking suburban above ground pool which is patrolled 24 hours a day by a dog that is so fuck off big that it eats a garage for breakfast. Of course the pooch has to be kept happy otherwise the Oompah Loompahs can take that energy and vapourise it leaving a great chasm in the cosmos that (you guessed it) must be filled my methane to save us all from the deep evil dark overlord centre right fascist communist lefties who may one day build a train station on the very site of the energy storage area. This event alone (although minor in the scheme of things) would pave the way for those same confused and largely useless people to build a block of incredibly non-awe-inspiring architecturally sound units inhabbited by Durker Durkers or dog eating brainless train travellers. You know Di and she couldn't stand this to happen so the only thing to do is to produce more methane and to get the gaurd dog in tip top shape by exercising it regularly.
(continued...)
Reply
How could you say no - right???
I think the alternative internet press have been talking to the dog because it's been leaked that this new Sylvania Waters MOFO crew might help our Di Di to train for the 2008 Olympics where she's hoping to represent the Shoire on the Australian Methane Production and Renewable Energy Tree Hugging Team. (They have a kind of pro-anti woodchopping but anti-against natural timber fuel burning approach to their policy writing so it sits well with the stronger members of their team who make money from captuiring the methane but then not burning it because it's against the NSW Workcover rules to do it without a permit or being a member of a union). Essentially they were formed in the first ever microwave oven during the sexual revolution in the seventies when smoking a winnie red in the back of the Sandman Panel meant you were the only people in the world who could teach anyone anything about going down on someone else....
Soooooo.... armed with this key vital clue-giving essential tautology based information, the team with a sexual ego, some receding hair lines and multiple confused past relationship outcomes had to be radiacally changed to suit Di's needs. So she grinded them down week by week, took them off their all red meat diet, took them down the cross for a good blowie and got them into shape. Over time she released them to become the Winnie blue smoking vigililante vegans team. The WBSVVT! The only problem is that they can't agree on anything now. Some examples of the frustration Di is up against on a daily basis:
* They're still workshopping a better accronym that has at least one vowel in it so it sounds trendy.
* Their extremist fundamentalist minimalist maximus team can't seem to elect a captain because everyone's ego - based on the hot air in the room (and them being high on the methane bi-products caused by too much tofu) won't let them vote for any other person but themselves
* They may actually all declare themselves individual countries for the purposes of the Olympics and then reform as a bunch of friend's afterwards (by unfriending and re-friending on LJ of course because that's the right way to do it hey?)
* Half of them want to live happily ever after producing enough methane between them to recommence the green hoax ecult helping me through a terrorist attack that landed on me but didn't hurt because bullshit doesn't stick to real people.
* Half of them want to sit around smoke pot and whinge about western capitalism - although they want to do it while sitting in all the luxury that capitalism provides them.
(continued...)
Reply
And that's all I have to say about that, except, the conclusion of the confusion can be summed up well by my art work as follows:
FART!
Here's the wording for my piece above.
This "art" above is not actually "art" depending on what time of day it is or who at the Sydney Uni School of Arts and all things bludgy is marking my ability to complete a degree and therefore determine whether I can become a school teacher educating my interpretation of the popular view into the thousands of kiddies who may cross my path. Sort of like trendy anti-establishment pro-government post-modern and modern individual opinions yet conformist popular views on life being respected in some cases but stabbed in your back in others leaving a conforming non-conforming confused mess for the psychologists to clean up in the Zed generation when they hit that age when cookie monster has to decide on low-fat cookies and manners rather than being the spunky purple eating machine that he is. It's relevant irrelevance is politically correct by also surrounded by in-correctness - which means I'm bound to pass!
The end.
Reply
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