So the most wanted man in the world is dead…when I say “most wanted” I mean in a criminal sense, ladies don’t worry Matthew McConaughey is still alive and well but Osama Bin Laden on the other hand, is dead…or at least that’s what we’ve been told.

Despite all the public pleading we don’t actually get to see the body, but then again has this ever been a privilege of the general public in the past? I must’ve missed the moment it became social norm to request this:  “My aunty passed away on the weekend” “Oh I’m really sorry to hear that…show me the body” “I’m sorry what?” “You heard me.  I’ll need to see the body otherwise I’m going to assume you’re full of shit and your aunty is alive and well”.  So it seems like we have to take the word of President Obama who ensures us that yes Osama Bin Laden is definitely dead.  Obama should know, after all he did get to watch the whole thing live thanks to cameras attached to the heads of special ops units.  They even whacked a bullet proof vest on David Attenborough and had him narrate the whole thing.  In fact the inside scoop is that when the DVD comes out this winter they’ll even include outtakes where they accidentally shoot civilians, sounds a little morbid I know but I’m ensured the Benny hill soundtrack played over the top turns the whole affair to comedy gold.  It wasn’t just the president that was privy to this footage; a dozen of the most powerful people in America huddled round the plasma and ate choc tops while the action unfolded.  The room in which this took place was called “The situation room” because they normally use it to watch episodes of Jersey Shore together.

The more that is revealed about this mission leads me to think the blueprint for the operation was taken directly from every spy movie ever made.  They even had a code name for Bin Laden; upon obtaining a visual on him they would say the word “Geronimo” into their lapel (or boom mic depending on which picked it up better).  They used the word “Geronimo” because apparently “I have a visual on Bin Laden” was way too vague and could’ve meant any number of things and “Um boss I think I can see the bad man” wasn’t quite the feel they were going for.

The Navy seals involved have been criticized for shooting Bin Laden whilst he was unarmed (and right in the face nonetheless) but personally I can understand why they did this.  I’ve seen enough James Bond movies to know that capturing your target to kill at a later date inevitably leads to an elaborate escape involving gorgeous girls and foreign accents.  No no they couldn’t risk those types of shenanigans with this level of terrorist.  After the killings they proceeded to “bury” Bin Laden’s body within 24 hours to abide by Islamic law.  This is the part of the proceedings which confuses me slightly.  They shoot an unarmed man in the face and throw his body in an ocean without informing any loved ones yet for some reason choose to follow that one specific part of Islamic law?!  To me that’s kind of like a rapist wearing a condom; I mean sure it’s a courtesy but I think you’re missing the bigger picture.

So should we trust the world’s largest military power when they say they’ve killed the world’s most wanted man despite revealing no evidence to the general public? Um…yeah I guess so.  My mum had as good a reason as any I’ve heard for trusting the words of president Obama and that is quite simply because “he’s got nice eyes” and who can argue with that.

I was recently lucky enough to travel to the beautiful country of Thailand.  It was a great experience filled with very fond memories yet despite the amazing beaches and incredibly lovely people there is something else that stands at the forefront of my memory when I recall the trip: The sheer number of offensive Australians.  At first I was a little perplexed at how a people who, by and large, I live with quite contently in my own country could suddenly be the cause of such embarrassment whilst abroad.  It wasn’t until the second last day of my trip that I discovered a singular A4 page lying on the beach.  This page was slightly torn and covered it what appeared to be a mixture of vomit, seamen and blood but I could still make out the words.  What follows is a transcript of the page I found that may go a little way to help explain the behavior of our fellow countrymen.

Thailand for Aussies: A true fucking gentleman’s guide.

So you’ve got a couple of weeks off and you’ve decided to go to Thailand? You fucking ripper! This easy to read guide is all you need to know to for your trip, so get it up you then get packing!

First things first, ensure you get brutally sun burnt within the first 24 hours of your trip.  The resulting peeling and singlet tan will ensure that everyone knows yep you’re a tourist and yep you’re here for a fucking good time.  It’s also nice to let all the others at your resort know that you’re from Australia.  Sure, the peroxided mullet and bonds singlet might be a giveaway to some but you never want to leave these things to chance.  That’s why you should always shout loudly at the pool, order beers with breakfast and declare “Macca” to be a “poofta” for not fucking a prostitute the night before all whilst beautifully within earshot of any families that may be holidaying nearby.

It’s also important to remember that you’re in Thailand for a good time not a long time and chances are you won’t be coming back so don’t bother looking after the place while you’re there.  It’s a little known fact that Thai people actually get employed to clean up the beaches so when you throw your rubbish in the water you’re actually doing the locals a favor by giving them some work.  Therefore avoid proper rubbish disposal at all costs.

Now there are a lot of blokes in Thailand and there’s also a lot of sheilas but one thing you should be careful of is the ones that are a little of both.  Your first giveaway is the Adam’s apple.  Unfortunately boys there are no Eve’s apples, as much as you want it to be true no such thing exists.  I was fooled with this one at least a dozen times before I was convinced so just trust me on this one if there’s an apple it’s definitely an Adam. If you’re in doubt a quick hand down the front of the dacks should do the trick but if you do happen to get caught out just remember “you’re not gay no matter how many times you have sex with a man so long as they’re wearing a dress at the time”. 

One of the best things about Thailand is that you can order buckets full of piss over there.  I recommend ordering a few at the very start of your night.  This will ensure that you will be royally smashed within your first hour and from there the night is your oyster.  Feel free to belch loudly, yell at locals, start fights and of course chant “Aussie Aussie Aussie!” in intermittent…sporadic…random…every now and then cunt bursts.

Lastly it is a fact that most women in Thailand are prostitutes.  Therefore never be afraid to ask a woman “how much?” because even if they look like a wholesome fruit vendor or a schoolboy chances are they’re turning tricks on the side and even if they’re not they will appreciate the compliment.

Well there you have it, this guide is only a page long because I’m not Doctor Lonely Planet and let’s be honest if you read for more than a page without a sip you’re a faggot.  Happy holiday’s fuckheads!

So if you’ve been in a similar situation to me hopefully this guide has helped to answer a few questions.  I don’t know where they are handing it out or who wrote it but one thing is for sure: its working.

Sure it seems to be the hip thing to do right now, what with all the kids and their wackyleaks and their secret cobbles and so on and so forth.  And I know I KNOW you just want to fit in with the rest of them, to be one of the leaking gang, yep I’ve heard it all before….However, before you run off to start sending out your own encrypted documents at least take the time to read the following tidbits of info which may just help you safely enter the world of leaking sensitive government documents.

The first thing you need to consider is the actual documents you plan on leaking.  You have to ensure that, not only are the documents of interest to the public, but also that they are obtained from reliable sources.  You see my brother once told me that if a woman is pregnant with a dwarf she was completely unaware and showed no signs of pregnancy.  He stated simply that one day, after carrying on her life as normal; a fully clothed dwarf would simply walk “out” of her.  Now although I believed this to be true for many years and was slightly embarrassed when the real truth was exposed I daresay that embarrassment would’ve exponentially increased had I not only believed this information, but also exposed it to the world as a top secret factual document.

After you have your documents sourced the next thing you have to take into account is your name or “pseudonym” for those who prefer longer words.  If successful in your quest, you will become the closest thing to a real life spy superhero that we have on this planet and therefore your name should aptly reflect that.  Something with numbers in it is good, a title at the start is even better.  A prime example of this is Sir Weaponism 005* (*please note Sir Weaponism 005 is a name I am currently trying to get my friends to call me when we’re at parties so don’t dare try and claim as your own as it is well and truly taken.)

Lastly, it is important to be aware that not everyone will be happy with you leaking these documents and you may actually make some very powerful enemies.  These enemies may even try and launch a smear campaign against you, something to tarnish your name and discredit your integrity.  The most common form this will take: Framing you for a sexual crime.  Why a sexual crime you ask? Simply for the fact that sexual offences are a lot harder to disapprove than murders (it’s easier for someone to pretend to be touched up than dead).  To try and avoid such allegations I suggest you simply remain a virgin.  Now although this in itself is hard to prove, a life devoted to hacking computers is usually ample evidence.  However just in case this doesn’t work it’s imperative that you find yourself a safe haven, somewhere you are beyond the reach of the law.  The granny flat out the back of your mother’s house in Cragieburn is not a good start and I encourage you to think on a more global scale.  From what I can tell anywhere that calls itself “offshore” is a good place to begin, just remember house warming parties are not great when one is trying to avoid attention.

So if after hearing all that you’ve decided that “yes, this is the life for me” then off you go, leak away.

Best case scenario:  You leak uber important documents, crack cases and expose corrupt crooks whilst traveling the world bedding models, a true international person of mystery.

Worst case scenario:  You end up in jail for sex offences you didn’t commit, all for leaking a few word documents that no one gives a shit about anyway.

Final words of wisdom: If you’re struggling to garner an audience for your leaked documents try making them informative but with an added touch of gossip.  People will be much more likely to read a document about a corrupt decision made by a senior member of the labor party if at the end it also states “Julia Gillard also actually has grey hair; she dyes it red using a concoction of tomatoes and lemon zest”.

“So what did you think?” asked my friend as we strolled out of the cinema.  After a brief pause I replied “He’s my age!” which, let’s be honest, gives the reader little insight into the film in question and is all in all a pretty shit review.  The film that we had just seen was The Social Network and the “he” which I am referring to is Mark Zuckerberg.  Mark Zuckerberg is the founder of facebook and lemon party (the later still waiting to be verified) but I’m assuming due to the fact that you are reading this blog and therefore using the internet these are things you already know so let’s move on.  I know the things I should have been talking about after this film were the acting performances or the ethical decisions made by the main character, and I would have been had it not been for the overwhelming thought: “He’s the same fucking age as me!!!”

At twenty five years old Zuckerberg was America’s youngest billionaire, owned one of the most successful and influential companies ever and had the world at his feet.  At this same age I have an empty packet of Doritos and a used tissue at my feet.  Now don’t get me wrong I’m sure I wasn’t the only person that left the cinema feeling like this.  In fact I doubt there was one person that left thinking “is that all he did?! What a loser!  Zuckerberg more like “SUCKerberg!” am I right?! Am I right?!” but I’m also aware that this feeling of lack of accomplishment has become more and more familiar these days.  After all these are the days when we can flick on the television and, thanks to Jnr Masterchef, see humans a third of our age making dishes that we can’t even pronounce.  Change the channel and we get to witness primary school kids spelling words that, up until this point, we assumed were some exotic type of animal.  Our most recent national hero was a young girl named Jessica Watson.  A girl who took off on a sailing voyage so ridiculous I would have said it had to be the product of a serious drinking session if it weren’t for the fact the girl was only 16 and not even legally allowed to drink, or drive for that matter (did she have L plates on her boat?).

So is this what it’s come to?  A world where young overachievers make the rest of the population feel inadequate?  The way I see it we have two options: we can resign to a life of feeling like an underachiever whilst these petulant upstarts slowly crush every one of our hopes and aspirations OR we can relax, enjoy a drink and a laugh with our friends as we shout insults at the screen showing people performing feats we will never be able to, all the while safe in the thought “yeah but they’re not really happy”.

It’s Monday.  I’m hung over and going through my standard Monday morning routine: questioning what I could do better to further my career and trying to find my pants.  Some may argue that simply finding my pants may help to further my career by enabling me to leave the house but I have an even better idea.  Maybe what my career needs is a sex tape? Hell it worked for Paris and Pammy.  Yet the blond hair and fake tan combo isn’t always a guaranteed recipe for sex tape success, who could forget the dismal failure of Warrick Capper’s endeavor into the adult world, maybe if he’d been getting boned by Tommy Lee he would’ve moved a few more units.  I mean my name alone lends itself to some juicy titles; it could be called “A little bit of lovin” or “Little man, big girls” or “The well hung weapon”.  Ok I’ll be honest I’d run out of puns by the last one and I don’t think it will fool anyone but I still thought I’d just put it out there.  Anyway I thought like most tough decisions the smart thing to do would be to weigh up the pros and cons of such an undertaking:

Three reasons why I shouldn’t make a sex tape
1.    No one really buys tapes anymore; it’s all DVD’s and Blu ray.
2.    I have performance issues and I don’t know if there is much demand for a 30 second sex tape
3.    I don’t have a willing partner

Three reasons why I should make a sex tape
1.    I can finally prove to people that yes I have lost my virginity
2.    I could use the screen time for some acting practice, maybe slip a little Shakespeare in there, something like “Pardon my haste my buxom wench but I hath arrived!”
3.    I don’t have a willing partner, maybe this could be exactly the project I need to help me meet someone

Hmm juries still out for me on this one, if you have any thoughts or possible titles please let me know….

“Get inside you know you’re not allowed out on the street!” yelled the middle aged woman as I walked past her house.  I didn’t recognize this lady but sure enough there she was, staring straight at me and yelling.  It did all seem a little odd but her tone was intimidating so I thought to myself “better do as I’m told” and started to trudge obediently in her direction.  I’d walked no more than a metre before a child came scampering from behind me and dashed to this ladies feet “Can I use facebook?” “Only for a little while”.  With that both mother and son disappeared into the house and the door was shut.  I stood in the street staring, part of me thinking “I can’t believe I nearly walked into that ladies house am I retarded?!” whilst the other part of me thought “why isn’t that kid allowed to play in the street”.  Then the longer I thought about it the more I realized that you never really see kids playing in the street anymore.  Up until this point the media had made me think this was perhaps because the kids of today were indeed too fat to fit out their front doors.  This apparently is not true, they’re simply just not allowed.  I remember when I was that age our parents wanted the opposite, they wanted us out of the house as much as possible.  I would walk out the front door in the morning and have to be home before dinner, all the kids in my street did the same thing.  It was great, we’d all hangout together in the street and do things that kids do; play games, throw things at each other and lie profusely about how good we were at certain physical activities.

Yet this child wasn’t allowed to do this, this child was instead indoors roaming the internet.  I assume if you’re reading this blog you are somewhat familiar with the product of the internet and level of sexual depravity it has readily available.  Don’t get me wrong I know the street isn’t the perfect place, I’ll admit that when I was young there was the odd “dacking” and the occasional game of “you show me yours I’ll show you mine” but it involved far less fisting than it’s internet equivalent.  And yet this is the place where this mother would rather have her child socialize?  I assume this mother’s choice is born from the fear of the people who might walk past on the street, yet by choosing the internet as an alternative location she has effectively swapped a place where creeps might exist with one where they definitely thrive.  Don’t get me wrong I love this giant street of porn and violence known as the internet but think it has a place and time and don’t know if that place is at the fingertips of a young kid when they could be out having some fun in the sun.
 
I stood outside this ladies house thinking about this for way too long, so long  I probably looked like some kind of pedophile, the exact type of pedophile she is protecting her kids from, the type the doesn’t really exist and is actually just heading down the street to get a coffee and read the paper.  I’m going to stop this blog right now because I’m starting to feel like a geriatric old bastard that’s reminiscing about how times were different back when I was a boy, off to go commit some kind of petty crime to regain my feeling of youth.

One week ago I woke up in a strange bed.  Well, truth be told the bed itself was quite normal, it was just the fact that I had never seen it before which, for my hungover head, was more than enough qualification to call it strange.  I looked next to me and only vaguely recognized the girl lying there so I decided a swift exit was probably the smartest move, and by ‘smartest’ I clearly mean most cowardly.

I stepped outside and the sun pierced my eyes, I squinted and focused enough to realize that I had absolutely no idea where I was.  I was pondering to myself just how I was going to get home when I thought “what would Bear Grylls do in this situation?” it took me just two seconds before I came to the conclusion he would probably drink his own urine and, however temporarily satisfying this may be, it was in no way going to help me get closer to home.  “Find a vantage point!” quipped Bear into my slightly foggy head, I looked up the hill and started walking.

As I trudged along the side of the road I started to think about what can only be described as the pathetic failure that is my lust life.  I realized that the number of one night stands I’ve had in my life outweighs the number of meaningful relationships (not much of a feat considering the latter figure is just one).  Now before you start with your judging thoughts it’s important that you realize that this previous statement is not by my own volition.  It seems that once a woman realizes exactly how bad I am in bed she seldom wants to sleep with me again, or indeed even return my phone calls.  It is also inevitable that you feel a little dirty after such an encounter and I realized it’s because the term “one night stands” tends to come with some very negative connotations.  So from here on out I’m going to start referring to them not as one night stands but rather as “fun size” relationships.  I’m also going to start referring to it no longer as the walk of shame but rather the walk of fame, I’m going to hold my head proud and strut, forget the headache and the imminent possibility of an STD and just strut (note to self: learn how to strut).  I might write a book about my escapades, I could call it “diary of a Melbourne call boy” I mean sure I might have to start getting paid for it and make it for frequent than once a year but I feel like those are just minor hurdles.

I finally reached the vantage point and realized that I was a long way from home.  I wasn’t in my own neighborhood, city or even state.  It all came flooding back; the night before I’d flown interstate for a gig and sure enough I was still there, this was going to be a long long walk that in the end would involve a cab, a bus, another cab, a plane, a skybus and another cab before I finally reached my front door.

So judge away but I’m going to keep doing my fun size relationships and strutting my walks of fame until I meet a girl who will put up with me for long enough to create a life long bond with whom I can share all of life’s ups and downs, or at least long enough to learn her last name.

I have a life decision to make; I really want to live out my dream of being a gangster but have realized the thing that may be holding me back is my vocal love of drinking tea.  You’ve never heard anyone say the sentence “Yo let’s rob this motherfucker and then go get a peppermint tea”.  So I think it’s time I do some soul searching and work out which one I want more.  Gangsters get money, power and bitches.  Tea drinkers get biscuits, a warm feeling in their tummy and some charming conversations.  I look at the famous gangsters that have had a influence on my life; Ice Cube subtly suggested the notion that a bitch is in fact a bitch with his song…“a bitch is a bitch” whilst Snoop Dogg showed me that sometimes the most important things can be said in brackets with his song “There ain’t no fun (if the homies can’t have none)”.  Then I look at the Tea drinkers who have had an influence on my life and can’t go past my mother; big tea drinker and one of the most amazing people in the world, she’s taught me all of life’s valuable lessons…but then again she’s not famous so who gives a shit right?!
Next comes the question of effort; if I wanted to stroll down the gangster path I would have to go and acquire a handgun and learn to hold it sideways.  Whereas on the other hand I already own a kettle and am quite happy operating that the right way up.  The fact that I’m drinking a piping hot peppermint tea and listening to NWA whilst writing this very blog is testament to just how much I’m on the fence of these two worlds.  I’m singing “fuck the police” (though not too loud for fear of disturbing the neighbors) and only stopping the lyrical onslaught to treat myself to a minty sip of amazing every now and then.  I just can’t decide, I mean I do love the idea of shanking someone in the face and stealing their drugs but I’m equally amorous to the suggestion of a cup of chamomile with a hint of honey.

This is too much to sort out right now; I’m going to go for a walk to clear my head.  In fact I might head down to the local café, walk straight up to the till and say “Can I have a cup of English breakfast and all the money in the till!” or I might just say the first half we’ll see how we go.