“Hey are you going to Big Day Out next year? I wouldn’t miss it for anything. I wouldn’t miss it if my own mother died. You should come, we’re all going. You probably don’t want to hang around me too much though because I’m kind of embarrassing. You know how at every festival, there’s that one dude who’s taken acid and dingoes and smoked a spliff, and he’s lurching around the dance floor, leaning on strangers, and everyone’s all DUDE, ARE YOU OKAY? because he’s turned completely grey and can’t speak and looks like he died three days ago? That’s me. I’m that guy. Pass me the ashtray?”

You can read more about Andre at ilivewithcrazypeople

I once lived with a guy who grew up in Kuwait and would talk about his childhood late at night when he was drunk.

One evening, a few of us gathered as he described a horrifying incident in which his father had beaten him severely for leaving a smudge on his black Mercedes.

“I don’t understand, why did he hit you?” I asked, shocked by the scale of such a beating.

“Well I had to clean his cars every week, and if they weren’t spotless by dinner, I got into big trouble,” he replied.

“That’s awful,” I commented.

“It’s okay, I got him back,” he said with a smile.

“What did you do?” my friend asked, “Did you scratch his car or something?”

“No,” he said, glancing around the room mischievously. “I killed his dog.”

Roughly eight seconds of complete silence passed, before I cleared my throat and asked, “How?”

“Well,” my housemate continued, “I waited until he went to work, and then I locked his dog inside the Merc. By the time my dad finished his shift, that dog was swollen up like a motherfucking beach ball!!”

Then he roared with laughter. My friend, an avid lover of animals, picked up her bag and left immediately, while I busied myself clearing away our empty glasses.

annik skelton keeps her boobs in tupperware containers at night. keeps em fresh

annik skelton queening me.

annik skelton should post more pictures of kittens. i like kittens. they’re cute. unlike me. now i’m sad

if annik skelton isn’t a lesbian what is she?

i googled annik skelton and all i got was this book about dudes with no balls

i hope annik skelton doesn’t think less of me because i enjoy googling her name

i will name my first born son annik skelton

the incredibly pretentious and unfunny annik skelton (editor’s note: fuck you)

“annik skelton” but we want you to be a lesbian

annik skelton reads pigs dont fly dot com

i am training to be a nurse so i can sponge bath annik skelton when she is 80

i read annik skelton’s blog and all i got was this quote

annik is gay

annik porn

annik skelton a friend to the poor?

annik skelton as interesting as paint drying (editor’s note: fuck you as well)

annik skelton is a closet nerd and everyone knows it

annik skelton is in lesbian denial

annik skelton licks mouse corpses

annik skelton might be satan – how can i tell?

annik skelton rides the whore bus

annik skelton should really get back to work

annik skelton should stop being soft and drink at daves party

annik skelton sold her soul to agency land and all i got was… well i got fuck all really. damn.

annik skelton treat you can eat between meals without ruining your appetite

i really want annik skelton to come to my birthday party, love dave

i searched for annik skelton and all i got was this lousy website

i want to make hot girl love to annik skelton

i want to marry annik skelton

sponge skelton parts

the mouse corpse licked by annik skelton was actually a lemur

why can’t i see annik skelton in daylight?

would annik skelton ever get trapped in a sleeping bag?

annik skelton can’t save you now

annik skelton got me pregnant then never returned my calls

annik skelton is a hot piece of pie

annik skelton is gay

annik skelton is pretty short, but that’s cool i guess

annik skelton is the purple teletubby

annik skelton looks like she would wear the pants

annik skelton once shot a midget. true story.

annik skelton provides tutelage to infants

annik skelton should read the bible to me by candlelight

annik sklton stop twitter time

annik skelton wants to fly kites but can’t owing to a congential defect

cheering up annik skelton with rubbish search terms

i met annik skelton once at the pub. she smiled, shook my hand and politely introduced herself. we didn’t speak again. i suspect i was too drunk to make conversation at the time. true story.

i want to snort cocaine from annik skelton’s big black cock

i went to annik skelton and all i got was this fucking search term

what is annik skelton really searching for?

when i think about annik skelton i touch myself

when the sun doth explode on annik skelton

when will annik skelton come to canberra?

when will annik skelton transform into a semi deified being?

Mum: What are you doing?

Me: It’s hot.

Mum: You can’t just walk around the house in your underwear.

Me: Why not?

Mum: Because my ladies group from church is coming over in half an hour.

Me: They’ll love it.

Mum: No, they will not.

Me: But I’m made in God’s image and shit.

Mum: Either put on some pants or leave.

Me: Fascist.

Man: Based on a scale of one to ten where ten is ‘strongly agree’ and one is ‘strongly disagree’ please indicate how much you agree with the following statements.

Me: Wait, which one means agree?

Man: Ten.

Me: Okay.

Man: The bank’s customer care line staff member was able to resolve your request in a timely manner?

Me: Um.. agree. Which one is agree?

Man: Ten.

Me: Yeah.

Man: So on a scale of one to ten, how much do you agree with that statement?

Me: Ten.

Man: And was the staff member able to offer you suitable advice?

Me: I don’t really think that’s applicable. I was just re-ordering a deposit book.

Man: Okay. And did you feel the staff member was able to tailor the conversation based on your banking history?

Me: I don’t know. How does that apply here? Seven?

Man: Were you satisfied that your request was resolved completely by the end of the call?

Me: Yes.

Man: On a scale of one to ten?

Me: One.

Man: One means disagree.

Me: Oh.. then ten.

Man: Okay, and overall, how would you rate your entire experience with the bank’s customer care line?

Me: Nine.

Man: Can you please provide three reasons as to why you have given us that score.

Me: What?

Man: You only gave it a nine, so I need to know why you didn’t say ten.

Me: Dude, I’m really hungover. I’m trying to eat breakfast here.

Man: I still need an answer.

Me: Fine then, change it to ten.

Man: What?

Me: Change my score to ten.

Man: …are you sure?

Me: Yes, I don’t want to talk to you anymore.

Man: Okay… Well, thank you for participating in the survey. If you’d like more information about any of this–

Me: I don’t.

Man: Very well. Enjoy your day.

When I was younger I used to go to church with a family who had a son with autism. My memories of him are vague at best. He was obsessed with space ships, trains and video games, and would often sit alone repeating the same phrases over and over.

As he got older, he began exhibiting more unruly types of behaviour. They started out small enough – a tendency to break things or overeat. His parents locked all their cupboards and kept him away from the kitchen. Things obviously worsened, however, as he entered early adulthood, because the last thing I heard was that his family had put him into full-time professional care.

“Why did they do that?” I asked my physio, who was a reliable source of church gossip.

“Well, he was becoming a little difficult to handle,” she replied, digging her knuckles into my abdomen.

“But what did he do?” I pressed.

“Oh he would just get upset easily and then do inappropriate things,” she said.

“Can you give me an example?” I asked. I was dying from curiosity. What did this boy do when he got mad? I was imagining physical violence, tantrums, or perhaps even some public masturbation for shock value. The truth, however, was even more spectacular.

“Okay, here’s one,” the physio said. “Last month their whole family went to Perth for somebody’s birthday. When they were due to come home, their flight was delayed for four hours. The boy got upset, and when they tried to calm him down, he became angry. So he bit his own arm until it started bleeding, then he went around wiping the blood on other people and screaming into their faces.”

“That’s fucked up,” I marvelled.

“Please don’t swear in my house,” she replied. “Now, roll over.”

Me: Why have there been people standing on our front lawn every morning this week?

Mum: I don’t know. Maybe they’re waiting for somebody to pick them up.

Me: It’s our front lawn, not a goddamn taxi rank.

Mum: Oh Annik, please don’t start ranting.

Me: I want to stand on the porch with a shotgun and tell them what’s what.

Mum: Where on earth are you going to get a shotgun?

Me: I know people who know people.

Mum: Yeah, right.

Me: This is our territory, Mum. We have to defend it.

Mum: Actually I think that part of the land belongs to the council.

Me: So if people started having sex right there on the front lawn, you’d just let them?

Mum: I hardly think that’s an appropriate comparison.

Me: Don’t avoid the question. Stop being such a woman and stand up for your rights.

Mum: Can you go away? I’m busy.

Me: You’re watching NCIS.

Mum: Well it’s important.

Me: I’m going to talk to Dad about this.

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.

A few years ago, I played guitar in a band with my co-worker (a secretly talented singer) and her older brother (a drummer/psychopath).

We drank a lot of beer and pissed off a lot of neighbours, and we decided that a bass player was essential to our continued existence.

I offered to place an ad online and the drummer nodded.

“Yeah, that’s good,” he said. “Just make the ad really vague, but also specific. Say that they need to be cool, but not cooler than us. We’ll ask them to meet us at a bar, and then we’ll interview them. If they have a last name for a first name or a first name for a last name, they’re out. And if they use any faggy music words like “progressive euro-tech” that’s also cause for immediate disqualification.”

“Anything else?”

“I don’t want anyone whose outfit costs more than mine, and if they order a Coopers red, we’ll know they’re a dickhead.”

We never found a bass player and the band broke up a month later.