28 May 2006
The One Night Stand blogger comes from nowhere, leaves one comment and then disappears never to be seen again
The Stalker is a blogger that always visits your blog using an IP blocker. Eventually they will be rumbled because all free IP blockers fail regularly and spectacularly. They just fucking do, people.
The Selfish Lover blogger will always comment first and yell 'Yay I’m first' without saying anything else. They cum, they leave and that’s all you will get from them.
Unrequited Love is when you adore someone else’s blog, you read it religiously, comment feverishly but they never fucking visit your blog. Eventually we give up on them and either read their stuff and not comment, or we get in a huff and stop visiting them entirely.
The Let’s Just Be Friends blogger forms a really good connection with you. They comment on your blog and you comment on theirs. Then just when you are feeling a connection with them their visits become scare and their comments half-arsed and nonsensical. Eventually they disappear entirely and it becomes clear that they were just dumping you kindly.
The I Can't Commit blogger visits you here and there. you know they love your work yet their visit patterns are sporadic and unpredictable. Somehow they just never become one of your tight gang.
The It's Just A Physical Thing blogger visits you regularly but only comments when there are dirty pictures on your posts.
The Deadbeat Dad blogger has a tons of profiles and starts up a succession of blogs that never really go anywhere. They use their profiles to cause shit in other bloggers lives and then shut up shop and move onto the next one.
The Slut blogger is someone who has a blogroll that fucking goes on forever yet doesn’t form blogging friendships of any substance. No one wants to invest time in forming a relationship with a blog slut although we are all very happy to drop in here and there and enjoy their charms.
The Blog Crush is one of the few blogging scenarios that can spill out into real life. It's unclear as to how many of these ever translate into physical relationships - perhaps y'all can let me know if you've ever actually hooked up with your blog crush.
The Happily Married blogger visits your blog, comments and lot and stays with your forever. You visit their blog and you remain loyal to them too. Blogging can be polygamous in this respect – we can all have several very happy marriages and no-one get jealous.
The Unhappily Married blogger is someone with whom you are constantly niggling. Really when it comes down to it you are coming to the conclusion that you loathe them. It is likely that you will end up in a huge blog spat at some stage and then finally seek a blogging divorce.
The Married Too Long blogger is someone who used to interact with you meaningfully but now is very obvious that they doesn’t actually read your posts. You can always tell when someone comments without having read your post or just skimmed through it and picked out keywords to comment on.
NOTE: there is a part of each of these types within us all.
SPECIAL NOTE TO EGAN: yet another serious post from me. I am on a roll with all this philosophy shit, huh?
23 May 2006
In my limited experience there seems to be two genres of falling for someone: the brutally awful vom-vom type and the kittens/roses/fluffy type.
The first type - Bad Love - is a merry little goblin who dances around your heart and then turns on you with a machine gun. Actually Bad Love is fairly easy to spot thanks to our inbuilt gut instincts, although most of us choose to interpret these signals as the urge to take a crap.
The second type – Good Love – is a lot more enjoyable for you, but hideous for your mates who walk off from your lovestruck babbling feeling like their ears are bleeding. Your constant 100-watt smiles, glazed faraway facial expression and the “If you are going to walk on thin ice you might as well dance” attitude makes everyone want to stab themselves in the eye with a very sharp pen.
Either way you look at it, your friends draw the short straw every time you get the horn for someone new. Sometimes it goes on for months until eventually we either get together with our new love or the pin is pulled on our daydreams. And let’s face it - when the pin is pulled, Mr Grenade is not your friend.
Seeing as your friends are the ones that truly suffer every time you fall in love I think it is only fair that they be given the opportunity to circumvent all this crap.
I will get the ball rolling. From now onwards, anybody wishing to date me will need to apply to my Panel of Concerned Friends, chaired by the lovely Mone. You will be required to pay the application fee ($229) and attend a two hour interview during which you will be assessed to see whether or not you are boyfriendable.
- Your morals will be tested by your ability to avert your eyes when my best mate takes her top off.
- You will be required to pay for expensive champagne to gauge your Levels of Stinginess.
- You will be handed an inflatable butt plug and timed on how long it takes you to insert it.
- A large cat will be placed in your lap and if you flinch you will be scored as a cat hater.
- You will be required to display your penis to establish whether or not you have foreskin and if you do, exactly how flappy it is.
- Finally you will be asked to pitch the panel in 10 minutes or less as to why you believe that you are a suitable applicant for the position of My New Boyfriend.
The Panel’s decision will be final and no correspondence will be entered into.
I feel sure that I have covered all bases. If I have forgotten anything else that my panel should be considering I urge you to let me know. If you would like my panel to consider your application please say so and I will forward you the paperwork. Bear with me people...this tough love system benefits the whole world. Remember that love is a disease that pollutes the brain and renders a person part-retarded.
That is all. Thank you for your interest.
21 May 2006
I completed a very sobering exercise in self-analysis this week. Walking about with a notebook and a pen I was startled to discover that I average out at 9 lies per day. That’s almost the same as my daily fart tally! The only difference between me talking through my arse and blowing hot air out of it is that my lies smell fishy whereas my farts smell more like ripe bolognese.
Some of these untruths are vocational lies – the shit I spin my colleagues and clients in order to continue to appear diligent. I estimate that these account for approximately 60% of my overall daily tally. Others are hobby lies – the crap I sprout to my mates about their weight, looks and cooking skills.
Then we add to the mix the semi-lies that I am certain even Jesus would be cool with – a bit of truth sprinkled in with a total fabrication. An example of valid semi-lying would be telling a telesales caller that there are no women under 40 living in your household and then hanging up.
Lies don’t have to be an outright statement – sometimes deception occurs when information is withheld. There are also more marginal forms of deception to consider - evasion, euphemism and exaggeration. This accounts for a lot of my non-truths – every time I write a blog post for example. Does that make it okay because it's for entertainment?
Lying seems to be so essential to life that bible-types even invented a good-lie category: the white lie. Lying to help someone else is probably covered by that genre and so is self-enhancement misrepresentations - lying to make yourself look better while not hurting another. My resume springs to mind here.
I’ve always considered myself to be an exceptionally honest person - a woman of enormous integrity. It is core to my identity as a human being and I loathe dishonesty in others. Completing this little exercise this week has shocked me senseless. I’m a complete cunt! I fib constantly! This must be addressed. If anyone has any bright ideas on how I can become a truthful person please sing out.
I know that god kills a little kitten every time you masturbate. I sure as fuck hope he doesn’t extend this to fibbing.
18 May 2006
Hands up those of you whose parents used those words to describe your genitals when you were a kid? It seems to me that I am the only person I know whose parents didn't teach their child words such as noo-noo, wee-wee or poo-poo to refer to their junk.
Mind you although my parents did have the balls to call a twat a twat and a knob a knob, I have to say I can't remember them ever needing to say out loud the words 'clitoris' or 'scrotum' in my entire life. And of course like all good parents, they did lie to me prolifically in other areas – my mother solemnly assured me my entire childhood that chopping onions made you cry black tears. I was 18 years old when I discovered that it was her mascara running.
So how is it that kids finally find out that the anatomically correct name for a doodle is in fact a cock? And armed with their newfound biology knowledge do they confront their parents and demand the truth, or does this become a taboo subject that is simply never discussed? If so, does this mean that families continue to call their genitals silly names long after the child has grown up? Do you – the adult – use your embarrassing childhood words to describe your nasties when talking to your parents now to this day? As a parent what words do you intend using on your own children?
Maybe we should just cut the crap and refer to all genitals when speaking to children under 10 as “Cheeseburgers”, yeah?
16 May 2006
It has of course occurred to me that possibly I simply have a freakish twat – although I have in the past enjoyed recreational fisting with my lady-friends I have never actually fisted myself and am therefore unable to make accurate comparison. No one ever lost their head up there to my knowledge either - although I did hear some muffled cries for help south of the border the last time I got back from holiday.
Now being a woman of science, I approached the mystery mathematically. Clearly I either have a hilariously short vagina or tampon string designers are all married to blue whales. What I do know with certainty is that my particular brand of tampon and its string measures out at a whopping 10 inches (25cm). After having sat on a ruler and marked my cave entrance with a piece of chalk I can report that – once I had removed the splinters – my vagina turned out to be a bit like a french fry – a mere 3 inches (8cm) long.
Making a note to ask Karen Little to kindly measure and report back to me the vaginal lengths of all of her patients, I decided continue my investigations and check out other women on my local adult sex site. Unlike the men’s section where penis size is a category (It’s amazing how many guys on the internet have 9 inch cocks) women’s vagina size is not. I immediately emailed the site administrator suggesting that they add a cavity depth category for ladies – I recommended they offer checkboxes labelled Grape, Orange or Watermelon to make it more feminine and less clinical.
So here I am now sitting at my computer and chewing the end of my ruler, and I have to say that I am just as confused as when I started: If my 3 inch vagina is normal (awaiting confirmation from Karen Little) and tampons in Australia are the same as everywhere else in the world yet most men have dicks that are 6 inches (9 inches if you hang out in chat rooms) then I think its clear to see the human anatomy is really quite fucking flawed and in fact the female vagina is totally way too small.
Fuck. No wonder we all end up having anal...
13 May 2006
11 May 2006
I made sure that I booked into my hotel and the conference under Tickersoid’s name – really it seem utterly pointless to get a bad reputation myself.
I have my conference entertainment down pat these days - after checking in and collecting ‘my’ conference name tag, I always take a seat at the very front row of the seminar. I make sure I am wearing a short skirt and no knickers and at timely intervals I entertain myself by opening my legs and flashing a clean-shaven beaver at the stunned male presenter. Not only are they unable to keep track of what they are saying but naturally they find it impossible to disguise their erections in front of 700 conference delegates. For maximum effect the flashing should always be timed for when they are in the middle of the stage rather than safely standing behind the podium.
A couple of tomato sauce sachets come in handy at work seminars. I pick a female audience member of the audience who is wearing white, wait for a tea break and then smear the contents of the sachet onto the middle of the seat of her chair. If you are very discreet you can even take photos of the look on her face when she returns and upload them to your blog afterwards.
But the part of work conferences I enjoy the most are the nightly social networking drinks functions. When I meet people I swap business cards with them as soon as I possibly can and then immediately assume their identity when speaking to the next person I meet. At the end of the conversation I hand them the last person’s business card, continuing this bad behaviour for the rest of the evening. By the end of the night not only have I confused the identities of the entire gathering but I have also made all sorts of outlandish promises in the name of other people in high positions.
Finally after checking out the next day I leave a plastic fake dog shit on the entrance stairs to the hotel. It goes without saying that I adorn it with a small paper flag with the photograph of the lead speaker on one side and
Anyhow. Enough about work stuff. Have y’all been behaving while I’ve been gone?
08 May 2006
As a top athlete I believe that the world would be a lot more interesting if shagging was declared a sport. Competitive Shagging is such a fantastic idea I am surprised the government isn’t implementing an Elite Athlete training scheme. Even feminists would love it - for the first time in history men would actually prefer to watch women’s sport.
Competitive Shagging is not an easy life. It requires years of mouth ulcers, groin injuries and crotch rot for those who are training in tropical climates. In return our heroes are subjected to the humiliation of soft-cock, the agony of premature ejaculation and shattered dreams of instant disqualification due to burst condoms – all in front of a packed stadium of hecklers yelling “Is it in yet??” as they climax to a Whitney Housten tune blaring through squeaky speakers.
Naturally athletes would compete in categories based on age, gender and sexual orientation. I propose to stage the inaugural World Rooting Championships with the following classes:
- Heterosexual (one-on-one male/female rooting)
- Homosexual (male)
- Homosexual – (female)
- Veterans (over 40)
- Masters (over 60)
- Mixed Doubles (team event - 2 couples per team)
Just like surfing, ice skating and gymnastics Competitive Shagging would be judged on both technical and creative execution. Like high board diving, points will be awarded for manoeuvres and multiplied by the degree of difficulty. A few examples that spring to mind are Oral (degree of difficulty 1.4), Anal (degree of difficulty 4.5) and for Teams, the Daisy Chain (degree of difficulty 5.1).
Sport is about fair play, so of course drugs cannot be condoned – as such I intend blood testing all
male competitors for Viagra before the contest. I am not sure yet whether I will allow Bookmakers or not in case they get arresting for pimping. We won’t have any cheerleaders either – a gaggle of strippers is just what the crowd needs to get them in the mood.
You cynical folk out there are probably wondering if is not simply a ploy to pull a root on my part? Not so - due to my commitment to ongoing celibacy I intend to take care of the commentating side of things with a style similar to that of a horse race commentator.
Auditions for the judging panel will be taking place in the next week or two. If you think you have what it takes please state your qualifications and experience. Note that masturbation is not a criteria and nor is the size of your porn collection.
06 May 2006
~d is a new reader to the Jungle. She is very fond of snail mail. I worry about this - if ever she sends me a letter I am going to have to get me one of them forensic pens to show up the traces of snail on the writing paper. I am not sure why she simply doesn't use a pen. She likes dentists, going to church on a Wednesday and I think she hangs out at the pharmacy a heck of a lot. She points at her crotch when people ask her the time - something more of us should start doing immediately.
Beast is a fitness fanatic who doesn't realise that only a nanna owns a lace handkerchief. His nickname for his arse is Karma which I think is really quite sweet and not very beastly at all. I am not sure what would happen if karma ever bit Beast on the arse. They could maybe turn it into a movie called Karma vs Karma. Beast works in a cloud of stale fart which is possibly why he has so much trouble with his algorithms.
Brooke is a schoolteacher who adamantly refuses to accept my amendments to her teaching curriculum despite the fact that I clearly can offer the children of America a wealth of wisdom when it comes to leading a virtuous life. Brooke has the sexiest profile picture of anyone I know, although frankly I think she's aged a bit since it was taken. Brooke hates scorpions, spelling mistakes and the smell of vomit. She likes beefy Australian blokes, cigarettes and Donna Summer. She's also got a thing about roses, bless her. Currently on a blogging hiatus, Brooke is steadfastly refusing to post until you all send her a picture of you naked. Just send them via me though - I will make sure she gets them.
Captain Carl is the sex magnet of the blogging world, despite being totally devoid of a human body he can call his own. Cappy through the ages has consisted of a Pee Wee Hermin in blogger form, a plastic 10" high little wee body and more recently a floating head without any body at all. It is difficult to imagine how poor Cappy continued to blog or satisfy his army of hot chicks with these limitations and one can only assume he has a very nimble nose. More recently Cappy has acquired the body of Beck - in all likelihood this is simply a ploy to win the heart of the lovely Ing who was too fucking busy to enter this contest. Adored by men and women alike our Cappy sails the high seas, breaking a woman's heart in every port.
ChickyBabe's blog is definitely in my top 3 favorites. This i find remarkable because it's not like she ever discusses vaginas or anything, however her writing is so enchanting it often brings tears to my eyes like a very very hot curry. ChickyBabe is TERRIBLY mysterious and I am certain that if she held an auction of a photograph of herself she would be a millionaire. I am convinced that ChickyBabe looks like Tyra Banks in real life and i am never wrong about these things.
Die Murane lives in Switzerland - the home of yodelling, large mountains and a funny-arse language that I am fucking sure isn't English. Die Murane is awfully nice even though his friends wear condoms on their heads. I totally recommend that you visit Die Murane and post on his blog in whatever language you feel like. In fact i think we should all go over there right now and have a foreign language post orgy. I'll do Zulu - you lot can quarrel amongst yourselves to decide who does French.
Dorian Gray might not be an actor but he certainly stars in several of my dirty dreams. Dorian is so smoking hot that when he was made, the lord created two of him. Yes people - Dorian is the twin brother of one of my very most favorite bloggers. I am certain you would all crap yourselves if you knew who it was. I am very much looking forward to the day when Dorian marries me like his brother promised me he would. I just hope i don't get the twins confused at bed time.
Egan makes amazing animal noises and pretends that he can speak French. That is probably because he is what Australians call a "Westie". Egan is currently on a well deserved holiday in Hawaii - we all worry terribly about him because works too damn hard. Egan has a massive family - from memory I think he has 24 siblings - and their names all start with an E. Egan is so fucking fantastic that there is a street named after him in Canberra.
Erin O'Brien is the best author in the world. Her hobbies are vacuuming, washing Ann Curry's hair and leaving cakes on the sidewalk. Erin's blog is a delight to read - the only blogger who has ever made an empty tube of toothpaste amusing. A very resourceful lass is our Erin - when she runs out of clean clothing she puts on her fuck-me boots and wears a newspaper instead of a dress. If any of you are in need of a good dental hygienist, speak to Erin - she has a very good relationship with hers.
You should all visit Frobisher's blog to view for yourselves where he keeps his testicles. If you do go and visit him I suggest you stop off at your supermarket and buy some cheap sausages to take along with you. He will thank you for that and no doubt share his girly vodka cocktails that he pretends that he only drinks to take away his hangovers. Frobisher would like to be re-incarnated as a girl in order to experience childbirth. He lists his hobbies as shitting in milk bottles and watching Kerry Katona videos.
Gav is a new age sensitive guy other than his open gawking at little Nikki Webster. Gav has a very clever 3 year old who we all turn to regularly when we need life's little mysteries solved. Vag likes to do NW crosswords, attend goat slapping swingers parties and has a violent disliking for parenthesis surrounding mobile phone numbers. A true romantic, everyone should go out on at least 3 dates with our Vag. And then blog about it afterwards.
Hal Perry likes to pretend that his name is not pronounced Hell. A damn fine actor living the rock and roll life in Los Angeles let me tell you from recent experience that Hal is also a fucking great tourist guide. He does have a very odd taste in sunglasses but i guess these acting types do tend to be somewhat flamboyant. Hal's favorite food is pizza and he likes Jim Morrison a lot. If you are looking for a leading man i suggest you go straight to Hell. oh and if you are looking for someone to play a 13 year old girl with blond pigtails? Hal can do that too. He even supplies his own dress.
Henri Banks is totally the biggest spunk in the whole world. He is also an artist extraordinaire, a quirky little photographer and a very kick-bum musician. Henri lives in Germany although his blog is in English so I'm not sure whether he can speak German or not. He lives in the world of white trash so i am not terribly sure where he throws his garbage that is not white. If it wasn't for the fact that Henri is my brother i would TOTALLY do him.
Jake is a Scot who never answers his freaking email. He rides a bicycle with his wiener exposed and is the only Scotsman I know who is allergic to alcohol. Jake likes karaoke, NotFunnyChicks and cricket. Jake is completely crap at Fantasy Football and even worse at online pool. Despite the fact that Jake owns his own personal cat he assures me that he is completely heterosexual. If Jake got off his lazy arse and started posting he would definitely be the most amusing blogger i know.
This is a real tough one to crack seeing as Jemison is a brand new reader on The Jungle - we can only hope that we didn't scare him away but indulging in a gang bang on his very first visit. A master of the Holdie Outie (visit his blog to see what that means) Jemison is a caring father who gives his child band aid to repair her broken balloons. Further adding to his cuteness is the fact that he serenades his wife under magnolia trees. Gentlemen: take note.
Jesus Toast was so named long before some poser copycat popped up on ebay pretending to be a vision on a bit of stale bread. Married to an Uma Thurman lookalike, Toastie is world famous for his You Must Choose blog and his artwork of nude woman. I am not sure if Toastie also paints nude men- i am scared to ask him in case he sends his dad after me. If ever you want a great night out on the town with strippers and all, just tell Toastie you want to sign a million dollar contract with him.
A thousand pages of typing is not enough to adequately praise our favorite Scientist and Earth Child - Josh Williams. Probably my all time favorite blogger (yeah yeah I know favoritism is bad form) Josh is a friend of all moles and a gentleman to boot. Who do we all turn to when we need a batch of fresh cocaine cooked up? Where do we all run when we need money stolen from the poor to give to us, the poor? who is there to review our books even when we haven't actually written one? Step forward and allow us to worship you Josh Williams. You are an asset to Indianapolis and a man that mules worldwide are proud to count among their numbers.
Jozee loves tea although she keeps it as an ornament rather than something she drinks as one does. A great fan of shopping, Jozee works in a cafe that only appears to serve sausage and cheese. Jozee likes Janis Joplin and should definitely sing more often. If you want to marry Jozee, just ask her via instant messenger. Lads take note - fancy 'down on your knees' proposals are very 2005.
Le Chitalier is a rotting Chemist corpse with a wonderful sense of humour. Not fazed by the fact that she died at least 80 years ago, Le Chit is a shining example to old people who simply refuse to adopt modern technology. If ever you need to get hold of caffeine tablets, just drop by Le Chit's place. Of course you might want to wear nose plugs to disguise the smelling of decaying flesh, but i am fairly sure she's used to this by now. Le Chit loves coffin sex and rounding up virgins.
Maja is a Miss Clever Clogs geologist who spends her working life rubbing stones on glass to see if they are actually diamonds. Actually I am not sure if this is what geologists do - but I am sure its something to do with gravel. Maja has a sexy arse boyfriend who is also a bit of a lazy cunt when it comes to updating his blog. Maja is originally from Iceland and is therefore probably related to Bjork. I hope that she does not sing like Bjork. If you want to piss Maja off and you are male, just ask her for a plate at a barbecue.
Matty Matty Matty where do I start? Matty is joy to all those blessed with a wave of his fairy wand. Our Matty has a glamorous gay job in a glamorous gay dental surgery and is a shining example to all you kids that you can live your dream. Matty is also a dating machine despite me offering to set him up with a cute boyfriend in a snug pair of denim shorts. Matty is the sole reason that Barbra Streisand still goes on tour - without his publicity and selfless support she would be nothing. I urge you all to go read Matty's blog - he is a joy to read in an otherwise bleak world. Matty's view of the world is pink and sparkly and i think we all agree that a little bit of pink is never a bad thing. The thing i admire most about my lovely Matty is that he elected to be spanked with a paddle in high school in order to avoid detention. Matty is totally a winner to me.
Mone speaks in tongues on her blog, as well as entertaining us all with her English posts when she is not communicating with higher powers. You can always count on Mone to come to a party with heaps of whiskey but whatever you do, don't trust her with your dogs. Not unless you want them drunk in a corner somewhere. you can trust her with your cats though - and if you do hopefully she will post more pictures on her blog of her tits. EVERYONE SEND MONE YOUR CATS NOW.
Motor City Monk has a cat that you totally don't want to fuck with. Currently building a small house in which to keep his gimp, our Monk seems to spend a heck of a lot of time in his spa contemplating jet-stream orgasms. If you want to make Monk mad all you need to do is butcher a White Stripes tune and stand back and watch the sparks fly. Ladies, if ever you need a good book on anal sex, Monk knows where to get one from.
Morbid Misanthrope is well into dentistry and George Clooney. Famous for his ability to make gothic kids squeak, Morbid can be found eating sushi, caviar and tripe most days - that is when he's not standing outside airport terminals all night, shivering his nuts off and cursing the airlines. Anyone who needs to take out an restraining order should visit Morbid's blog immediately to discover all the ins and outs.
Nowhere Girl is amazing because she still uses a fax machine. If you visit her blog you should definitely not ask her whether she drinks or not. Always on the lookout for a decent carrot cake recipe, NWG is also a bit of a Thin Mint whore. She's also a total sucker for a nice set of new luggage and brand new pack of Sharpies.
Psychic Dumb Dumb is a dead ringer for Annie Defranco - oath. A woman of many talents, you have not lived and loved until you have had a Tarot reading done by PDD. Cheap and accurate - all you folk out there should stop what you are doing RIGHT NOW and head over to PDD's place for a reading. Not only is PDD a tarot reader extraordinaire, she is also a bloody good detective who is easily able to flush cowardly bullying co-workers out of the woodwork. Don't fuck with PDD - you simply won't win. PDD likes pink flamingos, has an outrageously handsome husband and a real name that would make your jaw drop. PDD is destined for greatness people. Start practicing your curtsies now.
Sausage is a mate who is very dear to my black heart. A friend through thick and thin, Sausage has been my anchor and my rock without whom I almost certainly would have shriveled up and died. A fellow Ron Jeremy fan our Sausage entertained me greatly in Los Angeles recently. She arranged for Simon Cowell to wave at me and she messed up the waxwork dummies specially for my entertainment. Although we would slit each other's throats in order to get at Axl Rose first we do truly love each other and i am happy to publicly state that in honour of our friendship she may have my sloppy seconds when I am finished with Axl. Sausage I love you very much indeed even though your hair is blue.
Steph is one of those chicks who simply never runs out of shoes. Not one to take crap from anyone our Steph is one of those chicks who stumbles across funny stuff on a daily basis. Steph can make anything situation hilarious but I warn you that her poetry is pretty fucking shocking. Steph has an army of fans who worship her like the goddess she is. If you ever meet Steph on a Big Night Out be sure to change her ringtone on her phone to something naff. she will pretend to be mad at you but I promise you she will be secretly very pleased. Give it a go - you know you want to.
Tickers is a total spunk who lives in a village with a comic book name. He is so funny and charming that I am certain he must be the local village crumpet. Although there are some who suspect he is a little bit gay, Tickers balances his pink-factor out nicely with bursts of karaoke and a butch job at the steel factory. Tickers likes Kylie shorts, starting fires and chicks with brown eyes. Don't ever go for lunch with Tickers - he can't tell the difference between a sandwich shop and optometrist. You might also want to get some household insurance before you let him anywhere near your kitchen.
Toby of the blinky eyes is a man of wit and wisdom. A law abiding citizen our Toby is president of our new as yet unnamed cult, an active member of the Seagull Extermination Society and a good contact to have should you ever need to find a body pickled in alcohol. Toby's wit and wisdom is greatly appreciated and I suggest you bookmark him immediately. He likes watching Blue Butt Monkeys piss on zoo keepers, feeding packing peanuts to his co-workers and reading Mad Magazine on the bus.
Traci-Lee Mott is a mate of mine from Essex. I score great weed from her but wish she would serve something other than chips and baked beans when I go to her house for tea. Her hobbies are soccer hooliganism, shifting stolen goods and palming her kids off onto her mum. Our Trace certainly does look after herself - she's not one to let her figure go despite having borne two mannerless children. Her boyfriend of the month likes track suit pants and gold plated jewelry.
Vince is an expert on extreme sports such as synchronised swimming. He practices extreme sport himself, having recently been on a butterfly watching holiday in Australia. Vince is very careful when he goes for a pee in case a lobster bites his dick off and is now contemplating purchasing a stainless steel penis muzzle. Go figure. Vince never eats tomato sauce in case PETA lock him up for being a cannibal and he's not afraid of showing tough guys on Harleys who's boss.
Wallycrawler is the chairman of the Canadian arm of the "I Love Tom Cruise" society. I get the vibe that he admires George Bush and Paris Hilton and although he has never said so, I am quite sure he is about to become a scientologist. Wallycrawler is everyone woman's dream and fantasy yet he remains modest and humble. Men of the worId I strongly recommend that you study Wally's moves if you want Jessica Alba to fart Happy Birthday to you. If Wally wasn't already married I would pay $1000 to spend a night with him.
Zen Wizard deserves a cheer for writing the longest blog posts known to cyberspace (other than this one of course - beat you at last, Zen) yet still somehow managing to be funny and entertaining. Zen likes to be tied up with his necktie but steadfastly refuses to admit to that openly. A lawyer by trade, Zen actually spends a lot of his day writing jolly long blogs. I am sure his employers don't mind one little bit. Zen lives in Georgia but is likely to retire in Montreal. He always says goodbye in falsetto.
04 May 2006
I was nestled on the branch of an oak tree today gleefully snooping on the rest of the jungle and scoffing on a piece of cheesecake (I do love cheesecake) when I realised that I am totally in the mood for a comment orgy.
So to kick start the filth and to see who has been paying attention lately I have provided y’all with a dirty little contest quiz. The blogger who gets the most questions correct will win a money-can’t-buy prize: a blog post on The Jungle written by me about them. Neat, huh? You may enter as many times as you want – this is an orgy after all – and I might even provide helpful clues as we go along if I feel like it.
- Name three sex toys owned by Jungle Jane?
- When was the last time Jungle Jane pulled a root? (month and year please)
- Is Jungle Jane heterosexual, lesbian or bi-sexual?
- How old is Jungle Jane?
- Who is Jungle Jane’s secret blog crush?
The last question is a bit of stinker but I couldn’t exactly hand it to you on a plate, could I? If you think that you may be my blog crush feel free to crawl out of the woodwork – lurking about the place isn’t exactly gonna win you that glowing blog post, is it?
02 May 2006
They make it so damn hard its no wonder that on checking the list of 10,000 Patron Saints currently annointed I couldn’t for the life of me find the Patron Saint of Blogging. What truly shocked me though is that despite the fact that world clearly needs more wanton rooting - not less - if you flick through the list you will find no fewer than 6 Patron Saints Against Sexual Temptation alone.
When you considering the hoops one has to jump through, I figured we best all pull together as a team and kick start the process for my canonisation right now.
Working through the requirements list it appears that we might be able to fast track my application. I have plenty of time and if we get Josh Williams onto starting a collection that means the money side of it is sorted. I’m sure it will be a walk in the park collecting testimonials – I know at least 3 bloggers who will verify as to my life of purity - so all that’s left is performing a couple of miracles and it’s in the bag.
My first miracle will be feeding 40,000 people with two loaves of bread and a limp fish. Anyone who has tasted my cooking will vouch for the fact that there is certain to be two untouched loaves of Janey bread and the faint smell of unwashed woman lingering in the air when everyone has left my dinner table. How easy was that?
My second miracle requires the assistance of you, the blogger. All I need is for one of you creative creatures to contract a deadly disease for me to cure and we’re sorted. I’d prefer it if you could keep the blistering and pus to a minimum and it would also be nice if you could avoid hacking coughs in my presence – you wouldn’t barf boogers all over Mother Theresa, would you? The blogger that comes up trumps with the most lethal and disgusting disease will be rewarded with a signed photograph of my tits. If one of you would kindly put your name down for leprosy I’ll add a bonus pic of my snatch.
Oh yeah and I don’t have a me a hymn or anything for my sainthood just yet but we all know the words to Waltzing Mathilda, right?