Archive for Fuckheads

11 Shit Things That Make Share-House Living Suck – #2

Posted in 11 Shit Things That Make Share-house Living Suck. with tags , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , on September 20, 2008 by Buck Frain

#2. Dishes Jenga

 

The aftermath of dishes berserker is clean but no less treacherous. Given the marathon effort of cleaning every dish in the house over two-plus hours, the idea of drying them all and putting them away is too much of a cruel and unusual punishment for most to consider. So the unusable kitchen filled with dirty dishes is now an unusable kitchen filled with precariously balanced clean ones. A new stand-off begins, it’s the game of Dishes Jenga.

 

Dishes Jenga is never spoken about but it invariably happens unless, of course, a bitch can be found. It takes its name from the Hasbro game which in turn takes its name from the Swahili word for build. The game is this: Any player may remove the dish(es) they need and use them as they see fit without putting the clean dishes away providing no-one else sees them with the dishes and most importantly, so long as the pile of dishes remains intact and no re-organisation of said dishes is required to remove the desired articles. This can be done because while the clean dish piles are undisturbed there is a fog of plausible deniability that shrouds the kitchen in mystery. Any player can quite believably claim:

Oh, I didn’t see them there.

Or

I haven’t used any dishes, I haven’t even been in the kitchen for days.

Or even

Fuck off, man, who the fuck are you?

 

Whilst everyone secretly knows that everyone else is playing the game, no-one is confronted with direct, incontrovertible evidence of the game’s existence, therefore it can continue unimpeded. As soon as someone creates evidence of the game’s existence they lose and must put all the dishes away. Such causes for losing the game are:

 

  • Getting caught using dishes while the pile remains – This will be met with patronising, even hostile responses from your house-mates as it indicates your extreme selfishness.
  • Disrupting the pile and sending an avalanche of dishes crashing to the floor – This is met with even more hostile responses as not only are you a conniving, selfish cunt-rag, but you just smashed a pile your house-mates’ crockery whilst attempting to scam your way out of a minimal gesture towards communal life.  

Usually the game is lost without any such drama. You’ll just be trying to get a knife out so you can butter a piece of toast when the plates shift and you know it’s all over. You replace the knife with surgical precision, quietly acknowledge defeat and spend half an hour putting the dishes away. That is unless you don’t really want the toast buttered, in which case you replace the knife, eat dry toast and leave the pile for someone else…you cunt! No-one ever wins Dishes Jenga – it only has losers.

Desperately Seeking Cunty Fuck Fuck.

Posted in Tourist Attractions That Suck with tags , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , on September 5, 2008 by Buck Frain


I usually steer away from talking about my blog. It’s pretentious and self-referential and it breaks my fourth wall, revealing me as just another lonely twat with a nerd-box typing unread nothings into the ether of cyberspace in a vain attempt to stave off the suicidal meaninglessness of existence in an emotionally and morally bankrupt empire-in-decline at the twilight of my species.

 

Morning, bitches, how are YOU feeling today?

 

Enough self-pity – it’s winter and I’m sick a-cunting-gain so get fucked!

 

I’ve been stewing on this for a while but seeing as I’ve now had over 25,000 page views I figured I should share some of this stuff with you – the readers who made it happen. For those of you not from here, wordpress is a wonderful place and provides me with all sorts of interesting tools to see where my traffic is coming from. Sounds exciting, huh? I say traffic and you imagine lanes and lanes of speeding vehicles glinting in the sunlight as they cruise sleekly up information super-highways on their way to infinity but that’s not quite what it’s like, you should probably picture the occasional lonely, dented, curb-crawling sedan coughing its way around a dimly lit cul-de-sac before being chased away by armed, angry crack-whore-trannies – it’s closer to the truth.

 

However, returning to my point, I did have one, it wasn’t just the cold and flu tablets speaking – How people find me – I’m constantly amazed by the terms people type into search engines that lead them to me. It’s become something of an obsession now because so many of them either freak me out or make me laugh. I’ve no idea how search engines work but I get a real kick out of this so here’s some of my faves: 

 

  •  Kyle Sandilands is a cunt – yes he is. This fills me with joy every time it comes up, which is quite often.
  • Wank me, mum – oh dear. This wasn’t what you were looking for at all, was it? Did you zip the pants back up and read on or did you leave and go somewhere else? 
  • Pounding freak hardcore – Hmm…another disappointment, I fear. 
  • Sluthead – Brilliant! I never knew anyone other than my brother ever used this word.
  • Cut Scrotum – If you’ve cut the bag, what the cunt are you doing Googling it? Did I help or did you bleed out under yopur computer desk? Fuck it! Dial 000, people!
  • Fellatiophobia – I thought I invented that word but it’s out there. Is it a real phobia? I’ve no idea. Genius!
  • Cunty fuck fuck – I have no idea what prompts this as a search term but it is absolutely brilliant. I love that someone found me using this. What were you looking for? Were you disappointed? Did you ever return? I would love to hear the story of how cunty fuck fuck came to be typed into a search engine.

 

I feel I’ve firmly carved out a niche for myself at the bottom of that barrel that is the internet. If you type something dodgy into a search engine, sooner or later you’ll find me. This makes me happy. It’s where I belong. Whether you came here looking for a crafty 3G phone-wank or because you enjoy a good bitch about the injustices and annoyances of the world I welcome you. I hope you enjoy your stay, feel free to invite your friends. To the people who think I’m some kind of sicko, psycho and/or a menace to society: I laugh at your sad existence and hope someone shits in your letterbox.

I’m Telex You, Gestetner Fax Outta Here!

Posted in Human Stupidity with tags , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , on August 15, 2008 by Buck Frain

What the prolapsed rectum is with people who persist in using fax machines? I’m sorry but there’s no fucking excuse anymore. NO FUCKING EXCUSE!!! Get out of the cunting stone age, you great-grandmotherfuckers! 

 

I had mistakenly believed the enduring references to fax numbers on letterheads and business cards were just an indication of a laziness in updating stationery. If the last few days are anything to go by, however, I am wrong and there is army of tree-murdering recalcitrants out there desperately hanging on to their fax machines and forcing others to use them in the hope they’ll eventually acquire some kind of officeretro coolness. It’s pitifully fucked. 

 

I applied for two jobs recently where the recruitment monkeys asked if I could fax my resume in. Could I? I don’t know, could you go fuck yourself in the arse with a big rubber prick? To the first I replied: 

No, I’ll have to email you, I don’t have a fax machine. 

 

I was perplexed. People still use these things? WHY? Why would you use a fucking fax machine? They suck! How’s carrier pidgeon, will that do? I just don’t get it. The second time it happened I was got fucked off, however, I tried to remain cool and nonchalantly replied: 

No, I’ll have to e-mail you. My fax machine’s been less than reliable since I chopped into pieces with an axe. 

 

There was a stunned silence as the HR guy tried to process this information until, finally, he gave a weak: 

Ahm…I’m sorry? 

 

I don’t have a fax, dude, I’ve got a computer…and…I was messing with you. 

 

Nothing. Why is it that the people who work in human resources are the people with the least grip on humanity? Maybe it’s the same crushing irony of careers advisors – what a shit job, why would anyone listen to them ever? 

 

I applied for yet another job, a real job I had thought. I was reasonably interested in the business, the position looked promising…until I received a call from them requesting my fax number so they could send me some information to look over before the interview. 

How about I give you my email address? 

 

The vacant and, I assume, blonde entity on the other end of the phone gave a petulant sigh and tried to ply me for the path of least resistance:

Your fax number would be a lot quicker…for us, you know. 

 

I somehow doubt that – I don’t have a fax. Could you TELEX me?

 

Oh, I don’t know…I don’t think we have that…well, is there a fax at your post office? Or…well, I suppose I could send it by regular mail but there’s no guarantee you’d have much time with it before the interview… 

 

The job had lost all its lustre. It was dead to me now.

My Post Office? What the fuck? Are you calling me from the past? What the shat-in-fridge is wrong with you? E-mail, you stinking fucker! Have you not heard of it? It’s great: it doesn’t kill trees, it doesn’t degrade the quality of documents, it doesn’t cost you money and it has fuck all of a carbon footprint, BINT! You know what? Fuck you! FUCK YOU!!! Take the documents, the interview, the job and your whole company, fax it all to yourself, roll it up and shove it up your ARSE!!! I hate you! I fucking hate your short-sighted, environmentally cancerous, shit-sucking, lazy fuckedness! I hope to find you trapped under a vending machine early one Tuesday morning after a long weekend, a breath away from death so your last memory can be me hanging a big steaming shit into your gasping mouth!!!

 Hmm…that’d have to confuse the Jesus out of the forensic team, wouldn’t it? 

 

I digress. Unfortunately, none of that tirade actually came out of my mouth. I did manage to impart that if the facility of e-mail was too complicated for her company then I probably wasn’t too interested in working there, gave her my e-mail address and hung up. Yep, Won’t be hearing from those bastards. You wonder why I’m trapped in my dead-end limbo existence? Too bad. Fuck it!

 

Faxes have no place in our world except perhaps in a Museum For Boring Shit That Always Sucked. They’re a bad piece of equipment – they ruin everything, they jam like bastards, they use that stupid replica toilet paper and they have been thoroughly superceded in the most remote parts of the planet for well over a decade. Anyone who ever uses one now is obviously a complete CUNT and should be beaten to death with their stupid, cunty, shit-ridden fax machine for being an irredeemably FUCKED human being. GET FUCKED!!!

You’re so vain, you probably think I’m trying to kill you.

Posted in Human Stupidity with tags , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , on July 3, 2008 by Buck Frain

 

People are far, far more stupid than I had realised. It’s days like this where I despair for the human race and just want the cockroaches to take over – I doubt they’d do a worse job. I know I’m not the most charitable chap when it comes to evaluating the average intelligence of my species, but I think even I may have been overly generous thus far.

 

I read this article today and I’ve been hearing similar bulletins all over the radio warning the mobile phone owners of Australia not to respond to a text message scam saying:

 

Someone paid me to kill you. If you want me to spare you, I give you 2 days to pay 5000 dollars. If you inform the police or anybody, you will die, I am monitoring you.

 

How fucking stupid are you? If you’re enough of a douche bag to fall for that, you deserve not only to lose your money but to be beaten with a sledgehammer, dragged behind a car, chewed by wild dogs and set on fire. WAKE THE FUCK UP!!! How many hitmen tell you they’re going to kill you? How many hitmen ruin their own professional image by letting clients buy them off? How many hitmen can be bought off by clients for a meager $5000? I mean, how much was the cunt hired for in the first place? A bag of weed and some 2-minute noodles? What the shit-streaked pants are you thinking?

 

So…have you crawled out from under the bed yet? Will you be able to sleep tonight? If you’re still scared just ask yourself this: Who the fuck are you that someone would want you dead and feel strongly enough about it to spend money getting it done? Be honest now. No-one. Not one single person gives that much of a fuck about your imbecilic arse, do they? In fact, if you died tomorrow in your apartment, it would be a couple of weeks before the neighbours complained about the stench – that’s the truth, isn’t it? Yeah! So just shut the shit-eating-fuck up and relax!

 

If you’ve had a text message like the one above and after reading all this you’re still worried, please contact me at buck.frain@gmail.com  Include your address and when you’re likely to be home and, when I have time, I’ll make a special trip over to kick the living cunt out of you for being a stupid sack of self-absorbed shit. With all my heart: GET FUCKED!!!