Because apparently this shop keeper thought that a window display depicting a gallows gallery of hanging teddy bears would be an appropriate way to advertise her stock. P.S. I know. The title. I’m sorry. If you can think of a better teddy bear / genocide pun or portmanteau, please leave a comment!

A man walks into a Doctor’s office. These never end well, do they?

Here’s a very quick (and totally true) story about pirates (you guys know that I have a huge obsessions with pirates, right?), or, to be more precise, a story about one pirate in particular. It’s a super dumb story, and you’re going to love it.

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Religion has been a primary catalyst of war, genocide, murder, rape, destruction, oppression, segregation, and a million other overlapping offences during its reign over the human race; however, all of these I can forgive of religion, for one simple reason: It’s human nature, we’d do it anyway. The four horsemen of the apocalypse aren’t fictitious, they’re simply the personification of four common atrocities that have ravaged humanity since its inception two hundred thousands years ago. No, I can forgive religion of all these monstrous offences, because it’s just the convenient excuse. If we didn’t have religion, we’d inevitably think of some other scapegoat in our efforts to maim and kill and conquer one another.

However, there is one thing that I can never and will never forgive religion for (and note that I’m talking about the entirety of fundamentalist religion as a whole here; I’m not criticising any particular pious individual), and that is the promotion of an under-appreciation of the world around us; because to try and deny, forbid and oppress an understanding of the process of natural selection and evolution is throwing a tarp over the greatest masterpiece ever conceived. Continue reading

A short transcript of a conversation follows, wherein elusive billionaire Bruce Wayne takes an attractive, young lady to his bedroom.

Girl: Mister Wayne. How about we get these constricting clothes off.

Bruce: I was just about to suggest the same thing, young lady.

Girl: Oh, Mister Wayne, what a fine… wa – wait…

Bruce: What?

Girl: All those… scars. What the fuck?

Bruce: Oh, it’s just…

Girl: What the fuck!?

Bruce: I play polo, that’s all. It’s ra-

Girl: Jesus, fucking Jesus!

Bruce: -rather a dangerous sport. That’s all, don’t worry. Now, where were we…

Girl: Woah, woah. Polo? I’m not an idiot. I’m not a – a – a fucking idiot! Oh, god… you…

Bruce: I… what?

Girl: Oh, for fuck’s sake. You’re the fucking Batman, aren’t you.

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*ring ring* *ring ring* *ring ring*

*click*

Operator: Gooooood morning, suicide hotline.

Dave: Uh… hi. My name’s… Dave.

Operator: Well, how do you doodle-e do, Dave?

Dave: … … …

Operator: *audibly smiling*

Dave: Uh, well… not great, obviously.

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There are a lot of reasons why I should hate them, I’ll be honest. Like their neighbours in the land of rock-that-clearly-isn’t-actually-rock music, Coldplay, the Chili Peppers are one of those bands so devoid of personality, that it takes a not-unsubstantial portion of my energy just to hear someone say their name. It’s one of those easy-answer ‘favourite bands’ that are loved by people who aren’t so much fans of the music, but rather just fans of not having to sit in terrifying silence. The spider-feet guitar sounds mixed with the odd clunking bass and the nasal dross that makes up the vocals all congeal into a thick grey paste of oozing weariness that… I’ve just remembered that this wasn’t what this post was supposed to be about. Continue reading

Me: Okay, time to check Facebook.

Facebook App: Oh, hey. You, uh, want me to open?

Me: Yeah, thanks.

Facebook App: Ooh, might take a while.

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So I was at work yesterday when a young kid came in with his father. He was probably about eight years old, I guess (I’m pretty terrible at estimating kids’ ages), and was dressed from head to toe in a full body Spider-Man suit. Anyway, father and son began wandering the store; the dad was […]

Me: Yes, mother?

Mum: I didn’t text you, so what does ‘yes, mother’ mean? Mind you, it’s always nice to hear from you.

Me: I had a missed call from you earlier. Was that not you? My phone says it was you, and my phone never lies, mother.

Mum: I didn’t call, and I certainly didn’t call early in the morning. I must have sat on my phone or something.

Me: Have you been murdered? Am I now speaking to the person who killed you after you tried calling me for help? Admit it. You have to tell me if that’s true. Come on, man; don’t be a dick.

Mum: I can’t be a dick, I’m a girl; and also, I’m fairly sure that I’m alive. Maybe it was a call from a parallel world.

Me: But why would they have called me? On purpose, you think; or maybe it was solar interference scrambling the satellite signals. Maybe you were calling me from the future. You can’t disprove that.

Mum: Okay, whatever. I’m busy internet shopping. Don’t make me think, it’s scary.

Me: Yeah, the thought of you thinking does chill me to the bone. Tell your knock-off handbags I said hi.

Mum: Handbags are cheaper than psychiatrists.

Me: In your case, however, they clearly aren’t as effective.

Mum: That’s only because I haven’t found the right one.

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