eddowns:

I went to Uni,
I did, I did.
Three years of work, 
To earn a squid.
But hang on, what’s this? 
You can’t party yet.
You failed to miss
A soaring Hec’s debt.
A scheme by the Government
I bet, I bet.
So they can drive Porsches
And buy one or two pets.

hard it is to organise a threesome for lesbians? I mean, besides the fact that the overnight u-haul takes up two parking spaces, coordinating three different menstrual cycles is just fucking impossible. 

Yes, obviously I have an assignment due… how could you tell? What am I writing about vaginas again? That is so unlike me!

So vaginas, much  more interesting than diagnosing reading difficulties in perfectly healthy children whose parents handicap them by shoving them in front of a TV and then shoving over processed food down their throats. But I’m not allowed to talk about the little people I teach here, supposedly it is unprofessional and in poor taste to talk openly about the little fuckers you nurture from 9AM-3PM. So, what’s been going on since last we spoke… 

Ahh, yes, threesomes… sexy, sex time for all the family (metaphorical, non-plactonic, not related family, you know like the we are family scene from the Bird Cage, wait they were family… hmmm…. ok…. no family). 

Threesomes are fun and wholesome, they are the perfect lesson in sharing and they really do get you moving… There isn’t one bad thing about them… except… bleeding from your vagina… that’s right kids. Women bleed from their lady bits and it ain’t enjoyable. Well unless your into that kind of thing, no judging, it’s cool. As long and there are no children or animals involved I’m backing ya!

So T and I are organising our next sexual adventure with Christ, but jesus, it’s a task and half. This weekend I’m bleeding, the next weekend isn’t an option and the weekend after that T is bleeding… Then there is a big chance that the weekend after that Christ will be bleeding… Easter was a little late this year…. what an awful joke, let’s move on. Ok so, as you can see “no love”. And if Christ comes when one of us is out of action we will get all hot and bothered with no relief in sight! *Sigh*

It’s a hard life being an A moral bisexual, but I guess someone has to live it.  

In other news I am now officially a yuppie. Yes, you heard it here first. I bought, sorry, we bought an original painting. It’s amazing and I love it, but here was how the thought process went whilst I was deciding whether or not to buy it  ” I love it, it’s fucking overwhelming and intense. But it’s of an aboriginal woman… is it politically correct for me to have a life size painting of a black person breast feeding on my wall? Maybe I shouldn’t get it… is this all a little too condescending white crap? I wonder if the artist is aboriginal… would that matter? Fuck. Shit. Cunt. Fuck this white middle-class yuppie bullshit, she’s got boobs, buy the fucking picture”. So we did. 

So yes, that’s been the week, boobs and vaginas. Is there anything better?

Hello Children

Today we learn about the things you aren’t suppose to do with your siblings… No, jokes… Today we learn about how to best put off assignments and insult lecturers with your awesome vocabulary. 

So, here we are, it’s been a month since I posted and I hope you have all been thinking very seriously about my last post; meditating on the deeper meaning of satire and you role within it. 

So uni has been a blast. One of my lectures is the amalgamation of a bratz doll and a man transitioning to become a woman. She, as Pandora pointed out, shouts EVERYTHING, ALL THE TIME. I don’t like her much, overall she reminds me of a fat fifteen year old who never really learnt how to do her make up properly. She spends most of our workshops talking about her own interpretation of “big” sociological words. I find this terribly insulting. What’s worse, the other day in class I made a suggestion regarding socialism and she took it as an opportunity to explain to the class how she had only just come to understand the difference between communism and socialism… Perhaps I am just a little old fashioned but I would prefer to have a lecturer who understands the fundamental differences between the governments of Sweden and China… I was embarrassed for her. That just there is an example of when it is ok to lie. I am not an advocate of lying but that was an acceptable ‘abstaining from contributing to the truth’ moment. 

Some people haven’t returned this semester! Yahoo. The beefy Pekingese moved on. Not sure where too, Willy Wonker’s Chocolate Factory perhaps?

Things have been generally quite over this month. I collected a happy bundle from Temora on Saturday and it is now decorating my spare room. She brings me much enthusiasm and is currently talking to her swedish meatball via Skype…

I wish I could say life was grander, and perhaps it is but in all honesty I just couldn’t be bothered relaying it. Apologies… try pissing me off and then we will see what happens.

Ahh, the joys of ‘holidaying’. I have taken some time out and for some reason have found myself in a caravan park. Caravan parks, aren’t they just the place where all of our happiest memories are formed. Tourists… Mum, Dad, two point four-fifths of a child. The dog looks like Mum. Children, mix of Mum and dog. And Dad can’t be seen in them ?Then who’s the father? Postman, Milkman, Dog? The kids crying, screaming, “Mum can I buy this” “Mum watch this”. Fucking tourists, you can hear them in the small, disinfected smelling motel room: “Can I watch Foxtel”, “Look what’s in the bathroom”, “Jason, get your dick out of my arse, the kids are in the next room” Fucking tourists and their cars, Nissan Pathfinders, Patrols, Toyota Four Runners, Land Cruisers, never seen a dirt road in their lives. New colour in Soccer Mum Pristine White, dog children come free… Caravan parks; where the loveliest of memories are formed. 

So with the washing up and study piling up, I thought this would be a fantastic opportunity to update. And I know just the thing. Guess what annoys me more than a know it all… a know it all with a trumpet. A metaphoric trumpet that is. Those loud, uninformed know-it-alls who take any opportunity on offer to broadcast their views on whatever it is that is being talked about. You know, the type of person whose private life is far from private. It’s as if they feel this innate urge to share every personal detail of their world. And what’s worse, when they talk, it’s as if what they are really trying to say is ‘this is me screwing you. This is me on my pedestal, my soapbox and you have no idea how I got here, or if I am ever going to get down.’ Sure, there are plenty of people like this in the world, but there is one who time and time again brings a little vomit to my mouth. Her fair and horsey features incite the greatest of violent gestures in me. Mostly shoving objects, living or dead in her mouth to make her shut up. Her dress sense doesn’t leave much to the imagination and on regular occasions I fear her breasts. They are akin to Fatty MacFatFat’s only whilst eating you they would suffocate you with their diatribe, and to make matters worse, she is a bottle redhead… a fake ginger. I often think she would dye her pubic hair to instill a sense of physical equilibrium in her body hair. As if the continuity may one day lead to a biologically impossible transcendence. Sex with her would be like sex with a politically engaged Ronald MacDonald; lecturing a child whilst receiving head from some poor unfortunate who really didn’t realise what they were getting into.

It really is unfortunate that we must endure the presence of these people. But if we didn’t, what would Paidrestlessness have to write about… I was thinking on this today, and it is a little sick. The fact that I entertain an audience by isolating key features of a person we all know, heighten them and then rip them to shreds on the internet is a little sick. And perhaps the bigger question is what does this say about my audience? The reason I ask is because KD is convinced she made an appearance earlier in my blog. The character she is determined is herself is a two dimensional judgement based on one physical feature. Now if KD is convinced that this is her, than she is taking the news rather well, but would your reaction be the same if it were you? What if you recognised some aspect of yourself, an askewed fragment of your personality or physical feature plastered on this page for the whole world wide web to laugh at, to pity? How quick we are to laugh and banter about the people who make it onto this website… but have you been laughing yourself the whole time?

N.B. This is me screwing you.