bedlam updates

  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

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

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

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

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

  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

 

 

 

 

 

I ended my hiatus from standup comedy last week and gosh it’s nice to be in comedy rooms with incels and at least one guy who could be a nazi. A young comic said that coming back after five years I must be bowled over by the wokeness going on. I had no idea how to answer because we had both just watched a dude going on and on about Auschwitz. I mean sure, he had some idea what he was doing. He didn’t just drop us in a pile of jokes about striped pyjamas, he prepped us by first making sure we all knew he was a racist. I don’t understand what’s going on. There’s too much wokeness? Over the last week I’ve seen comics talking shit that only complete fuckwits would have bothered with ten years ago. I had a talk with a comic about this guy we both saw doing an endless bit about the F-word and the N-word. I walked away from this chat not wanting to talk about comedy with any more open mic comics. I reckon it’s fucking podcasts that have fucked everything up. Young dudes are wandering arou

 Got my nose re-pierced, it was over in a second, but the tears poured from my eyes. The pain was truly special. Anyway, I’m cool again now. The one thing that was missing from my life is back. People thought an ALP government would make Australia good again, but no, the pain will go on and on. There’s the pain of continued suffering and the pain of being told that they can’t fix everything at once, which means they never will, which means everything will get worse, forever. Hope is for people who are trying to live their lives, hope is not for governments. When you spend your hope on those arseholes your throw your life away. I got my nose pierced again, because I racked my brain about why I stopped wearing silver in various parts of my head and all I came up with was that at some point I believed I had become an adult. How pretentious. But also, how shockingly normal. People don’t progress according to some sort of timeline and society doesn’t progress at all. Do what you want to,

Why don’t you have a sook mate? Have a sook champ, you’ve earned it by being alive during a time of change. I think you should have a big sook because you are experiencing a thing that is new to you. I am so sorry that society is slightly different, no one should ever have to go through that. Social change is hard work, you have to talk to people on a level, but you can’t spend all your time trying to keep fuckheads sweet. And also it’s weird, because sometimes it’s hard to know what people are even complaining about. Like, are you really mad that there seem to be more types of people now? Are you actually offended by the existence of all the people who aren’t exactly you? Because if I went outside and everyone was me, I’d leave the suburbs and go live somewhere real. The suburbs are not a real place. Anywhere you are not constantly on foot and bumping into other people who are also walking is dogshit. I grew up in the suburbs and because I was an outcast I would wander the streets on

 Barry Humphries has died. The circle of life is complete as a million opinions bloom, however only two of them matter. He was a transphobe. That matters. That’s the truth. We know it’s the truth because he went to the trouble of saying it out loud. The other opinion is more of a question and it shows us that in the hands of a true punisher, even a question can be wrong. “Can we stop pretending he was funny?” The tryhard energy is so debilitating, it’s like Kryptonite for people who actually like people. I only mention this at all because I have a question of my own: are comedians the only people who are struck off the register if they do something bad? If a doctor is struck off the register, no one is saying, “And also, he wasn’t a real doctor.” Okay, this is a bad example, let’s move on, you judgemental bastards. The day of my Nanna’s funeral was very warm, and I said, “It’s a lot hotter where she’s going.” She used to lock my dad in a cupboard, an experience so traumatising that I s

 Meet the “elite” couples breeding to save mankind. Watch them fucking in their ten million dollar New York apartments. You have hacked into their home security. Your off site operator talks to you through an ear piece as the helicopter lands on the roof. “They’re still going at it.” As you enter the stairwell you ask for audio. “Oh, oh put the future in me baby.” You immediately ask for the audio to be muted. You have reached the servant’s entrance. No servants this is evening, it’s Trying For An Elite Family night. The elite couple have one wish and it’s to give birth to a dynasty, like on the show Dynasty. Night vision guides you through the darkened hallways of a home clearly decorated by massive tryhards. As you approach the rooting, you take pistol and UV light in hand. When you shoot these idiots you don’t want to miss any traces of come. You pause to think this is the third time in a week you’ve written the word come in a serious piece of hard-hitting political journalism. You

Australia’s Most Controversial Senator steps out of the car and before she’s taken two steps a sexist, racist comment is lobbed at her by a bloke I saw at Bunnings the other day. Without breaking stride the senator pulls a Desert Eagle pistol from her left shoulder holster and pumps all 8 rounds into his skull. One of the bloke’s loser mates, who I saw smoking outside a pokies and talking about real estate, pipes up with a comment that this is just typical and that the senator is not fit to serve the public. The senator pauses as if to say something, but instead loads a fresh clip and shoots both of his arms off at the elbow. “Try clutching your pearls now, cunt.” The senator’s comment angers a fellow I saw buying VB when there was better beer on sale cheaper at the bottle shop. He starts to say, “With language like that-” but his lower jaw is simply removed with five well placed shots. While the senator reloads, another guy has time to open his cakehole to ask a quick question about w

I read an article about Autism and then I read some of the comments and then I stopped reading the comments and now I’m writing this to regain my sanity. So many punishers. No matter what point they’re trying to make, they’re punishing as hard as possible. As always the offended that people are offended crowd are represented by the sexiest people of 2023, White Men Over 60. Then there’s the milennials, who in the most punishing way possible want everyone to feel included at all times.  What was I thinking? I know people who comment are a class of punishers we must always  ignore. Name one social issue commenters have managed to land a glove on. They don’t have one success under their belt because Commenting can only cause an argument to mutate until you could swear people who are weirdly comfortable with being named after a nazi child murderer are…offended? I mean, sure, Asperger wasn’t a nazi who murdered children, he just helped nazis to murder children. So who are we to judge? He’s

Today my laptop made me read a story about rich Australians who fly around in chartered jets so they can travel with their companion animals. I already don’t take take pet owners seriously and if that bothers you, get an animal about it, but if there is an animal with a visible anus on your bed, you go against God.  I was angry about the way the article matter of factly described the insane lifestyles of Australia’s most wretched parasites, but then I realised something. It was that inclusion in a story about private jets of the bit about rich folk paying tens of thousands of dollars to travel with their pets. On the surface that’s maybe a story about sad losers who can afford things, but in there is a simple message: kill the rich. Kill all of them. Drag them by their hair and saw their heads off in front of their cloned identical twin labradoodles. Make their pets watch, make their children watch, make their neighbours watch, then kill their neighbours, unless it’s one of those deals

  Last night I’m part of the audience at a comedy show and the guy next to me has some things he likes to do when he’s watching live comedy and while I’m sure they work for him, for me it was like living next to a building site, or a fucking arsehole. Most people laugh at jokes, this guy likes to say, “Oh, that’s a good one.” Thanks for your stamp of approval you wild shit smeared animal. Or maybe it was, “That’s good”? My memory of the event is all over the place because instead of experiencing peaceful enjoyment of comedy, I was at peak tension thanks to Mr Happy, who spreads joy by providing distractions from everything that is good. A couple of nights earlier I wasn’t hearing punchlines because a dude next to me was bellowing with laughter at the set-ups of jokes. That’s a real appreciator of comedy. Some people like the funny part of the joke. Those people are children. Real men spray an entire pint of beer out of their mouth upon contact with the bit where the comic has only just

  Punishers I was watching a movie about serious issues and one of the artistic touches to effortlessly draw you into the story was very simple, it was just people chewing food while they decided what they would say next. It’s really clever, because nothing brings my thought process to a standstill and turns my grey matter to dust like the professionally recorded sound of what’s happening on the other side of an eating person’s face. I think I can hear their sinuses. I was doing my breathing exercises to get through these scenes, because just stopping the movie wouldn’t have been enough. I really needed to trigger the ejector seat and feel my skull punching through the ceiling. So often I’m watching a film made by some punisher who has been in a lot of screaming matches about whether it’s art to give the audience what they want. Unable to free their mind from argument about what’s theoretically possible in the realm of expression, they hand over completed work that include traces of E.

  When I was yelling at the ticket inspectors I had no idea what these heroes are called. On Melbourne public transport you don’t have a ticket, you have a Myki card, which is a ticket you don’t buy from a human. Imagine buying a ticket from some piece of shit human being, imagine every train station being staffed by disgusting human flesh. Imagine getting on a tram and some stinking maggot approaches you, singing and smiling, and kindly asks you which slip of paper you need for your journey. It’s sickening to think that Melbourne’s public transport system was once overrun and infested and teeming with nice people in uniform whose only job was to help deliver you safely to your destination. Imagine how fucking soft people must have been. We were like maggots. We walked into the local branch of our bank and presented our little book to a teller and we made our deposits and transacted a withdrawal. Like the worst scum who ever existed we smiled and thanked each other. Pathetic, we dragge

  So we’re on a train and a bunch of men appear. One of them leans casually against his penis and sneers at everyone on board while his harem of toxic masculinity go about checking tickets and reminding passengers on a soul level that terrorism is good. I do my usual thing of begrudgingly holding out my card. It doesn’t occur to me to ask why I must show proof of my right to be here, I’m too busy not making eye contact with the feral cunt in a uniform overseeing these activities like he’s watching a really good sexual assault. These men are fucking pigs, I decide, once they are at the other end of the carriage. I start to yell at them that their presence on a wet and cold Easter Saturday night is not at all appreciated and I conclude my profanity laden rant with a, “Fuck you!” so we’re both clear that I’m swearing at them rather a lot. They quietly radio ahead and at the next stop two PSOs walk in through the door right in front of me. I wonder if this is a coincidence and just another

Punisher is my new favourite word. I now have a name for the empath at S11 whose face nearly fell off when I lit up a cigarette. In their best shocked voice they told me I was supporting a multinational corporation. And here was me thinking I had simply found a cool way to end it all, that hyper focused wrong people couldn’t take credit for. Ever since then, extremely right on human keep cups have reinforced my commitment to my search for oblivion. It’s like being chased in a dream. By someone who can’t shut the fuck up. All the shit that’s annoying about social justice shitfights is the work of punishers. A punisher may even read this and demand a definition of punisher. But punishers, my extremely punishing to talk with friends, no definition will satisfy you, for nothing ever does, or ever will. If a punisher took acid and stared into a mirror, they wouldn’t be normal about it and pull faces and think, “Haha! I’m like a goblin! Heeheehee.” No, they would have profound revelations ab

  People love getting salty about the salties and it’s really boring when it comes from people who have protested alongside Socialist Alternative before. Gosh, they arrived late and left early? Shit, imagine if anarchists did that! That’s right, you wouldn’t say anything, because you wouldn’t feel weirdly entitled to their solidarity. In fact, you’d respect that they have their view on things, their own ideas, their own conclusions about what’s important, their own priorities and motivations. I don’t know who “you” is in this paragraph because I’m not actually mad at anybody. I mean, everyone annoys me. Everyone comes up short, seems too wrapped up in ego, has the wrong approach and that’s because I am very into my own way of thinking and I absolutely fucking love projecting my own bullshit onto others.  It’s not like you can just not have an ego. And you also can’t be everywhere, seeing everything, building the best opinion ever. Sometimes, unbelievably, I might be wrong. I might be w