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September 29, 2008 | by  | in Features | [ssba]

Using the Google to Surf the Internet with Justin Timbervomitgutspuke

Ladies and Gentlemen I am so excited that I’m not even going to bother putting a comma after writing Ladies and Gentlemen like they teach me in Writing 101 classes because I am so hyped up and adoring of my manthrax homeboy George Bush who totally rules! Oh Yeah!

As someone studying the intramolecular biology of interfederational politics I am a huge George Bush fan. Yesterday while I was learning from the TV I saw George announce that he had used “The Google” on something called the “Internets”. Wow! I’ve never heard of that before! What, is that some top secret MI5 code slang for blowing someone up? Of course it was! Let’s blow someone! I want to blow someone! Yeah, George, you rule, I’ll watch while you blow someone! Woohoo! And then I’ll blow them! Yeah, baby, that’s what politics is about!

So I heard of this thing called the “Internets” and wow I am so amazed by it! It is even here at university! Apparently there are rooms full of individual “Internets” for us to go and use!

But first let me tell you what the internets actually are. Basically it is a cubic lattice of matrices that add up to infinity times infinity times a billion and has so many computer game cheats on it, and if you search really really hard, a tiny speck or two of pornography. The internet is a wise old sorcerer who is too powerful to be let out because if he was, he would know everything about how to get women from the FHM website and would literally have all the females in the world, and all the rest of us who didn’t know about internetting wouldn’t have a girl. That we could do cool stuff to. And then we’d be gay. Not that there is anything wrong about that. I think it’s actually great. But I’m not gay. Okay?

So for all you n00bs who aren’t geeky enough to know how to set up internets there’s a few things you have to do: Are you sitting down? Good. Stand a little and put the plug up your bum. Now sit down, force it up there good. The reason you do this is to make the gravity push the electrons into the computer and power the sorcerer’s magic missile spell. Now type in HTTP and go to Sorcerer’s Place, which is full of totally boss ripper-as Baldur’s Gate mods ‘n’ patches.

I was surfing the web the other day when I found a picture of Justin Timberlake just sitting there in cyberspace. Being a prepubescent female with a big swinging bulbous meat tucked away in my bloomers, and a beautiful waterfallish cascade of armpit hair, not to mention my pimply back, I clicked on young Jus, immediately teleporting him into my room. He made me some lovely chai and gave me a homoerotic footrub, which was EXTREMELY gay because I was turned on, but because I was turned on in a heterosexual way it means I’m not gay. Okay?

Don’t you just hate the way people advertise everywhere? I mean here you are reading this article and I am advertising my thoughts at you, and the only thing you can do to avoid it is turn the page! Which would suck! Or it might be better! You don’t know! You’re on this page! You’re just reading this sentence! Now you’re reading this one!

So advertising sucks – it is amoral, bad, evil, inexcusable, repressive, offensive to women, degrading to men, objectifies sex and it sexualises objects, particularly ice blocks, salami and cheerios that have the end bit peeling back. Advertising is the worst kind of filth on this planet, and I am immediately advertising for its removal from our collective tissue of brain conciousness fabric within the time-space sub-plane. Like that Nirvana song, I’m in a plane, I can complain. And that’s why I’m writing this Woman’s Day column, to complain in plain. English, that is. So that is where I stand with advertising. That is my stance. Of morals. That I have, and that are mine. That is precisely exactly where I stand without adjusting even one boot on the carpet. It is simply wrong. It is horrible and terrible and incorrigible and completely bullble. Unfortunately for me, writing this column isn’t billable. Advertising sucks, and anyone who does it must answer to my horde of campaigning mindless drones who I hope are backing me up. Seriously people, this planet has had far too much of advertising and needs to be cleansed. I will personally obliterate anyone who advertises anything. Ever.

Unless of course you’ve got something to sell. It’s obviously okay to advertise if you’re selling something, that’s just fine. There’s nothing wrong with that. Why not put a naked person in your ad to help your product sell? Nothing wrong with that, is there? Why not put two naked people getting raunchy suckling on your product (ice blocks) in a sexy way? And market it to children, as well! That’s a huge market! Big demographic the kids, lots of money there! If you get the kids in, you’ll probably get the parents in as well! Why not have the raunchy people in the ad getting injured really violently by a macho man who rescues a woman who is even raunchier than the two naked women with power tools, uzis, peeled-back salami and ice blocks to suckle on that you had in the first place? That would be a cool ad, man! Hey what are you selling? Dude, I don’t care, I’m gonna go buy one right now! Yeah! I feel like rubbing an ice block on my rock hard abs!

I do actually have rock hard abs, but they are of a different nature. These are special abs designed by the KGB to keep the chill out, and are vodka fuelled, which requires that I drink spirits every day. So these abs are fun to maintain, but I find I have a lot of memory loss, and a gradually weakening cognitive ability. Is this worth it, just to look cool? Of course!

These particular prototype abs I have are covert ops abs in that they hide deep under cover of a huge blanket of beer, pizza and billowing tufts of pubic hair, but when they come out, ooooh yeah, when I’m drunk almost passed out naked lying on the floor in a puddle of vomit that may or may not be mine, and I lift up my top, man my abs look just incredible. And don’t call me gay for checking out my own abs, there’s nothing gay about it. Which means I’m not gay. So there. I couldn’t be gay. Even if I wanted to. And if I was gay that wouldn’t matter. Like if I just wanted to try it, or something, if I just wanted to feel the sheer ecstasy of another man sliding his tender pink skin over my hot flesh, caressing me, and he was really oily, and soft, and sensitive, but strong and dominating, if I wanted that, that would be gay, if I was just a bit curious. Which I’m not.


So abs are bad. And if you have any abs then you suck. And if I find ‘ANY’ of you, out there, with abs in your possession I’m gonna –

I mean advertising is bad. That’s why I’m putting up heaps and heaps of ads for Salient this week so people can read this article about how bad advertising is. I mean, we’re going to have to sell an awful lot of copies, yeah? I need to appeal to a large audience so I will need a really cool ad like a woman riding a Harley Davidson bus with a man in the back with heaps of guns and the only bits of the woman you can’t see are her uterus lining and the end of her ilio-caecal valve. That way it’s not offensive to white people or pigeon minorities that can’t speak English. Also I will have the man blowing up something. Anything. That way it’s cool and appeals to the male demographic. And I need some words. Power words. Words that really relay the idea of just how awful advertising is, to you, the stupid… stuuuupiiiid… dumbass… schmucks that are gonna come along and buy this magazine off me for nothing. Words are key here; advertisers know that to sell their crap to you and your kids they have to use cool words like “Agreosolomate” (a type of curved cricket bat) and “Power” (a leading brand of electron). So at the top and middle of my ad for anti-ads I will have written “MEGA CARTRIDGE SEX DILDO TIGER BRA-SNAP HOTRUB MASTODON REALITY MASHER SEX POWER BREAST EXPLODER PROTEIN” of course in calligraphy font because that won’t offend Taoists or hysterectomied bullfrogs of the Scorpio sign. It might offend some politicians, but fuck them. Fuck them firmly, and really grimly and nastily, like as if they’ve been naughty, and violate the anti-smacking bill on them, and afterwards tell them it’s because you care about them, like you’re their daddy or something. That’s cool. That’s so cool, man. And after you’ve both had a cigarette, you could cuddle them, and tell them everything’s going to be alright.


Guy Armstrong wishes he was a parking space (He wants you to drive it into him).


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