Furry Weapon of Mass Destruction (FWMD) seduces local surfer, 35, in ferocious daylight attack

Rueters: Local Cronulla surfer and barfly, Pete G, was seduced earlier today by a brown eyed 8 year old Malamute in a ferocious daylight attack, local sources said. The animal in question is rumoured to be none other than Sutherlands' notorious 'Furry Weapon of Mass Destruction' (FWMD), aka, Callie, Calisto, Oi, Noodle, Fred, etc. The dog's owner was unavailable for comfirmation of the incident, as he fled in a well dressed, sprightly manner in the direction of the local RSL when approached.
Serial surf bully and alcoholic Pete G was quoted as saying, "Wow, why can't all girls roll over for a shmacko?" in a slurred voice, "and she's nowhere near as hairy as my ex either!"
Residents have been warned to be on the lookout for a large, friendly dog pretending to be a possum and begging for shmackos.

How I became an Outlaw in Peru, a short story
Chapter two:
My relentless search for Carlos the Janitor

I will now relate the second Chapter of our story, the first stage of my search for Carlos the Janitor, incompetent handyman and murderer of my one true love.

As the only child to have survived the blast, due solely I believe, to Sister Marie sacrificing herself to save me (and not just leaning down to smack me again, as others have so spitefully insinuated), the responsibility to seek vengeance for the Sisters of Perpetual Longing fell to me. I was so young, so scared, but a white hot fire burned inside me, knowing that someone as beautiful and wonderful as Sister Marie could be taken from me due to the incompetence of an illiterate Bolivian janitor. My blood boiled.
Revenge would be mine.
So, I girded my loins and prepared for my journey (luckily, the aged gardener, Mr McWeevil, was able to explain what 'girding my loins' actually meant, and I did no permanent damage to myself).
I was ready to engage upon my quest.
Oh, what a proud sight, the surviving sisters, all standing, sitting in wheelchairs or in the care of stretcher bearers, forming a guard of honour to send me on my way!
I recall the Mother Superior, covered in bandages, wisps of smoke still curling from her beard.
I could have wept at the love and forgiveness on display that morning.
"You must go forth and smite our enemies!" said Mother Superior, in her best baritone, to which the surviving sisters yelled "Yeah!", "Kill that M***er F***er!", "Bust some caps!" and "Whut? I can't hear you dear, the explosion, you know?"
To the stamping of their hobnailed boots, I set off upon the journey which would consume the rest of my life.
The search for Carlos the Janitor.

The intervening years were full of hardship and heartbreak, as soon after I left the remains of the convent, I fell in with the 'Great Pacozoni' a musician, shyster and sometime stage magician, who claimed to be decended from an illicit rendezvous between a Prussian Count and a Latvian streetfighter. Or perhaps it was a Latvian Countess and a Prussian streetfighter? But I digress.
My time with the 'Great Pacozoni' was frequently dangerous, due mainly to the fact that we always seemed to be running away from somebody, normally a group of somebodies, in fact, to shouts of 'Stop thief!'
This was an interesting time in my life, but at night, all I could see in my dreams was Sister Marie's sweet face, and hear her beautiful voice, begging for vengeance.
I still had to find Carlos Velasquez, the Janitor, and exact revenge for my lost love.
Stealing, er loaning a rather significant sum from the 'Great Pacozoni', I took my leave and and found passage on a tramp steamer bound for South America.

To be continued.........................................

Moby is a prat. There can be no argument against his prattiness. Prat.
To quote this f**ktard's website:

"This weekend I went upstate to the Woodstock Farm Animal Sanctuary and spent the night and hung out with cows and goats and chickens and turkeys and sheep and pigs and cats and dogs (and people too, although the weekend was more about quadripeds than bipeds.....although the bipedal creatures were nice too). A farm sanctuary is a place where farm animals go to live out their lives free from the threat of being killed or tortured or made to suffer at the hands of the people."

Ok, d**kwad, I am so happy that you are caring and sharing enough to spend your weekend 'sharing your nights' with all of those animals. I must ask, have you ever considered joining the UN as a peacekeeper? The Jordanians in particular like to spend their nights with goats, but I am sure that you can introduce them to the joys of everything with an orifice?
By the way, Mobes old son (hey, if you've been intimate with animals, you won't mind the nickname, surely?). Listen up, a cow is a steak dinner and a leather jacket waiting to happen, no matter how much personality it has. In the immortal words of 'Bill and Ted', "San Demas Carnivores Rule!".
Oh, and you are a bald, effette wanker of whom all men should be ashamed. You prat.

How I became an Outlaw in Peru, a short story
Chapter One :
Sister Marie and the Temple of Boom

Sister Marie. Oh how you have opened an old wound by mentioning her name. She was twenty, and as fresh and beautiful as a spring day. I was just six, precocious, full of life and had just grazed my knee. Moving like a jungle cat, all grace and power, she leaned over me, held my small, sweaty hand in hers, "what beautiful fingers" I thought, and she said in her husky voice "does it hurt?"
Oh how it hurt looking up at her perfection, three times my age, and unobtainable due to her commitment to Christ and cold baths!
Suddenly she smiled and said "get up and stop crying, it's only a graze, you runt!"
We were unable to continue our conversation, as at that moment the large boiler in the basement of the Convent of The Sisters of Perpetual Longing exploded, scattering debris over a wide radius, including Sister Marie. The police later said that the boiler had been poorly maintained, and that the janitor had fled to Honduras. I decided to devote my life to tracking that man down and making him pay for costing me my first true love.

Soon, Chapter two : My relentless search for Carlos 'the Janitor'

Google Trends.com is not your friend. Remember that, you strange, strange man

According to Google Trends. com, Pakistan is the #1 for google searches for Goat sex, Animal sex, and Donkey sex! Oh, and also honour killing and rape. In the immortal words of Gomer Pyle, 'surprise, surprise, surprise!
Well, not really, I mean, look at the mischievious gleam in the eye of this little beauty?
I have changed my mind completely about the Middle East.
If I can find some investors, I can start up a 'Sex Tours' business in Pakistan, a la the crazy stuff that used to go on in Thailand and the Phillipines. And hey, the good thing, sickos, er customers, is that these pros can't testify against you!
I can see it now, the packed courtroom, the bewigged prosecutor telling a small goat "Please miss, one brragggh for no, two for yes".
Damn, I am going to be a fricking millionaire!

Okay, two posts in a row featuring bestiality, but hell, I was on a roll, so f**k off.

Reckon you're busier than a Beruit bricklayer? Not anymore old son
Israel has decided to act once and for all, on the threat posed by Hezbollah on their Northern border and it has to be said, it's been due for a long while.
These pathological thugs don't attack military targets or civil infrastructure, they want to wipe out the Jewish people. Even children are rationalised as targets because most Israeli citizens have to serve some term of military service. So to Hezbollah's thinking, when they kill a child, they are killing people who will be soldiers in the future.
Then, when Israel decides to act, they play the victim card.
Of course there will be innocent civilian casualties when Israel retaliates, because these murdering scum hide amongst the civil populace.
Lebanon doesn't help the situation, Hezbollah have a say in government, they are fed, clothed and protected whilst conducting a cowardly campaign of genocide on the Jewish people.
Then European governments and the UN chide Israel about 'proportionality' in their response. Who are they kidding? If Hezbollah had the aircraft and bombs, everyone knows what they would do, they have espoused it long enough.
Oh, and 'root causes' is an absolute cop-out, a murderer is a murderer, a soldier is a soldier, sometimes a man can be both, but generally, soldiers are held to a higher standard of morality.
Unlike cowardly murderers who attack civilians.
Also, I hope the Israelis are aware of the fact that there are thousands of Lebanese Australians over there at the moment, and they should be prepared for a retalitory strike involving a couple of hundred men with iron bars and baseball bats calling each other 'Bro' and trying to break the windscreens of anyone who wasn't involved in the strikes.
Just a heads up, thats all.
I can just see it now:
"Habib, bro, are you sure about this? It's just that big green thing doesn't look much like a Toyota Corolla, and what's that big long thing swinging around on us?"
"It's cool bro, um, just hold this baseball bat for me will ya, I'll be right back".
Cut to Schlomo the tank gunner "Aaiiee! Quick back up! One of them is a Cronulla veteran!"
Dak dak dak dak boom.

It's not much fun when 'cars' have the ability to fight back - huh, revenge of the cars, cool.

Finally, my chance to tamper with the unstoppable power of the atom has arrived
Apparently cursory planning approval has been given to build an Open Pool Light Water reactor at Lucas Heights, site of our country's only (small) research reactor.
Naturally every greenie within a 5000km radius will be going up in flames about now, even Senator Bob Brown will have to suspend his expedition to rescue gay whales to put his two bits in.
The usual suspects have already been on the news with the usual 'Oh God! Don't you realise that we could all be killed' rants.
Now, I am not a scientist, however I have read the views of some people who are qualified to speak about the dangers and advantages of another small reactor being built. Mostly, they seem to be for it.
Then we have the rant 'Oh God! Don't you realise that there will be an accident and all of your children will die!'
The current reactor provides radiopharmacuticals, in fact it is our only home grown source.
My nephew, who is nine, has cancer, in remission now thankfully. He benefited from the fact that he could receive chemotherapy, as have thousands of other children.
Thus, to all of the screaming naysayers, get f**ked.

I love the environment, but not more than the life of a child, and I don't believe that life should be held hostage to a belief system (and that is unfortunately what the environmental movement has become).
So, Senator Brown, go back to fellating fur seals or somesuch, and give everyone a break.

Disclaimer: No whales or small children were harmed during the writing of this post, however several fur seals were satisfied. Senator Brown has refused to comment.
(Apparently his mouth was full at the time).

If only George Negus' moustache could speak, the stories it could tell
Ah, I have such a warm feeling when I see George Negus on television, a feeling that there is a balance to the world.
After all, who better to tell me about all of the terrible things happening in my country than a man who lives in a villa in Tuscany?
Wanker.
But I do wonder, if Georges' moustache could talk, what would it have to say for itself?
Would it be ashamed of that one drunken awards night spent with Jana Wendt?
Or the time that Yasser Arafat totally lost control?
The public should be told!
Please George, stop gagging the lady tickler and let it tell all?
I for one wait with baited breath.
However, I won't hold it, that would just be childish.

Smiling like Jack Nicholson in 'The Shining' is not a good move on the first date
I recently went out to dinner with someone I met on the net, (yes, laugh it up), and found I was so nervous I was grinning like a maniac at everything she said. This is apparently not a good thing.
However, after imbibing several glasses of wine, I actually stopped grinning like a serial killer and started talking.
Since I am a person who could talk under wet concrete, that seemed to work well (she now thinks that I am not only deranged, but also impossible to shut up).
So much for first impressions.
After even more wine, I had decided to marry this woman, a decision not taken lightly, but based on the supposition that she did have a certain something about her.
She didn't run away.
She has taken my request under consideration, bless her, but for some reason isn't answering the phone?

The four legged Weapon of Mass Destruction strikes again
Oh, joy of joys, Calisto the wonderdog has brought me yet another example of nature's bounty.
Anyone who would like a half chewed and thoroughly dead possum, please apply.
What ever happened to the law of Natural Selection?
One would think that the possums around here would have learned by now, she is not just 'another big possum', but a warp ten killing machine hell bent on the decimation of the possum populace?
I do admit that she can appear quite fetching to people, however we are larger than the average mammal, (and on occasion, more intelligent), but I cannot bring myself to think that possums are that stupid?
No, I believe there is a darker motive, whereby possums are sacrificing themselves for the good of the group.
Think about it, she is busy chasing possum A, whilst possums B,C,D (hell, all of them) are raiding my vegie garden.
Such selflessness.
We could learn so much from our possum friends.
If the dog only stopped killing small, fast moving things.
Oh lord, when will this cycle of violence stop?
Here is a photo of the beast, please, I beg you, don't let this continue.

It might not be the kind you want, but at least it's sex
I have heard from a friend today about how prisoners in the Supermax facility here in NSW are upset by the fact that they have little (basically no) interaction with each other.
I just had to think, 'well, when your neighbours are notorious murderers and gang rapists, who wouldn't want to build bridges'?
I have visited Supermax, and had the displeasure of seeing Ivan Milat (batshit crazy, as it happens), make the simple act of dipping a biscuit in his tea appear chilling.
As a taxpayer, I say yes, let them all meet, in a nice confined space, then lock the door and turn your backs, dear screws.
I kind of like the idea of Bilal Skaf and his brother sneaking up on old 'Crazy Ivan' hoping to get a little 'summer loving' for themselves.
Most appropriate.

Global Warming / Cooling / Some bloody thing has killed my Goldfish
Oh, when will those pollution mongering b*****ds ever learn?
Today, TwinkleToes the goldfish (named for his distinct lack of same) has died.
Thank you for not signing the Kyoto Treaty, now his fishy blood is on your hands.
I refuse to belive he committed suicide by oxygen, this just smells like a conspiracy.
Well , he smells like something, anyway.

Update: And, final clue, didn't taste like chicken.

Swearing at people in Gibberish.
Being naturally gifted in Gibberish, and having to brave the mean streets of Sydney in peak hour, I have come up with a fun way to spend my time whilst idling along the idiot choked freeway.
I have found that, instead of the usual subtle 'f**k you!' which appears to be the norm, you can garner much more attention from swearing at people in Gibberish.
This is much harder than it sounds, as you first have to think in Gibberish to speak it.
Luckily, I am a fluent Gibberish thinker, and hence, speaker.
There is nothing as funny as screaming out the window in incomprehensible Gibber, and eliciting a stunnned 'huh?' look from someone.
Screaming 'markle jusit balfasted!', can indeed, when paired with appropriate hand gestures, be extremely rewarding, as it elicits not only the indignation, but also the confusion of the person being insulted.
I was lead to this discovery after having to catch cabs in Melbourne, and one journey in particular, the Punjabi cab driver could have been saying 'two pieces of flake, minimum chips, oh, and a bizarre sexual act from your mother' in urdu for all the comprehension he recieved.
So, that was my inspiration for studying this most ancient of verbal arts, and I am proud to say that so far, it has indeed been highly successful.

Well, hello world?
Hmmm, the all important first post, which will hopefully set the tone of the whole experience.
Oh f**k it, I hate writer's block, I really hope this isn't the precursor to a bout of (admittedly not very) literary performance anxiety?