Archive for the ‘Reblogs & Links (i.e. other peoples’ stuff)’ Category

Morning PhaseBeyonce

This was going to be a review of Morning Phase, the ninth studio album by the artist, Beck. But in order to review Morning Phase, I realised I probably have to talk about Beyoncé Knowle’s most recent release, Beyoncé, as well.
Let me say straight up that I am not and never have been a fan of Beyoncé Knowles. I kind of liked her song Crazy In Love, and the trashy and titillating cliché of a film-clip that accompanied it, but none of her music has ever been in my music collection. I also think Kanye West is a massive douche, which probably tells you which direction this review is going, but more on that later.

The view down to smoggy Bandung during my jog this morning.

The view down to smoggy Bandung during my jog this morning.

After car after bus after car after truck. After this my lungs will be so fucked up!


This is truly great writing. Thank you, Waltbox.


I am constructing a time machine. It’s not a complicated thing. And you may be disappointed to know I don’t have grand plans in store for it. In fact my reason for building it is quite simple. I want to see a certain home at a certain time. 

I will park my time machine midway down the block and clamber out. Everything I see will be exactly as I knew it. Old homes will seem modern. Trees will be younger, shorter, thinner. Shrubs newly planted. Cars will be large, boat-like things you see in films from those days, but not gritty like in those films. They will be shiny and new. Or newish, anyway. Anyway, they won’t look like they do in films.

I will walk up the concrete driveway into the garage. There will be unpacked moving boxes on the right, a baby blue Monte Carlo on the…

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(Ian Gavan/Getty Images)

(Ian Gavan/Getty Images)

“One thing that fascinates me is people who are capturing media images that they never, ever view. They never go back to look at them. I think of these as orphaned memories.”

Read the full article here:

“…I cannot think of one act or one piece of proposed legislation that has been in the best interest of the people of Australia.”

It’s so laughable I just want to cry!

Songs that saved my life (Pt 1).

I’m going to do this too! Stay tuned…

“A spokesperson for bigots’ rights group GET OUT! said it was a relief to finally have the go-ahead to be a prick.”

Full story here:

No soybeans for Mr. Johansson THIS year!

zombie fights shark


Selections from my forthcoming terrible cookbook 

Pumpkin Surprise

7 handfuls of Cool Ranch Doritos

Roughly a gallon of caramel sauce

1 can of pumpkin puree

1 smoked turkey leg from the Fair

Combine the Doritos and the caramel inside a freshly carved Jack-o-Lantern. Watch as it oozes out the eyeholes. Pretty neat, huh? Next, drizzle on the pumpkin puree. Maybe see what that feels like rubbed on your face. Gross? You bet. Put the whole mess in the front seat of your car and just drive, man, just drive. When you reach the border of the closest state, eat that turkey leg. You’ve earned it, buddy.

Farmer’s Stew

1 goat

7 gallons melted fish

Most vegetables

No salt

An unacceptable amount of paprika

Mix the goat and the melted fish in a cauldron over a roaring fire. Make witchy faces and noises. Curse your neighbor’s crops. IMPORTANT: Make sure you…

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Stroppy Editor

(With apologies to Dr Seuss)

Every Who down in Who-ville liked English a lot
But the Grinch, who lived just north of Who-ville, did NOT!
Whenever he thought of the language, he’d languish
In horrified anger and furious anguish!
But the funny thing was that beneath all this hate
He somehow believed, well, that English was great.
But it wasn’t the English the Whos wrote and spoke –
No! THAT made him scowl! Made him fume! Made him choke!
Made him choke!
Made him choke!

So what on earth was it the innocent Whos
Were doing so wrong with the language they’d use?
If you were to walk into Who-ville one day
You’d see lots of people with fine things to say.
They’d joke and exclaim and they’d promise and sing,
They’d chat and debate – yes, they’d do anything
That this wonderfully versatile…

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No Tall Stories

The door gave way on the third kick. I wished that it hadn’t as soon as the smell hit me. The notion of what a smell is will never fully explain what entered my nostrils that day. She had been there for three days, windows shut, in the dry Sri Lankan heat.
Her position was familiar, sitting in her favourite chair, facing the television.  Her shorts and T-shirt seemed almost inappropriate for the situation. She was there, but gone.
The arc of blood up the wall behind her was brown now. A death rainbow, and at the end of it there was no pot of gold. The air was me, and I was the air. I breathed her decomposition.
I spent years thinking that she had been murdered. The Colombo murder squad hinted at the boys from the beach. They insinuated that she was a prostitute, that one thing had…

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