Love is a Class IV substance that was legalised in the 1960′s for treatment of depression and bunions. Often confused with hunger, love is not a matter to be taken lightly.

Not love

I once bought a bottle of love, then I woke up in the desert two days later with a criminal record in all four Australian states. I had “GORDON” tattooed around my belly button and a thermos full of dead whores. I was forced to walk back to Sydney using only my cunning and a greyhound bus, and when I got there, I threw out all my love and ordered a mandolin and a chocolate-brown shag rug online.

If you’re worried you might have been exposed to love, you can call the Gay Men’s Health Line on 1800 009 448 and do not listen to John Mayer.

To conclude: people often fall in love and people always die.

Me: Jules, man, can we make a quick stop before we get on the motorway?

Julia: Why?

Me: I need to get four beers.

Julia: No.

Me: Just a couple of roadies.

Julia: Absolutely not.

Me: I think there’s a bottle shop before the bridge. Just pull over and I’ll run inside.

Julia: I’m not stopping.

Me: Come on, I just need four more beers. That’s all. In the scheme of your life, this is probably the smallest request you will ever receive.

Julia: No.

Me: Fuck, why do you always have to be such an uptight bitch? It must be so depressing to be you. I’m depressed just by being in the same car as you. I’m depressed by proxy, like osmosis.

Julia: You’re going to fall asleep before we get to the Hills anyway.

Me: No I won’t, you goddamn fun-wrecker.

Julia: Whatever.

Me: I can’t believe you’re not stopping.

Julia: Uh huh.

Me: Can you turn the music down? I’m tired.

Buckley was born in Indiana in 1962 and had eleven children to his highschool sweetheart, Regina.

Regina began to lose her sight in the early nineties and required an expensive operation to repair the damage to her eyes.

Through a commercial radio competition, Buckley won the May Day ‘Grab as Much Cash as You Can in 8 Minutes!’ contest, but he had no arms and Regina went blind.

What you are about to read is a very special guest post by William Raleigh, interim webmaster for http://www.timallenzone.org

Bill first came into my life when he commented on my previous post regarding Tim Allen. Since then I have been inspired by Bill’s dedication and heart-felt contributions to the Tim Allen cause. I think you will all agree that Bill is a pioneer, nay, an evangelist, and a man worthy of your respect, attention and admiration.

Over to you, Bill.

________________________________________________________________________________________

The year was 1997. There were a lot of drugs. A lot of ecstasy tablets… and a lot of entertainment.

In 1997, the motion picture For Richer or Poorer was storming into theaters. The English Patient was winning Best Picture. And Tim Allen was winning the People’s Choice Award for Best Male Television Performer.  Even more importantly maybe, Tim Allen was winning the hearts of millions.

But as much as it pains me to say it, this is not a post about Tim Allen. In fact it’s not even about my love of Tim Allen.  I could go on and on about my connection to Tim. About the fact that, as an orphan child, I truly looked up to Tim and Jill as my “tv parents.”  But I think, on some level, that’s something we all do with Tim Allen.  There’s something so deeply unique, yet commonplace about the man, that we can’t help but subjectify the experience, the ecstasy, that only a performer of Tim’s caliber can induce. But as deeply as it hurts, I know that Tim Allen is not someone who we can take in our arms and never let go. He was meant to be shared with the world. I will always treasure the moments of solitude I’ve had, psychic connections you could say, with Mr. Allen. But I fear that expounding on the subject may only serve to mitigate your own experiences, dear reader. And if there’s one thing I don’t want to do, it’s soil your personal connection with Tim Allen.

So instead, this post is about my lifelong journey, my dharma, of spreading Tim’s Warmth with all who care to bask and revel in it.

Naturally, when Annik asked me to do a guest post on her blog, my first thought (as it usually is) was- How can I use this to help Tim Allen?  Recently my friend, and Timallenzone.org co-founder, Andrew Kane, said to me:  ”You’ve done enough for Tim Allen, Bill. Isn’t it time you got the spotlight for a little bit?”

And maybe it is.  See, in 1997, a small group (two, to be exact) of avid fans got together with one goal– to utilize the World Wide Web in a way that had only been fantasized about before– as an entertainment mecca. An amalgamation of news, media, and fanboy love. Since then, a lot of people have taken timallenzone.org’s lead, and such websites have become common place. But at the time, everyone thought they were crazy.

Benjamin Smith and Andrew Kane pooled their resources, and launched a website on the now defunct Geocities (rip). The site was a tribute to the greatest entertainer of all time– and, as history has proven, one of the most timeless icons of the last few generations– Tim Allen.

I was still a relative child at the time. And, while I watched Home Improvement religiously, and while my heart swelled with love and pride for the Tool Man, I didn’t even know what it meant to be a true fan. Not until Ben and Andrew found me, and set me free.

In 2003, I was working at an apple orchard in Vermont. But even there, on those peaceful plains strewn with sun-ripe fruit, I found myself magnetically attracted to my computer. You see, by then, Home improvement was off the air. There were no megaplexes nearby, and thus no way for me to see the latest Tim Allen blockbuster. The internet was my only true connection to my hero, Tim Allen. I moderated a lot of messageboards, I spent a lot of time in chat rooms. And yes, unfortunately, I did a lot of cocaine powder. (Funnily, that addiction, and my subsequent recovery, only made me feel more connected to Tim. Tim’s been there. He’s fallen from great heights, and lifted himself back up again. As Tim did, so did I.) My cocaine-fueled scouring of Tim Allen internet sites eventually led me to Andrew and Ben’s magnificient, “Unofficial Tim Allen Fan Zone.”

Two years and several rehabs later, I became the interim webmaster for Tim Allen Zone.org. A dream come true, to say the least.

What we lack in content, we more than make up for in heart. We’ve received critical feedback about our spotty news feed (which I should probably update) as well as our lack of any functioning message board. But message board or not, there’s no denying that Timallenzone.org is a community. A real community.

And I guess what I’m asking you is to become a part of that community.  We’re adding new stuff all the time. We recently added a Fan Art/Fan Fiction section, which I urge you to check out. There’s some great stuff there. Also, by teaming up with the folks at Beards Encouraged, we’ve managed to bring our little-website-that-could into the 21st century. We now feature original Youtube tributes,  a Facebook Fan Page, a Twitter Feed… even our own blog. But no matter how high-tech we get, no matter how high our page-counter soars, we’ll never forget who we are, where we came from, or why we’re here.

We’re here for one man who taught us all how to laugh and love. We’re here because of Tim Allen. Remember that. I know I will.

With love,

Bill Raleigh

Sometimes when I’m having trouble expressing something, I write a song. This means that often when I have something I want to tell somebody, rather than simply talking to them, I’ll wait until they’re drunk and perform an impromptu acoustic gig for them. It’s not the most direct approach, but it usually works after seven beers.

I recently wrote a song about my friend Julia who, for some reason, continues to help me clean up every time I make a mess of my life. I waited until I felt confident/drunk enough, and then I played the song for her at a BBQ, while some mutual friends sat and listened quietly.

When I finished, there was a moment of silence and a few of the girls looked misty-eyed.

“What did you think?” I finally asked Julia.

“Can you play My Friends by the Chili Peppers?” she replied.

Sometimes when you live in the Hills, you get gold in your letterbox. This arrived yesterday and I read it from cover to cover.

I’m not sure why, but I really want to know how much rice was given to these asylum seekers to pose for the photos.

Their passion is palpable.

Actually, this whole concept doesn’t even make fucking sense. The last time our household dealt hard, we were arrested and the police confiscated all our pot.

Sadly, this edition of the Hills Negotiator didn’t include a coupon for Jessica Mauboy’s new album. I have high hopes for issue #19 though.

Orthopaedic shoe inserts are potentially the biggest scam of the twenty-first century.

Introduced at the beginning of the new millennium and hailed as the western-world’s answer to childhood obesity, impotence, and red licorice, orthopaedic shoe inserts cost $4,000 each and can result in death.

You should not use orthopaedic shoe inserts if you are French or pregnant.

This is why:

BEFORE

AFTER

AFTER A LOT

GOOD GOD, THERE ARE CHILDREN IN THE AUDIENCE

This is Heather; she was rejected from Masterchef.

This is Paul; he’s fabulous and he speaks to blind people.

This is Joel; he’s just had his hair cut.

This is Zoe; she works at…wait, where do you work? I just realised I don’t know anything about you.

This is Julia; she’s Greek.

This is Leo; he surfs and he writes a great blog and he loves his wife. What? No, your WIFE.

This is Lynette; her hair smells amazing and she is taking me to lunch next week. Smell her hair. Go on.

This is Mick; he likes metal, as in the music.

This is Ben; he’s a writer, or a journalist, or something.

This is Peter; he’s an arsehole.

This is Scott; he’s from Scotland and he has a silly accent.

This is Cathy; she’s awesome as shit.

This is…hang on, I have no idea who that is, walk away, just go.

This is Jess; HR.

This is Mandi; I just met her and she told me something about drawers. I think I like her. I think I like her a lot. Hey, can you get me a beer? I ran out of money.

Mum: How come there’s no “Level 5″ on that sign? Why does it go straight from “Level 4″ to “Level 6″?

Me: I don’t know.

Mum: Maybe it’s a secret?

Me: Maybe it’s the building manager’s office.

Mum: Maybe it’s like the train to Hogwarts, you know how it leaves from platform eight-and-three-quarters? Or was it nine-and-three-quarters? Do you remember which one it was?

Me: I don’t read shitty books.

Mum: That’s not helpful…

Apartheid was invented by a man named Nelson Mandela in 1935. It became popular in South Africa during the 50s and received international acclaim!

The Beatles wrote a hit pop song about it in 1967.

And McDonald’s made a burger in its honour.

There was even a catchy dance made for it, which was performed at parties all over the world!

Apartheid was misplaced in 1998 and nobody has seen it since.

*

*Image from Niki

**This post is dedicated to Karalee because I like blonde girls and she is clever.