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.

Squash the Internet

Australian internet provider Optus have received thousands of calls over the last few days from customers complaining of a ‘broken internet’. Tech support lines have been jammed from Sydney to Mumbai since images of Kim Kardashian’s oily backside went viral last week.

A representative from Optus was forced to comment earlier today. ‘Checking out Kim Kardashian’s booty is not the reason your internet is broken.’ He paused. ‘It may just be a loose cable.’

Despite his refusal to blame the image for breaking the internet, he did admit that a ‘booty’ may cause, at least, some damage. ‘It is possible that the internet could be squashed by an image of somebody’s rear end; but in my opinion, it would need to be substantially bigger, and not as curvaceous.’

 

Relic in Waiting

My wallet is overcrowded. It’s my fault, I treat it like the second bedroom of my single bedroom apartment. It’s full of junk. In fact, up until September 1, 2014 nothing inside my wallet was of any real value. But thanks to Opal Card my stash of old train tickets will eventually become collector’s items in the distant, distant future. They’ll be kept in those glass cabinets you see in antique stores. The ones that require a series of rusted minuscule keys to unlock. Keys that can only be turned by weathered and wrinkled hands. Simply asking to view an old train ticket will instantly raise eyebrows and attract muttered whispers of jealousy like… ‘They must have a fair bit of bob’.  

I’m saving this one to put my great great great great great grandson through University. You’ll see. It’ll happen.

Bath Age

Andrew Nguyen and Korina Chow. From 23 to 73 in just 3 hours bath time

Ever wondered what it might be like to make love when you’re old and wrinkly? Simple: stay in the bath that little bit longer. That’s right, they’re calling it Bath Age, and it’s the latest trend being soaked up by hip millennials.

The bath craze was believed to be inspired by Rookie founder and socialite – Tavi Gevinson, who published a series of risqué images of what looked like a senior version of herself, revealing a fair amount of wrinkled thigh. Fans of the tween icon were initially shocked, wondering if their idol was suffering from the side effects of excessive smoking. However, Tavi’s people were quick to kill the rumour, responding with a rejuvenated image of Tavi’s skin restored in all its glamour with the caption and hashtag: show us your #bathage.

Since then selfies of teens looking like their grandparents have flooded social media. Instagram has been inundated with retro-chic filtered images of wrinkled hands: knitting, making tea, and gardening. Pop culture and social media expert Sophie Banks believes it’s simply a natural progression for young people obsessed with all things old and vintage.

‘When you think about it, it’s a natural evolution of the whole retro-hipster thing. Vintage cameras, filters, fashion, music, and now skin! With #bathage you can even look vintage, you know.’

The art of staying in the bath too long has inspired curious young couples to experiment with the idea of having sex with a wrinkled partner. Jessie, a 24 year old barista from Collingwood, says it’s helped change her perception of old people.

‘Yeah, I mean, like, I’ve always thought getting old and still having sex was gross. Like, picturing your grandparents still going at it. It’s weird. But me and my boyfriend thought we’d give it a try, so we took a 3 hour bath. I’ve got to admit, And I never thought I’d say this, but, it was like a turn on.’

Sophie Banks believes that the idea of experimenting with extended baths is a tempting thought. A preview of what’s to come, so to speak.

‘I’m not suggesting that everyone is going to use baths as a way of glimpsing into the future, and take up wrinkly love making. But if young people can grow an appreciation for vintage skin, then they may just gain some respect for their elders who still possess the desire to ‘go at it’ you know.’

Brands have already jumped on the trend, with Dove rushing out the release of a new bubble bath product designed to speed up the ageing process of a bath. Rather than spending your whole night in the bath, you can achieve the desired ageing process in just minutes. And better yet, the bubbles help prolong your wrinkles for longer love making.

Will you show the world your #bathage?

Let’s Talk About The Weather

The weather is a topic I prefer to avoid. It’s absolutely pointless. Unless I’m having my hair cut, then it’s a necessity. Because hairdressers are always asking what your plans are for the weekend. And there’s simply not enough weekends (past or present) to get me through a wash, cut and dry. So unless we enjoy same TV shows, or share an interest in silence, the weather will no doubt manage to cut in.

We all understand that the weather is only brought up when there’s nothing much else to talk about. It can be called upon to break the ice or simply pass the time. It’s the king of small talk. Why? Because It’s not difficult to know about the weather, just look outside and you’re instantly up-to-date. And it’s pretty difficult to offend anybody in a conversation about the weather. The only thing you can disagree on is the temperature. But it’s unlikely that you’re going to get into a fist fight over whether you prefer the warm or the cold. Since you’re reading this, I guess you have nothing better to do. So I’m going to explain why the cold weather, trumps the warm weather.

Am I crazy for thinking this? Beaches, pool parties and bikinis: they’re all linked with warm weather. This is an error of association, you see. People enjoy being warm. They don’t enjoy being cold. Simple. Which is why winter takes the cake. The experience of warming up gives far more pleasure than that of cooling down. Think about it. In summer, when you’re at the beach or swimming pool, you’re practically forced into the cold water to cool down. You could be boiling hot and you have to be dared or pushed into the water. ‘1.2,3 jump!’ They scream. If you’re like me, you rarely ever jump on three. And why the hell would you? It’s like leaving the warmth of summer and plunging into winter with one single leap. You have to be pushed in, against your will. See, here’s the thing: if you’re cold, you don’t need to be dared to move closer to the heater or fire. You volunteer. Nobody who is cold and shivering dips their toe under a warm blanket, before snuggling on the couch in front of the TV. And you definitely don’t count to three before jumping into a warm bed on a brisk winter’s night, right? I didn’t think so. Anyway, enough about the weather. What have you got planned this weekend?

The Following Blog Post Was Typed Using An Invisible Font

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Rainbow Strikes Factory: Workers Emerge With Gay Pride

Workers of a local factory have emerged with gay pride after their building was struck by a rainbow yesterday morning. Witnesses report seeing burly men wearing their yellow hard-top hats and overalls as fashion statements, rather than straight forward uniforms. The incredible transformation has left the wives of workers in complete disarray. One of whom, Tracy, whose name has been changed to protect her identity, discovered her husband raving away in the garage, shirtless, with a bunch of mates to the sounds of Dead Or Alive’s – You Spin Me Round.

The rainbow has had both a positive and negative affect on the pub across the street, says Naomi, a local bartender.

‘I’ve largely relied on my high-wasted denim shorts and low-cut tank tops to generate tips. But I didn’t see a dime yesterday. While Jeremy, on the other hand, was Mr. Popular at the bar and pocketed over a hundred bucks.’

There’s no telling if the sudden burst of gay pride is just a passing phase or something with staying power. Either way, a factory makeover is already underway, with brand new curtains appearing on the windows earlier today.

Dress Up Party

Saturday night: My 28th birthday. Nothing out of the ordinary or obvious. There was drinking, self-sabotage, and cake. Afterwards, I lead a small group of friends, plus Dale (a workmate, who wasn’t invited) into a dingy establishment, highlighted by neon lights. Once inside, my friends drank cheap wine, while we pretended to enjoy bad music. Then the Monster Mash came on. Everybody went crazy and headed for the dance floor.

I approached a girl dressed as a zombie and asked her to dance. Her pale face reminded me of one of the puppets from The Corpse Bride. She wore a stained dress and purple lips (which trembled). She didn’t seem interested in my sudden attention, nor responsive for that matter. I offered her a drink, but she dry reached at the offer. Then her eyes rolled back into her skull and she let out a painful zombie sounding moan. For a dress up party, she seemed to take her character way too seriously.

I figured she wasn’t much of a talker, or simply unwilling to break character. It didn’t bother me, I was happy to carry the conversation. When I mentioned that it was my birthday; she seemed unimpressed, then crawled into a ball. ‘That’s exactly the way I feel about it’ I nodded. ‘I’m glad someone else gets where I’m coming from. You sure I can’t get you a drink?’ The girl keeled over, covering her face. After a couple of minutes of awkward silence I tried again to get the conversation going. ‘My friends want to go into Kings Cross after this, but I think I’m done, unless you want to go?’ I asked, enthusiastically. ‘Arrgwwwhh!’ She grumbled, sounding very zombie – circa Sean of the Dead. ‘Yeah me either,’ I replied ‘did you come here with anyone?’ I Paused, looking around the room. ‘I mean, was there a dress up party here before? You seem to be the only one in costume.’ She shook her head, batting her eye lids heavily.

At that moment, I couldn’t help but admire the amount of detail the girl had gone to: she looked as though she’d been dead for days. Even so, she was striking. Beneath the bloody makeup, and hair stuck to her cheeks, hid a stunningly pretty face, however pale it was. The Monster Mash made for the perfect soundtrack. But at just 3 minutes and 14 seconds, it didn’t last long. The music took a turn for the worst and suddenly changed gears. Another DJ + 1 had climbed behind the booth. Heavy electro beats entered the room, gate-crashing everybody off the dance floor.

A group of girls approached me and my zombie crush. They weren’t wearing zombie costumes themselves, or any monster like costume for that matter (unless the theme was loose. In which case, they had chosen to go with – cheap call girl costumes). Even so, they too captured the spirit of their characters: spilling drinks, exposing too much breast, rummaging through their purses, and slurring profanity into each others faces. They must be all drama school students, I imagined; so rehearsed and well cast. Without a costume, I felt completely out of place.

‘Oh Ruby are you OK babe?’ One asked, stroking my zombie’s sticky hair. ‘Ruby? That’s your name?’ I asked, without a reply. I’ve always been drawn to girls named after stones, or jewels. Previously I had dated a shallow Crystal, an unfaithful Gemstone, and the walking nightmare that was Pearl. ‘Is this guy bothering you hon?’ Asked one of the other scantly clad girls. ‘Why don’t you fuck off! Can’t you see she’s fucking smashed.’ Spat another girl, who vaguely resembled Julia Robert’s best pal in Pretty Woman. ‘Yes, she’s smashing.’ I gushed ‘Great costume by the way.’ This comment, despite its good intentions, seemed to irritate her. ‘What costume?’ She asked.

By now, my friends had lingered over, thinking I’d had hit the jackpot, infiltrating a group of single girls in skimpy dresses. As did my uninvited workmate, Dale, who managed to break apart the group. He lured a couple of them to the bar with the line. ‘I bet a couple of sorts like yourselves could use a wet pussy.’

I couldn’t help but cringe, hoping to take enjoyment in the sound of Dale’s face being slapped. However, there was no slap, or slur, instead, the girls giggled and stumbled away with him, arm in arm. Again, I had to appreciate how seriously this bunch of girls were taking their trashy characters. My zombie crush, Ruby, had managed to slip away from the group without anyone noticing. She stumbled towards the door alone, leaving her cigarettes and phone behind. Here was my big opportunity to flirt with her without a four to the floor beat as my soundtrack.

Outside, Ruby had managed to attract the attention of two creepy looking guys in dress up, playing drunks. They were both wearing identical costumes: Nike tracksuits, with TN trainers; proof that the theme of this dress up party was pretty loose. Not unlike the girls inside, these fellas had really given some thought to their characters. One of them had even gone to the trouble of getting a neck tattoo. I did my best to fit in, initially pretending to be an extra.

‘Hey baby, where you off to?’ Neck Tattoo asked, grabbing her arm. I stood back and contemplated what I was going to do, or who I was going to pretend to be. My tight fitting corduroy certainly didn’t lend itself to the look of a tough guy. Peter Parker was my first thought. ‘Hey Ruby, you forgot your smokes and your phone.’ I whispered, not wanting to ruin the scene. ‘Shut up dick head. She’s going to come party with us.’ Slurred Neck Tattoo. Studying the tattoo, It appeared to be an ice-cube. Neck Tattoo pulled a cigarette from his shiny track pants, and took a few drags. ‘She can have one of mine.’ He winked. ‘Could I pinch a light then?’ I asked, now part of the act. But he ignored me and didn’t offer me a cigarette. So I improvised, lighting up one of Ruby’s Winfield Reds. Neck Tattoo took another drag of what was left of his joint, and stuck it in Ruby’s face. ‘Try some of this.’ She waved it away, knocking it out of his hand, and onto the ground. ‘What the fuck was that? Pick it up!’ Yelled Neck Tattoo, pulling at her hair.

I sensed things were getting a little out of hand, even for role-play. Were they a certain type of method actor? So committed. So well-rehearsed. Despite being without a costume, I decided to participate and improvise, going forth with the gusto of a heroic civilian. I plunged towards Neck Tattoo, but tripped on the pavement, accidentally sticking my cigarette right into his ice-cubed jugular. He wailed in pain as the ice-cube on his neck melted. Before his friend could respond, I noticed Ruby’s face quickly turn an unpleasant green. She vomited all over the other guy’s jacket, which kept him distracted in disgust. Neck Tattoo swung at me, but missed. I fell over anyway, completely selling his punch. Good acting I thought. His face turned bright red. He looked as though he was about to lay into my corduroy pants with his TN cross trainers.

The thing is, I probably shouldn’t have got involved. These guys were pros, or at the very least third year students at NYDA or wherever. Still, something was frighteningly real and exhilarating about the whole thing. It was though Neck Tattoo was actually going to kick the shit out of me. Rather than watch my life flash before my yes, though, all I could think about was Dale. He wasn’t even invited to my birthday party. The only reason he was there, was because he accidentally caught wind of the event on Facebook. Fuck Facebook, I thought. The event was set to private, I’m sure of it. Strictly invite only. This kind of thing made me incredibly mad. Maybe Ruby felt the same about me joining her dress up party, without invitation, or a costume. Neck Tattoo certainly did.

Meanwhile, his friend had responded to Ruby’s vomit by throwing up on himself, and suddenly fainting. A ghastly way to exit a scene, but worthy of applause. So technically, it was one on one, if I could only get to my feet. Yet to break her character, Ruby displayed the super human strength that only a zombie could possess. She latched herself onto Neck Tattoo, sucking his blood and replacing the melted ice-cube with an imprint of her teeth. Stunned, I sat there and applauded in sheer delight. Their timing was impeccable, he was only inches away from knocking my very own teeth out. Even the blood gashing from his neck looked authentic. Neck Tattoo’s Nike tracksuit was now ruined. I wondered if it was a rental or one of his own. The TN trainers were fine, but I doubt the costume store would consider refunding his deposit, based on the state of the tracksuit alone.

Ruby helped me to my feet, before throwing up again. That whole scene had really taken it out of her. ‘We should get a move on before he gets up’ I said. ‘I guess he’s going to act like he’s been infected now, and turn into a zombie too.’ She struggled to speak. ‘I’m sorry, I had way too much to drink, I’m really…’ She swallowed hard, turning purple once more. ‘Fucking Dale.’ I cursed, cutting her off. There he was, leaving the bar with the two girls dressed up as hookers. Knowing how far Ruby had pushed her character, it wouldn’t of surprised me if he was going to get laid. ‘He wasn’t even invited!’ I squirmed.

I walked her to the door. ‘If this whole thing is wrapping up, can I call you a cab?’ Ruby nodded. While we waited I was left to do all the talking. I asked her why her character hadn’t bitten me. She just shook her head, but never answered. In hindsight, it was probably stupid of me to ask. Like Dale, I wasn’t invited. Yet, I joined in and played along, without a costume. Still, it was worth it. Ruby’s pale face was the highlight of my night. It was getting pretty late; taxi drivers stopped, but refused to take her home.

‘You know, they probably think you’re drunk; stumbling all over the place like that, vomiting.’ I smiled. ‘Little do they know, you’re such a talented actress.’ Her eyes rolled back into her skull and she let out a painful zombie sounding moan. In awe of her commitment, I whispered… ‘For a dress up party, I think you take your character way too seriously.’

WANTED: Experienced Genie With At Least Two Wishes Remaining (Immediate Start)

Wanted

Looking for a Genie based in Sydney. Do not require blue skin, although much preferred. Needs to be available at all times, and have at least two wishes ready to go. No time wasters please.

Second on The Train

I’ll begin this post by patting myself on the back. No I didn’t reclaim my spot. I was not first on the train today, but I did finish a strong second, nevertheless. I’ll be the first to admit that the man in the pinstriped suit who beat me simply wanted it more. If it wasn’t for my razor sharp reflexes, his swinging suitcase may have completely taken me out of the race, full stop. But no, I held my ground fending off an old woman from brushing ahead and claiming silver. In fact, my fend ended up costing her third place. It was that effective.

I firmly believe you’ve got to have your little victories in life. If being first on the train isn’t one of them, then being first into the elevator should be. BING. Here goes.