tastybun

Luminescent full moon
Shows a campsite at night
The doof doof is down
But the rock still rolls
The dubstep boat has passed
Its time long past
Nature tries to intrude
But is kept far at bay
A modest fire burns
It comforts my shins
But I find no peace
While the rock still rolls.

“I’m sorry sir, but it’s gym policy that all users of the weights room must wear closed in shoes.”

“What! Why? That’s ridiculous!”

“It’s in case you drop one of the weights on your foot, sir.”

“Bah, some shoe’s not going to do me much good in that situation, my foot would be fucked anyway!”

“It’s not that sir, it’s to contain the mess.”

“The.. mess.”

“Yes sir, the mess. If you dropped a weight on your bare foot, bits of it would go everywhere. It’d be considered a biohazard so we’d have to close the room off until it got cleaned up, which would inconvenience the other gym members. Unfortunately we can’t allow them to exercise amoungst bits of flesh and bone, it’s just not healthy.”

“I.. er.. hmm.”

“Please be considerate and put some shoes on sir.”

I know I’ve parked in in a no stopping zone and I’m holding up 843 people trying to get to work, but I really need a coffee. Also, I put my hazard lights on so that absolves me of all wrongdoing in this case. I mean, that’s what they’re there for, right?

Back when Australia had outgrown its effectiveness as a penal colony, it was decided that something had to be done to keep the populace under control. Simply expanding the penal farms was deemed too unweildy an approach, so something more granular was decided upon. It was decreed by the government of the day that on their 12th birthday all children would be fitted with a collar that would detect ‘fun or enjoyment’ and administer a punishment. It was unclear as to what that punishment was to be, as this was never actually put into practice at the time. It turns out it was simply cheaper to give the fathers some Bundaberg Rum, as the effects of being around the so called Bundy effect are punishment enough – hence the old slogan: ‘Tough day? Kids annoyingly chirpy? It’s Bundy time.’

In the early 90s when things got a little conservative and the Christian mentalists got bored, they started looking through old laws to find something they could use to stop everyone else enjoying themselves. Once the enjoyment collar laws were unearthed they had a field day – they somehow managed to get the program reinstated with a rather more modern take on things. The collars were fitted with a system that would detect an enjoyable scenario playing out and apply a tax at the end of the financial year. It was also deemed however that once you got married the collars came off – the old jokes about the monotony of marriage and all that seemed to them to carry enough weight that they decided there wasn’t enough enjoyment to be had there anyway. There were also issues around running the scheme when people were overseas, which really boosted the number of young adults going for three or so month backpacking trips across Europe and Asia, as they were allowed to freely enjoy themselves while over there and potentially find someone to marry when they got back. More often than not the marriage would end in a Bundy fueled disaster, hence the new slogan: ‘Bundy: it’s either this or the collar.’

The scheme has been coming under more and more pressure lately, especially in the major cities where housing is so expensive that most people can’t afford to enjoy themselves enough to cover the running costs of the collar infrastructure. One of the promises of the Labor government before the recent elections was to issue an apology for the scheme, but that hasn’t yet come to pass. Somewhat ironically this lack of action is also adding to the general malaise affecting collar revenue, but there are moves afoot to address this. Bundaberg has recently announced a white rum product that can be utilised by the general Bundy drinker to assist with the capture of those of the opposite sex for the purpose of enjoyment. It was launched with the slogan ‘Bundy Five: I’ve got all the enjoyment you need right here.’

An experiement was carried out to ascertain the the relationship between soapy hot water, scum and grease. Various sets of vesselheim plates were prepared – some were scummified, some were engreasenated, some were both scummified and engreasenated and the control group was left pristine. The scientists then applied the hot soapy water in various methods – some were sprayed, some soaked and others were immersed and then rubbed down with a soft cloth. In the end, it turned out that the vesselheim plates that were immersed and and rubbed down were left with the least scummified engreasenation, yet improvements were also seen on the sprayed and soaked set. Therefore we must conclude that hot soapy water attracts the scum and grease, yet is assisted by being rubbed down.

This conclusion can be further extrapolated to arrive at the fact that men are indeed scum and grease, in that they are most attracted to hot soapy women being rubbed down with soft cloths.

This always fucken happens. I get involved with some project cos someone pops out of a little room and says ‘Hey, can you just give us some advice?’ Next I know I’m giving them roadblocks and problems they’re gonna encounter so they can prepare, but all they want is me to also give em the solutions. Next thing the boss changes so it seems like I’m meant to be there. I wasn’t even s’posed to come in today. Now some fuck thinks I got all the answers, I’m some kinda expert. Alls I know is I was too damn stupid to keep my fucken mouth shut again. Fucken now I’m being pulled left, right and centre cos I still got everything else to do to top of all this new shit, none of it is being done right cos I ain’t allowed to and ain’t got time to argue, so why the fuck should I care? Fuck it. Now I’m supposed to teach some other bunch of clowns some shit about how shit works so’s they can try take over, but I gotta be all nice about it as if I’m cool with it all. Fuck em. Fuck it. They can have this shit, I’m through with it.

This always fucken happens.

Dehydrated safety guys, ready for deployment. Just add water!

Despite what the operating manual says, adding beer not recommended until work is completed.

An experiment was carried out to ascertain the effects of violent videogames on young teens. A trashtalking little pissweed was tracked down, and confronted while he was being obnoxious playing Call of Duty. As he sat there infering that he’d raped our mothers to death, we killed his dog. His reaction to an actual death was that of any rational human being. The early conclusion being that maybe playing violent video games doesn’t turn kids into sociopaths. There may be a link between violent video games and being a useless little pissweed however.

We stand before the grants commission board to request funding for the expansion of the scope of this experiment. We need a much larger sample size.

A soulless chuckle echoes through the open window.
An empty voice follows, devoid of thought and meaning.
They are bogan, and they prowl this night.

‘That ought to keep this reality from being collapsed into the subreality netherspace.’