thegoat - The Daily Dump

The Daily Dump *

A place to discard the written equivalent of faeces that don't deserve a page all to themselves.

* Not updated daily

“I am the playground!” (4 October 2008)

I'd like to see a TV show in the vein of “Biggest Loser” but with a twist you'll never see coming: You take a dozen morbidly obese people and encourage them to get even bigger.

Then you could have one of them say: “When I was a kid, I used to be the smallest guy out on the playground. Now, I am the playground”. And we'd all laugh.

A Wheel of Time Spinoff Movie? (28 September 2008)

The Trolloc and the Gray Man — a story about love, betrayal, and the hottest soulless-man-on-beast action ever captured on film.

Mind games with the erogenous monster (21 September 2008)

The stalagmites in my mind are ripping shreds from me self-esteem.

A train of calamine monsters are pricking me with mosquito swords and diamond ice. Monsters are everywhere, pricks out.

Roboclown (31 August 2008)

So there's this clown. Not your ordinary clown. He's...roboclown.

The year is 2437. Robotic clowns rule the earth with an iron-fisted combination of ruthless dictatorship and irresistibly amusing antics.

One of the clowns, while overseeing the massacre of 75 million rebelling human, starts to develop a conscience. He wonders: what if massacring humans is wrong? Then he decides that it's not wrong, and squirts one of the dead bodies in the eye with his trick lapel-flower.

The end.

Blowing off steam (29 August 2008)

I'll give a new meaning to blowing off steam. Floater? Sinker? Irrelevant when some people don't have time to wash their hands.

Even in my dreams I can't kill motherfuckers like Frank.

TV is a distraction and while it's on I can't write fast enough. One word every twenty-four hours makes two per year. I've had a problem with evolution and relativity. On my timeline I'm kind of the world, but no one else is in phase with it.

Check two entries below for a reference to Penis Pilates (24 August 2008)

He who talks in circles walks in circles. That's a metaphor for life, you primrose dinner eater.

Sometimes even the warmest of servants need to be kick started.

A few bags of caramel lollies in flight will bring your eyes back to terrestrial matters. Blond jokes fell off the side of the road a long time ago.

What passes for creativity today? (17 August 2008)

I've seen people^* deliberately misspell words so that the dictionary options in Microsoft Word would give them unusual words that they might not have thought of by themselves. Supposedly, that passes as creativity among artists these days.

* When I say “people”, I mean “me”.

My Belligerent Son (10 August 2008)

What bothers you, my belligerent son? Erections have never bothered you in the past. Tiny groups earning their licences doing penis pilates. Suck it in, let it out. Stand up, face down.

I am told you feel the world is against you, that some conspiracy exists to make you hard and bonerfide.

I can underline for you, if you like, all the times you've been to the toilet without a camera trained upon your horsewhip. All those times no one wondered from where came your saddle sores. All those bombs dropped and bums rushed.

Warm Air Arboretum (2 August 2008)

All I've got is sleep gum gathering in my eyes. There's a ghost in my warm aired arboretum...soon I'll push him out into the world.

Forum Users (26 July 2008)

For most of my life I believed that only social workers and retards frequented internet forums, but today I've been proven dead wrong.

It seems that schizophrenics and repeat sex offenders also use them.

Indian is not always Indian (22 July 2008)

Almost sounds like a famous quote.

I wouldn't want to live in the cliff-top apartments of Perth. It would stunt my soul.

I discovered that Indian is not always Indian when the restaurant is in Perth.

I could run a second-hand trolley caper at Perth airport. Three bucks a pop it costs, exploiting the overloaded passenger. It's a slap in the face wakeup call for people who've been taking free trolleys for granted.

The hallway outside our apartment smells like raw fish.

Darth Vader and the War Crimes Trial (19 July 2008)

At the war crimes trial for Darth Vader:

“Why did you destroy Alderaan?”

“The Alderaani were harbouring terrorists. We had to destroy them to protect our way of life. It wasn't me anyway, it was Moff Tarkin who ordered it. Actually it was that guy in the lopsided black helmet. He's the one who pushed the button.”

Ripping out your perma-dentures (8 July 2008)

Something's gone wrong with my reader. Client-side problems have turned me into a heathen.

Look out box jellyfish, here we come. Bang, wake up with a swollen gob and by midmorning your perma-dentures have been ripped out.

The sudden coolness from her fucking scorching majesty the sun is quite pleasant though. Fighting crocodiles for your life in a swamp is probably much more exciting that being rich and famous.

She just showed me how to stimulate a penis, as supplied by the tips in Cleo magazine. It was a little different to method I use.

I love the smell of animal skin clothes when they get wet. It smells so...natural.

Sometimes I'm scared by cold hands. The toilet walls are having me on because I forgot to go for a jog tonight.

Pencil stick long nose macho blow contest. I've got the bigger gun, harder than yours and shoots bigger loads faster. Purple-headed warrior beasts with neck-choked tie fight for sexual gratification.

Is everything I vomit taken from somewhere else?

Dr K's Place (30 June 2008)

So we went around to Dr K's place and he showed us how to take some of the internal organs out of rats and keep the rats alive.

“I didn't know you was a surgical doctor, Dr K,” I said.

“I'm not.”

He glared at me with a look that said, “This could be you on my operating table”. That'll teach me to hold my smart tongue.

Orcs with Forks (24 June 2008)

Why are there no hobbits named Robert? Or Bobbitt? Or Knob-it?

Why don't we ever see orcs with forks? Orcs are always portrayed with bad manners, but if you're eating human and elf all the time, you have to master the fork.

Ice Whore (23 June 2008)

I saw an ice whore, the colour of mud and honey.

The Lovesick Man (22 June 2008)

“I'm lovesick. I'm sick of love. All I do is trudge through the world and love everything and I'm sick of it.”

That's a love man walking, going around loving the bunions of underground junkies and hating that he loves it. His head is full of love, cuntstruck jingles and ways to kill himself — ways that he wishes he could use if he didn't love himself so much.

Making You Look Part of my Evil (15 June 2008)

Unlike the ancients, we've got golden spermicide to play with.

A dust bowl world, a hell in the making unless you're another happy grain of sand. Echo from heaven side, a far cry from a deicide event horizon.

Sometimes those who know least know best.

Misanthrope, I don't know what that means. Word user without comprehension, designed to confuse and obfuscate the masses and maintain the power of the elite. Coded and encrypted, back to front backwards shift. Translocation and misappropriation.

Did anything happen today, or did I just blink and it was night? I can't remember ever being happy enough to watch TV. And now I've reversed the opening line into a palindrome. Consider making you look part of my evil.

My Favourite Dinosaur (7 June 2008)

An excerpt from my favourite childhood book: Did Dinosaurs Have Dingdongs?

“Triceratops is my favourite dinosaur because he's slow, a pervert, and can rape three sheep simultaneously...maybe four sheep, if you count his dingdong.”

Lawn Mower like a Nazi (25 May 2008)

My magical power of warning manifests itself as an anal odour.

Ten thousand steps back and one step forward, eventually you might get ahead of yourself.

Expend to get entropy
Save and you atrophy
Don't believe in our own effigy

Follow my eyes, drink up, brave the ice rink apartheid. Follow the world war into the sink.

Wake up to wiggling worms in a close and muggy marriage bed. Aversion to religious conversion, might makes write until the writing tendrils of apathy or disillusion cause everything to crumble.

Pardon the paradigm, we're expecting expulsion from the diplomatic immunity brigade as soon as word gets out about our little experiments on those visiting Jehovah witnesses. They witnessed a cleansing in a bath of sheep's blood and Epsom salts, and now they only want to publish and claim all the reward. Let them discuss ethics until they're white in the face.

I've got my socks on your brain and my toilet training clamped in the stars. By a twist or plait of fate I might gain forbidden knowledge.

Interrogate the blades of my lawn mower like a Nazi.

Priceless... (18 May 2008)

Sack and crack wax...$59.95

Penis pumper kit...$88.95

Whipping off your daks in front of Mischa Barton and having her goggle at your blood-red inflated monster cock...priceless.

Morality in Internet Chatrooms (9 May 2008)

Is it wrong to trawl internet chatrooms trying to find cops pretending to be children trying to encourage paedophiles to try and meet them for sexual liaisons?

I thought it might be wrong to do that, and being unsure of how to make moral decisions myself, I thought I'd consult the Moral-O-Meter 2000™. Unfortunately, the Moral-O-Meter didn't know the answer.

An Egg is not a Glass of Water (25 April 2008)

Someone used to think that eggs were a dairy product. They are grown on a farm after all.

I’ve got a cloved heel and a healer’s touch.

On the first day of summer they shed their shirts, and don’t put them back on until the end of the autumn harvest. It’s a tribal thing.

Toothpaste brings us a minty relief, and I’m six months past the due date for my six months check up. Service and maintenance: they all want my money.

All my eggs in one basket, so to eat. ‘Eggs for breakfast’ is a weekend dream.

Exercise seems a chore unless I’m in the torture box, when anything would be welcome. Imagine what my insides look like if my gut looks like this. You can’t see it, but it’s a pudding with skin, and little black hairs as the cherry. No wonder I’ve dreamed about a tiger eating me, I’m a fluffy little butter bag pre-warmed for a great cat’s dining pleasure. One day I’ll be hard (like a true loser).

It's all worth a glass of water.

Things that are not your enemy (21 April 2008)

Pacemakers are not your enemy. Body piercing is not your enemy. Paper clips are not your enemy. Face painting is not your enemy. Foot odour is not your enemy. Ripe melons are not your enemy. Brain damaged cats are not your enemy. Aging rockstars, raw onion and pipe cleaners — all these things are not your enemy.

Hail, Histogram Hobo (20 April 2008)

Honour among haemophiliacs — hardly whore inspiring.

Medical Utopia in Our Lifetimes (14 April 2008)

Hypochondriacs of the world unite!

Together we can take down society as we know it and turn it into a utopia of constant medical problems.

Never again will we be denied a place in hospital just because our illnesses are “imaginary” or “made up” or “this man is stalking me with a rubber penis again”. No more will we need to take gentle abuse from doctors who claim our illnesses are nothing more than the overactive imaginations of those with too much time on their hands who believe they’ve contracted any disease they read about on the internet.

And yes Doctor, in our utopia you will have nothing better to do.

What we can learn from the amoeba (11 April 2008)

The ultimate reward for the worker is not in the work itself, but in the escape.

We've lost the chivalry in chauvinism.

Black spider vagina: don't get your willy anywhere near the webs or you'll be infested with a thousand arachnids.

It's your right to pass your expiry date.

An amoeba has a much more carefree life than a human. We all want something, and admitting what we want is an admission of failure, because it means we haven't got it yet.

Hanging Sausages and Blitzkrieg Lost Pages (6 April 2008)

Let me enjoy a little sun before going out to dinner tonight. I'm white as a sheep from being inside all day. Don't worry about the sun affecting my skin — I hardly see him all year round. I wonder if male hippopotami have anything to worry about. Hanging sausages and blitzkrieg lost pages perhaps? I can see how hanging sausages might worry hippopotami.

Burn the books but leave an idol of my head in the ground.

Smelling salts, blokey bloke, I'm under pressure to perform and finish soon because it's lights out soon and the monsters will get you.

Shoot the load — it's time to stop now.

The Instructional Baritone of Nature (30 March 2008)

Nature instructs us all, if only we were receptive and prepared to listen. For example, when she sends a cyclone or tsunami that kills thousands of people, she is punishing all of us for building dams on rivers. So you must go out into the world and remove the dams if you are to appease our angry planet and her feminine manifestation, Nature.

Also, Nature sends infestations of rats, mice, spiders and plague locusts because of the dams. If there were no more dams there would be no spiders or rodents, and only a few locusts, just enough to fill the bellies of sadistic tribal hunter-gatherers who love the feeling of a live locust sliding down my throat.

What is a Friend? (23 March 2008)

A friend is someone who takes the piss out of you and you're never quite sure whether they're serious or not.

No wait, that doesn't sound very friendly. Scratch that.

A friend is someone who promises to help you do a shitty job but never turns up.

No, no, no. That's not right either.

A friend is someone so scary you wouldn't dare dob him in for any crime, even something as heinous as raping Pamela Anderson with a mallet. On such things are all great friendships built.

A is for Sniper! (21 March 2008)

I haven't got much time. My love for you is ticking clock — Wesley Sniper! I love Wesley Snipes much more than a typo or a “bag-of-cocaine and mirror” matching set.

Now, I No Longer Get Skid Marks (the One-Night Insomniac) (9 March 2008)

Today someone said I had “smoking fingers”. They meant it as a metaphor. Everything sounds different with the headphones on. The clicks sound further away yet louder.

Now that I've learnt to wipe my arse, I no longer get skid marks.

I did all the washing today, and I accidentally put the dark gentle wash on normal cycle. Don't tell anyone.

So while I was being a one night insomniac I got up and put some bread on to cook and wrote a list of all the things I'd sell if I had a garage sale.

Watch twat, never boils. Who's the horniest boil in the world? Scalded milk, hotel room and throbbing plate. Typing out a list of what happened in the world today. You know what time I need to go to bed to be fresh and supple for work tomorrow.

I'm on guard duty, I make an exceptional specimen. The hair on my eyebrows falls out when I rub my eyes.

I thought about perpetual motion and generating energy from nothing, but I couldn't solve the problem. Then people returned and broke my thought.

Personal Messages are the Most Meaningful (2 March 2008)

“Get into the groove boy, you've got to poo your love to me.”
— A personal message from Madonna to the Scatman.

Candle Wax (Leftover Narcotics Chick) (23 February 2008)

He's the biggest cum muffin I ever seen inside my vagina...except for that bottle of tequila one night at a drunken party while I was at university.

But we're here to talk about smoking candle wax, not my vagina.

Only use the highest grade smokable candle wax from a reputable homeware store. The stuff on the street might be cheaper, but you'll know why the next morning, when you cough up a pint of bloody semen.

Puns, soft (16 February 2008)

The Passiona of the Christ
Brokeback Mountain Dew
Se7en Up
Rising Sunkist

Where's the Curry? (14 February 2008)

Euphoria: feeling tonight. Endorphin rush (endorphinia) flooded my entire body. Rewarded for pushing my body to the point of pain.

This is the salvage business: recycle basic gun parts for cash. I receive a nominal payment, you are selfish. The cellblock crowd; transfer power to them; they know how to deal with depression oppression; they are the master race.

Push me and (push me and) push me and see how much moustache you can push out. Does she deliberately annoy me or is it an accident?

What's the story with a multi-level building, how many stories do you think it has?

This is: Self Immolation. The train station busted its gut and then had a discussion about children with me. Where are the babies? There's not enough fertiliser. I hung out of the ballroom window. I deduced how the garden felt below.

There goes the nonchalant and talking-headed dog. Tonight: Listened to a presentation by a poor speaker who confirmed everything he said by reading off the notes. He spoke, but his name turned my mind to stool.