Jun 13, 2011

Edouard Boubat


The parts on disappearing and virginity are the most interesting for me.

The articles has some photos, but there's a link below to a tonne more, which is actually where i started off.


Jun 12, 2011

Every Housewife's Wet Dream

After 9 and a half weeks, Micky Rourke was a bonafide star. No longer the student vagabond, but every housewife's wet dream. i knew even my daughter loved him.

i'd walked into breakfast just yesterday and the wife was poring over him, dreamily, what? she asked back when i said i was leaving for work. jesus, huh.

i was driving to work that day, actually and i had the radio on. just the usual station, i don't really care what it is in the morning, right, i'm just trying to get to work.

but this morning, i hear it, that micky rourke is doing a signing at the mall right here in my neighbour. and you know what, i realise, i hadn't seen my daughter this morning. i usually see her right there at the breakfast bar before i leave. and the wife, i bet she was there already and i bet she was wetter than fucken bride.

well i turned that car left at the next lights and then right, left, right again and gimme ten more minutes and i was there. i parked underneath in the carpark and loosening my tie and caught the lift to the first floor.

it was a long mall and a post told me the signing was up the other end, in a little central plaza area, between a music store and the foodcourt.

Okay, i thought to myself, plan of attack. well, first things first, i had a few hours to kill and secondly, i didn't want my wife or daughter to see me here. so i went back downstairs to the car and took it out for a drive where i grabbed a cup of coffee and a quick sandwich, which i could hardly eat. i was so fucken nervey and angry.

i drove the car back to the mall and parked on the same level. by now a crowd was gathered and i could hear an MC juicing them up for the big event. jesus i could imagine the both of them now. i bet my daughter had on a sweater, to hide her uniform. i bet she had on a whole load of makeup too. ah fuck.

i took an escelator from the first floor to the second so's i could keep my eye on the crowd. there was no way i'd be able to get close now on the first floor, which was my own damn fault.

up on the second floor i pushed my way closer and closer. there was an electronics store on my right and i'd been using that as the excuse to push through the crowd. just as i got to the door of it, i heard a huge cheer and through the melee i could see some bodyguards leading micky out from some hallway.

fast as i could, acting like the biggest asshole i could, i bought this big stereo. Present for the kid, i said. yeah, they're sixteen. i paid cash and said look, can you hurry it up. i'll wrap it myself at home i just gotta get it and get going.

so i had the stereo in this big box. speakers, sub, the lot. using it as a ram,i pushed out through the crowd and below i could hear micky giving out some speech about how he was happy to be hear, thanks for coming you lovely ladies... and gentlemen of course... hahahaa. that asshole.

i got to the railing, some biddy next to me cursing. i saw micky about five metres away and fifteen below. i raised the stereo as best i could and hoisted it out at him. a few people yelled and he turned and looked up at the stereo coming at him. the fluorescent lights glinted off his ray bans, but he was quick and hipped just out the way and the stereo fell right onto the girl he'd gotten up from the crowd to show everyone. my goddamn wife caught a stereo right in the head and smashed it open on a planter box. she was out cold on the floor and blood was spreading out like a pancake on the white tiles.

ah fuck, the fucken wife. the fucken. fuck.

Jun 7, 2011

How I Die In The Past #1

I got shot in the head in world war one.

How I Die In The Future #2

After getting divorced from my wife, when i'm 46 (2035), I don't care about much. I don't have a kid because she was baren (and that was a constant sore point) and I don't have a good job, so i'm not really independent. I go out to some dinners and go on singles' websites. i jack off a lot too, i enjoy myself in a certain boyish way.

anyway, one day i just had a really shit day and couldn't bare to go back to work, so i went and jumped off the story bridge and smashed myself into pieces on the concrete bikepath below. when i was about to do it, some person was in the hotel that looks onto the spot and they screamed out at me, but i gave them the ups right before i jumped.

Jun 5, 2011

This Is How A Killer Operates.

My Death, In the Future #1

I walked out of the lift and looked left and looked right. Though the street was crowded, my bionic-communal-interactive-eyepiece scanned the people and saw nobody i knew at all, not even any mutual friends.

Another crap start to the day, I thought. Another crappy day of being a fucking loser. When I was younger, I was a pretty popular guy and I'd embraced the new media paradigm. I'd thought this would be the way of the future and was propelled by the excitement of something new.

Well, it is the way of the future, but all my friends are pastimists. they all dislike more than the basic handheld devices, which became outmoded years ago, but which still retain some vintage credence. Theirs tastes are cabled into this vintage aesthetic, but they also have the political conjohns to back it up and basically, after too many arguments, we've all drifted apart.

Now I live alone and like I said, I don't know a single person on the street.

Twelve hours later, I come back home and think, "I should do it oldschool, I should take the stairs... at least some of the way." I think a few flights will do me good and I can use the slow speed of the fire escelator to think about my future and what I can realistically do with it.

I'm riding up past the 39th floor, looking down at the receding ground. tenants aren't strictly supposed to ride the escelator unless it's an emergency.... but what the hell! live a little, right!

I notice something coming up at me, it's a secbot, which is a flying robot about the size of a basketball that has an artificial intelligence wiring and conducts security in our block. it's one of about twenty angry buzzards and this one suuuure iiiis aannnggrrryyy.

well, i think to myself, i'll not let myself be bossed around by some metal computer scrotum. when the machine gets to me, i try to slap it out of the air. it dodges me and i slap again. i slap too far and still don't connect. furthermore, i'm unbalance. i topple over the edge of the escelator and fall down, 41 flights of stairs.

the secbot tries to save me, but it gets crushed underneath me and we both die, man and machine in a horribly new cyborg form.

New Job Poems

Just got a new job, here are some poems i thought of to commemmorrate this event.

Working Sucks
Getting Paid Rules!!!

Having smoko's really fun
eating up a sticky bun
you can drink a can of coke
we can all be good blokes
At the bus stop was sat two Africans, a brother and a sister. they both had tight jeans on and were eating macdonalds and chilling, waiting for the bus.

the sister was the older one and she pulled out her ipod and put some music on.

a white lady, in her late 20s and with a black linen frock and hairy/scratched legs went and sat next to them. she gave them a quick smile as she sat down. she was also listening to her ipod.

after ten minutes, a bus to inala came and the two kids got on. the white lady stayed seated and i checked her out again, hoping that even though i wasn't attracted to her she'd still look over to me and i'd get that cool eye contact.

Later on that evening, the african kids were having dinner at home...

"that lady who sat next to us stunk, could you smell her?"
"no, what did she smell like?"
"gross, like i dunno, a hippie. she smelled like west end"
"yuck, i hate that. i bet she felt cool sitting next to us"
"they always do"
"I know, they do"