27 March 2006

Hobby killing

I realized yesterday as I was colour-coding my Serial Killer Hit List wall chart that the USA produces more of these suckers than any other country. Up to 85% of the world's serial killers live there and at any given time there are about 30 active serial killers engaging in their chosen sport.

Everyone should be on their guard unless you live in Africa - serial killers tend to be white, heterosexual males in their twenties and thirties who are frequently sexually dysfunctional and have low self-esteem. If any of you know anyone that fits this description I suggest you call Crime Stopper now, especially if you don’t actually know them personally - serial killers usually murder strangers. You should definitely be paranoid if they are the same race as you and you are female - serial killers tend to prey on women and children of their same race.

This is not just an aimless observation targeting young white men though - female serial killers tend to be like spiders, killing a succession of husbands, lovers, and other family members. They can also be nurses or other medical professionals who murder babies, the elderly or the terminally ill in a misguided effort to relieve their suffering. I am not sure if this means we should be wary of all married women or nurses but please report them too – it’s best to be on the safe side.

Most serial killers grew up in violent households and are sadistic in nature. As children many enjoyed torturing animals, setting fires and were chronic bed-wetters. As adults, many serial killers are highly intelligent charmers with a taste for alcohol and/or drugs. This worries me – usually these are precisely the qualities I look for in men I date.

Now before you think its all bad with serial killers let me tell you that jailed Bundies have groupies in their droves. Women write to these people, fall in love with them and even marry them. So if you are female and struggling to get laid, I urge you to cast your net a bit wider and post that letter.

Don’t get serial killers confused with mass murderers. Mass murderers do not have the cunning stealth and premeditated intent of today’s blog topic heroes. They are probably just pissed with bad postal service. I like to think that serial killing is more of a hobby – and let’s face it…everyone needs a hobby – whereas their chumpish mass murdering cousins are usually one hit wonders, saving the last bullet for themselves.

Now that you are educated in this matter - you're welcome! - I am thinking you all feel a whole bunch safer. Don’t leave it at that though – I urge you to take this quiz right now and let me know how you scored. I got 10 out of 10, which is a great relief when you consider my line of work…

25 March 2006


picture supplied by Die Murane

As you all know I am a top athlete. Well I appear to have been overdoing it somewhat recently – I’ve done so many sit-ups that my vagina has shifted upwards and is now nestled firmly between my tits. And before you all go “ooh aah - what a freak” let me assure you that my arsehole is now rested where my belly button used to be so I am still perfectly in proportion.

Yay! I don’t have to worry that men are staring at my breasts anymore – I am quite sure they are simply perving at my twat. Of course I now have to lean over the loo just to take a piss but at least my pubic grooming has become a heck of a lot easier.

I now cannot tell the difference between a menstrual cramp and heartache. As a further bonus, flicking my bean has become a whole bunch easier too – who would suspect that I am knocking the top off one when I simply appear to be scratching my chest? I don’t have to wear undies anymore either – I just pop on a padded bra and don’t give a second thought to incontinence.

Of course I have to be very careful not to perform a runny fart but at least I don’t have to worry about having a fat arse. I just suck in my belly and smile like a supermodel.

I have always been innovative. Feel free to worship me.

23 March 2006

Fat Cunt Thursday

Happy Fat Cunt Thursday from me and Sausage. We recommend that you spend the evening eating chips and scratching your nuts.

Once you have done that we recommend you swallow a box of laxatives so you can fit into your nice jeans on Skinny Arse Friday.

17 March 2006


It is ironic that one’s funeral is the greatest celebration that one has of one’s life. I’ve always thought it a great shame that I will miss mine due to the fact that I will be dead. All those friends, loved ones and relatives gathered in one place to worship me and yet the star of the show will be lying in a cheap cask pickled in formaldehyde.

Well fuck that people. I am going to have my funeral while I am still alive and then I will simply bequeath my corpse to the local necrophiliac society when I die.

I am going to arrange the whole thing myself – I will select a nice church, large vulgar bunches of flowers, a big fuck-off hearse with “just died - not” sprayed on it in foam and even a nice little phallic shaped gravestone with the epitaph “Janey rocks. And gives great head”.

Instead of friends and relatives giving speeches from behind a dias I will be speaking at my own funeral, reminding everyone of the wonderful life I am living now and how utterly fucking fantastic I am.

I want to see exactly who turns up at my funeral (so that I can amend my will according to who is a no-show) and what they have to say about me at the cocktail party afterward. I intend asking some of my female and transvestite friends to dress up as angels – they can stand at the entrance of the church throwing confetti. During the ceremony they can tie some old boots and tin cans to the hearse so that I can have a decent yet amusing send-off.

In order that we are able to celebrate my non death in the way that I live my real life we will be having a large lesbian gang bang the night before the ceremony. And for those of you that are unable to make the trip to Australia but still wish to be included in my will I will be webcasting the ceremony for your enjoyment. A blogging first I think we all agree.

You are requested to send beer rather than flowers and I suggest that you buy lots of onions so that you can shed buckets of tears. Amen.

14 March 2006

For Egan

Monkeys are cute little creatures native to jungles and Seattle. Fed up with being mistaken for chimps, these adorable critters even have their own awareness society – the Committee Uniting Needy Tree Simians. 

When they are not spontaneously masturbating at the dinner table, monkeys make fantastic pets! Their love of smearing shit on walls has saved many a discerning family from having to purchase artwork - for the price of a bunch of bananas and a pack of cigarettes who wouldn’t invest in one of these good natured and easy-to-tame primates? They are also extensively used in laboratory experiments and thank goodness for that – I am sure none of us want to die from using toxic lipstick.

Here are some facts that may surprise you about monkeys:

  • most monkeys prefer to use a Mac. Which is why they are monkeys I guess.
  • many monkeys have part-time jobs as George Bush impersonators
  • man did not evolve from monkeys – if this were true we wouldn’t still have monkeys
  • eagles may soar but monkeys don’t get sucked into jet engines
  • a Monkey Bath is a bath so hot that when lowering yourself in, you go: "Oo! Oo! Oo! Aa!Aa!Aa!".

All this teaching has left me drained yo. Lets wrap this sucker up with a nice bit of simian humour:

Question: What's got one leg, fur and bleeds?
Answer: Half a monkey

UPDATE: Monkeys LOVE swimming. They just don't like swimming ools because there is no P in them....

11 March 2006


logo by Toby

I was mugged today. I am still shaking so please excuse any rude language that I might use in this post.

What happened was that I went down to Bondi Beach earlier in the day as I normally do on a Saturday. Not to frolic in the sea or anything gay like that – just to score some weed from my dealer.

Anyhoooo after I had pulled a few cheeky cones behind the police station I got myself some fish and chips and went and hung out on the sand mentally taking notes of which chicks had fatter arses than I do. The score was about 70-30 (not in my favour) when I suddenly got a chilling feeling that I was being watched.

Now lethally trained martial artists like myself know that your best defence is to look about, assess the danger and then flee. Unfortunately today my number came up and I did not have the flight option – I was wholly cornered by a threatening, menacing, nasty pack of butt-ugly seagulls with one stealth mission in mind – my lunch.

The dirty fuckers had it all figured out. One created the diversion by landing on my head and while my arms were flailing about like a drowning tourist the bad boys moved in and stole my battered cod, my slice of lemon and my whole pack of chips one by one.

The chaos of arms and wings! The screeches of seagulls sounding like i just raped one of their babies! The feather flurry!

I pay tax. I demand answers:

  1. Since when do seagulls eat potato?
  2. Did they squeeze the lemon on the fish when they got back to headquarters?
  3. Was it really necessary to rub it in by crapping on my bare leg too?

When I was a child I used to enjoy hours of endless entertainment by feeding seagulls Alka Seltzer (google it if you don’t know what it is you lazy fucks) and chortling as their stomachs exploded from the gas as they flew off.

My childhood hobby along with my brother's support may be my salvation. I am now going to post notices around the whole of Bondi detailing my nightmare and asking others who have been mugged of their lunch to contact me. I will form the Seagull Retribution Society. We will have a logo and all.

Lock up your daughters people. This is war.

08 March 2006


Top athletes like myself accept that serving our sport requires suffering and sacrifice. That’s what I remind myself when I apply my nose clamps, floral swimming cap and water wings each morning as I plunge into other people’s urine in my local public swimming pool.

I am happy to swallow a bit of urine – I am sure it’s good for my complexion. What I would like to avoid is the lane rage I suffer from when I am training. Lane rage occurs when swimmers (usually men) refuse to comply with the Public Swimming Pool Code of Ethics that requests that you swim in a lane matching your swimming ability. Lane rage is very similar to road rage except the vehicle is your body and it's rare that one carries a crowbar into the pool.

You will NEVER see a bloke in the slow lane! These are provided for those who gasp through their laps like wounded seals often employing a made-up swimming style of their own crossed with doggy paddle. They are usually either old people, ladies who keep their head out the water so they don’t get their hair wet, the injured remedial crowd and people who simply cannot swim well.

The medium lane is the catch-all and there are usually several lanes devoted to you Medium folk. The rules in this lane is simple: keep to the left and don’t overtake near the wall in case you bash the person on the return path. Easy.

The fast lane is made available for top athletes like myself who thunder up and down like jet-skis. It is impolite to use anything other than freestyle in these lanes and even more impolite to enter this lane if you are slower than me.

Lane rage could be prevented if swimming pools appointed a more military style lifeguard who could belittle people swimming in a lane outside of their abilities. They could also exert their authority on people entering the swimming pool with band-aids and plasters. The aerodynamics of these vile devices are simple: they don’t stay on in the water and your fellow swimmer is bound to swallow your scabs. I also believe that there is place for the militants to detain and punish those that snort snot into the pool – and once again I am sorry to say that its usually the brothers that do that.

Perhaps the solution is to have gender-specific pools? That way the girls can politely swim in the lane of their ability and men can fight each other in the fast lane of their pool while their band-aids float about spreading germs on boats made out of snot. Sorted.

02 March 2006


All this shit about burning flags over cartoons made me realise that there are not enough JaneyFlags about.


You will need:
1 x colour printer
1 x JaneyPic (right)

1 x craft scissors
1 x cocktail stick
1 x pot of glue to sniff
1 x pot of glue for flag

Step 1:
Save your JaneyPic by right-clicking it and saving onto your desktop. Mac users, I’m fucked if I know how you do this – perhaps go to an internet cafĂ© and use a PC like the rest of the world?.

Step 2: Open the saved JaneyPic file, admire and worship my image for a few minutes and then print it out onto nice piece of white paper.

Step 3: Cut the printed image out carefully - mind you don't injure yourself with those craft scissors! Wrap the JaneyPic around the cocktail stick, glue it together and hold it firmly until dry. whilst are you standing about like a twat waiting the glue to dry sniff the other pot until you are high enough to be slightly crazy.

Step 4: Once completed you may either burn it, use it to decorate something or masturbate over it. If you chose to use it as a decoration please send me a picture and i will publish the best one. I would also like to see your masturbation pictures. thank you.