A Memoir, Facebook Style.

Allow me to paint you a picture.

It’s 1997. Thursday. You’ve finished a long day at work and settled on the couch to watch your favourite sitcom. Not long into the episode there’s a flashback scene you’ve seen before, in some other episode.

That’s weird, you think. About two minutes later there’s another flashback. You then realise. It’s one of those episodes that studios make one of each season where they use mostly flashbacks of THINGS YOU’VE ALREADY SEEN interspersed with boring scenes of the cast reminiscing.

You have a minor tantrum (Those tight-asses! Do they really think I’m stupid enough to sit here and watch a montage of scenes I’ve already seen?!) before sitting there and watching it anyway.

This post is my version of that.

You’re welcome.

I was trawling through my own Facebook page and encountered some old updates I had forgotten about that I found amusing – please take a break at this point to look up ‘subjective’ in the dictionary (while you’re there, you may as well look up ‘ego’ as well). I’ve compiled them in the hope that seen together they will portray my life over several years. Like a memoir.

Ahuh, I hear you thinking, now you get the heading. Good work.

On a hard day at work:

I need a drink… Or 27 of them… At once… In a huge glass… But with a little handle… So it’s dainty.

On Caster Semenya, the female South African runner who was found not to be gender-stereotypical:

I feel sorry for that South African runner now that the whole world knows about her internal organs. I wonder if she knows that most slugs are hermaphrodites? Maybe that would make her feel better. But then again, she’s a runner. So probably not.

On being tired:

I’m so tired it’s crazy. It’s so crazy I’m gonna make a movie about it. It’s gonna be set in the 80’s. It’s gonna star Madonna. It’s gonna have a kick-ass soundtrack. It’s gonna be called Desperately Seeking Snoozin’.

On still being tired:

I feel like I’m in one of those sleep deprivation experiments where people slowly go insane from never getting enough sleep and they start having memory problems too, like wondering if they have spoken the thought in their head already, which is like what happens when you are in one of those sleep deprivation experiments where people slowly go insane from never getting enough sleep.

On people who lurk:

Lurkers: can’t live with ’em, can’t cut them up into small pieces, place them in separate bin liners and scatter them across the countryside.

On Sydney:

I’m glad that Sydney is having another Festival Of Lights. I’ve been trying to think of a way we could balance out all the electricity we saved during Earth Hour. Good job Sydney. Clever.

On Science:

Coffee + cigarette = poop. Always. It’s Newtons law of poogravity. But why not today? And why did a bird fall dead out of the sky two days ago and land in my linen basket? Clearly, the end is nigh. And by nigh, I mean the sound a horse makes. The end is the sound a horse makes. Out it’s bum. Because it can poo. And I cannot.

On Women:

I just read an article about the female reproduction system and I’m more confused than ever. So, there’s the wee exit and the sexy-time entrance, I’ve got that, but where do the eggs come out? And, what, do they just collect in their underwear throughout the day?!

I guess that’s why women always have handbags. It’s where they keep their eggs.. until they can go home and pop them in the fridge.

On serving a woman with a hormone problem:

“Hi. Your room won’t be ready until to 2 o’clock, but you can keep your moustache here until then. Sorry? Bags, I said bags. You can put your bags in the beard room.. store room. I said store room.. huh? Where is Coles? No problem, just turn left out the door, go straight and then and turn right at your inappropriate facial hair.”

On surviving in the wild:

I was just attacked by a flock of seagulls at Darling Harbour. It’s raining so no tourists fed them today and they were trying to snatch the Subway out of my hand. Thankfully I kept it together enough to do an about-face and aggressively sing “Hungry Like The Wolf” in their direction. Sure, it may sound nuts, but everybody knows you can only counterattack a flock of seagulls with some decisive Duran Duran.

On being objectified:

I was sitting enjoying a beer in the Colombian window yesterday with Evelyn when a 4-foot tall homeless guy with nicotine stains all over his beard stopped, looked at me and said “You’re hot!” and then proceeded to bark and growl at me like a dog on heat. I’m guessing the poor little urine stained homeless leprachaun likes blondes- which is perfect, because I just LOVE hepatitis.

On modern problems:

If I added up how much time I’ve spent untangling headphones I’m sure I could have written a novel in the same time- A novel called “If I Added Up How Much Time I’ve Spent Untangling Headphones I’m Sure I could Have Written A Novel In The Same Time: The Novel.” Of course, it will be a novelty novel, the novelty being that it’s printed on little strips of paper tangled up in a ball that you’ve got to untangle before you can read it.

On corduroy:

Note to all future interior designers: never purchase a couch made of corduroy. I just had a nap without my shirt on and when I woke up my skin was all ribbed and, I’ve got to say, it’s not ribbed for my pleasure. Or anyone else’s.

On gratitude:

I have decided to convert to evangelical Christianity. Clear evidence of a God existing has presented itself. JEROEN IS LOSING HIS VOICE! Thank you Jesus. Don’t worry Jesus, I’ll overlook the fact that your mother cheated on Joseph and got preggers by a spirit, thereby making you illegitimate. I don’t judge. It doesn’t make her a hussy, its common, it’s happened to friends of mine. Well, actually, they got preggers while drinking spirits, but it’s pretty similar I reckon. I mean, how drunk do you have to be to sleep with a spirit?!! That Mary really sounds like the life of the party.. Annnnyyyywaaay.. Thanks.

On life:

The older I get, the less I think I’m destined for greatness and the more I think I’m destined for a nap.

On learning:

I just read that seal foreplay consists of “making creaky door vocalizations” and “maintaining eye contact while breathing heavily directly into ones face”. Jesus Christ. No wonder Heidi Klum divorced him.

WAIT.. Ok. Got it. Not that Seal. The other seals. Y’know, the ones with smooth faces.

Wow. You made it to the end. I’m impressed. You must really have nothing going on in your life right now.

I mean that nicely.

 

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