Japanese Television Shits On Australian Television

Japanese culture is one of honour. This means, conversely, that it is necessarily a culture of shame for those who cannot meet these standards of honour. This is not a bad thing, however, because the power of this shame can be harnessed, and channelled into compelling prime-time television.

While in Australia we are fortunate to have many things, like Neighbours, funnel-web spiders and racism, one thing we do not have is compelling prime-time television. What is certain, needless to say, is that our Chinese friends from Japan do not share the same problem. This ingenuity is no surprise from the race that brought us The Baby Mop:
Ret baby mop froor

An example of this ingenuity on television is the groundbreaking Japanese game show, 男人的夢想游戲, which I think is roughly translated as “Sexually Objectifying Women While A Group Of Men Carry Out Ridiculous Tasks That Demean All Involved”, which consists largely of sexually objectifying women while a group of men carry out ridiculous tasks that demean all involved.

This is just as awesome as it sounds, as men carry out various challenges to try to see a woman naked. One involves a man throwing a ball at panels that are hiding a woman having a shower. The catch is that they must do so while on a slippery slide that angles down into a pool filled with, depending on the mood of the shows loveably sleazy and eccentric host, hot water, cold water, mud or if he’s feeling playful, boiling squid ink. The thrower is also tied to elastic that pulls him back down the slide and towards the pool, and he is also, for some reason, wearing only underwear.

Straight away I know what you’re thinking – genius. But it doesn’t end there. Every time the guy actually knocks out all the panels, the camera jumps, and in the shower instead of the attractive girl is this weird naked bald guy who then slides down with his legs up into the man who threw the ball and his team-mates. Hilarity inevitably ensues.

Meanwhile, in Australia, we have fucking Masterchef. This is a television show, as far as I can understand it, in which the audience is subjected to having to watch people cook meals. That’s it. Watching people cook. Or try another popular prime-time Australian show, The Biggest Loser, where the audience is made to watch extremely fat people in their underwear. And it's not even in a freakshow way, where the fatties are humiliated, an idea which might have potential; they're just trying to make a point about a healthy lifestyle. All this, when we could be watching guys try to see women shower and fall in boiling squid ink. What madness!

There is another challenge on that Japanese show involving a tank of water (boiling, of course) and a woman sitting on a stool wearing a bikini (obviously several sizes too small for her). The task requires the man (naturally in his underwear) to touch a sensor pad at the bottom of the tank of boiling water for the longest possible amount of time. His team-mates often are kind enough to assist him, usually by holding his head underwater or sitting on him. This sensor pad (now this is the genius part), is linked to the stool on which the girl is sitting, so that when it is activated the stool rocks from side to side, which in turn moves the girls body, leaving her scantily clad breasts little choice but to jiggle merrily.

While we are stuck watching The Block, the lucky fuckers in Japan are seeing jiggling boobies and a guy trying to rub ice on his burning skin. I mean, come on! Now The Block takes awful television to a new low. I know that to say something is like watching paint dry is a cliché for boredom, but watching people paint is getting way, way too close for comfort. Give me Japanese television any day! Even when the Japanese do a cooking show in Iron Chef, at least it has a host who feels the need to have a sword and bite capsicums, but feels no need to explain the presence of either of these things. Iron Chef  was on Australian TV, but not on a commercial channel, and certainly not prime-time.

We should have a show like they have in Japan called Silent Library, where participants must sit around a table in a library while performing humiliating and painful challenges, all the while trying to remain silent. Challenges include such brilliance as sitting on a pin, an old man taking his teeth out and nibbling your neck, or even having someone drive a remote control car into your forehead. You can’t write this stuff! It’s pure inspiration, and we need it over here before Channel Ten reach the logical conclusion of their reality television programming and release a show where each week contestants must compete for who can take the biggest shit. In fact, that’s what the show could be called: The Biggest Shitter.

Or, MasterShit.

Or maybe even, So You Think You Can Shit.

Kill me before that happens.


Note: I am aware that Hole In The Wall was trialled in Australia but it was unsuccessful, being toned down for the Australian audience not equipped to appreciate the existential beauty and postmodern poetics of smashing people with a big moving wall and watching them fall into a pool of water. So postmodern.
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Pope Benedict XVI’s Diary: Goes On Twitter, Watches Zoolander Stoned

 Dear Diary,

Christ, what a fucking day! The first thing I wake up to is my personal assistant, Bertoni, telling me that I had to rush breakfast because there was a lot on today. I was like, "bitch, this is my house!" What could be so urgent anyway? It was barely 1pm! To be fair, I've been getting absolutely done up the arse in the media lately for not realising that Pope John Paul II and John Paul Jones from Led Zeppelin are in fact different people. It probably didn't help that at his Beatification last month I quipped that by now his Soul had definitely found "a stairway to heaven". I guess now I know why nobody laughed. You would think being down with Led Zeppelin would be a good thing anyway, considering the drilling I've been getting for not being in touch with youth. There's this perception that the senior members of the Catholic Church aren't cool and that we're not "in touch with kids these days". It’s like, don’t worry about us, we're in touch with the kids.

I munched my Coco Pops down like a boss and looked over the research I had planned to do today on a recently discovered scroll that proclaims the reincarnation of Jesus may be among us in the guise of a chocolate-faced American rapper called Snoop Dogg. But there was no time for that, as Bertoni told me that we had a meeting with the cardinals today and that I was already 15 minutes late. I had already downloaded the Doggystyle album for my research! At this point I was thinking this day couldn't get worse! At least I found out that the horse I bet on last night – Beelzebub Billy – placed second, and I won fifty bucks. Suck it, Sportsbet. Winning!

The meeting with the cardinals was such a drag. I was so bored that I taxed Cardinal George Pell's iPhone while he went to take a piss and logged onto his Twitter account, tweeting: "In the joy of the Risen Lord, let us move forward. He will help us, and Mary, His Most Holy Mother, will be on our side. I love cock." I showed it to Cardinal Anthony and he immediately retweeted it. What a bold motherfucker!

At the meeting we discussed homosexuality, child abuse and the millions dying in Africa of AIDS due to our stance on condom use, but after a while we got bored and decided to come back to them at a later date. Besides, we had more important issues at hand – a referendum on whether or not to allow Wonder White to sponsor us and be added to the Lord's Prayer. I was hesitant, but "give us this day our daily Wonder White bread" both sounds good and brings in some extra cash. I heard some moans from the others, complaining that it goes against tradition and it'll be impossible to justify to Catholics. I just smiled and screamed, "Is this the Vati-CAN or the Vati-CAN'T!" The table erupted! People were like "tweet that shit!" or like “nice one homie!” or like “maybe we should think about getting some actual work done” and other shit like that. I think I've finally really found my place and become the funny one in the group.

At the end of the meeting someone suggested that we allow women to join the priesthood to match gender equality that is now common in the wider society. After a solid fifteen minutes of laughter, we realised that the meeting was over, and, I suggested that we retire to my house because I had torrented Zoolander last night. I'll never forget Cardinal Michael's face in tears of laughter after I said, "I can Benedict my own balls!" during the movie. I was being high fived like a motherfucker! The hilarity was compounded by Cardinal George’s realisation of what I had done to his Twitter account. He would've killed me if we weren't so baked at the time. Later on someone said something about the Sistine Chapel, to which I shouted, "More like Fistine Chapel...am I right guys?" which received only light chuckles. Deserved more, I would have thought.

So here I am, Diary, tired as a bitch. I seriously cbf with all the shit I have to deal with. I hope God guides me through, and I know He will, because I swear to Him, if I hear anything more about faggots getting married, condoms or how good Inception is, I'm going to lose my shit. Right now I gtg work on some jokes and bring the ruckus to the fellas tomorrow. 

Fuck it, I’m going to set up my own Twitter account so I can let the world hear about it. These gags are too good to waste!!! 

"Why is the Pope's semen so sweet? Because it’s Papal syrup!" PLZ RETWEET @barackobama @stephenhawking @ladygaga
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Man Vs. Club: Nightclubbing With Bear Grylls

Disclaimer: the following must be read in Bear Grylls’ accent. This is a quick reminder:

In the wild, I am no stranger to clubbing. For example, clubbing baby seals so that you can survive in the Arctic by eating their nutrient rich eyeballs is something that every survivalist worth their salt has had the privilege of experiencing at one point or another. But tonight, I am going right out of my comfort zone, and am trying a kind of clubbing that is completely alien to me – night clubbing. If I am going to survive this new environment, I am going to have to have my wits about me. As usual I will have with me just a flint, a knife and a water bottle.

I jump out of the helicopter about 500 feet above the club and open my parachute. As I come down over the powerlines, my parachute gets caught and I am forced to cut myself free. The club is 20 or so metres away and I am faced with my first obstacle. There is a line at the door.

I immediately locate a nearby bin. It might make you a bit squeamish, but out here you have to use everything at your disposal to survive. Any bit of rubbish you find in the wild could be the difference between life and death. Trawling through the bin catches the attention of the bouncers, but having found for myself the basic materials for a slingshot, they needn’t be a problem.

By bending a metal bar I found in the bin, I am able to make a basic frame for my slingshot. A used condom that I also found in the bin will suffice as the rubber to sling the projectiles. Using my knife to help dig out chunks of the road, I now have my ammunition. At this point, the two bouncers start to yell at me, one inquiring furiously, “what the shit are you doing, ya fucknut?”

Luckily I have my slingshot and I shoot a chunk of asphalt straight in between his eyes and a light spray of semen bounces back from the dinga, blinding me momentarily, but not before I see him hit the floor. The other bouncer comes towards me and before I can wipe the jizz off my face I fire off another piece of asphalt into his groin area. Bouncers are large, but if I can cop him one in the goolies, it could mean the difference between life and death. Luckily for me, my shot is true, and down he goes like a sack of shit.

As I step over the two writhing bodies on the pavement, I notice that the one I hit in the face has extraordinarily filthy ears. Earwax is incredibly rich in protein, and if I can just manage to get a nibble of it, it could be a great source of important vitamins. It might not be a gourmet dinner, but out here, every morsel of sustenance could mean the difference between life and death.

Without the bouncers, the line has made its way into the club, and I follow suit. I approach the counter, behind which is a very attractive female. I’ve pitched many tents in the wild before, but none more wild than the tent I’m pitching in my pants right now. She asks for ten dollars but I haggle her down to nine, because in this terrain, one dollar could be the difference between life and death.

Inside the club, the first thing I notice is the throbbing music coming from the dance floor. This will impair my ability to hear oncoming danger, so I must have my wits about me. The second thing I notice about the music is its hypnotic effect on the females in the club. Upon hearing the music, the females enter a sort of slut trance, where they lift a glass into the air, spread their legs and bounce up and down in the hope of attracting a mate. It’s been documented before that in the wild some females will do this for hours, except for the fat ones who normally give up after three or four songs. The males try to impress the females by matching their body movement whilst dancing, but this only seems to work for the black males, or ironically, homosexuals.

I look across the room and lock eyes with a female. She smiles and looks away, but I notice that she keeps glancing back. After expending a lot of energy flirting, she places her drink down on a wooden counter and walks towards me in an indicator of sexual interest. She begins to open her mouth but I quickly dodge to the left and then punch her in the face, causing her to fall instantly to the ground. Females are often the cause of headaches, and me not getting a headache could be the difference between life and death.

Following this act of survival I notice the two bruised bouncers approach me. They look furious, and it’s best to avoid them. In this situation, human beings are wired for a fight or flight response, but luckily for me, I remember an Amazonian tribal technique in how to deal with this situation. I take my penis out hoping to warn off the predatory bouncers, but for some reason this doesn’t work. I try to pull out the slingshot I made earlier but the spoof has stuck it firmly into my pocket. The bouncers pause in confusion and stop moving towards me. I remember the sincerity of the locals’ penis advice, and consider that perhaps I didn’t show enough of the balls. I put my hand down my trousers and flop out my genitalia. Just like last time this fails me, and the bouncers pick me up and carry me out of the club.

I walk out of the street and turn left on the main road to find a McDonald’s. After quickly nipping into the bathroom to drink my own urine, I order a cheeseburger. A cheeseburger at this time of night could be the difference between life and death. I leave McDonald’s and get a cab to the pick-up point. The driver stops the meter and asks for money. However, I tell him that in the wild there is no money, and I apologise and wish him well. He becomes visibly angry, so I remember what the Amazonians told me to do in this situation. I hum a spell they taught me, while shaking my penis at the driver before walking away towards the pick up point where I start a large fire to attract the attention of the helicopter.

This has been one of my most gruelling challenges yet, but thanks to used condoms and ancient Amazonian wisdom, I have survived.
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How University Has Ruined Disney Films for Me

As a child I loved Disney films. Even as I grew up, I still loved Disney movies. But each year of university has eaten away at that special relationship. I have since had to fill the hole left by that special relationship with something else, like my balls, or heroin. My tertiary education has ruined Disney films for me – possibly forever.

I want to start by saying that I love The Lion King, it's the best shit ever. It has everything, Fate, Good and Evil, bright colours...inter-species homosexual innuendo*. Basically, everything I look for in a kid’s movie.

But one first year politics subject has completely fucked it for me.

When I watched The Lion King again for the first time since starting uni, I was really struck by the failure of any of the characters to point out the established and inherent political failings of a hereditary monarchy. Why should Simba be king just because his dad was? If Mufasa was a gigolo (or gigolion…am I right?), would that mean that Simba absolutely just had to fulfil his destiny of being a gigolo (or gigolion…am I still right?)

Also, without the hereditary monarchy in place, Scar would never have had any claim to the throne. If Mufasa really was a good leader, the people could have voted him in, or perhaps he could have even implemented some sort of constitutional monarchy. I'm sure Rafiki would have made a good prime minister, like Berlusconi but without the hookers and Mafia.

In any case, I'm sure Rafiki would have thought of all this anyway. It's almost like Rafiki hasn’t even read Tom Paine's Common Sense. I find this hard to believe, especially given the baboon's unending wisdom and enviable worldliness, not to mention his impressively red arse.

And so I almost couldn't enjoy it, wondering the whole time what good it really is for the animals of Pride Rock to have enough to eat when in reality they are political prisoners of the apparently unending dynasty of tyrannical lion overlords.

University -1, Childhood - 0.

Another Disney film on my list is The Little Mermaid. I was never into it as a kid, but saw it for the first time as an adult (I use the term adult loosely, as while I was older than 18 when I first watched the film, the only thing “adult” about my reaction towards it was an appreciation for the fact that Ariel is a complete minx). I was horrified. Slightly aroused, but horrified.

Every subject that I have studied at university has devoted at least one week to talking about "gender". Gender is of course university language for a comprehensive study of the history of radical feminism. As such, I was dumbfounded that little girls were being showed this fucking mush that is The Little Mermaid. All this movie is doing is telling young girls that the best thing they can hope for is to marry some cracker-ass prince who is good looking and rich. This will make sure you can have pretty dresses and never have to work. All you have to do is change your whole life and identity for this honkey, including getting rid of your sexy fish bits!

If I’d seen that before university, I would have been like “wow pretty colours” and walked off to take a piss singing “under the sea”. But no, I felt the feminist in me being offended. Fuck that shit! I want my childhood back.

And if you think that these movies are both old and Disney have gotten their shit together, you thought wrong, bitch.

How about this bullshit fucking Up movie that came out recently? I mean, I don’t study physics or any shit like that but if you attached enough balloons to lift the weight of a house, there is no way that the whole house would lift up. Even if the strings were strong enough to hold the house, the roof would rip off the walls, or just fall apart. It's bullshit. No fucking way. Nuh-uh. What am I, an asshole? That shit is dumb.

Seriously, get your shit together, Disney, and make something believable, like Dumbo, and with a positive message, like that one where the train gets up the hill. Then I'll be happy, ‘cos right now, I might be paying to watch your movies, but I am not buying it.

*Timon and Pumba are so gay for each other.
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Is My Phone Giving Me Wack Predictive Texts?

I was sending an innocent text the other day and I noticed an odd suggestion pop up before my eyes. I have a HTC Legend phone (LEGEND!), and I really don't like having a touch screen keypad, particularly a QWERTY one. Because my stubby Italian fingers are not ready for the future world of the touch screen, I have a tendency to just hit the area where the letter is and hope my chubby mistypes are corrected by my clever little telefono. Often this is the case, but alas, often it is not.

So anyway I was starting this text the other day and it happened to begin with the word “hey”. Naturally, in my haste to deliver what was undoubtedly a hilarious message filled to the brim with impressive witticisms, I just mashed the keyboard around those letters to make the word “hey”, obviously with as little thought as dexterity. I don't know the magical combination of letters that I came out with, but I certainly remember the suggestion I was given..."UBERSEXUAL". I don't even know what that is...is it a thing? I thought maybe it could be the next thing that is going to come after “metrosexual”, although I can't imagine what that would be. Probably something to do with hair gel, or bestiality.

But it didn’t stop there. This kept happening to me. One time when I was typing “anyway”, I got “anus”. That's right. I got anus. Lucky it didn’t send, because I was writing to my Greek friend and I wouldn’t want him to get the wrong idea. Then, when I was trying to talk about a 3D movie, my phone suggested “3some” to me. One time I was even trying to type “Spearmint Rhino” (for some reason), and before I got very far, I was presented with the suggestion of “sperm”. That actually might actually have been a good suggestion, now that I think about it.

But that wasn’t the worst of it. When I was trying to type “really” one time, my phone came out with a suggestion of “redtube”.

It was there that I was forced to draw the line. At “redtube” I decided that it couldn’t be happening. There's no way my phone knows about Redtube. I thought that was my little secret. Well…maybe not little, but definitely a secret.

That was when I realised, maybe this was all in my head. My phone couldn't be suggesting all this stuff. No way. I mean, “UBERSEXUAL”, what the shit?
At first I felt relief - my phone was not, after all, conspiring against the purity of my thoughts. I never actually took a screenshot or anything, and I could never reproduce whatever I had typed to get these bizarre suggestions when I tried afterwards. I never even showed anyone. It couldn’t be real.

But then I thought, wait, what the fuck is going on in my head if I am actually imagining this? I mean, this is some wack shit going on up in this motherfucker!
If this were all in my head, what corner of my brain is coming up with “UBERSEXUAL”? What the fuck is wrong with me?

So I tried to express my disbelief in a text with that ultimate expletive anagram of ambiguity, “WTF”. But obviously, much like my mum’s abortion, things didn't go quite according to plan. Guess what my phone suggested when I wrote “WTF”...


I mean, what the ergonomic is going on?!

Seriously. I really should have just been like everyone else and got an iPhone.
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Why Jesus And Snoop Dogg Are The Same Person

Look, I know this topic is controversial, but just so you know, I’m not speculating that Snoop Dogg and Jesus are the same person. That’s ridiculous. All I’m doing is offering DEFINITIVE PROOF that Snoop Dogg and Jesus are the same person.

Snoop Dogg thinks He has us fooled. He thinks rhyming about placing His “nuts on your tonsils” and having “bitches in the living room getting it on” is enough to throw us off His scent. But why would Snoop want to hide the fact that He is the reincarnation of Jesus? Well, because, He remembered what happened to Him last time He was here. FUCK, that shit.

Snoop gives us enough hints even on a surface level. What is Snoop Dogg backwards? Ggod Poons. Coincidence? Another hint is His sixth studio album, Paid Tha Cost To Be Da Bo$$, which is obviously just a gangsta way of saying “I sacrificed myself to be your God”.

Even their personal histories are similar. The Bible writes that Jesus liked to hang out with the prostitute Mary Magdalene. Whilst some will say that the Bible doesn’t directly say that Mary was a prostitute, both Jesus Christ Superstar and Mel Gibson’s The Passion Of The Christ depict her as one, and it’s not like Mel Gibson would ever lie or say anything bad about a Jew, so I trust him. Interestingly, Snoop Dogg admitted in an interview that He was a “professional pimp” back in 2003 and 2004, whilst still preaching that He “don’t love dem hoes”. Both pimps obviously have meaningful connections with "dem hoes".

Jesus and His disciples, known collectively at the time as “da boyz”, attended a wedding party full of cheap Jews too stingy to pay for wine. Snoop also faced the same problem at the gangsta party He describes in Gin ‘N’ Juice: “Now, that, I got me some Seagram's gin/Everybody got their cups, but they ain’t chipped in”. Of course, both Jesus and Snoop Dogg do the Christian thing and inject both parties with alcohol, and no doubt in the morning many hilarious references to Sodom were made and several sixteen-year-old girls were looking for a ride home.

Not convinced yet?

"Then they will see the Son of Man coming in the clouds with great power and glory" Mark 13:26

“Guess who’s back in the motherfucking house/With a fat dick for your motherfucking mouth”
Snoop Dogg - Ain’t No Fun

"Why speakest thou unto them in parables?"
Matt 13:10

“So don't change the dizzle, turn it up a little/I got a living room full of fine dime brizzles/Waiting on the Pizzle, the Dizzle and the Shizzle/G's to the bizzack, now ladies here we gizzo”
Snoop Dogg - Drop It Like It’s Hot

“Watch out for false prophets. They come to you in sheep's clothing, but inwardly they are ferocious wolves. By their fruit you will recognize them”
Matthew 7:15

“Ya know, some of these niggas is so deceptive/Using my styles like a contraceptive/I hope ya get burnt, it seems ya haven't learnt/It's the nick nack patty whack, I still got the biggest sack”
Snoop Dogg

Hopefully, for those of you who were unaware, now you’ve noticed the undisputed similarities between Jesus, the holiest man in all of “history”, and Snoop Dogg, the rapper “with the biggest nuts”.

On top of all this, Snoop also raps “I fucked her on the floor so I wouldn’t mess up my bed/Then Lil' Half Dead put his dick on her head”. I don't have a direct quote from Jesus for this per se, but it's very similar to the general vibe of The New Testament.

See? DEFINITIVE PROOF!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
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