Sunday, October 30, 2011

Baths are like Space

I’ve always avoided any real interest in the universe and outer space like the plague, simply because unanswered questions really bother me, so… By the same token, I’ve never been a fan of baths, because lying in my own stagnant filth really disgusts me. However, the reason why I would one day like to live beyond the sky and the reason why I occasionally take a bath and not a shower are oddly enough the same: because I want to live in a world where stuff just floats around, and barring any unforeseen apocalyptic shit, a bath is the closest I am ever going to get to a world such as that.

There’s not a lot I know about living on a space station, but the way I understand it is that the gravity isn’t as dense as ours and - I’m just going to say it straight-out - if I ever had the privilege of living in one, it would be my sickest and most perverted time. Honest to god, I can’t be held accountable for the sick shit I’d get up to, I’m talking trying to smash glass, lighting a match, trying to drink water out of a cup, seeing how far one of my farts can propel me, dropping deuces mid-room like a fish, standing on the wing firing off a semi-automatic I smuggled on board…needless to say, it’s going to be a strange time for the whole crew. So, I guess the equation is: zero gravity + me = the most annoying housemate you’ve ever had. And I say ‘don’t judge’ because you can’t tell me that Buzz Aldrin never walked floated in on a butt-naked Neil Armstrong while he was checking out his own junk and how it sort of hangs, but not really, y’know, like it is when you’re in the bath. With a face like Armstrong’s, I wouldn’t put it past him really, I mean, they don’t call him ‘Armstrong’ for nothing…but I digress. In fact, if NASA or the Russian fellows did an International Space Station version of Big Brother without telling them, I’m willing to bet we would just be seeing unclad genitalia all the time. If it were me up there – fair warning - it’d be mine all over your screen; hands down. Well, that’s me in the bath, checking myself out naked with everything I need, not on the side, but in the water with me – the bar of soap, the shampoo bottle, the loofah, the razor – it’s all just floating around me…somewhere. Anyway, the message here is that my mother calls it the bath; I call it ‘My Little Space Station’ (only because I can’t think of a name as cool as SkyLab!).

Fuelled by my curiosity of the weightlessness of space, I personally think that Richard Branson should stop trying to get consumers to space and just bring space to us. I’m not talking about everywhere, maybe just a few countries, you know, we’ll start with the socialist ones, like China and Egypt and then we’ll work it out from there. I mean, do surfaces even get dirty in space? Can liquid spills and dust truly attach themselves to anything? Who knows really; all I know at this point is that the only thing putting dust and liquid all over my fucking furniture seems to be gravity; maybe gravity is the world’s problem. Maybe the Chinese government have a dust problem and that’s why they hate everyone, because they have dust-frustration like me? I mean, there’s no communism in space is there? No wars either, apart from the ones in George Lucas’ mind and that weird one at the end of Moonraker. That’s the reason why we should have zero gravity on earth, because nobody likes dust or Chinese politics, and definitely not because I want to be thrown across the room by the burst of my own natural gas.

Tuesday, October 25, 2011

Things I Loved About Gaddafi

I often sit back and wonder if terrorists and dictators only exist so that comedians have material. It’s true what they say, they are just about the lowest and most evil breed of human lady parts have had to offer the world so far, no doubt about it, but without them, where’s the humour? There's the thing where Hitler thought that you could catch Judaism if somebody sneezed it on you; bin Laden had that major objection to chilled water – it’s shit like that that makes this dude just chuckle. So, here’s a short list of the laughable shenanigans that Gaddafi got up to in his life that I love (and probably had Saddam coming in his insane pants):

The Mythical Berbers
Ahhh, the Berber thing. I was never much for leaving the best 'til last, so here it goes: Gaddafi’s attempt at suppressing Libya’s indigenous people - the Berbers. Berbers are a non-Arab people who settled in Libya long before any Arab populations arrived there. Here in Australia, when we decided that we didn’t like our indigenous people, we just tried to breed them out, inevitably driving them to an eternity of anarchy and substance-abuse. In Germany, when Hitler didn’t like the Jews for whatever mixed reason he had, all he did was fumigate them. But when it comes to Gaddafi and his ethnic cleansing, he certainly takes the cake: he told the Libyans that they didn’t exist! He tried to have them believe that the Berbers were just some mythical group of people thought up by the West (big surprise). I mean seriously, what did he think, that people wouldn’t notice them walking around on their donkeys? Makes no sense.

The Gaddafian Calendar
One of Gaddafi’s many feats of insanity during his autocracy was the changing of the Libyan calendar. Gaddafi, like everyone else that is as ugly as him, despised the West, and Libya, at the time, followed the calendar we follow, the Gregorian calendar. He hated the West so immensely and was so egotistical in himself that he couldn't just change the calendar to another existing one, so what did he do? He created his own. Even though he strangely chose the English translation over the Arabic, it was just one big fire sale on anything Western – ‘July’ had to go as it pays homage to Julius Caesar, so it was changed to ‘Nessar’ to honour this other crazy guy Gaddafi thought about vigorously in his private time; August had to go too, as it was named after Augustus Caesar. But it didn't stop there. To accommodate the crazy leader's Islamic roots, on the first of December 1978 in our calendar, he also changed what year it was so that it coincided with the death (or birth – who knows) of the Prophet Mohammad; a system similar to the Islamic calendar, but not quite. Now I just love this, because it's one thing for a leader to change the calendar to one that he prefers, but it’s ‘pack your bags and get on a plane’ time when your leader starts renaming months and changing what year it is. However, not only did he change the year, but he was never quite clear on what year he changed it to and, thusly, neither were his people. Now, that’s fucked up, I mean that’d be like if I were to say that it’s 2009 right now, but then you ask somebody else and they say that it’s actually 2019. It was pretty stupid, and insane, to say the least.

The Real Footloose
Up until now, I never realised it but, under Gaddafi’s rule, Libya was a real life, albeit sandy, Footloose town! This article from the National Geographic Adventure magazine just says it all:

“’Nightlife’ requires a new definition in a country without alcohol, where the population abides by strict codes of male-female conduct that require both sexes to stay virgins until marriage—there are no dance clubs, no bars, no young couples strolling down the street, holding hands. And in conservative country towns like Ghadamis, the subdued air feels like perpetual Sunday morning. I go in search of the town hotspot and discover it to be the local internet café, where crowds of young men play video games, enter English-language chat rooms, and examine—however surreptitiously—Western porn sites. It takes me a few minutes to notice that there’s not a single woman in the place. Away from the progressive cities of Tripoli and Benghazi, women stay largely in the home, out of sight. A local man, Mahmud, tells me that women here aren’t allowed to see or interact with males outside of their immediate family, including any would-be husband.”
I mean this shit is uncanny. It’s like Gaddafi read the Quran and watched Footloose all on the same day and then he became some sort of Muslim John Lithgow, who thinks that a ban on dancing and sex is the only thing standing in the way of a total meltdown in Libya, but a forty-plus year dictatorship is a-okay!

Needless to say, Muammar Gaddafi was one twisted and horrible treasure trove of laugh-worthy ridiculousness, and that’s the funny thing about people like him. Without politicians that sniff women’s chairs and terrorists that like water but will go on a rampage when it’s chilled, what would I have to do? Comedians would need a permanent marker and the careers section of a local newspaper; I’d have to write about my feelings; it would just be a sad, sad state of affairs - that’s why I loved Gaddafi, because he was just a psychotic dose of humour for all of us make fun of.

Monday, October 17, 2011

You Had Me at ‘Religion’

I’ve been blogging for about four years now and I’ve been biblically incorrect and a devout agnostic for a little longer than that. Excluding the post about religious healing I wrote years back, the one reason I’ve never combined the two and used this blog as a soapbox for how much I oppose religion is the same reason I stray away from writing about drugs and cigarettes: because there’s no point repeating what everybody else is already saying.

I post what I write so that I have a platform on which I can bring new things to the table and expressing something that every atheist, realist, rationalist, political talk show host, comedian and whoever else is already saying is just a waste of my time, and frankly, a waste of your time if you bothered even reading it. So, instead of presenting my universal opinion on religion, and by that I mean directly putting it down, I might as well just present to you what I think, only from somebody else’s lips, and who better to choose than one of my hero’s, Bill Maher.

If you’re interested, I suggest you go and watch Religulous. That’s all I’ll say.

Thursday, October 13, 2011

$1200 with a Rubber Band

When the screen on my flip phone ended up on one side of the room and the keypad was on the other, I knew that I wanted my next phone to be a high end smartphone, but now all I want is to stick what I ended up getting up HTC and Microsoft’s hind-ends. The story begins the day I grew irked of the very long and very exhausting line of mediocre handsets in my past. I figured that since I now had the money for a better one that the more I spent, the better quality product I'd get - sort of like a 'you get what you paid for' deal - well, when it comes to technology, it would seem that you don't get that deal. I didn't want a safe iPhone, so I ended up getting myself a dangerous HTC Touch Pro2 and danger I got. With the aid of my false logic, I spent more money on this phone than I did on the top of the line computer I bought midway this year. That computer has been nothing short of a dream, everything that I paid for, this phone, however,...well let’s just say I've had better experiences with a two-hundred dollar Nokia I bought eight years ago which sported Snake 2 and WAP internet. Honest to God, I've taken shits in my toilet that have performed a better service than this phone.

I'm loathed to mention this, but I think the onus is on Microsoft rather than HTC in the overall scheme of things. It's been about two years since I bought this phone that came stocked with Windows Mobile 6.1 and, I'll give it to you straight, I've seen better software on my microwave dial. Windows Mobile 6 is a little like Windows 98 - it was great in its time but has no place in this era of computing and, comparing it to everything else that was on the market at the time, it was basically extracted from Bill Gates' toilet; pure and simple. It should be mentioned to those that don't know that Windows Mobile was such a bad product in fact, that Microsoft literally hurled the brand and the entire underlying program code into the virtual trash, began new coding on a blank document and out popped Windows Phone 7. WP7 is essentially something that doesn't cost an arm and a thermos of horse semen to own and yet has a product quality commensurate to iOS and Android. But, more importantly, Windows Phone holds not only a candle to Windows Mobile, but a fucking cauldron, so much so that even Steve Ballmer, the current CEO of Microsoft, was on television chuckling at the very mention of the product, he even said elsewhere that Microsoft ‘screwed up’ Windows Mobile. Straight from the devil’s mouth.

However, for my handset in particular, Microsoft can't take the whole wrap for its disgrace. HTC as a whole shouldn’t have continued carrying a broken operating system in the first place! What’s more, they shouldn't have been producing phones that couldn't handle running the OS, better yet, Microsoft shouldn't have still been offering it to HTC and any other hardware manufacturers, for that matter. Nevertheless, what they did with Windows Phone was a great idea which was executed years too late. The very moment the first iPhone was announced, either Ballmer or Gates should've been on the phone closing the Windows Mobile department down to replace it with Windows Phone, but instead that ended up occurring years later. It was a strategic mistake and they all know it.

So, now I have the inevitable conundrum fueled by the very capitalist in me that started all of this: do I wait ‘til an Australian carrier offers a Windows Phone handset that I like into the limited market we have in this country - which at this point could be years, riskily obtain that handset unconventionally over the web – paid outright, or go with the answer to all my problems and just bite the forbidden fruit - an iPhone? The answer isn’t as obvious as it may seem, and with every day that passes, I only draw closer to the day where I make my decision and rid my pocket of a product that even Microsoft thinks is a fucking joke.