Tuesday, November 22, 2005

JOHN HOWARD'S NEW ANTI-TERROR LEGISLATION

As Johnny paraded through the streets, Mohammed Kahashish, a regular middle eastern bloke, was on his way to his nearby Lebanese bakery to get some mana-ish, which is a delicious herb-bread.

"I'm so content," Mohammed thought. "Nothing could go wrong today."

Little did he know, those were the exact words uttered by Julius Caesar: Contentus Todaius Maximus Non Fuxium, just before a disease-ridden whore entered his tent.

As he approached the shop, John Howard jumped out from behind a nearby bush, looking not dissimilar to a midget doing the Timewarp. Johnny said, "Halt! Who goes there? Friend or enemy of the Commonwealth?"

Shocked by the insane man's appearance and breath, Mohammed held his hands in front of his eyes and said, "Easy, man. I ain't done nothin'."

His sudden movements frightened nearby police, who instantly shot him in the head six times. The Commissioner would later attest that Mohammed was armed, stating: "He had two eyes. This means he was equally as capable of sight as a normal white skinned person, ergo he would be able to commit acts of terror. All non-whites with two eyes are capable of this. Therefore he had to be terminated. If he had one eye, he would be visually impaired, and unable to instigate terrorist activities."

"Don't you think that's a little bit prejudiced?" the defence attorney had asked at the trial.

The police chief proceeded to calmly shoot him in the head 6 times. Without batting an eyelid, he resumed the trial, staring the judge squarely in the eye. The crowd looked on in stunned silence.

"I will not have anyone imply that a white non-visually impaired person is capable of terrorism. Is that clear?"

Nobody moved. Paralysed by fear and confusion, they were unable to answer.

Suddenly, from out of nowhere, Kim Beazley waddled into the courtroom, explosives strapped to his chest. Words stumbled out of his mouth, barely coherent, as he began to explain the dire situation.

THE ALL TOO FAMILIAR FEELING

Nothing more needed to be said, each knew what she must do.

They strode purposefully towards their Mini Cooper, which was hidden behind the bushes. The engine purred to life, and as they drove off, Shania outlined the plan of attack. "We need to get a hold of lime; loads of it. Then, we need to find Chuck Norris."

Shania's accomplice looked bewildered. "Why, didn't you and Chuck have a thing a few years ago?"

"He wasn't into women then, but neither was I, so we fiddled and prodded, but he was about as good at that as he was at Putt Putt."

Shania's accomplice smiled like a Trout juggling billiard balls. "Have you got a shovel?" she enquired.

"You betcha aerobicised buns I have," Shania replied. "How long before we're there?"

The accomplice scratched her hairy raggamuffin and replied, "About another 4 hours till Sea World. But wait... is that a granny in a thong?"

Sure enough, pushing her trolley on the sidewalk, was a granny in a pink thong. Shania and her accomplice thought it was a g-string, but it was actually a granny wearing one flip-flop!

"Hot!" Shania said.

"Damn right!" rapped the elderly pensioner, who was John Howard's mother.

Strangely enough, she looked just like John Howard. Come to think of it, it was Johnny Howard, putting on a pubic display to promote his new anti-terrorism laws.

Friday, November 18, 2005

CHARLTON'S BOOTS

George had to think quickly. The body was stinking and the smell of blood would make Shania aroused. So he jumped out the window and landed head-first into a puddle of saliva of unwnown origin. An unorthodox Presbyterian lemming from the wrong side of the tracks claimed responsibility for the mess several seconds later.

"This is a right mess," George sighed. "And it's high time I stopped rubbing this blood all over my face. It sure does feel nostalgic though." George thought only for a moment before returning to his normal self. The resulting transmogrification could have turned him into that axe wielding maniac, Nixon.

Clearly, the experiment he was a product of was spiralling out of control. Colin had assured him that the chair they had built, allowing him psychic access to all former presidents, would aid him in his otherwise disasterous second term. But now the breast milk was turning sour, and that Clinton episode had left him with a bloodlusting country singer for a wife, a bad rap in the tabloids, and an unholy desire for human blood.

George spat: "When in doubt, whip it out and scream!" So he did just that, but promptly clamped his wide mouth shut when he heard heavy footsteps getting louder and louder on the other side of the hedge. A tear drop of sweat slipped off his forehead and sloshed against his polished shoes. With a sigh, he clenched his buttocks as his stomach imploded. "I've been shot," George whimpered.

Shania loomed over the limp body. Although she was a Republican, she still held the key to many of life's unspoken treasures - such as passing gas whenever accelerating in a diesel truck. She had also mastered the often ignored art of massaging testes so they explode like eggs on the bonnet of a brilliant white Dodge Ram at the hottest part of the day. She reached down and with Ginzu knife-like precision sliced through George's superman costume to expose the whole wound. She reached inside, her hand moving easily through the slippery intestines that felt like oiled snakes. She stopped for a moment, allowing the final pulses of the simpleton's life force to rush through her arm and into her heart. Once she was sure he was dead, she called out to her accomplice. "We need a shitty pun, like 40cc's of urine, STAT!"

Her accomplice lit a cigarette, tossed a hand-towel to Shania and duly noted the rubber coating on the extremities of George Bush's body. "He's still alive," she said. "Look!"

Shania stood up and coughed. The tingle in her pubic region sent shivers of delight throughout her entire body. "This cannot be," she said, wiping the mess of tar slobber from her tantalizing lips. "But it is," said the mysterious accomplice, whose one boob was hanging out of her Wonder Woman costume.

This was beginning to feel all too familiar.

Friday, November 11, 2005

GEORGE AND CHARLTON

That phone call left Mr. Heston in a daze. What did George say? Charlton could not quite remember. He sharpened his axe and flicked through his black book, during which he got confused and sharpened his finger instead. Multi-tasking was clearly not Charlton's thing. He needed tuna to concentrate. But not to party hard.

He searched high and low for his cowboy boots, but realised he left them at Shania Twain's house last Friday night. He agonised no more for there was serious singing to be done. "My, my, my, Shania! Why, why, why, Shania?" he sang to raucous applause in his mind.

Meanwhile, Tom Jones turned in his grave. Grabbing his Nunchucks, Charlton leaped into his bath, which was filled with beetles and corpses at various stages of decomposition. He flayed with all his might as innocent beetles, human flesh and bones sprayed onto walls like coagulating wallpaper.

"Decorating again?" asked George Bush, who had let himself in through the back door.

"Naw", said Charlton, "Just sorting.."

BANG! Before he could answer, George had shot him dead with one of Charlton's own beloved guns.

"Shit", George mumbled as he looked at his bloodstained shoes. He had a press conference in an hour. As he reached into his pocket for his handkerchief, he saw Shania walking up the driveway, the summer breeze gently tossing her hair.

She was carrying Charlton's boots.

Thursday, November 10, 2005

THE BEGINNING

In the beginning God created the heavens and the earth.

Now the earth was formless and empty, darkness was over the surface of the deep, and the Spirit of God was hovering over the waters.

And God said, "my pancreas is itchy." Hearing this, the heavenly hosts started to undress themselves and play naked Twister.

Meanwhile, rumours about God's ineptitude were appearing in the gutter press just as Bricktop was about to dribble all over Asia, which was the size of a Monopoly Hotel piece. Bricktop's viscid drool dangled precariously above the earth like a viscous meteor, but Fat Albert's gravitational pull sucked Asia away towards the stratosphere. It was inconceivable that Asia would escape without a plague of locusts descending upon the Nation's firstborn sons, so it was no surprise that Asia's veritable jungles were keen to neutralise the situation.

Donning their green robes, the Nation's firstborn sons prayed to the Royal Order of Locust Hunters, who were unfortunately out of office at the time. So instead, they decided they would petition George Bush for live ammunition and clogs. George proceeded to phone Charlton Heston, vice president of the NRA, and requested that he immediately die.

"Send clogs to the Moroccan sledge hammerers dressed in that Ben-Hur costume!" George vented as he slammed down the telephone.

Charlton scratched his temple and hoped there would be more. Only time would tell.

Wednesday, November 02, 2005

FIVE WORD STORIES

The History of the Five Word Stories:
In high school, a group of us used to write stories in Commerce class by passing around a piece of paper with each person adding five words. Our stories would evolve into madness: e.g. Brendan walked into the store and chopped of his penis. He slapped his horse in the butcher’s store where Joe was standing naked in the window.

www.fivewordstories.blogspot.com:
Technology has allowed the creation of this online piece of paper which is to be passed around the globe, incorporating (for the first time) the stupidity of the world’s greatest procrastinators.

The Rules:
1. Each participant must contribute five words to the story.
Note to participants: you will be given admin rights to enable editing of the post. After you have added your five words, please place your name in brackets at the end of the post so as to show the world you are doing nothing at the current time.
2. You may not contribute consecutively.
3.Grammatical conventions must be adhered to.
4. All punctuation marks do not add to the word count, with the exception of a full stop.A full stop counts as one word.
5. Make sure you are quick when posting. Seeing as we are all procrastinating, there is a slight chance that two people may post at the same time.

To Prospective Procrastinators:
1. Come with a recommendation.
2. Please provide your email address so that I can send you an invite.