What has the world come to?

it's got to a point where you can't even go out on a friday night and have a few wind down beers without finding your drunken face plastered all over someones website the next day.

But what are friends for I guess

Had a really crazy week at work this week, alot going on, some real serious and eye opening stuff happens in a kids emergeny department. So when i finished on friday afternoon the first place I wanted to be was down the pub.

Not that I ever imagined that this friday could top last fridays Uno extravaganza but I thought i would give it a try anyway. Now, whenever i go out drinking i have to be mindful of my medical condition. Its a fairly common condition called 'being weak as piss'. Which basically equates to me being a total knobstick after two beers.

Luckily, i had my good friend Conty to stick by my side and stop any neanderthal boyfriend from puttng a cave in my head for looking at his woman. That's one of the side effects of drinking. Your eyes lose the ability to focus and you find yourself uncontrollably staring.......at hootie toots.

So after 4 pints and 17 trips to the toilet, friday night on the town was almost complete.

 You CANNOT under any circumstances have a night out on the turps without finishing it off with a kebab. Its  in the constitution under compulsary late night  meat substitutes.

After a  few beers a kebab is like the most beautiful woman in the world wanting to take you home. It's utopia.

Without the alcohol, kebabs taste pretty much exactly like what they are.

 Roadkill.

 But throw in a few brewski's and it's like roadkill having a party in your mouth.....mmmmmm.

A traditional 'Aussie' Kebab........Can't beat that taste

I think this is the first saturday in my life that i have literally seen the sun rise. I think this is mainly related to the fact that i passed out on the couch at round a bout Big Birds bedtime.......9pm.

 All in all, not a bad way to start the weekend. A gentle headache, some mild dehydration and a severe case of alcohol induced flatulence......peeeeeyew.


Woah! newsflash!

I just realised something. the alarm on my watch is set to 545am. I just heard it go off. I seem to recall setting that alarm 6 months ago and it failing to pierce my deep sleep. Now i realise its been beeping away every morning since and i have been none the wiser.

No wonder my girlfriend wakes up grumpy in the morning......

Its friday night. 1050pm.

Im 27.

The obvious question here is....what the hell am i doing on the internet on a friday night?

No, i havent been out partying. No excessive drinking, swearing and leering at drunken women. No raging party, no music and worst of all no jaccuzi.

Instead i have been a battle to the bitter death. My abilities stretched to their upmost. A game of  clever wit and nerves of aluminium. This friday was Uno night at my sisters house.

Some would say that playing a card game on a friday night with your two brothers, a sister and your best mate would make you a grade A loser.

Not so....why?

because this was no ordinary Uno. It was Uno Attack.

Uno attack is a mechanical version of everyones favourite game. An machine randomly fires out cards with which you have to play. Sounds easy doesnt it. But its not for the faint hearted. The machine was obviously made with chaos in mind. At any press of the button cards can potentially launch themselves into the path of even the most suspecting player.

Granted, a piece of cardboard is no silver tipped bullet. But fire it out of a makeshift cardshuffler at 300 rpm, directly at eyeline and its an effective weapon as any.

Warning: May cause eye Trauma

Throw in a volitile mix of family and friends and a couple of smartass comments and you have anarchy. I left the evening with a deflated ego (from constant sly remarks and 'in your face' stares) and a scratched retina from a projectile draw 2 card. It was no picnic.  

Unfortunately, because of some cheating and my love for my family (sometimes when you win, you really lose), i found it in my heart to come second last. 

Sometimes other people need to shine. So occasionally i like to throw a  dog a bone. Ricko from Continuity managed to scrape over the line and win. Luckily for him,his robust exterior protected him from repeated blows to the head by projectile cards.  While the rest of us played on in pain as we endured the 'skin slashing cards of death'.

So, for those of you who like a bit of excitement and like to live a few blocks from the edge- this game is for you. But be warned. Friday nights will NEVER be the same

 

Gramps decided that Rummicub was more his game.....

 

 

My brother jimmy (the bfc blog) and I have a little dare. We each gave each other a list of ten words, and the other would have to put that into a post in under half an hour. Here is the finished product…

 

The words I had to use were: Omega, Doogle, Hemorrhoids, Easter, Jesus, Leakage, Meteorology, hubcap , rabbit and poker.

 

Men are not the best at looking after their health and i’m no different. For the past few years I have had a health ‘ secret’ that only my closest friends know about. But this week, and this ‘word challenge’ has forced me to share it with the blogging public.

 

Its called Piles…or haemmoroids. That’s right. My ass has an extra hole in it. Except this one is a major blood leakage. The artery that supplies the lower half of my body has decided to migrate OUTSIDE MY BODY.  Last night I went to the toilet and nearly passed out from the 12 pints of blood that screamed out of my butt faster than a rabbit in a hunt. It’s a terrible thing to look back and see a bloodclot the size of a hubcap.

 

Its getting to the point that its not just a issue for me, but an issue of global significance. My roids are ONLY present during summer. Strangely enough they are worse in the scorching heat. I now know whats causing this terrible infliction to my rear end.

 

 Global Warming.

 

 The same stinking ozone layer that’s supposed to protect us from the suns awful rays is causing my ass bleeds. Its like clockwork. I could ring the bureau of meteorology and  set my watch for the next bleed. Every time it hits 35 degrees I find myself on the loo, slowly exanguinating to death, feeling like I have been stabbed in the date with a hot poker.

 

So to save myself from certain slow death, I have decided to invent a non surgical way of solving this all too common problem. After months of research and searching the internet (I used ‘Doogle’, the irish Google) I could not find a single invention for my raging roids. Then like a bolt from the sky it hit me.  

 

The AssHat. A comfortable, highly absorbent butthat. The Asshat will fit snugly over the swollen and emaciated ass and will prevent leakage. Genius. Pure genius.

 

Jesus may have performed miracles….but he didn’t invent the Asshat.

 

 

I am not just the Alpha….i’m the frickin  Omega aswell……brilliant.

 

                                    A  different type of 'Roid rage'

My girlfriend is over in the land of the sheepshaggers on a holiday. At first i thought to myself that this meant i had  three weeks free from nagging and whining, you know the general duties of my other half.

I thought it would be three testosterone filled  weeks. Me and all the boys, playing cards, drinking beers, perving at women and grunting. Sadly, none of this has happened and i have found myself sitting at home with my younger brother watching 'The Price is right'. Although he does whine and nag just like a woman he is clearly not an attractive replacement for my girlfriend.



No one had any idea his parents were from Chernobyl

I am such a sadass. Why arent I out partying and having fun? Instead i'm missing her like crazy and having daydreams about her running off to New Zealand with a 200 kilo Maori Body guard.

Since she has been gone i have come to some startling revelations. She is my glue. She holds together this raggedy ass piece of man and makes me semi human. Since she left i have been bitching with my brother, complaining about my life and my car broke down. Im sure that the car is more likely a mechanical issue but we will still link it to her in the cosmic sense. It's all one big sad pathetic mess.


So i have decided to concentrate on the things in life that make me happy. making fun of my brother and watching re-runs of Scrubs. And maybe a little bowling (see Continuity).





So Roney, poor rittle me

Does anyone out there feel that our elite sportsmen and women are underpaid? If you do, please raise your hand.....then click X and get the hell out of my blog.

 After reading the paper this morning i was struck down by feelings of immense sadness and sympathy for the poor professional sportspeople out there who feel they are 'hard done by'. Our footballers (aussie football for you yanks) are demanding a bigger cut of the dough because they "risk life and limb to provide entertainment to the public". 

 I dont know about you, but theres something about that statement that really tickles my gag reflex. If i had known that football was a life threatening sport, i would have brought season tickets yonks ago.  Just to see some overgrown thug rushed away to hospital from a fatal football to the groin.

 Much more likely, is the scene where a 'elite sportsman'  is sitting at home in his jacuzzi with three topless hoes and a bottle of champagne having a post game celebration. He is probably racked with anger about his pitiful salary and not being able to afford that extra ivory backscratcher that he has been eyeing off.

Not knowing if the next game would be his last, the jacuzzi felt alot like death row.....

 

Even the poorest footballers here in Oz make more in one year than i could in a decade and i have a degree. Somehow this isn't enough for them? They can't manage to pay for their family and their alimony payments for their 'secret children'?

One argument is that Sports people have a shelf life of 10 years and that the money they make must carry them through their whole life.

 I tell you what else has a shelf life. MY BACK.

After 10 years back breaking work , i will not have millions of dollars in endorsements to fall back on. No siree, i will have to pick myself up, broken spined, just like every other hardworking joe and make a living by selling drugs to small children.

Lets all put our hands together and pray. Pray that this endangered species known as sportus manus will survive the harsh and cuthroat world that is football.

Big Bloody Sissies.

Last night i went out to dinner with my girlfriend and some of her relatives. Its always a little difficult when you are the new guy and all the people you are sitting with have known eachother for a long time. Kinda leaves you out of the conversation loop.
 
 So with not much to say, I sat there like a good little puppet listening. LISTENING. If you ever want to amuse /drive yourself crazy, go to a dinner party and just listen to what a bunch of women are talking about. (oooh feel the sexism coming out in that last sentence..ouch)

  Even though i work in a female dominated profession, it has taken me this long to realise that men and women are not the same molecular creature.

  Women are born with an extra gene.

  Its called he  'talking gene' and allows  them to converse  non stop for an unlimited timeframe and switch conversation mid sentence with no apparent rhyme or reason.

It's an amazing genetic mutation that not only negates the need for awkward silences but also acts as a code. A code that only other women can understand. This means they are free to discuss the male race and its inadequacies and we men are none the wiser.

 As well as genetic differences, i discovered last night, during a 45 minute conversation (when i say conversation i mean lecture as it takes two parties to have a conversation), that some women are born with gills behind their ears. This means they do not have to pause unecessarily to breathe (hence the origin of the phrase 'she could talk underwater').

Unfortunately, like the engine of a small car on a hot summers day, my brain tends to overheat when  driven to far. At first its just a few capillaries bursting, some redness in the eyes, dry mouth. Then as the relentless converation about nails/hair/men continues, i find myself struggling to maintain composure. My overworked  brain starts to scream like an old lady who's just had her bag snatched.

I can only multitask for a very small window of time. And by mulittask i mean eat and listen at the same time. So to conserve energy  (and sanity) and avoid complete meltdown, some systems must be shutdown. This may appear to women as though im 'sleeping' and or 'not listening', but its merely my internal  fan cooling my  brain back to OLT or Optimal Listening Temperature.

 
 
The cooling process begins at an early as as the immature brain is unable multitask


 So next time you see a guy unconcious at a dinner table, dont think heart attack or diabetes, remember hes not sleeping. he is just maintaing Optinal Listening temperature. Or he has had a brain haemmorage from being talked to death.

Disclaimer: To any women reading this post, please  know that i do NOT think that all women talk to much. Only those who are alive.

in·va·sion    Pronunciation Key  (n-vzhn)
n.

1. The act of invading, especially the entrance of an armed force into a territory to conquer.
2. A large-scale onset of something injurious or harmful, such as a disease.
3. An intrusion or encroachment.

di·ar·rhe·a also di·ar·rhoe·a   Pronunciation Key  (d-r)
n.

Excessive and frequent evacuation of watery feces, usually indicating gastrointestinal distress or disorder.

Add these two wonderful words together and what do you get?




This little son of a bitch..........scientific name : Campylobacteriosis, also known as megaliquidshittyus

For the last 4 days i have had this little sucker my intestines wreaking ABSOLUTE HAVOC.  I havent eaten more than two crackers in the last two days and have spent my waking hours glued to the nearest toilet, firing off liquid dookies.

To afraid to sleep for fear of waking up in a pool of my own chocolate hotsauce. To weak to even change the t.v channel due to using all my strength clenching my ass together so all of my internal organs don't fall out. What a fantastic way to spend new years eve. Watching everyone else chow down on cake and yummy sausages and chug down champagne. While i get to sip my water and wait for it to come shooting out the other end 3 minutes later. Fanfaggedytastic.

I suppose the comforting thing is that only 15 people in every 100, 000 get this bacteria.oh, did i say comforting? i meant bloody annoying. Why can't this stinking invading little parasite go and  munch on someone elses duodenum? Why? because it wants me to suffer.

Happy freaking new years people. I think i just drew mud again...........

 Im not sure if many people are aware of this, but nightshift is about as much fun as a Patrick Swayze movie marathon. Right at this very moment (eight past three in the morning), I am sitting at work high on coffee and attempting not to overdose any patients by accident. My eyes feel like two over inflated, blood filled balloons that are ready to pop at any second.

  For some insane reason unknown to me, almighty god decided that sickness shall work on a 24 hour clock and that I shall be there to mop up the vomit, diarrhoea and blood of all who dare to be hospitalised. But dont get me wrong. I love it. I love trying to take sleeping childrens temperatures at two in the morning and being kicked sqaure in the nuts. Its how i always pictured my life to be...singing soprano in the early hours, while holding a rectal thermometer.

 So here I am, dead tired, surrounded by echoes of small children's cries and wails, perched on an 'ergonomic' chair and clutching a small icepack to my freshly bruised manbits.....wondering why i chose this profession. If you havent already guessed, I am a male nurse. Or as my friends like to call me..a 'Murse'. Instead of fulfilling my true calling as a devestatingly handsome, rich by inheritance genius who travels the world, i ended up a  broke, sleep deprived shiftworker.

  Somebody call me a waaaaaambulance. Okay, so my jobs not that bad. I get to hang out with kids, act like im 12 and help them smile a little. Its just shift work that gives me the irrits. having to kiss your girlfriend goodnight, tuck her into bed and then drive to work...Suckfest 2005.

  So, I have decided to take things into my own hands.I can't change the hours i have to work. But i can put a word out to all the poor suckers out there like myself who work painful, ungodly hours.

Tomorrow will be 'International Hug a Underappreciated Whining Shiftworker day'

So I want you all to show some love to someone you know who needs it.

Im off to re- ice my cods..

 

Recently my girlfriend and I were invited to dinner at a  friends house. The couple  were just recently married and had just moved into their first home. As we pulled up to the house we gazed at the two story houses with Mercedes and Beamers in their driveways. We were in a pretty swish area, enemy territory.

 knocking on the front door (which i half expected half to be opened by a butler named Belvedere), Paul- the man of the house ushered us in.

It was about that time that it hit me. Like an enormous  tidal wave, destroying all my mediocre achievements in life. A supercollossal slaughtering Tsunami of bitter resent. My face was the darkest green known to man, instantly overwhelmed by feelings of jealousy and green eyed envy. 

 A house that was big enough to fit the whole cast of the biggest loser, A spa, pool table, outdoor swimming pool, plasma screen t.v and fully stocked bar. It was all too much. I spent most of the dinner trying to conceal the fact that i was so jealous that i could barely swallow my caviar.



Me? Envious?.......Noooooo


 Contemplating the facts of being 'financially challenged' and comparing my worthless existence with the dream life these people had aquired.
 
Wallowing in self pity and thinking about paying 25 dollars an hour to play pool down at the local hall.
Having to line up with all the other poor impoverished people at the public swimming pool just to take a dip in a crowded, toddler piss diluted pool.
 Forking out 7 bucks at a jampacked pub just for a cold beer. Flicking through the five T.V channels, when i should  be sitting on my leather couch watching cable. All the things that this couple were already doing ....in the comfort of their own home.

All this made me resentful of what they had attained. Envy is one powerful son of a bitch. To make this worse, you try to focus those feelings on someone apart from yourself. You want to HATE the person who has so much more than you. But you cant. You can't because they are so damned nice and worked too bloody hard for what they have. So ultimately you internalise it all and try to work out why you have less than everyone else.

 After dinner and goodbye, it was time to leave Lushville and head back to Humbletown. Jumping into my two thousand dollar Daewoo with a floating exhaust, we called it a night. Emotions are sometimes like achohol. Not recommended when driving. Seething with jealousy, trying to resist the urge to ramraid every ATM on  the way home and secretly longing for a distant wealthy relative with a terminal disease. I was on  a collison course with depression.


But as promptly as it came, it left again. That gigantic tidal wave of envy and jealousy was quickly dried up by the look on my beautiful girlfriends  face.

  Women have a way of putting thngs into perspective.  Sure, we may not have  the million dollar mansion or a two door Porche Carrera with a water cooled, horizontally opposed 6 cylinder 3834cc engine and top speed of 300 km, but we had eachother.

"You can never get enough of what you don't need to make you happy"

                                                                                                                  Eric Hoffer




Thanks to Sarah and all the family and friends who make me one of the richest guys around.
(I still want a Porsche)

insert gushy warm feeling and gag/vomiting sound here...