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.

Christmas Gone Wrong

When opening your presents please beware

Whether naughty or nice you’re in for a scare

Because the toys inside have completely lost their mind

They’ll pull your hair, scratch your face and be anything but kind

So run for the hills, run for your lives

It’s the only way you’re going to survive

Take it from me, it’s time to go flee

Before you get sucked into the Christmas tree.

Dear Peanut Brittle

Dear Peanut Brittle,

People have always come between us. They’ve kept us apart for so long. As a child, my mum desperately warned me against you, and the dentist stopped us from seeing each other. Over the years you were difficult to chew, and yes, there have been times when I grew frustrated or annoyed when you got stuck in my teeth; but that tends to happen in a relationship. Anyway, don’t they say that all great couples go through hard times?

When I discovered you unopened in the cupboard today, I just simply had to have you. We didn’t take it slow, either; I ripped open your packet and jammed you into my mouth. My teeth were under prepared; they screamed in agony as I bit you so hard…

Remember the time you were at that party? The one with the chips and dip? Nobody knew who you were. You were all alone, but I knew. Except, there was that one kid, Stewart. He was curious, too curious. He walked on over to our table and stood between us.

‘What’s this?’ He asked.

‘You wouldn’t like it.’ I replied, bluntly.

‘It looks pretty nice.’ He said, leaning in.

‘Well, it’s not,’ I glared ‘why don’t you go and try some of those chips.’ I insisted.

‘No, I think I’m going to try some of these.’ He smiled.

That little shit. I’d never been a violent child, I just wanted to protect you, and keep you all to myself. My teeth had grown sharp from our time together, so I knew if I could bite into you, then imagine the damage I could have done to Stewart’s skinny little girly arm. Luckily, I didn’t resort to violence and came up with this instead.

‘You know what these are made of don’t you?’ I asked. He shook his head. ‘Peanuts.’ I said.

‘So what?’ He shrugged.

‘You’re allergic to peanuts.’ I snarled.

‘Am not.’ He frowned.

‘Am too,’ I replied ‘your mum told me.’

‘Am not’

‘Am too!’

Stewart looked around, but couldn’t spot his mother.

‘But, I guess you could have just one.’ I smiled.

‘What will happen if I eat one?’ He asked.

‘Well, I guess, you’ll probably end up dead.’ I replied.

So there we were, just the two of us hanging out at the party. By the end of the night my stomach ached, and my teeth were so sticky that my mouth was jammed shut. I’ll never forget it.

Love,

Chris.

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.’

 

Comedians in Cars Getting Coffee Wishlist

1. Woody Allen

2. Steve Coogan

3. Garry Shandling

4. Dylan Moran

5. Stephen Merchant

6. Nina Conti

7. Noel fielding

8. Jonathan Ames

9. Steve Martin

10. Richard Ayoade

11. Christopher Guest

12. Eddie Murphy

13. John Cleese

Mourning the Life of Macauley Culkin

The media are mourning the life of Macauley Culkin today. The New York Times had a 10 page memorial lift out ready-to-go and everything. Sadly, the former child star of loveable films such as, The Good Son and Home Alone, not to mention member of the band The Pizza Underground is alive and well, sharing this reference to a scene from Weekend at Bernies via the band’s Instagram account. The hoax began on social media and eventually landed on the desk of a Daily Telegraph writer, who prefers to remain anonymous.

‘Such a waste of a life.’ The writer said, as he tossed his piece on Culkin into the trash. ‘So many people grew up with him, it would have been a great 10 page lift out.’

Of recent, Culkin, 34, has been restricted to gossip columns who describe him as an unhealthy anorexic drug addict, on the verge of suicide. A source close to the actor admitted that a tribute to his life would have been a nice change of pace.

First & Last

I’ve never beaten anybody in a race. Well, post-birth that is. And if I hadn’t have won that race, I wouldn’t be here today. The first race any of us are ever in, and it could of (perhaps, should of) been my last. I managed to win the right to be born. I beat millions of other sperm in a race to the egg; which probably says more about the quality of the competition than it does anything else. I can only assume my one and only victory came down to a mix-up. Perhaps I jumped the gun and got off to a good start. I don’t know, but it doesn’t feel right that I’m here, especially after being defeated by a kid almost half my age at the swimming carnival earlier today. My high school P.E teacher seems to share the same assumption. She once lost her cool with me and blurted out in front of the whole class, ‘How fucking slow and stupid must the other sperm have been for you to be born?’ She’s no longer teaching at my school, which isn’t to say she was wrong.

That initial race must have really taken it out of me. Maybe I put so much energy into winning, that I’ve completely exerted myself. It would explain why I’ve felt drowsy and fatigued ever since birth. My mother had me on a variety of vitamins and tablets to combat iron and energy deficiencies as a child, however, none if it ever made a difference. It’s as though my body is still catching its breath. Or maybe it’s just resting on its laurels, content with that one taste of victory. And It’s not as though the victory of being born is something one can cling to, either. Life is like one giant green room filled with 6 billion others who’ve all won the same race. Everyone’s a winner, so it doesn’t even count anymore. It’s like defecating or breathing, we’ve all done it. So you can’t bring it up in conversation and brag about it, or put down the other sperm who lost and died doing so. Nobody living even remembers winning that race. That’s how many other fucking races they’ve won. Is it really impossible to recall life as a semen? Or have people deleted it from their memory bank to make room for all of the other victories they’ve had since birth?

Sometimes I sit alone for hours trying to think back to that race. I try and recall the feeling of making it into the egg first, but it never works. Occasionally I’ll have a nightmare about it; I trip and fall allowing another sperm to get there at the very last second. Other times I’ll dream about the doctor telling my mum that there was a mistake, “The wrong sperm won.” He frowns. “You’ve got a loser on your hands, the rightful winner has been robbed.” The nurse adds. Unhappy with the result, my father applies to have the race rescheduled. The doctor apologises, informing my parents that unfortunately none of the other sperm survived. “You’ll have to start over and try again from scratch.” This news brings a smile to my father’s face. “No,” my mother says, “we’ll keep the baby, for now.”

I wake up in a cold sweat and out of breath, as if I’ve just finished the race. I wonder if it was it worth it? Being born, I mean. What’s the point of winning if you’re doomed to lose forever. I sometimes wish I would have let another sperm win. That way I wouldn’t be getting laughed at by this kid at the swimming carnival. Did I mention that he’s almost half my age! “It’s nothing to be proud of,” I blurt out, “I’ve lost to kids a lot younger than you.” What kind of comeback is that? I’ve only made it worse for myself, he’s laughing even louder. I’m drowning. I try and focus on the comfort of my ergonomic desk chair, my high-speed internet connection, and the release of Call of Duty Advanced Warfare waiting for me at home.

Tripping on WI-FI

Turn off your mind, relax and scroll down screen. It is not dying, it is the internet.

Making Noise

There’s a place where you can buy a public disturbance capable of unnecessarily loud noises that rattle coffee cups, knock off toupees, blow up skirts, send children deaf, and even wake the dead. Oh, and they only sell Harley Davidsons.

If Mirrors Didn’t Exist, Neither Would Gyms