Jealously is a Curse, But Stains Are the Worst

I’ve never been good with girls and up until Thursday afternoon––neither was the burrito stain on my t-shirt. There I was standing by the bus stop doing my best to not sweat profusely in front of people when an attractive girl headed my way (which, in turn, made sweat management impossible).

“Oh my God! Is that a burrito stain on your t-shirt?” She squealed, like it was a celebrity or something.

“Um, yeah, it is. I just had one.” I mumbled through her excitement.

“I love burritos!” She gasped. “We should get a drink sometime. Like now!” It was that easy.

Next thing, we’re at the pub across the street sharing a beer. “So, tell me: How did you get the stain on your t-shirt? I’m intrigued.” She blushed, but before I could even answer she was already on to the next question. “Believe it or not, (which I didn’t, at the time) I’ve been wondering ever since I saw you at the bus stop what kind of sauce it is,” She paused, “on your shirt I mean.” Blushing again.

Dumbfounded by her interest, I confessed: “Chilli sauce.” And with that she slowly bit her lower lip. I tried to ask some questions of my own in an attempt to change the subject and make light chatter about work, weather, hobbies, anything really––but soon realised that she was only interested in one thing––the stain.

Several beers later the two were practically eating out of the palm of each other’s hands––the stain and her I mean. Not only did I feel like the unwanted third wheel buying them drinks, but extremely uncomfortable when the stain went in for a French kiss. I made an excuse about having work early in the morning and got the hell of there. She wrote her number down on a napkin, leaving a lipstick imprint along with it. The thing is: I’d had stains on shirts in the past ruin conversations, job interviews and certainly photos, but this was the first stain I’d ever seen pick up a girl.

On the way home the stain dodged my questions, acting completely aloof as though I was over-reacting or something. “This is bullshit.” I said, “You’re going straight into the wash basket when we get home.” The smug punk stain just sat there in silence.

My wash cycle ended on Monday so I had a couple of days to cool down before Napisanning the shit out of my t-shirt. After pulling everything else out I eventually came face to face with the stain again. Admittedly, it had slightly faded since Thursday. Certainly less confident in appearance than how I left it. Deflated even; starved from moisture, it barely resembled the cocky son of a bitch that stuck out like dog’s balls on Thursday. I kind of felt sorry for it, in all honesty.

Regretfully, I pulled the napkin with the girl’s number from my pocket. “One phone call,” I said, shaking my head. “Five minutes and I’m hanging up, not a second longer.” With this, the stain lit-up, blooming in colour once more. The phone rang and rang, eventually going to the girl’s mailbox. “Hey, you’ve reached Annie’s phone. Leave a message after the beep.” Even her voice was attractive. I left a message.

“Hi. Yeah, look, it’s, uh, Chris. Not sure if you’ll remember me, but… We met last Thursday. My stain and I…” With that Annie picked up. “Hey! Sorry, I didn’t recognise the number or your voice. Can you tell the stain that I’ve been waiting for him to call?” I stared down at my shirt in the wash basket. “Yeah, sure. I’ll let him know. Listen, what’s the deal here? I mean, you know, this is kinda weird. The whole thing with you and the stain…” Annie quickly cut me off. “Sorry Cliff,” she pleaded. “Chris.” I said. “It’s Chris. My name is Chris.” She didn’t care. “Right. Um, is the stain around at all? Can I talk to him?” With that, I handed the phone over.

Hours went by while the two of them chatted away. Every so often I’d walk by the laundry to check and see if either had hung up, only to find my phone resting on the side of the stain with Annie’s laughter echoing out through the speaker. That weekend, the two of them went out to lunch, unsurprisingly, for burritos. When the stain got home it looked bigger than ever. In fact, it looked as though half a bottle of chilli sauce had been newly spilt on my shirt. I was furious (it was three o’clock in the morning I might add.) “Where the fuck have you been, and why is my shirt covered in sauce? What have you two been doing?” I screamed. “Not that I’ve been waiting up for you or anything.” I added. I might as well of been talking to a brick wall, because the smug punk stain just sat there in silence. “That’s it.” Motioning towards the cupboard. “I’m getting the Napisan.”

Sorry, God is Not Available in Your Country…Yet

Message seen posted on thousands of church notice boards.

Rumours that Netflix are cracking down on the use of VPNs to access its content have scared the shit out of Australians finally enjoying good TV after so many years of inequality; but perhaps even more shocking is speculation that God will assume a similar strategy––barring those outside of the Middle East and Europe from accessing biblical content, and therefore––Heaven. Apparently the passage found in Mark 16:15 “Go ye into all the world, and preach the gospel to every creature,” was taken way out of context.

“You have to understand,” A source close to the creator of the universe pointed out “When that was written the world was a far smaller place––in fact––God had no idea there were even people living outside the 20 or so countries referenced in the bible.”

It is estimated that there are over 2.18 billion subscribers to Christianity alone, with varying degrees of worship and gospel readership. A spokesangel issued a statement on behalf of the Almighty confirming the crackdown; “We’re in the process of implementing a state-of-the-art technology that will block those outside of ‘Holy’ regions from participating in our belief system, therefore, padlocking the gate to Heaven.”

It is not yet clear whether Heaven (who have previously kept their population secret) will allow thousands, perhaps hundreds of millions of residents who entered Heaven via unsanctioned countries permission to stay put. The Church is yet to issue a statement or comment on the news, despite its followers pressing local priests for clarity and guidance.

A religious commentator confirmed with concern, “This is the very first time I’ve ever seen the Church displaying this type of error message to a religious user.” The message (which appears in the image above) has been spotted on several hundred churches and chapel notice boards since Monday.

Bigger Isn’t Better

I officially moved into a bigger stomach over the holidays to fit in all the junk I ate at Christmas. And sadly,it’s way too big for any of my pants. My trainer says I’m going to be in exercise debt for at least 12 months to pay it all off. So I’ve been trying to return everything I ate over the break, and it turns out they don’t refund or exchange even if you keep your receipt. So now I’m stuck carrying around this flabby thing that’s too big for the rest of my body. And it only seems to be growing.