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Hotdog Warlord

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  I was getting mad that the Wagner boss who seems to have attempted a coup in Russia is being called the “hotdog warlord”. Once upon a time he had a hotdog stand and I was displeased by what I saw as middle class wankers having one of their little laughs at such a working class activity. I was right that they are laughing, but I was wrong about what they were laughing at, which was of course hotdogs. In my rush to always shit on anyone in a suit, in an office, their pretentiousness and out of touchness, it was I who was out of touch, because hotdogs are funny. Sometimes people are just having a laugh. I don’t have to jump down their throats. I could try chilling out to be honest. Hotdog Warlord. How did I not reckon that was funny? What a humorless lefty piece of shit I am. What a terribly earnest party pooper. What a fuckin killjoy. I should be sent to the work camps in Siberia. I should be on a list. I should be transported to Australia and flogged with a cat’o’nine tails. In the 90
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Up Myself

The medical people have told me I need to get as muscley as possible asap. I also have to lose weight to the tune of 5 to 10% of my body weight. This is the sexiest news that has ever been relayed to me by experts. They’re not just going to save my life, I am going to be cured of dad bod. I’m not even mad that I’ll be too exhausted from exercise to be able to do standup over the next months. When they first broke the news about how bad it might be, one of my topmost thoughts was intense grief that audiences in desperate need of my towering comedic gifts would miss out for a while. I really did think that cancer had to be fucking kidding me though. I seriously felt like the threat of not being able to do standup was as bad as having cancer, which I also have, because I have cancer. Well, I have a cancer, singular, just the one, probably not enough to talk about for an hour of extremely self-involved standup comedy, thank god. Imagine how heavy your body would feel as you left your home
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When You Invent Billionaire Paste

The thing about the imploded submarine that killed five people by simultaneously incinerating and crushing them into paste is that this story has too many winners! You’re telling me a billionaire pretty much kidnapped and murdered his terrified nineteen year old son? Yes, you are, because that boy went along, despite his terror, because a) it was Fathers Day and b) he wanted to please his father. Worst dad ever. Most abused son of all time. So our first winner is the fact that we don’t have to care about billionaires’ families, because they sure don’t. The second winner is the nuclear family, which as we now clearly see is used to murder teenagers. What an institution! Which brings us to the scientifically proven fact that billionaires are our worst people. There’s been some discussion that we shouldn’t joke about billionaires having a horrible, awful time. It’s always framed like this, “They’re people with families”. Interesting. If you’re a billionaire you are humanised by your famil
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Oh No Not Rich People

A submarine has gone missing. It’s a very small submarine. People pay $250,000 to ride in it. I don’t know what $250,000 is. Is that money? Can I have that much money? I can’t have $250,000 so I am glad the people who spent $250,000 are missing. Rich people are at the bottom of the ocean. They can’t even turn on each other. They’re just there. Rich tourists travel in a submarine to look at the Titanic. The Titanic is fascinating to rich people everywhere. The Titanic is fascinating to people who save up enough money to go on a cruise ship and then go on a cruise ship. I was watching a Youtube channel called Alexander the Guest. Alexander visits extremely expensive restaurants and tells us if they’re actually good. If I could go to one of these restaurants, I would, but I can’t, so instead I enjoy a lost submarine full of rich people like it’s a fine wine. Rich people eating shit? Delicious. Maybe the submarine got tangled in the superstructure of the doomed Titanic. It will be impossib
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The Exciting Apple Vision Pro

Apple has an embarrassing new product that over-affluent parents are desperate to get their hands on. It’s a headset for looking at videos, that you control with your eyeballs! It’s also goggles you wear to watch the videos you made while it was on your head earlier- before the divorce- and it takes you back to those precious moments? Because the same thing is on your head? Imagine being reminded that you lost your kids because you were a too cashed up nerd, every time you look at a video of your children. Who don’t love you anymore. I joke, because I irrationally hate, but a Youtube guy who tried out this gadget was seriously excited about collecting memories with his child. Yes, bro, they grow up so fast, so strap a shame thing onto your face and gather up all those images of your child becoming increasingly alienated from you because the only part of your face they can see is your weird smile. Your strange techno smile. Your disturbing, self satisfied shitty lips. Your weird fucked
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The C Word

  Over the weekend we had the groundbreaking idea to get some people around to help us drink alcohol. I just thought that if I’m going to start on a course of possibly unpleasant treatment I need to have some fun first. It was a brilliant plan and we had a good time. The hangover the next day was not so great, particularly because hangovers make me go deep, so there I was, feeling bad about having cancer. Eventually I solved the problem by watching the new season of  I Think You Should Leave. As expected, it did not make me laugh, but I had a good time thinking, “What is this bullshit?” I have decided that I am not going to attempt to deal with any of this shit by myself. Fuck being alone, I want to be constantly talking to people. On the phone, texting, online, face to face, in two cars that have pulled up cop style in a parking lot, I’m not picky, I am not even slightly interested in trying to staunch it out. I’m not going to have anything to do for a while, it’s not like I’m doing t
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Countering Nazis in Naarm/Melbourne

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