How To Detect Whether You Are Getting Rectally Penetrated


The world has become a very upsetting place.

There’s climate change, there’s below-inflation wage growth in non-executive positions, there’s militant veganism, there’s over-proliferation of cafeinated high-sugar high-acidity beverages in the modern consumerist society, there’s kids trapped in caves, kids in detention, kids not getting vaccinated, vaccines getting overtaken by superviruses, idiot drivers overtaking semis on the highway and getting totalled resulting in three-hour traffic jams, and pants that for some reason accentuate the asscrack as a part of their design.

Upsetting news reaches their audience very easily nowadays, and consequently there are a lot of upset people everywhere. In this atmosphere of low-level chaos, it is very easy to get unwittingly analled.

For example, some guy said something on TV and now you are upset, Then, some kids get stuck in some cave and now you are upset, then Iron Man showed up to save them in a phallic submarine and you are happy.

There is no discernable difference in the presentation of these fun, interactive events and collapsing ice shelves – after all, they all happen somewhere far away, unable to effect your life in any way.

And of course, there is no real difference, surely, between being upset about some orange dudes lying to people, and freshly revised tax laws in your own that furthers the wage growth gap between high and low income earners.

Since you are equally upset about these events they must be equivalents: kids trapped in a cave = bye iceshelf = me upset, some guy being rude = stilted tax rules = me angry.

Sure, except one anals you and one doesn’t.

Unsuspecting rectal penetration becomes a lot easier to detect when you diligently decide what to be upset about. Foreign kids in a cave? eh. Illegal immigrant kids? eh, not really. But why not really? Because your own kids, currently, cannot afford a quality education, and as a result you really don’t have to energy to worry about other peoples’ kids, so you just do some moral posturing and get on with it.

Upsetting, isn’t it, to not genuinely care about tens of thousands of displaced children? You will find that, once you are no longer being analed by a hyper-inflated for-profits education system that aims to make money instead of properly educate your own children, you are much more likely to care about other peoples’ kids.

So please, identify what’s analling you and let the rest go…for now. Get that unwanted phallus out of your ass first, be upset about Kylie Jenner not having a billion dollars later.






How To Be Attractive


People be saying to me, all the time, ‘damn dude, how you gon be so good-lookin and hyper-sexy all the time, what’s the deal brah?’ And I, the physical manifestation of humanity at its absolute zenith, always hit them back with a casual, nonchalant, ‘nah bro, you just ugly.’

Hyperbolic nonsense notwithstanding, here are three easy steps you can take to become more attractive:


  1. Three times a week, board an old old wooden ship, and write on the cabin wall the following words in 16-point Comic Sans:

‘Just Because I Swore To Father No Children Doesn’t Mean I Can’t Do My Aunt.’


2. Whenever you find yourself accidentally masturbating, hold up a mirror against your face and mutter the following words under your breath for a total of six seconds:

‘I don’t have money… but what I do have are a very particular set of skills. Skills I have acquired over a very long period of unemployment. Skills that make me a nightmare for people like you. If you let my neckbeard go now, that will be the end of it – I will not look for you, I will not pursue you… but if you don’t, I will look for you, I will find you… and I will be fabulous.’


3. If by now you are still not attractive, worry not. Simply buy a business class ticket to Japan and say the following to the clerk of the first convenient store you walk into:



More amazing tips to come!



How To Continuously Not Kill Yourself

stock-photo-regrets-wrong-doing-closeup-portrait-silly-young-woman-slapping-hand-on-head-having-duh-moment-384450757.jpgIn a completely arbitrary and totally made-up scenario, one day you find yourself spending a trivial amount of money at a food place using lots of change because, for some reason, the smallest denomination of coin is always the most abundant one in your possession, and you would like to exchange these disease-carrying pocket-stretching wallet-busting irrevocably-depreciated pieces of metal for essential goods and services.

After this brief yet excruciatingly pedantic transaction is completed, you walk away with some high-glucose negligible-nutrition-value yet mysteriously delicious pork buns, and reflect that the effort spent performing that particular human interaction was decidedly non-trivial, and could have been better spent sitting at your computer vacantly staring at the screen watching some guy talk about some shit for three hours.

It takes but a short logical leap, then, to realize that not a single party involved in that exchange wanted any part of it: you didn’t want the shitty food, it was pure sugar and processed carbs; the scowling old lady didn’t want to sell you the shitty food, she would rather be rich and spend every day shopping; the mint didn’t want to stamp those negative-value coins that were worth less than the metal from which they were made, but they have to because they were told to by decision-makers for whom the smallest denomination has three zeros after the one; and the guy in the three-hour podcast has long grown tired of his long-winded hyper-pedantic dives into why this good movie is bad and why that bad movie is a modern classic, but he has fans to placate and bills to pay, so he keeps going on and on and on.

You look around in bewilderment; your days are filled with these small nuisances that lead to small miseries; you look at the people around you and see these miseries manifest in everything they do.

A positive attitude is all you need to change this outlook! You tell yourself this, and immediately feels better. Then the next day you miss your bus because of extra intense bowel acrobatics. Then the delivery guy misplaces your item and now your cute anime girl figurine is nowhere to be found. Then some bureaucratic shit happens that you don’t fully understand, but suddenly you’ve got to pay a chunk of money and fill out a bunch of forms. Then you are left with nothing for lunch because you spent all your lunch money on the figurine. Then you get the nasty pork buns and they definitely do not look or taste as advertised.

At this stage, for the fourteenth time that day, you are ready to kill yourself. It is detestably strange that you are even feeling this way, since the day has plenty of good in it: there was that joke you heard in the morning which was really funny; there was the highly productive work you did which is maybe a million times more useful to humanity as a whole than selling pork buns; and there were all these people being nice, trying their best, helpful, working together, cohesive team environment, etc.

Then a random driver almost hits you and yells at you for being blind. You instinctively understand that he doesn’t really think you are blind, that these expletives are just a way for him to let off the nervous tension of almost hitting someone, yet him very reasonably losing his shit causes you to be angry and miserable. At what? At nothing. Miserable and angry at nothing, another small nuisance leading to a small misery, yet suddenly you want to off yourself again.

It is reasonable, then, to ask yourself why anyone would want to live in such an environment, where people indiscriminately inflict anger and misery onto everyone around them because they themselves are angry and miserable. In other words, why continuously decide not to kill yourself thirty times a day versus making the ‘ok I do that’ decision a single time and kill yourself?

The answer is pork buns. If you ded you won’t be able to eat dem delicious hotness no moar.

As your belly is filled and the balancing blood sugar levels return a semblance of sanity to your mind, you reflect that life is already too full of suicide-inducing little annoyances, and that you don’t need to add any more.

This is why you keep saying no a perfectly reasonable decision, a dozen times a day, a hundred times a week: you can make it a little less worse, just by being alive.

How To Forget


You are lying in bed, wide awake at 2am. You recall that on your plane trip earlier today, when the hostess asked whether you’d like chicken or fish for dinner, you, after four seconds of pensive silence (which is probably too long) and still unable to make up your mind due to giving exactly zero shits, give the answer of ‘chifishsehsch’ because you tried to say two words at the same time.

This response elicited a raised eyebrow and a slightly slackened jaw from the hostess – commonly known as the ‘Are-You-Retarded’ look – which had seemed amusing at first, but now, alone in the darkness and smelling the musty poorly-maintained aircon, you finally realise that, yes, dying of aerotic asphyxiation would be preferable to having to remember this brief yet excruciating exchange.

The only way to get over this inredeemable lapse in intelligence is, of course, by going to the convenience store and handing the clerk money, receive a confused look, then hand over increasingly enormous denominations until you realise you’ve been giving them the wrong currency.

You have now successfully forgotten the previous incident by starting a new one, kind of like putting a tattoo on top of an existing tattoo to make it uglier, or like electing a Liberal candidate to office thinking that it’ll improve things when you yourself have not improved in five years and still do the same thing every day every year and complain about the lack of real change.

Wait, what was the point of this blog again? Kinda forgot.


How To Send Thoughts And Prayers

15037467-sexy-a-hot-caucasian-girl-wearing-a-nun-outfit-in-sunny-day-outdoor-praying-looking-to-the-skyBilly was taking a stroll down the street when he saw his neighbor, Mr. Wang, struck by lightning. It really came out of nowhere – since it was a sunny forty-degree day and cloudless and why was he walking outside anyway when it’s so hot – so Billy was shocked, though not as shocked as Mr. Wang, who was on the ground and smoking from his ears.

Billy, still recovering from having witnessed such a tragedy, looked about. No one else was out; the houses all seemed empty. It felt as though he should be doing something about this situation, since Mr. Wang was clearly not getting up. Being a responsible citizen, Billy called for an ambulance.

Unfortunately, just as he hung up, Mr. Wang got up. He was completely unhurt even though he was misleadingly smoking from the ears a moment ago, but that just turned out to be a cigarette snuffed in the grass. Embarrassed, Billy told Mr. Wang that he had called an ambulance.

Mr. Wang became agitated, as he did not have ambulance insurance and this singular call out was going to cost 750 bucks. He began raving at Billy for being an idiot and told him that, since he was the one who made the call and left his name, Billy should foot the bill.

Billy was very embarrassed. Who knew Mr. Wang was going to be completely fine after getting hit by lightning; now he was stuck with paying out of his own pocket for a useless ambulance. Fortunately, Mr. Wang did not know which house he lived in, so Billy decided to make a mad dash for the next street over before Mr. Wang could wrangle the money out of him.

As he ran, Billy made a deal with himself: he’s not going to be so stupid next time and embarrass himself by sticking out his neck. And the whole thing was the lightning’s fault to start with – where did it even come from, how did it even get there, and why did it look so intimidating when it didn’t really do anything except making a fool out of him. Billy decided that all lightnings are bad and should be kicked out of the country and go back to where they came from.

When he turned a corner, he saw a bunch of aliens coming out of an UFO and walking into Mrs. Tate’s house with what looked like really long antenna rods. Suspicious looking bunch they were, what with the banner on the UFO (written conveniently in English) declaring EXTERMINATE ALL HUMANS, and loud screams were coming from the house.

Billy felt as if he should do something about it, since Mrs. Tate was clearly in trouble. Then he remembered Mr. Wang. He was already stuck with a 750-dollar bill the last time he tried to be helpful, and that could have been like twelve chicken schnitzels, so this time he decided to be extra careful as to avoid any embarrassments and financial detriments to himself.

Then it came to him – a way to both express his concern yet not actually do anything in case something he did came back to bite him. As he walked pasted Mrs. Tate’s house and the UFO, he gave them some Thoughts and Prayers, to let Mrs. Tate know that he, Billy, really really cared, and to send a firm message to the aliens that what they were doing was really really wrong.

As Billy turned another corner, he did not look on both sides of the street and was hit by the ambulance that was hurrying toward Mr. Wang’s house. Fortunately, the paramedics were unhurt and were prepared to treat him on the spot. With his dying-but-not-really breath, Billy informed them that Mr. Wang was OK, that the lightning didn’t do anything, so the ambulance could just go back to the depot without charging him for the callout.

The paramedics could not refuse the wish of a dying-but-not-really man, so they told Billy that alright, the fee will be waived. Billy was briefly very happy, until they told him that to treat his injuries the ambulance will have to carry him to a hospital, and that would cost 750 bucks.

Billy became very angry. Stupid ambulance, he thought to himself, if they didn’t exist they wouldn’t have ran him over and he wouldn’t have had to worry about paying the callout fee in the first place. He decided that ambulances were all bad and that they should be kicked out of the country and go back to where they came from.

But when he told the paramedics to leave him alone, they refused, since it was literally their job to help him. Angry, Billy told them that yeah, you can help me, but I’m not paying for anything ever. So the paramedics had to think long and hard about what to do. Then they came to a solution.

They left Billy with some Thoughts and Prayers and drove off. Billy, lying in a pool of blood in the middle of the road, felt really good about himself, for he has just saved a bunch of money and no one has made a fool out of him.

How To Get Over It



Get Over It, much like lube, can be applied to many things. Here are a few examples of things that should be easy to Get Over – the ‘Just Some Bullshit’ category:

  • No avocado for your toast;
  • Netflix doesn’t have the new season yet;
  • Mild annoyances, like littering or loud tourists.

These are trivial or near-trivial inconveniences: Avocado is not mandatory when eating bread; it takes time, bitch; when you see mild litter, just pick it up; when you see loud tourists, put on earphones. Easy, low-effort, on-the-spot Getting Over It.

One step up is the ‘meh’ category, which might elicit some feels but not that much:

  • The death of David Bowie/Robin Williams;
  • Some dick spouting obviously ignorant bullshit on social media;
  • The toilet is backed up cos some dick threw an entire roll of toilet paper into it.

This is a situational category, as a very small percentage of the population might feel much more strongly about these than other people: someone might be saved from suicide by music or comedy; the post might have engendered personal offense; and you might be desperate to take a dump.

If you find yourself triggered by one of these, remember: no one else cares as much as you.

The ‘meh’ category, much like lube, has its limits. For certain subjects, the percentage of the population that feels strongly about a subject may grow so large that it becomes a sizable minority – the ‘that’s a thing’ category. Examples include:

  • Too many immigrants;
  • Australia Day should be a Day of Mourning;
  • Muslims are bad.

These subjects are tougher to Get Over because of the number of people that feel strongly about them. Whether they are morally right or legally correct have no impact on whether a person feels strongly for one side or the other – a highly educated person can be adamantly opposed to Muslim immigrants, and a white kid who didn’t finish high school can be a champion for Aboriginal rights.

Importantly, it is OK to Not Get Over some of these, since they all have sensitive emotional triggers:

  • The whole point of immigrants is them taking up previously local jobs;
  • bunch of white dudes came over, killed half your family, then squatted in your house for two hundred years and told you to work together with them from now on;
  • Muslims are responsible for many high-profile acts of terrorism in the 21st century, and terrorism, much like lube, is scary.

More importantly, it is OK to argue for Getting Over Them, because many people still don’t care as much as you do about these things, and they react negatively to you acting so dramatic:

  • Meh, I’m employed;
  • Leave it alone we just want to have a day off with the family;
  • Yeah, scary, but you’re a thousand times more likely to die in a car accident, yet cars are not bad and you drive every day.

Most importantly, do not be confused about what is making you feel strongly. Example:

  • If Norwegian immigrants are OK but black and Asian ones are not, then it is not immigrants that you don’t like – it is blacks and Asians. i.e. a confused racist.
  • If your response to Aboriginals protesting Australia Day is ‘they should Get Over It’ instead of ‘it’s just a day off cut me some slack’ or ‘we just want to wave a flag and pretend to be patriotic, doesn’t matter which day’, then it is not them calling it Day of Mourning that is upsetting you – it is the fact that Aboriginals are protesting. i.e. how dare they protest, aka., racism in confusion.
  • If your argument for banning Muslims is not ‘I’m a coward, I don’t drive cos I might get run over, I don’t go outside cos the UV might give me skin cancer, and I don’t want Muslims cos I might die in a terrorist attack,’, but a combination of ‘Statistics show they’re more likely to be terrorists’ or ‘A culture that oppresses women have no place in our society’ or other soundbites that you don’t have strong feelings about, then it is not that Muslims are bad – it is you not liking Muslims, aka., generic racism.

When confronted by people who are upset that you are being racist, you might become confused and mightily offended – ‘wtf how is any of what I just said racist’ – and fortunately, there is an easy solution: just tell yourself what you would tell an Aboriginal person protesting Australia Day.

Get Over It.

How To Behave When Surrounded By Asians

Being Asian, walking the streets of a quaint little backwater Australian town that idolizes shiny steel balls and a nightlife that consists of getting drunk in a variety of faux-European settings, has always been an apprehensive experience.

It is hard to put into words what this experience is like, let alone describe it to those who inexplicably enjoy their nightly traipses along the same exact road, visiting the same exact shops, ordering the same exact decaf soy latte. Objectively, there isn’t that much to complain about. Whatever ethnic group one belongs to, it is easy to have a fun night out, quickly forget about the dozen homeless they’ve passed by, and return home at 7am reasonably satisfied.

That is, until one leaves this bubbled sanctuary and walks the streets of Shanghai, where it is not scantily-clad white girls that roam the streets half-pissed, but hot Asian women. It is difficult, then, to pretend that anyone, no matter how socially lubricated, can belong equally to both places.


Anecdotal evidence suggests it is not easy being a western foreigner in an Asian country. Predatory street-vendors, unnaturally courteous metro assistants, indelible salespersons with unironed shirts and lit cigarettes next to no-smoking signs in a basement store that sells cotton bedding, rude policemen – they flock to non-Asians like empty-skulled 20-something kid-adults flock to memes, trying to legally take your money.

Those confident myths about the ubiquitousness of English is widely overblown; no one speaks English, and even if they do, most will not speak it to you outside a professional setting. And why would they? Come to the country, speak the language – that is what Australians have always maintained. No need to look so confused when they speak Chinese to you in excruciating, childish slowness, oozing condescension – this is what you would’ve done the other way around.

Wherever one goes, any non-Asian skin color is basically a label that reads ‘I’M RICH’ directly above ‘RESPECT ME DAMMIT’, drawing to it all the scammy deals and courteous disrespect one can expect. This labelling has nothing to do with how long one has lived here or how well one can speak the language – it has only to do with skin color.

In casual 2-minute interactions – going to the bank, eating out, getting drunk at a bar, premature ejaculation – who you are, what you are, and what rights and respects are afforded to you are determined according to skin color the moment two people meet.

Again, anecdotal evidence – but then again, no one cares about scientific evidence and opinions are facts.

None of this applies when one is Asian, however. The locals immediately and unconditionally accepts Asians no matter how they dress (four times in a week, women unironically dressed in maid costumes – not for any professional purpose but just casually – have been spotted. Did not take pictures).

It matters not when these camouflaged foreigners can’t speak Chinese, or always get lost the moron-friendly zero-barrier subway system. They rarely get accosted by the various locals, and even if they do, their lack of basic language skill is never met with derision. Somehow, they are spoken to with normal-speed, non-condescending Chinese even though they have the same chance of understanding it as a deaf kookaburra.

This is because these Asian foreigners have already been judged as ‘one of us’, despite them being no less foreign than everyone else. The basis is, of course, appearance alone. Without knowing anything about them, they have been accepted by the locals because they look the same.

Of course, when one is a rational human being with satisfactory intelligence, this sort of judgment rarely applies beyond first-impressions. It’s hard to hold onto one’s prejudice – one way or another – when the Asian guy you thought was a local can’t even use chopsticks and listens to a vaguely homoerotic band called One Direction, whereas the black guy you thought was from Zimbabwe has actually lived here for ten years and speaks fluent Chinese.

But most don’t get past first impressions. People don’t have the time nor the desire to get to know you; most just want your money and be done with it.

Easiest impression to make – the color of one’s skin.


When an Asian guy walks down an Australian street, despite being as local as anyone could get without losing one’s cultural identity, one cannot escape the sense of constantly being judged from a distance, and whatever caricature that impression would form in the observer’s mind, it will not be ‘one of us’.

Which is cool. After all – as we’ve established – this happens the other way around as well.

Even when people, after forming such misconstrued first impressions, are unwilling to close that distance and properly assess the individual for who they are, it is still cool – they just might not give enough shits to get to know you.

Real social ramifications arise when there is time, and there is a structural need to get to know these ‘different’ people, to close that distance, yet due to fear and anxiety of admitting one’s own mistaken prejudices and/or the simple shyness of approaching a stranger, one does not.

Thus, the prejudices remain forever, cementing into caricatures – the defining of an individual with a few easily perceived visual or auditory traits – which then leads, unceremoniously, to racism.

(to be continued, cos 800 words is stretching it for avid readers of the 21st century)