NormThe Range Rover and The Echidna.
Range Roving rejects rejoice! Home here houses habitual whores who hate homophobes; healing house-husbands (hacks who hardly herald halcyon hijinx) have hastily hurt hysterical high-horse handlers. Of course the Indigenous Echidna is a prickly species; things that have spines are prickly. Like a moving uniped madman, they are unique; but they are no match for The Range Rover. The Range Rover has spineless pricks behind the weal. Fighting the power for years, The Range Rover honed their skills in a paper bag. “Lucky to get out of there alive”, it’s a pity it was one of those weak pathetic recycled paper bags. Wealers turn green at the merest mention of anything inorganic as they squash the land beneath their wheel. They turn tyrannical on their turf too; that territorial terrain tempered by a traversing, twat-tweaking twee-hugger, too tabloid to take to task. Pricks on the inside: The Range Rover, and pricks on the outside: The Echidna. The Range Rover and The Echidna: different.
Philosophy Blog
What do they call a Toorak Tractor in Sydney?
A Potty-Point Tractor? Or a Potty-Mouth Tractor?
Hmmm?
David ...
Consumption Malfunction
Equal and Opposite
Arses and Elbows
Footy Power
Cheers brother, Norm.
Consumption Malfunction
Equal and Opposite
Arses and Elbows
Footy Power
you know what I said to myself when I rearrived at my abode today?
Home. Rejoice!
text
Peace brother, Norm.
Rugby World Cup 2007
David...darling...in Sydney, they're called con-tractors...
Dusk
Consumption Malfunction
Equal and Opposite
Arses and Elbows
Footy Power
Rugby World Cup 2007
The Ultimate Abstractor.
Just here to wish you an Equal and Opposite 2007.
With no detractors.
Be well my friend.
Dusk
Consumption Malfunction
Equal and Opposite
Arses and Elbows
Footy Power
Norm.
A nice little story about Mama love.
All you timid mice and catty cats out there! Meow, meow, meow, scratch, hiss, cow-tow, and a couple more meows for bad measure? Get out of my way! Effeminate man in Mama’s powder-blue apron strings coming through in my effeminate Barina! Running over kitty litter trays (while the cat is doing poo-poos and wee-wees. Poo-poos from its botty). Cat killing Barina coming through! Mouse-flattening, mouse-crushing Barina coming through. Beep, beep! Honk honk! Baby, you can drive my car? Nooooooooo. (accompanied by my Mama’s finger wags) * My mama won’t let you. It’s her car. My mobile mouse trap will squash you flat. My mobile cat-killing machine will flatten you. SPLAT! Holy blood coming out of a thing with a tail, Batman. Boy Wonder? Yes Batman? Turn away now. I told you to a month ago. Yeah, it’s my Mama’s car. And my Mama? She’s in the back seat. Driving it. Telling me how to drive. The colour of Mama’s car? Pink! Dulux call it K.L. Pink. Why are Mama and me driving around? We just went to Bunnings to get some more mousetraps and cat poison. While we were there? I got a twenty-cent-piece. Or was it a nickel or a dime? Whatever it was, it’s value wasn’t much. Scratched it down the side of every big car I can’t see over the top of when I’m in Mama’s Barina. I went all catty on these beasts of things. Scratch! I went all medieval on them. (Tarantino, Pulp Fiction). Honk! Honk! Beep! Beep! Toodle-doo. Tweedledum … and Tweedle dee. Dumb-de-dumb, and doobie doo whah. Day? Hiss-sterical? Hiss! Not herrss! Hiss and Herss Range Rovers? Sterilise the hisses? I’d like to. Might get a job driving one of those mobile feminine thingy dispensers. And dispense with all of the blood on the street. Or dispense with the cause of all the blood? Come and see the blood on the screens (paraphrasing Pablo Neruda here). Where does all of this blood come from? Cyclical? Pre? Post? Mid? Life crisis? my writing? Post mid-life crisis de-struction-ist male menopausal rantings, ravings, rollickings ruckings and rollickings, rockings and rollickings? Why don’t I write about Vanilla any more? Come and see the blood on the screens! Or? I prefer to take piss-tachio? While I’m doing wee-wees. My eye? Just call me Clyclop. Cyclop the one-eyed monster. Thump, thump, thud. Just cleaning my contact len. Len? Just giving the Len a bit of a thump on the urinal. The ‘stainless’ spotless cold hard steely urinal. What do men do at a urinal? Wee on it? Wash your mouth out with soap for writing wee. Wee Willie Wonker? Way Wallie …
Ennnnnyway. [Hell, I love writing that, seeing that in print. Flattening mouse and cat imitation flattery. Cat flattery. Flat battery. Mouse-chicanery. Agatha Christie’s Mousetrap? Appppparrrrrrrrrently, she bequeathed the rights to the stage play to one of her relations, before it was produced in London’s West End. It went on to become the biggest money-spinner of all time.
Ennnnnnyway … (cat flattery) Cat of the purring and ROARing kind. ROARing with laughter kind. ROARing with [delight] kind.
Ennnnnyway, To cut a really really long story just slightly less lengthier …
Amen.
He was the son of a preacher man … (add music) … [delete]. Stop. Eject. Pause. Play it again Sam. Sunday Blood-y Sunday.
ennnnnway e-NORM-ous. Thanks for the loan of your blog. Mine? [deleted].
David ...
Sunday 31 December 2006 7.00am ...
See you next year?
Na ...
I'll catch up with you before then ...
If I don't ...
Have an Adam and Eve type of New Year's 'EVE' ... Eve? Naked in Paradise ... Christ. The New Adam. The BVM. The new Eve. Perfect Man. Perfect Woman.
Stop. Eject.
Consumption Malfunction
Equal and Opposite
Arses and Elbows
Footy Power
reading and re-reading,
as always, your piece.
Your peace I wish for,
And hope that war
stays from your door,
and the new year
strikes good cheer,
and brings fleece
in reading and re-reading.
Be safe in danger, my friend.
Your friend, Three wickets in three balls.