• Looking at your own poo was important because it told you whether you were healthy or not.
• Female pleasure was considered essential for conception to occur, so if you got knocked up in a rape you could never press charges because obviously you enjoyed it, you swampy whore.
• When you were dying, the priest would announce it at church and then everyone would come to your house to stand around and watch you die.
• If you didn’t die “properly” and went under screaming, crying, or freaking out, you were considered a huge pussy and would have to kill more time in purgatory than people who died more pleasantly.
• Rich people didn’t eat garlic because it was considered peasant food.
• Vaginas didn’t really exist. Girls just had inverted penises and if you jumped up and down enough, it would eventually fall out.
• It was considered “womanly” for an unmarried man to sleep with a lot of women, so in order to maintain his masculinity he would bum dudes instead.
• You could swaddle your baby and hang it from a tree all day while you were off ploughing fields and nobody would think less of you.
• Generally speaking, there was never any need to take a bath.
• Women had no souls, just like black people and slaves.
• People would take a dump in most places. There were no toilets anywhere and no real concept of cleanliness, so you could poop pretty much wherever you wanted and not be embarrassed about it like I was. If you were royalty you might have a “toilet” on one of your castle’s turrets where you could shit off the side of the building and your shit would slowly run down the wall into the shit-filled moat below.
• It was a pretty gross time for everybody.

aka I am doing Open Uni again.

1. Bugs can crawl in your mouth while you’re asleep and then you swallow them
2. All girls grow up to look like their mothers
3. If you flush the toilet with the lid open, poo particles drift out of the bowl and land on your toothbrush

Who has ruined your life? What did they tell you?

—–Original Message—–
From:
Sent: Thursday, 17 March, 2011 8:35 AM
To: Annik Skelton
Subject: Full Moon Fire March 20 + Despacho

Hi all,

I’m back, a little jet lagged, but I wanted to get out a reminder that you are all welcome, once again, to the full moon fire, this month on the 20th March.

Come for the fire about 8pm, we will get going as soon as it is dark enough. We will first sage everyone and then light the fire, there will be no photography this time, everyone will be there to participate fully, and as such we will also have a full despacho ceremony beforehand. This is optional, and if you are unable to make it for the ceremony, you may let me know a prayer to put into a Kintu on your behalf.

I have just come home from the Munay-Ki, and would be delighted to gift anyone with a rite or two if they desire. Please let me know before hand, and we can arrange whether it will be before or after the despacho.

So, the festivities are: March 20th

6:30-7:30pm Despacho & individual cleansing with the folded Despacho
7:30- Break, Sandwiches will be provided, possibly receive a Munay-Ki rite
8:15 or so, light the fire.

I hope to see you all there! Please do invite your friends, and let me know numbers, so I may cater for everyone.

Much Munay

xo

Literal Man decided to finally talk to the hot girl at the coffee shop, even though she was sitting with a group of friends, whispering conspiratorially.

“Hey baby,” he said in a low voice. “Wanna go out sometime?”

“I’d rather die,” she replied.

Her girlfriends laughed wildly and he joined in, lightly slapping his hand against the table.

“Seriously, fuck off,” she said.

“Oh. Okay.”

He went out to the carpark and rummaged around the boot of his car.

What a strange girl, he thought, smashing a cricket bat into her head as she exited the coffee shop.

By the time the police arrived, her face was bashed in completely on one side.

• one dead goldfish
• four towels covered in blood
• fingerless gloves
• a broken stair banister
• a toothpaste penis on the bathroom wall
• vomit splashes on the cupboard doors
• the garage door no longer opens
• someone drank half my vodka
• my birthday book got stolen
• somebody pooped in our bin



If you haven’t checked out ChatRoulette, I highly recommend it. This kept me and my housemate entertained for no less than 2 hours during last Saturday’s never-ending downpour and at first I was embarrassed to be talking to complete strangers in my pyjamas, but by the end I needed to be prised away from the computer.

Some of my favourites included:

• an old man picking his nose and eating it. “Hey buddy!” I said, “What are you doing?” as he stared us in the eye, picked out a booger and munched on it thoughtfully.
• some college bros in Ohio, just chilling in their dorm room, playing the ukulele and chatting to hot babez online
• a still image of a bathroom splattered with blood
• a replay of our own feed
• being asked to show my tits no less than eighteen times
• being called a dog-whore slut when I didn’t show my tits
• seeing various people masturbate and one girl taking it up the arse
• a group of South African students sitting around a room full of musical instruments, holding up a sign saying “SHOW TITS”
• getting flipped off by a bunch of thirteen year old girls/bitches.

Some of my favourite things to do on ChatRoulette:

• saying “Well hi there!” and then hitting NEXT before the other person even has time to reply
• telling everyone to read this blog
• drinking a glass of water very slowly as soon as I get a new person, and waiting to see whether they like it
• asking children where their mother is
• hitting NEXT as soon as I see the other person’s face.

During 2010 I hope to see this technology developed for IRL so I can take it to the pub and hit NEXT until I find somebody interesting to talk to.

Lorikeets are horrible, horrible people and should not be trusted under any circumstances.

I saw some lorikeets once when I was a child, and then I fell off my rollerblades and chipped my four front teeth.

I also have a birth mark on my leg that looks like a pimple.

My favourite rice crackers flavour is salt & vinegar, but not as many brands are making it lately. I am not sure why.

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.