Monday, 30 June 2014

She bites down on the brown crown when she goes to town

And so he's exhausted, but a thousand dead dogs drip upwards from the fields to the sky. They're purple, black and green, with thick studded collars and their tongues lolling out.

She, for her part, was copulating a tree stump. Like an impatient beaver gnawing away at it until it dammed up her insides.

She had the hip shakes, it was rattling about inside her like an itch that couldn't be scratched.

And so he lashed out and hit her. Again and again. Until she screamed.

Sunday, 29 June 2014

Princess Monggo stepped out of her period panties

It was a long hard day down at self-love station. The blisters were beginning to rise and the thumb joints were worn out. Princess Monggo had discovered at least seven or so new erogenous zones and felt like it was time to update her Facebook regarding her latest pursuit of happiness.

"No one can ever love you unless you love yourself," she began. "A happy soul breathes life into a worn out body, making you look and feel younger. Think positive, be positive, love yourself everyday."

Her Facebook duly updated with a cleavage shot, she toweled herself down and made preparations for the evening. She was to meet a man on a semi-blind date. It was semi-blind because she'd seen a photo of him on his website. He was some kind of 24 hour something or other - a positivity coach or spiritual guru. The photo had him cross legged, assuming the yogi position and rolling his eyes back heaven-ward. To her he was beautiful, despite the stupid looking fedora and his inability to grow a beard. His name was Joe.

It was a cafe downtown. A rockabilly cafe. It was full of old fogies and wannabe greasers. It was a hokey american-style diner with polished silver napkin dispensers and a jukebox on every table. Neon and chrome shone obnoxiously just about everywhere, and the waitress who hovered over the ugly laminate table threw her avoirdupois bosoms everywhere else.

"What'll it be kids?" she said in a genial tone, clearly looking past the fact that youth had long eluded the two people in front of her.

"Um..." began Princess Monggo. She didn't want to pick something and leave a bad impression. She didn't want to seem too self assured.

Joe cleared his throat and began ordering for them. "We'll have two servings of benevolent blessings, a side of personal catastrophe to make us stronger, but a couple of glasses of inner strength to conquer it all."

The waitress stood there, her pen hovering over her pad. Two eggs, a side of bacon, and two glasses of orange juice, she ended up writing as she sighed and walked away.

Princess Monggo swooned. Her downhill descent had momentarily stalled.

"Did you know," Joe began, "that we're all getting dumber. The Egyptians were so smart we can't even work out how they built the pyramids. Now look at us. The machines do all the work."

The sound of the juicer smashing apart oranges for their orange juice was all the background music she needed to know she was in love. "The machines do all the work," she repeated back to him as if learning to talk for the first time.

The waitress had thrown in the oranges, peel and all, as a 'fuck you' for wasting her time.

Tuesday, 24 June 2014

I am lagend

And so this is the best it gets. One day you'll look back and long for this. Despite the loneliness and misery. At least you had youth, and health, and the will to get out of bed.

And so this is the best it gets. Even though you're miserable. At least you're not old and miserable. With aches and pains and the lack of wits about you to end it all.

And so this is the best it gets. Shuffling toward obsolescence. Drowning in mediocrity. Watching a bank balance rise and wondering why you bother. You ran out of things to spend your money on long ago.

And so this is the best it gets. It's all down hill from here. If you're jaded and bitter by thirty, it never gets better. You'll spend the next 40 years frowning.

Saturday, 21 June 2014

If Scully Truly Loved Mulder, Wouldn't She Want To Believe?

We were laughing. I couldn't stop laughing. We were told the tragic news. I just laughed even harder. By the time I 'd tweeted my condolences, I was practically hyperventilating.

I walked three miles just to touch a scarecrow in a field. Held him so tight, it wasn't just the crows that got a fright. I scare myself sometimes. No one was laughing anymore. Least of all me.

It would be a lie to say I never think of you. But perhaps I don't remember you enough. The past always seems to get lost amongst all the noise and stuff.

Thought I saw you on the train as it pulled away. You didn't flinch from my gaze. But you didn't smile either. There was a sadness about you. I don't know if for me or for yourself. But girl, I should be careful what I wish for, because now you haunt me like no one else.

Friday, 20 June 2014

Clicking my way into your heart

If I could snap just another picture of my food. Just another picture of my plate. Just another picture of my shoes. Maybe you would love me.

Maybe you would see the real me. The real personality behind the 60's lomoish filter on my insta app. The non-flabby heart inside this flabby body of mine. The soul behind my soulless facey status updates.

I just want you to bitstrip me apart. Rub my facey with your instagram. I just want your tweets inside me, yourspace around me.  If I said to you 'whatsapp?', and asked if we could hangouts together, would you RSVP and be my +1?

They say there's PoF in the sea.
But all I want you to want is me.


Wednesday, 18 June 2014

People Living Positively

I've trashed my liver, I've trashed my lungs and I've trashed my stomach. I'm sat here watching my life expectancy plummet. Most kids kick sandcastles, I always just dreamt of kicking the bucket. But when I hear the trumpets, you can be sure I won't just lie down and say "fuck it". I'm sick to the back teeth of playing God's puppet. The problem with him is we always know his last move, we all know what's coming. What if the hunted becomes the hunter?

I've trashed my liver, I've trashed my lungs, I've trashed my stomach and I'm not getting any younger. But I've gained a thirst and a hunger to awake from this clichéd slumber. No more whinging, no more drinking, no more smoking, no more binging. Just you try and take me now, motherfucker.

And I've got some advice for you, brother. Don't ever date a cutter. And if you do, don't let her shit in your jumper. And if she does, delete her number and dump her. Find yourself a stunner and spend the whole summer fucking.

God wants you in the gutter. God wants you to settle for a second-rate lover. God wants your anti-heroes cutting lumber. God is a fucking nutter. Fuck him and fuck all your friends' crazy bitch lovers. This is your one life, you ain't getting another.

Tuesday, 17 June 2014

Apoplectic Atropos

He was the biggest whinger of all. No thing was good enough. No one was good enough. As he got older things became worse. People became less tolerable and more infuriating. Like a fire catching slowly in his mind, they burnt away inside him. Turning slowly into a blaze. A red blaze that shot out of his eyes whenever he looked at some pathetic worm who couldn't answer his question, who was sub-par in some way they could never hope to understand. Only he understood. Life was this constantly painful disappointment, and people seemed to solely exist just to reflect and reinforce those mistakes. The choices he'd made years before meant that he was now surrounded by idiots. His life was inescapably full of idiots. He had barely any friends who weren't idiots. His family was fully loaded with idiots. He held himself to a ridiculously unattainable standard and every moment he was alive he felt guilty for being a failure. He held others to this standard and was constantly disappointed in them; ineluctably furious with them. It was the first time he'd heard the word ineluctable. He was annoyed with himself. But he was equally annoyed with everyone who read his story and also didn't know what it meant. The fact they couldn't read this story without pausing on that word made him angry. The fact he couldn't write this story without pausing to look it up made him angry. Being angry made him angry. He sat there fuming, wondering what to write next.

He was the biggest whinger of all.

You tweeted your way into my heart

You were in the middle of the road, tweeting. Walking off ahead. Not giving a shit about your erratic stumble bum gait and pack horse thighs. Not giving a shit about the cars that swerved around you.

I felt like I loved you then, because no one else could.

I always liked what was different. Anything that was unpopular, eccentric or odd. You were all those things at once and more. You were ugly. You were not particularly clever. You didn't know how to use make-up properly. You didn't even know how to comb your hair. It was the closest thing to dating someone who was mentally handicapped, without me being run out of town.

I had no qualms. I held your hand. I let you snuggle your smelly demented little face into my cheek and tell me things you thought important. It was bliss. I was your master and you were my apprentice. You hung off my every word as if it was gospel. I was your world and you were mine.

Then the storms came. You had got a bug of an idea inside you; a yearning thing that bit you. Your mind rarely stayed focussed on anything for long, except for this. The need for more cock. Mine was no longer enough. Perhaps it never had been. My hand was forced:- to lose you, or to accept other men in our lives. I grew angry, sullen, and withdrawn. I took it out on friends and family. Violently raged against them like the raging in my heart. I couldn't sleep. I couldn't eat. I dragged my knuckles on the floor as I paced - stooped over in misery. My heart was crushed.

I filled it with my computer. It started innocently enough. A nonsensical comment here and there to people on-line. Soon I was talking complete gibberish. "lolwut", I would passively-aggressively write to everybody. lolwut. lolwut. Like an owl hooting in the wilderness to no one in particular. lolwut-lolwut lolwut-lolwut. Just like you tweeted that day, in the middle of the street, manically calling to invisible birds. TWEE-TWEE-SQUAAAWWWK you had tweeted and twittered. TWEE-TWEE-SQUAAAWK-SQUAAAWK.

But no little birds ever answered me. The birds had flown from my glass aviary heart.

Monday, 16 June 2014

No Cement Burns On Me

Don't want his love. Don't even want his touch. Don't want no grateful hands on my knee, finding their way up to me. I just want to play a never-ending game where the only prize is pain. Every time we talk it's the same, just a different name. Don't want you insinuating I'm to blame.

You think you know love better than me because you've had more guys inside your cunt? Congratulations, you fucking slut!

You think you know hurt better than me because you showed them your soul? Congratulations, all you did was offered them up an extra fucking hole.

What were they supposed to fill it with? Two holes just make a bigger hole.

At least I've got a goal. If I achieve it, what then? Better to have lost and lost again than to have ever loved a fool.

You're So Lame, You Probably Think This Microstory Is About You

Kudos to you, sir. You've got being a cuckold down to a tee and your girlfriend is a piece of art. She's at least half as attractive as Emin's Bed and twice as filthy. But do you think when you have to turn away, so it's your non-lachrymose eye that's on display, that she ever feels a pang of guilt? Do you think if you left her she'd defecate on your patchwork quilt? Do you think it's anything substantial that you've built? Or do you think you could easily be forgotten over the course of a few drinks and listens to Scott Walker's Tilt?

Love isn't exclusive. But don't you find all those other cocks stuffed inside your lover's cunt intrusive? When she can turn a phrase so easily, don't you find a declaration of hers that actually carries some weight, a little elusive?

If she had a dick, everyone would find her a complete fucking creep. It's amazing how much good will a pair of tits can buy you. If you're a self-proclaimed feminist, everything you say is automatically rendered empowering and deep by the politically correct, scared-to-offend sheep.

Oh wait, he just called us sheep. Delete delete delete.

Sunday, 15 June 2014

An open letter to an unopen mind

It wasn't that she was a terrible friend - she was, but that had nothing to do with it. Her main fault was that she was boring. If you want to be self-involved to the point where the only topic of conversation is yourself, then you want to make sure you have an interesting life. You want to make sure there's something in it for someone else. Otherwise you put people through hell.

If you have good friends they'll listen for a while. They'll put up with hearing the same boring conversation over and over again for months; until they feel like banging their head into a desk and scratching their eyes out. As long as you show some growth eventually. If not they'll leave. They'll feel drained. They'll be too exhausted to talk to you. They'll find excuses not to be around you any more. Then your self fulfilling prophesy about everyone hating you and everyone being unable to understand you will come true.

Very occasionally you need to do something for them. Listen to their problems sometimes. Give some advice. Encourage them. Be happy for them. Otherwise you're a terrible friend. All take, no give. It's common sense.

It's common sense that you're a terrible friend.

Setting the time and date on Siemens Optipoint 500 / Optipoint 400 / Optipoint 420 / Openstage / Optiset


Setting the time and date on Siemens HiPath / HiCom 3000 / 3550 PABX


This procedure has to be done from the first or second phone on the system - usually they will be the lowest numbered extension, i.e. 11 or 100. The phone must be in the idle state (on-hook, currently displaying the time/date on the screen (albeit incorrectly!)). This works for all 3000 PABX / PBX series (3550, 3500, 3350, 3300, 3750 & 3800) as well as the 2000 series (2030, 2036), and even older models like the HiCom OfficePoint and HiCom OfficePro also called 150 H. And it can be done on any handset model, be it optipoint 500, 400, 420, optiset E or openstage.



  1. Enter the following code to access the main menu: *95 (i.e. star button then 95) (if you get "access denied", you are not using the main console phone, try a different phone)
  2. It will prompt for your username, see below 
  3. It will then prompt you for your password, see below (IF THIS IS THE FIRST TIME ANYONE HAS ATTEMPTED TO USE THIS USERNAME/PASSWORD it will prompt you to enter a NEW password, then prompt you to enter it again - DO NOT PICK A NEW ONE, KEEP THE DEFAULT - so if you were entering as customer level for example, may have to enter 1234 four times total! But next time you will only have to enter it twice. If you stuff up or are not sure, just pickup the handpiece and put it back again, it will exit)
  4. Once you are in, you will be able to browse different menu options using the left and right arrow buttons, it is sometimes best to scroll backwards (left arrow) as time and date are usually the last options in the menu. 
  5. Press the tick/ok key to select time/date when you come to it, and then it will prompt you what format is required. 
  • Username and passwords:
3000's
Default customer level username: 1234, password: 1234
Default service level password: 31994, password 31994
Default development level password: 18140815, password 18140815
2000's
Default customer level username: 633433, password: 633433
Service/development levels are the same as above
If you can't get any of these working, a last resort is inputting *95 as the username, and not entering a password. So the procedure would be:
  1. Enter *95 in the main phone
  2. It will ask for your username, enter *95
  3. It will ask for your password, don't enter anything, just press tick/ok to the blank
  4. It may then ask for your new password, and then to confirm, just press tick to the blanks DO NOT enter a new password. 
  5. If that works, then you can now get in by using *95/blank as the username/password combination
  • Important things to note:
- If you are having trouble getting in with any of these username/passwords - pick up the handpiece, hang it up again and try the procedure again with a different level username/password. 
- Sometimes the service level password will not have a time and date option. If that's the case, then you will need to use customer or development
- If someone has changed all your default passwords there's not much you can do. Except yell at whoever did it and make them change them back for free. The only reason to do it is to lock you into one servicing centre/technician.

>>> Update, Siemens is now known as Unify.... this document applies from v1 through to v9. Openscape Business Version 1 (also not known as HiPath Version 10) no longer needs to worry about setting time/date manually as it is web based. You can change it by browsing to the URL of the PABX. Although it is still possible to get into the menu and edit the time/date in the manner detailed above!

The two Ronnies go to Mars

Everyone wanted to see my photos. Everyone wanted my latest update. Everyone wanted my latest witticism in 140 characters or less. Everyone wanted to watch me play my ukulele. Everyone wanted to see me. Everyone wanted to know me. Everyone wanted to be me. Everyone wanted to be inside me. But I'd never let them. 

Everyone needed to see my photos. Everyone needed my latest update. Everyone needed my latest witticism in 140 characters or less. Everyone needed to watch me play my ukulele. Everyone needed to see me. Everyone needed to know me. Everyone needed to be me. Everyone needed to be inside me. But I'd probably never let them. 

I need everyone to see my photos. I need to tell people my latest update. I need everyone to see the latest example of me pretending to effortlessly create a witty comment. I need everyone to watch me play my ukulele. I need everyone to see me. I need everyone to know me how I want to be known, not as I actually am. I need them to be impressed. I need to feel that people want to be like me. I need them to love me. I need everyone to want to put themselves inside me. I'd let them. I'd let them. But I'd never let them see the tears. I'd never let them know the real me. I will live forever lonely in this crowd of 'friends'.

小便の夢 (Shōben no yume)

My whole body was prickling inside. I couldn't stop thinking about it. Even when I could, each time my mind managed to briefly drift away, a general feeling of nausea clung around my stomach . Brought me right back. I felt sick. Like I'd had too much coffee and then I'd hit the low point after the caffeine wore off. Nothing was good any more. Well, except maybe the thought of more coffee. Is this how addicts feel? The gnawing inside them. As if everything is hollow and nothing could fill it?

I will make them drink my piss.

If nothing else, it might fill the hole. The hole in my life, the hole inside me. Blot out the pain of realizing that I'm worthless and no one could should ever love me.

Thursday, 12 June 2014

Just an old bitty without much in her kitty

The music droned on like an old man crawling along the ground on his throat. Life was blaring all around. A thousand footsteps scraping back and forth in zig-zags to the tune of guttural throat yodelling; colourful spotlight streamers darted angrily to avoid them. They'd gathered here to amalgamate. Young flesh and old, all pressing together in a rhythmic sweaty throng. They pushed and pullulated. Until they became one giant pulpy pustule of human paste. Heightened emotions synchronised. Became invisible food for invisible souls. Steam churned above and about them. As the atoms fused together.

They were the things that ruled the night.
Creeping from burrows to the beat of neon light.

The old one scored prey. Hunted him down. Became one with him. She'd been getting slower in her old age. Feasts were fewer and far between. Wrinkles streaked about her vision. Deep channels, narrow canyons. Eyes bloodshot, hair greying, strands wispy. The mirror threw images that were mere simulacra of past glories. The eye slits weltered whenever one wandered upon itself. Except tonight. Tonight she was loved inside and out. Fleetingly. And yet, seconds in heaven beat all day in hell. She'd been called a loser. A weed. She had dug herself down and down, until she couldn't see out any more. But this, this sprinkled in a small handful of dirt to fill her waking grave. A little more to stand on each time. The world beneath your feet can only grow when you've hit bedrock.

Sunday, 8 June 2014

A louse of innocence

As my feet paddled puddles on perforated pavements. My mind raced excitedly. The first celebrities in my life were my older siblings. One was coming to visit. I was waiting in the front yard whilst the rain dolloped down into puddles. The bee hive on the front tree was quiet for once.

My friend's mother walked by, sat on the front verandah with me a while and told me about her day. I told her I knew where babies came from: kissing. She laughed, pulled a louse from her head and shrieked as she crushed it into the concrete. A blot of red blood had oozed out around it, like crushing a well-fed mosquito. I'd never seen a louse before.

She left and I continued waiting. I don't remember my sister arriving. All I remember is the waiting. The patient, quiet solitude of it all. The feeling of loving someone enough to wait around all day for them. Watching the rain fall. Time meant nothing back then. I had more time than I knew what to do with. It seemed endless. I didn't even know what worries were.

Saturday, 7 June 2014

If I could just shit my way into your heart

How could I tell you just how I'd miss you?
How could I tell you I wanted to kiss you?

How could I ever feel whole again?
How bad could my heart break and how could it mend?

I was never very good with words,
And so I expressed myself with turds.

Back when we met, my mouth said "Hi"
And so now I use my bowels to say "goodbye"

I opened my mind to you,
and I opened my heart for you,

I opened my cunt to you,
So I'll open my butt for you.

Like a dog with worms, I'll spread my germs,
by wiping my poopoo all over your muumuu.

That time Shazza topped herself

She was gyrating harder than usual; turning an odd pink and foaming at the mouth. It was the sexiest she'd ever been. It looked as if she'd put a clove of garlic through a garlic press and then started dribbling it down her mouth. Yellow chunks of spittle and bile clung to her chin as her eyes bulged and drifted off in opposite directions. We cheered. Her nightly webcam performances had become a bit of a must-see in our dorm. They'd gotten less and less thrilling over time, become less convincing, and so she had to go a little farther each night to keep her audience. Hold her breath a little longer. Make the noose a little shorter.

We never expected it to end how it did.

She'd taken an extra pill this time. She became clumsy and flailed around her apartment comically, knocking over a lamp. She was a terrible actress. Eventually she fell flat on her face and lay on the spot. We cheered and waited. Her body thrashed a little, as if both Saint Vitus and Terpsichore were in there fucking the spider that jiggled inside her. She went still. We got bored. Switched off. We'd switch on tomorrow to see what she came up with next. Except when we switched on, she was still there laying on the floor. The next day, still on the floor. The day after, still on the floor. Some ruse Shazza we would yell and jeer at her, expecting her to get up. She never did. We thought about calling the cops, but we didn't know her last name or her address. So instead we signed in every night to see if she was still there. Five nights went by until the webcam stopped connecting. Our cheers had long subsided.

Friday, 6 June 2014

Well-Thrashed Straws And Crippled Camels

I'm not in the mood for your cunt behaviour
Cunts like you don't deserve a fucking saviour
If Christ died for you, then his sacrifice was a fucking failure
And it wasn't the son of Simon, but him that was the fucking traitor
I could be the sickest, most desperate fuck ever
And still I wouldn't look at you and think "I'd like to rape her"
So do us all a fucking favour
And to your neck take a fucking rusty razor
And hack away until your body says to your head "see ya later!"
Whatever loss your life may be to you, our gain will be much greater
And when they dump your bloody stump in some fucking hole where it belongs
Finally you'll have achieved your life's ambition of giving another living creature something to savour!

Sunday, 1 June 2014

That time Jason pooped himself

I hated them then and I hate them now. They can all go and get fucked. The hot ones. The ugly ones. The ones who pretended to like you just to stab you in the back. The ones who used you. The ones who said things about you when they thought you weren't around. The ones who laughed. The ones who pushed you down. The ones who walked right over you. The ones who are now so much more fabulously well to do.

What good does it do them anyway? We'll all be dead soon and what then?
"I travelled, I broadened my horizons, I spent my life doing what I wanted to do, I was happy." 
Get fucked. Shut your conceited supercilious self-entitled self-complacent face gash. All you did was subsidize jet fumes to choke a dying planet; just so you could piss and shit your way across a country that saw you as a walking dollar sign. You paid them to leave their traditions behind and live in the city. Your life experience is eating in a slightly different location until your bowels gave out. Until a unique culture was destroyed. Some fucking life you've led. You flew all the way there just to make yourself feel better about dying. And now to further convince yourself, you take it upon yourself to tell the entire world. Take a thousand photos about it.
Well fuck you.

I liked the picture of the sloth though.