Hell

I have a deep seated fear of garden gnomes. To me, they’re these horrible little things that somehow deliver bone chilling terror at discount-crap-store prices. Ugh. When I was in high school my maths teacher found it necessary to adorn the classroom with what can only be described as "random shit". So of course, she had to have a couple of gnomes. Totally NOT conducive to a positive learning environment if you ask me but anywho, my phobia was common knowledge in the class and apparently it was funny to put a garden gnome on my chair one afternoon when I was late for class. Hilarious. So yer, I generally assume hell is the Garden of Eden but with a garden gnome at every turn. Knowing my luck, I’ll probably end up there because of my homosexual deviant lifestyle. I figured only such a horrific place could exist in hell- that was until my girlfriend was sent an email about the Australian Gnome Convention.

http://australiangnomeconvention.com.au/

Firstly, what the actual fuck- the gnome trade is alive and kicking? I thought that the rest of the sane world had relegated these things to the likes of b-grade horror movies but apparently not. Secondly, what kind of sick creeps live in this world who would attend such an event? I decided to investigate and came across a chilling story. It read as follows:

On Saturday 25th July 2009 the Lower Blue Gnome Rescue squad set off in the cold cold dawn on an 800 k rescue mission to save 1500 gnomes from a fate worse than death - the dreaded tip!! In Cootamundra an old lady gnome carer had passed on, leaving her many gnomes without a home to go to!

"Please", said a Cootamundra Rotarian - "can you come and save these little fellers"

SICK! PERVERTED! ISN’T THIS WHAT K-RUDD’S INTERNET FILTER IS FOR? Furthermore, I am 110% convinced that “lower blue gnome rescue squad” is actually an alias for a sinister terrorist organisation.

The story continued:

Of course we could - and we did! Here are the photos to prove it. All the gnomes will be homed in the Blue Mountains and will be at the Australian Gnome Convention on January 26 2010 at the Australia Day Festivities in Glenbrook Park. What a great day!

Homed in the Blue Mountains! These people inflicted 1500 demons of hell on nationally protected bushland? What about the wildlife? Surely this violates a law some where- Littering? Defacing public land?

I scrolled down to look at the pictures of said “rescue” whilst fantasizing about how this story may have read had I made it there first with a baseball bat in hand:

What a vile old woman! Imagine looking out that window at night to see that baron hideous garden (dirt patch) riddled with all those garden gnomes. Better yet, imagine that place on a full moon. I’m sure the children of the neighbourhood had a great myth about how all those gnomes were actually kids that had ventured into the old lady’s (witch’s) garden after a stray ball and met a twisted fate at her hands.

But, the clincher:

...PLEASE DON'T EAT ME SATAN!

Where the Wild things...

This summary is not available. Please click here to view the post.

Christ, J.

*I didn't write this, I found it on a website recently. A friend of mine had shown me this a while ago and I just had to post it when I found it again! so good.*


This is an anonymous letter to Dr. Laura, the radio talk show host. Dr. Laura said she opposes homosexuality because it is "prohibited in the Bible". Dear Dr. Laura:

Thank you for doing so much to educate people regarding God's law. I have learned a great deal from you, and I try to share that knowledge with as many people as I can. When someone tries to defend the homosexual lifestyle, for example, I simply remind him that Leviticus 18:22 clearly states it to be an abomination. I do need some advice from you, however, regarding some of the other specific laws and how to best follow them:

* When I burn a bull on the altar as a sacrifice, I know it creates a pleasing odor for the Lord (Lev. 1:9). The problem is my neighbors. They claim the odor is not pleasing to them. How should I deal with this?

* I would like to sell my daughter into slavery, as it suggests in Exodus 21:7. In this day and age, what do you think would be a fair price for her?

* I know that I am allowed no contact with a woman while she is in her period of menstrual uncleanliness (Lev. 15:19-24). The problem is, how do I tell? I have tried asking, but most women take offense.

* Lev. 25:44 states that I may buy slaves from the nations that are around us. A friend of mind claims that this applies to Mexicans but not Canadians. Can you clarify?

* I have a neighbor who insists on working the Sabbath. Exodus 35:2 clearly states he should be put to death. Am I morally obligated to kill him myself?

* A friend of mine feels that even though eating shellfish is an abomination (Lev. 10:10), it is a lesser abomination than homosexuality. I don't agree. Can you settle this?

*In Matthew 15:4 Jesus reiterates the commandment to kill children for cursing their parents: "For God commanded, saying, Honor thy father and mother: and, He that curseth father or mother, let him die the death." And

Exodus- 21:17" And he that curseth his father, or his mother, shall surely be put to death."

Should people kill their children for cursing them because God says so, even if they themselves would go to prison for life or get the death penalty as set forth by MAN'S law?

* John 15:6 says: "If a man abide not in me, he is cast forth as a branch, and is withered; and men gather them, and cast them into the fire, and they are burned." (This passage, a quote from Jesus, was used for centuries to justify burning our predecessors at the stake for refusing to believe.) I know many atheists who do not believe in God, so he does "Not abide" in him. Should they be cast into fire and burned?

Leviticus -- 20:10 says Adulterers shall be put to death. Put to death by the spouse? WHO shall put them to death?

Deuteronomy-- 22:5 says Men's clothing is not to be worn by women, and vice versa. I work in a clothing store, and if I refuse to sell mens clothes to women or vice versa, can my boss fire me? If I , as a woman, wear pants, will I be breaking God's Law?

This is just a few examples of things "prohibited in the Bible". HOW does one pick and choose which ones of those many to follow, and to what length and what measures must we take to insure ALL people obey those laws of God?

I know you have studied these things extensively, so I am confident you can help. Thank you again for reminding us that God's word is eternal and unchanging.

Chee-Pussy Quiji

I need to talk about this video I found on youtube. Have you ever heard Bai ling? Yes? No? Maybe? Just quietly, she’s a bit of a hero of mine, and a favourite at the gofugyourself.com:

http://gofugyourself.celebuzz.com/go_fug_yourself/bai_ling/

Earlier this year she almost had her nipple torn off by her pet cat. This is said cat. Its name is chee-pussy Quiji.

She defended her pet saying it must have thought her nipple was a chew toy. Firstly, that’s not a cat, that’s a beast sent straight from the depths of Satan’s sex pad. And secondly, just so we’re clear, her nipples resemble chew toys? I don’t know whether to be aroused or repulsed- though I suspect I’d go with the latter. In all honesty, this sums up the handful of things I actually know about Bai Ling, other then that I’m pretty much in the dark. My friends at wikipedia inform me she vehemently claims to hail from the moon, where her grandmother continues to lives. Fair enough Bai Ling, fair enough. Also, she is allegedly an actress! Unfortunately, the only roles that I could say I'm vaguely familiar with that she’s played recently were her part as “Senator Bana Breemu” in Star Wars III: The Revenge of the Sith and her stirring role as the “punky photographer” in Lords of Dog Town.

Anywho, Back to the video! I love this: I close my eyes and I’m in a Japanese karaoke bar playing witness to a fabulous midlife breakdown, I open them again and Bai Ling is throwing Barbie’s feathery night gown into the crowd, masturbating on her knees and being mauled by a painfully gay presenter! It’s so unnatural and forced and dare I say, drunk, that I just couldn’t pass this one up. The highlight for me is 33 seconds in when she attempts a sexy commando roll and leg stretch but kind of doesn’t quite have the momentum and almost gets tangled in her ostrich costume. Bai ling enthusiasts enjoy!

Shut up, you love it.

So a while ago, a “friend”, had this dream she had her vagina pierced. It wasn’t me, it was a friend. One who can’t be named either, not even with a pseudonym. Anywho, my friend (not me) had this dream her snatch was pierced- just like the lip or whatever. She told me about it the next day on facebook and I was all “Well, did you like it?” and she was all, “I’ll tell you about it in private...”. You know, because we were talking on facebook, and like, not everyone’s down with that kind of thing. I don’t understand why. I mean, not that I was the one who had the dream or anything but still.

Now with genital piercings on the brain of late, I’ve spent the past few weeks researching, google imaging and discussing the topic with anyone who will listen. It’s not an easy topic to breach with people though. “So I was talking to my friend about vag piercings..." The colour kind of drains from their face , horror seeps into their eyes and then suddenly they’re shrieking “OH MY GOD!! YOU PIERCED YOUR VAGINA?!?!”. The next thing you know, everyone else in the room has heard and now assumes you lead a secret double life as a dominatrix extraordinaire with the bejewelled genitalia to match.

To avoid judgement, I’ve resorted to feeding my obsession with drunken ramblings aimed at people I’ve just met or don’t know very well. The ones who I corner unexpectedly at parties and then shamelessly deny their existence come the morning. Kind of like the one night stand equivalent of conversation. My same friend, the one who had the dream- she got her nipple pierced a few months ago- not me, my friend. She recons she got the idea when her girlfriend was going on about how much she hated nipple piercings,it seemed like the most obvious move to make. As it turns out, the nipple piercing is like the kinky little tid bit you never knew you wanted but once you found, you couldn’t live without. You know the type. But the va jay jay. That’s a whole other jurisdiction of kinky. Fraught with danger, dripping with edge, bursting with possibility.

The idea lead me to an interesting conversation with another friend in which we discussed finer details like the implications a piercing may have to waxing and the actual location of said piercing. This friend told me she used to have her clit pierced but found it was overstimulating-to the point where she actually orgasmed on a bus when she was sitting over the back tyre. Fascinating. My endless prowl through the depths of google lead me to other insights on the topic: when done well it actually seems like a relatively safe piercing! And did you know it heals faster than your ears? And apparently it hurts less?!

“I pierce many professional women, housewives, mothers, and even grandmothers”, stated one seasoned piercer on what seemed like the web’s most definitve guide to piercing the never regions. Seriously?? Are all these women parading around on public transport having secret orgasms too? This gives a whole new meaning to people who sit next to you on an empty bus. With all this research and talk and the like my friend (not me) is totally considering it now. I mean aside from the possibility of it all going horribly wrong and she being a sexual cripple with a severely impaired ability to orgasm, what’s the worst that could happen??

In other news I have a new favourite band- they refer to themselves as “gospel punk garage jammers”. Well, hello!

The great hiatus

So it's been a while. I can explain though! Firstly, I was in exams so I had to BAN myself from blogging just to be able to absorb everything I possibly could on fascinating subjects like corporate structure and debt securitization. Let me tell you what a party that was! Then fate dealt me a total sucker punch to the jaw and my computer died the night before my last exam, taking all my notes, music, photos and blog drafts down with it. Fuck you apple. Did you know that if you make your first ever apple purchase from the apple store at Chermside you can elect to be clapped and cheered out of the store by staff? I imagine other shoppers would join in too. Excuse me while I throw up in my mouth a little.

So due to my douche bag of a computer now doing nothing but taking up space on my desk I've been forced downstairs to the "family computer". This is usually accompanied by my 19 year old brother watching children’s cartoons on Cartoon Network in the background. He's not even stoned. Having the family computer inflicted on me is depressing for other reasons too- I can't google feral things like anal warts or the naked mole rat to then post on my friend’s facebook pages, effectively killing their sex life for a good week or so. Nor can I browse online sex stores, red tube is completely out of the question, and my stalking has to be made somewhat discreet so that my family doesn’t pick up on what a creep I really am. Sigh. Life sure is tough for me right now. Lots has happened in my absence though, most of which I can't be arsed to write about. However, I figured I do owe some form of explanation for what Ive been doing with my time (nothing) which can be summarised by a list of 3 things I've grown to love and 3 I’ve grown to hate while I’ve been gone.

Let's start with things I hate:

1. People who say "Oh you don't really hate them!"

Let me explain with an example:

Me: Oh my god I hate that slag guts whore, who does she think she is??

Other person: Oh Jane, hate is such a strong word- you don’t really hate her, you don’t really hate anyone!

Woaah, excuse me?? "I don't really hate anyone"? Does this happen to anyone else or just me? Am I the only one who is blessed with all these self righteous do gooders who take it upon themselves to correct my emotions for me? Seriously, every time I hear those words fall out of some ones arse kissing mouth I feel like somewhere there is a stall going unmanned at a church bake sale. Get back to your post fuck face and stop imposing your freakishly good mood on the rest of the world.

2. Wonderwall by Oasis.

Jesus Christ all mighty. This song to me is some sort of right of passage for every douche bag who ever sat behind a microphone holding an acoustic guitar at an all ages family friendly venue. Furthermore, the amount of love themed mix cd’s this ends up on is sickening- "oh it’s our song"- yes, you and the rest of the pathetic prepubescent population. Ugh.


3. Sex scenes in The L Word.

So I’ve been watching the L Word a tad lately, mainly because I'm on holidays and it’s on TV. It’s a relationship of convenience really. Sadly, it’s only reminded me why I hate the L Word to begin with. Don't get me wrong, the show served its purpose once upon a time in my life. You know, back when I was like 17 and didn’t have any lesbian friends, wasn't getting laid and it was pretty much my only outlet into the lesbian world besides stalking people on myspace (I started out early). But then I got into the real world and had no need for The L Word any longer. My real distaste for the show actually stems from the sex scenes though- of all things! Let me map one out for you: girls make out in bed with much huffing and puffing, hand creeps under sheets towards one girl’s vag, there’s a brief moment of what looks like PURE ecstasy and then bam! Orgasmo! For fucksake, no gets anyone off with handjob that fast, or even that well really. Honestly, I think I learned more about lesbian sex in that Sex and The City episode where Samantha becomes a lesbian then I do from The L Word.

Now for things I love:

1. www.peopleofwalmart.com

For those of you who don’t know, this is a site for the pathetic, overweight, badly tattooed and shockingly dressed hicks tramping through wall mart at any given moment across America. The sad saps make it from their daily lives to our computer screens via the cold hearted bearers of camera phones waiting at every turn. Gold. The hate mail is just to die for too by the way! It worries me thought that four separate people recommended me this site with an “Oh my god Jane! You'd love this, it made me think of you!” Should I be worried that I’ve created an image for myself as being some sort of heartless bitch who finds pleasure at another’s expense? My spider senses say no.

2. Lady gaga's facebook status updates

Do you ever hunt someone down on the internet, find their various social networking sites, add them and then to your dismay realise they hardly use the internet? It’s a real downer for any seasoned internet stalker. But Lady Gaga, well! That woman is like a dream with her constant updates and what not. Some of which even seem to be personally posted by her! She's taken to referring to her fans as her “little monsters” since the release of Fame Monster. This makes me feel closer to her given she's bestowed upon me some sort of collective nickname. Also, I feel like I’ve really been there for her through a lot lately you know? From the day I gave my support when her father had heart surgery to the sigh of relief I breathed when she found her lavender wig (which apparently had been lost for sometime). Yes, my status liking really knows no bounds when it comes to the Ga! I think I'm getting a little obsessive though, when she made an appearance on Ellen recently I found I already knew most of what she had to say just from following her status updates. Whatever, we're practically on first name basis.

3. This song:

The Champion of Bad Taste (Part 2)

As you know I have a penchant for all things low brow. It’s really quite a delicious and ironic paradox when taken into account I also write a fashion blog. In my own defence though, fashion is art and to quote Marilyn Manson in (s)AINT, “I’m not an artist I’m a fucking work of art”. I’m not sure how referencing a 90’s antichrist of non-descript gender supports the point I’m trying to make- actually I’m failing to grasp what point it is I’m making but as they say, “if you can’t convince- confuse.” Moving on, I begin my tale of bad taste with a proposition: Have you ever asked yourself the very profound question of, “If I were ever asked to do an impromptu performance at Eurovision, WHAT would I wear?” No? Oh. Well if I were to ask myself that question, then this particular article would be my most obvious answer.

Behold:

(The vest I mean)

It came to me on a sunny autumn afternoon, just after I had finished work. I’d been good with my spending that week and therefore had a budget to blow! I figured I’d scour through the shops in Paddington near the cafe I work at. [Wow, I just read over that and saw what a horrible cliché I’m shaping up to be- working at a cafe in Paddington, writing fashion blogs, wearing kitsch for the sake of kitsch... someone please stage me an intervention?] Anywho, there it was in Side Street. I tried on my vile delight, bustling into the small change room, hardly a care for the curtain that didn’t quite close properly. My departure from the change room was not quite so festive- much less to do with the rancid fart the former occupant had left me and more to do with the impracticalities of the vest. I looked helplessly at the shop assistant and sighed, “But what would I wear it with?” He struggled with feeble suggestions, though he knew as well as I that the situation was dire. As I left the store, what happened that afternoon my friends, was a little thing called “divine intervention”.

The Stooges started playing on my iPod. Search and Destroy. The shrieking guitars and Iggy Pop’s angst-ridden wails answered my question in a heartbeat: “What the fuck wouldn’t I wear it with??” I turned on the spot and marched myself back to Side Street. Done. Bought. Sold. Fuck yeah.

That afternoon I rode off into the sunset dripping with rock n roll, a strut in my step, ready to get all Joan Jett up in this bitch. You know how it is. I arrived home brandishing my holy grail in the quest for bad taste. In my head it was one of those rare garments that straddles the fine line between totally awesome and totally eurotrash. You know- one of THOSE. Sure, in my head at least. In reality it was more like the vest downed 9 shots of tequila, tripped face first over that “fine line” and then tried to have sex with eurotrash’s cat. This is the kind of vest I’d hope to find myself wearing teamed with leopard print tights after emerging from a week long punk rock festival in Tokyo. I can’t imagine when else it would be acceptable, but of course in the name of vulgarity, there lies the source of my passion!