Today, for the hundred-twelftieth time, I went to a karaoke joint. Some of you right now are picturing an extremely drunk 50-something Japanese guy belting out “Bohemian Rhapsody” a couple of semitones short of the actual pitch, and spontaneously redefining the lyrics.

Japanese Karaoke
Scabby moose scabby moose, do you do the Flamingo?

Actually, that’s not completely fair – 100% of the folks in Japan whose singing I witnessed were not out of tune.

Western-style karaoke is more about singing to a room full of patrons whose judgment has hopefully been heavily influenced by our favourite poison in order to dull that part of their brain that reminds them that they have heard “Barbie Girl” a few too many times. Yes, as much as I absolutely loathe hearing the words “apple bottom jeans” blaring out of the speakers to mark the beginning of a song more irritating than your great auntie’s flatulent poodle in an elevator, I have to confess that as recently as last Friday I was shaking my white arse in a semi-enthusiastic manner to that very piece. Enough brew will get a baby-boomer breakdancing to Beyonce if the time is right for it.

Dancing Seniors

Back to the karaoke. Here in Sydney we have a lot of Asian-style karaoke booth warehouses (for lack of a better word). There are no crowds of jeering haters who are raging at your rendition of Backstreet Boys.

We were going to sing that one you prick. Now we have to do “As Long As You Love Me” instead.

For those who are calling for elaboration – it’s akin to singing in the shower, except your friends are all standing outside laughing at your man-tits. I kid. They actually find them erotic. But really, it’s more intimate than a pub full of strangers, and you don’t have to get off stage after singing Celine Dion. You can stay up there and sing Mariah. Maybe some Wham! For a few hours, time freezes in your little box of shame, and the only people that can witness the atrocities that occur inside are the folks walking past the door who are as guilty as you are. It’s beautiful.

No Pants
The same kind of beauty as going to work one day and noticing that everyone forgot to wear pants, just like you. Oh wait, that doesn’t ever happen. Put those pants back on you fool.

I may have more to say about this subject in future, but for now…

Litre of Oman
I see a litre, see a litre of Oman!


A promise is a strange concept. Across vast distances and cultural differences, there seems to my meagre knowledge to be a consistency regarding verbal bonds. Philosophically, a promise as it is most commonly interpreted is flawed. Fated or not, the future is unknown to all.

Fortune Teller
All except for me… I foresee that you are soon to be confronted with an advertisement about penis enlargement therapies.

If we cannot know with certainty what is to happen mere moments in the future, how can we make a promise?

At the same time, people are generally wary of someone who refuses to commit themselves to delivering on something, so it helps to reassure them by telling them shit will go down as you say it, or Polar Bears are black (wait… do they have inverted albinos?).

And there are some cases where hearing the words “everything is going to be fine” doesn’t really give you any comfort.

It’s a moot concept that, like many other social etiquette peculiarities, has evolved because of a need to not live in fear that the lovely old silver-haired grandma across the road from you is actually a criminal syndicate mastermind responsible for extortion and armed robbery.

I love that the first image that came up when I searched “granny” was a mad granny with a rifle. It seems not everyone trusts them…

Yes, that’s right – trust. We have created promises to foster relationships and build trust for the good of the tribe. I always found it hard to commit to anything, from saying “yes” to an invitation to dinner with the parents next weekend to throwing the boxing match for Marcellus Wallace (wait… that’s my Bruce Willis personality trying to break through again – BACK BOY!).

Which must have formed to preemptively ease the confidence-hungry transition to baldness.

Maybe people with general commitment issues aren’t just harbouring a penchant for avoiding obligations, but are actually astutely aware of the implicit uncertainty that lies ahead, and therefore cannot in good faith sign a verbally binding contract with anyone.

Or maybe that’s my mind trying to rationalise this cognitive dissonance “Bruce Willis style” again.

I’m bald and old, but I still slept with your mothers.

Insert Meaningful Title

Some things plague me. Too many cocks on the dance floor. Bottle shops closing at 8pm. Impotence. I could go on…

She doesn’t even know what’s coming! Or what’s not coming…

As much as I would like to write something enlightening, spiritual and/or truly profound, that might hopefully invoke feelings of clarity in the readers of my posts, I can’t help but continue to write about the kind of crap that slightly ill-adjusted child in your elementary school spouted after consuming multiple cans of full-sugar carbonated beverages that may or may not have been doped with amphetamines by his alcoholic reprobate parents.

My dad gave me some white powder and told me it was a special sherbet that I have to sniff!

We spent a rather significant percentage of working hours today discussing how we wanted to disembowel the culprits responsible for the half-concrete, half-dogshit hybrid that forms the surfaces of the Redfern footpaths. After having mused about the possibility of making videos in which we confront those responsible for these scars on our city, we decided being stabbed with HIV-infected needles and beaten to death by mobs of irate unemployed Redfern residents wasn’t really preferable to dying from physical exertion in bed with beautiful women; the only condition we can possibly comprehend ending our lives under.


We do, however, sincerely hope that the years of our denial of an omnipotent spiritual being are shown to be ill-lived when said being creates a localised hailstorm of festering dogshit directly above the guilty parties of the dogshit pandemic.

Thank you for your awesome manifestation of justice in the form of a literal shitstorm, Oh wise Lord.

In other news, I viewed a no-holds-barred marketing confession centred around the mass cruelty inherent in high-density farming. It wasn’t anything new to me, having watched Speciesism a few weeks back and being generally critical of the meat industry anyway; having been vegetarian since birth having maybe played a part in my left-wing view. Far from sitting on a high chair, watching these documentaries affected me as strongly as anyone else. Time and time again I find the meat defenders rallying behind such defenses as “agricultural practices are far more damaging to natural ecosystems than slaughtering livestock”. In reality, no vegetarian or vegan can claim to be following the most benevolent path unless they give up their entire way of life and live as a hermit in a cave, for humanity in the 21st century is a bane for far more reasons than the food industry.

I ain’t got my iPhone, or electricity, but… I got my heart, I got my soul, I got my back, I got my sex (although it’s a lot harder to come by without Tinder…)

The extent to which we have asserted our dominance at the expense of other species and even other cultures of humanity is so widespread and seemingly permanent that we can only hope to feel like we are making a difference. The movements for veganism, for gay rights, for safe working conditions in Bangladesh: all of these are like putting band-aids on the cuts that we are getting for crawling through a thorn bush. We won’t stop getting cut until we get out of the thorn bush and find another path. That’s not to say that I feel that those engaged in philanthropic activities are in any way expending their time in futility, but rather that we need to make changes on such a large scale it would be analogous to willing our blood to be blue.

Here’s another fish! “Can’t you teach me how to catch them?” Nah! Take the fuckin’ fish!

At some point, you have to accept that we are where we are, and without literally being crushed by the weight of the debt we have to repay, just repaying what we can.

You don’t have to turn vegan today. You don’t have to give all your money to charity. Just be aware of the sacrifices made so that you can google the restaurant you want to go to next week, or the layers upon layers of technological infrastructure that have amounted to your flight to Hawaii. Turn the world upside down in your mind, and live like your birth was a miracle rather than an inevitability.

We had to die for you to be here. Fuckin’ ungrateful prick.


Game of Thrones Wall Assault

There is absolutely no point in me punning the title of this show because I have seen every incarnation of it. There are probably more GoT themed porn films alone than episodes of Seinfeld. That aside, I just watched the latest episode of season 4 (episode 9 at the time of writing).



(I was going to add a cool button and shit to make it a bit more childproof, but then I decided not to)


The entire episode was about the wall. After seeing Oberyn’s head get transformed rather quickly into a brainy lasagne, I was more than happy to watch another plot line for a while. Not quite sure why the wildlings didn’t just go around the wall.

The Wall
Go around?

I’m not really hardcore into the series and I haven’t read the books, but according to this map of Westeros I found, the wall spans from some mountains to the sea. Assuming it is as cold as it looks, I don’t see why that sea wouldn’t be frozen and easily traversed by foot. Even if it wasn’t, the huge supply of wood would surely be enough to assemble some crude boats to make the trip. The Mance Rayder dude in charge of the army was a crow and would probably be aware of the technology to build a boat. It’s got to be easier than assaulting a wall that goes to the clouds?

Wooden Raft
We talked it through, and trying to attack a 700-foot tall wall is probably easier than building some shitty rafts and sailing around.

Similar story for the mountain route (Edit – This quote is from the GoT wikia:

“The Milkwater River carved a massive gorge through the Frostfangs which is practically as steep as the Wall itself, and which extends all the way to the ocean. The gorge is held to be as impassable as the Wall – though small raiding bands with climbing equipment have perilously managed to climb both at times.”

Even if it is ‘as impassable’, at least there is nobody throwing shit at you while you try to climb it…) Failing that, what about just tunneling through the wall? It is ice – It wouldn’t take that long for a few giants with epic pickaxes to just hack their way through.

The catapult of ice-wall siege weaponry.

Secondly, I thought there were 100 men in the Night’s Watch. Given the number of people I saw butchered on screen and the length of the battle in Castle Black, there are about 7 left now at best. That’s a bowling team. I understand that the producer probably knew that people want to watch a battle, not a gathering less numerous than the Latvian Teapot Eroticism fan club (now that I think about it, that probably has a legion of followers – fuck it, I’d join that out of curiosity), but seriously.

It’s even got built-in anal beads

Finally, as my equally disbelief-suspended friend pointed out, why did they drop the giant ice-anchor on the wall when there were 4 people climbing up? How much effort would it be to wait until they are a few metres below the top and then throw rocks at them, or even fucking snowballs made out of a mix of ice and hate?!

Deadly Snowball
100% effective at stopping people climbing up your wall. 30% effective at not cutting the shit out of your hand before you let go.


Tinder is pretty popular right now, as many of you may know given the chronic wrist pain you are all experiencing as you read this. Or why you are all so practised and efficient when the time comes to PayPass. Or when you notice that you walk to the left of approaching people in the street when you find them attractive and right when you don’t.


“Sometimes my hand just goes all Tindly – on the plus side masturbation does itself”

The unforgivably shallow nature of judging your fellow humans by a single two-dimensional snapshot of some moment in their life, without audio accompaniment, just leads to people filling in the blanks themselves. It’s therefore either going to lead to throwing away an opportunity to meet someone who you might actually hit it off with, or becoming infatuated with a person you know nothing about.

“I bet she even eats Weetbix in that outfit. It clearly represents her daily personality. Sold.”


Think about how many people using the application would actually look at a picture of someone they find attractive for whatever reason and contently tell themselves “okay – they look interesting but I don’t know them yet so I’ll hold back for now”. Some of you are saying “yeh I totes do that because I’m wise like a monk and shit”. No, you would like to think you don’t make conclusions or assumptions but you would be denying an imperative of our species’ social evolution if you were capable of that, and that would actually make you a monk.


“I’ve never been good with small talk – I just have a pet tiger to eat the competition”


As soon as you see a profile of someone you like, you don’t see a profile of someone you like – you just see someone you like. It is a case of assume the positive, and try to disprove, because we are all optimists at heart due to the nature of the media’s presentation of romance. As soon as you decide subconsciously that you are attracted to someone, you are going to favourably fill in the blanks inversely proportionately to the number of times you have been screwed over. That means Phil who never had a girlfriend is going to build a perfect caricature of a horny genius from a single picture of a girl with glasses and boobage, and Tracey who has been divorced twice might be more cautious about assuming the Adonis also excels at mathematics, courtship and fatherhood.


After the first conversation: you know you both like cats and baseball. *Extrapolates to everything else too*. Your mind is saying “they probably also have a whole family of handmade My Little Pony clay figurines on their bedside table, just like me!”.

“I feel like we know each other so well already”

Don’t extrapolate – I know hope is hard to hold back, and even harder not to replace with cynicism, but try to keep the slate blank before it has been written on. Expectation is going to disappoint everybody, and suggesting we should all expect the minimum is also not going to help you be a likeable person, because to live that view you have to actually be miserable.

Although, you can probably be reasonably accurate in perceiving that most men are on there for sex, and most women are on there for a daily bitesize confidence boost (it’s a good indication that anyone who gets as many messages as OkCupid suggests is going to develop a complex).


Dating Apps to Women

Dating Apps to Men


Happy swiping!


I have migrated here from Google’s Blogger because I have been advised by trusted sources that this site is a superior destination for the literary manifestations of my psyche, as well as the other shit. Now, about me. My name is Reginald Freecrotch and my life ambition is to invent a proximity gravity destabiliser to accomplish such lifelong endeavours as: 1) Creating a localised hub of sideways-growing trees and floating deer.

Floating Cats
I searched for floating animals. Apparently others out there share my dream.

2) Levidancing – yes friends, that is dancing in mid-air and could also be accomplished by going to space. Sadly, since birth I have been horribly allergic to space, which wouldn’t normally be obvious if it wasn’t for the fact that I AM FROM THERE and I feel that I should warn you of your impeding doom at the hands of my home planet’s Boop cannons (we named them that because they don’t make a sound in space so we gave them onomatopoeic names to compensate).

Fat naked dude
All the people on my planet make this guy look hot. So we will boop you all out of spite.

3) To create a wormhole from my bed to a brewery so I can get the good stuff fresher than the prince of Bel Air.

It helps me forget that time I woke up in the night after sleeping on my dong and thought it had been stolen by penis imps

Other than my ambitious scientific pursuits, I also enjoy potatoes, watching cat videos and the misfortune of others :)

Fart In Elevator
It was me.