risqué business

It’s Australia Day !

The day we celebrate the first fleet landing in 1788, warmly greeted as it was by the indigenous people who said “take all you want, but eat all you take!”…. why, what do other history books say?

But I don’t want to talk about any of that because it’s FUCKING DEPRESSING.

What I do want to talk about is our latest second-rate (in every sense of the word) plan. With so many bad movies out there, the world is ready for our latest project: the Sean-Connery-ifier. Hypothesis being that any bad movie can be instantly improved by digitally adding Sean Connery. Not ground-breaking research, but someone had to do it.

Exhibit A: “Gone Girl”. A train wreck of a movie, if a train wreck could somehow become even more horrific.


Before Sean:




After Sean:





Unfortunately, as brought to my attention by Sandra, Connery isn’t everyone’s receptacle of leaves. So to that end, we’ve put some alternatives in production, such as the Hasselhoffianator and Netanyahumatic. Watch this space!

So what’d the rest of you achieve today?


“fuck the shopping bag”


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something wicked these depths plumbed

First Monthly Meeting of the Great Minds of our Generation


In attendance:

Dick Cheney: Eater of Babies
Tony Abbott: “Prime” Minister
Bill Maher: Shock Cock
Sam Harris: “Author”
Campbell Newman: Not Ed Harris
Damien Morris: Local Legend
Miley Cyrus: Local Shitbag



Meeting commences 10.00am


Bill Maher: I hate all religions equally, Islam more equally than others.

Sam Harris: I disguise ranting as writing. Or is that the other way around.

Dick Cheney: You eat ONE baby and you’re the bad guy.

Damien Morris: One?

Dick Cheney: That’s on film anyway.

Campbell Newman: I’m not Ed Harris.

Tony Abbott: This human suit is getting harder and harder to put on, does anyone have a shoehorn, some pliers and a screwdriver?

Dick Cheney: Right here!

Bill Maher: I’d like to apologise on behalf of the west for the CIA torturing. Ha ha just kidding, that shit was ace.

Miley Cyrus: Hasn’t anyone noticed that I’m here yet?

Campbell Newman: I did.

Miley Cyrus: I loved you in “The Rock”.

Campbell Newman: Fuck you.

Damien Morris: So if we could just discuss the elephant in the room..

Tony Abbott: He’s not..

Damien Morris: Make a Joe Hockey joke now and you get a punch in the teeth.

Tony Abbott: Never mind.

Damien Morris: .. what are we performing for this year’s pageant?

Sam Harris: do I get to sing?

Damien Morris: Just shut up Harris, no one gives a fuck what you think.

Miley Cyrus: Ed Harris? You can sing?

Campbell Newman: *ripping open jacket to reveal explosives strapped to body* right, that’s it, I’ve had enough of that bullshit. Everybody get down. Everybody get down, now.

Damien Morris: I think that’s as good a point as any to adjourn. See you next month.


Meeting adjourned 10.47am





“my friend went all lord of the rings, bored the fuck out of me for 12 straight hours”

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aaaaand we’re back!

Second reich is BACK! Because: fuck you, that’s why.

Additionally, in the words of Jon Stewart, “2014 was a rough year for.. people”. So – what better way to combat the general doom and funk that’s descended over the globe than with some irreverence, loose talk and frivolity? I’m not sure, but in lieu of that – here we are.

I’d like to say that in the eleven years that we’ve been off the air we achieved fame and fortune, got a cover photo on TV Week and punched Deepak Chopra in the face, but that would be on the other side of the truth/bullshit spectrum.

Here are some of the things we missed during our 11-year absence:

  • Kevin Rudd and Julia Gillard playing pass-the-parcel (how ADORABLE)
  • The US eventually taking out Osama Bin Laden using the ingenious method of knocking on the compound door and replying “not the US government, honest!” when asked “who’s there?”
  • The Veronicas
  • Podcasts became a thing, as did Facebook and twitter
  • Your mother
  • And some other stuff

Surprisingly, a lot of our old content has held up well. I was expecting CringeFest 2015 when digging through our archives, but, whilst the lack of structure is palpable, a lot of the jokes hold up. So we’ll be slowly uploading the legacy content along with writing new articles – because that’s how much we love you.

Unfortunately it’s going to take some time as, originally, I archived the site across a combination of disk, accordion and paper tape, then proceeded to fire them out of a cannon to every last corner of the earth. So I have some work ahead of me with a knitting needle and a magnifying glass.

This time around we’ll all be making a commitment to stronger content, better writing and more overall polish. For about an hour anyway. Thats right – it’s a gen-u-ine R-E-V-I-V-A-L, second rate style! See you all on the flip..


“that’s the last time i go to a mad scientist to have my cataracts looked at”

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somehow i was never fired


From: Damien Morris
Date: Wednesday, 26 March 2008 11:03 AM
To: [most of the company]
Subject: From Gary Busey with Love

Hey all,

Today in [COMPANY NAME] Operations we finally saw the fruition of a project first gestated around 18 months ago (somewhat of an average turnaround in Ops) when we brought up our domestic transit links with [VENDOR].

What does this mean for you at home? Well, next time Steve Irwin or Peter Brock die we won¹t run out of Tier-1 bandwidth and cause half of Australia to mock and laugh at our horrendous page loading times. In plain English, we have a lot more capacity to the internet and have also reduced the steps between us and many of our users.

Special thanks go to:

* KW: who aided and abetted the negotiations with [VENDOR]
* SD: who did all the routing and switching fandangery and knows exactly what BGP stands for. He also continues to answer my IMs despite me being officially classified as “that annoying pest from Sydney”
* TY: Who was found crying on the floor of [DATACENTRE] when yet another set of SFP modules just wouldn¹t bring the links up.
* Jesus: for dying for our sins and giving us that four day weekend just past.
* Gary Busey: for being just a loveable crazy loon down Hollywood way.

(Apologies to anyone I’ve left out, it doesn’t mean I’ve forgotten, just that I don¹t care. Or it might be the other way around)

For the technically inclined:

I refuse to believe I¹m the only one to eschew traditional pastimes like going out and meeting women for the thrill of looking at bandwidth graphs, so here¹s the aggregate of our two new [VENDOR] Gig-E fibres:


As the details of all our internet uplinks (peering and transit) are outside the scope of this email (also, I’m lazy) you can get a top-level view and drill down from here:


Feel free to ask me any questions, I get lonely at times and tend to use any excuse to chatter incessantly.


Damien Morris

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Man, I hate waking up in the morning. There’s just something inherently evil about an alarm chirping loudly at you at seven in the morning, wrestling me mercilessly from my otherwise calm, serene sleep. I hate tearing myself from the warmth and comfort of my bed when I’d rather be a) sleeping b) sleeping c) sleeping or d) sailing (and I don’t like sailing).

This morning, however, my usual disposition was further dented when I looked inside my wallet and realised all my money must have totally fallen out of my wallet at the pub last night. At least, that’s the best I can ascertain from the evidence left before me (empty wallet, sore head, prayer for death). If only God would come down from Mars and smite me with his +10 mace, things would surely improve some.

Speaking of God, recently there was somewhat of a furore over some grease-stain on a fencepost in Coogee that vaguely resembled the Virgin Mary, probably about as much as that freaky guy sitting opposite me on the all stops to Hornsby last night looked like the late JC himself.

I never saw it, but I imagine it looked something like the enormous inflatable guys they stick out in front of tyre shops. The first time I saw one of those things, it scared the crap through me and therefore must be an effective promotional motif (as well as the cause of many horrific road accidents).

To that end, I’ve stood out the front of my own work a few times thrusting my arms into the air at random intervals in an effort to gain more patronage. It hasn’t worked very well, probably because my company doesn’t actually sell anything via retail channels, but just between you and me I gain some kind of weird and deeply confusing satisfaction from doing it anyway.

I’m going to slow the Earths rotation so we have an extra hour or two every night for sleep. Surely no one would notice nor care too much, except nightshift workers for which I have two words: Unlucky!

Z “maybe next week” B.


“When it’s time to party, we will party hard” – Andrew W.K.

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shrink-wrapped inspiration

Monday is the greatest day of the week. Do you know why? I’ll tell you why! I get to rub shoulders with the walking spammers that manifest themselves all over North Sydney Station on Monday mornings. You know, the people that shove stuff at you and start talking fly about your attire if you refuse to take it. So to avoid any further beatings to my fledgling self-confidence, I accept their generous offers.

So I put my feet up when I get to work and start sorting through this pile of amazing fab-grab. This is what I was holding:

* “Make $45000 a month from the comfort of your owwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwww” I couldn’t read the rest of this one as my finely attuned reflexes had already jettisoned it into the wastepaper bin at my feet.
* A nine-to-five magazine.. Looky, I could get a call centre job for $26,000pa! Mental note: Call these people and ask if they supply the noose above your desk.
* “Call me, Sara 04144444444444444444444444444” Yeah, like that’ll ever take off.
* NO WAR ON IRAQ. I agree. This’ll surely stop Bush and his army of liberationists.

Needless to say, all these melted trees end up jettisoned into the bin to become part of a picturesque landfill somewhere. Damn these spammers, they’re like the electronic kind only these actually show their faces in public. Next week, I’m bringing my garbage from home in with me and I’m going to stand there next to them handing pieces of it out, probably most of which will be hurled back at me admittedly, but at least the spammers are likely to get the message.

“You’re making a mockery of our profession” They’re sure to scream at me. “You’re making a mockery of my species,” I will reply triumphantly as I eat some stale sour cream.

And it will be the greatest day of my life.


“I love it, and so do you”

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on a wing and a prayer

So I was standing at finco today carefully preparing my delicious ‘staka dog’ (hot dog, mustard, ketchup, onions, grated cheese, thankyou drive through) when I saw a rather stunning female standing on the adjacent side of the ‘staka bar’. She was hogging the cheese so naturally I elbowed her aside as a way of introduction. She shot me a ditry look (along with some dirty words) to which I could only think of the reply “Why should I care? You’re hogging the cheese. Don’t keep me from my cheese.”

She replied, “Oh you wouldn’t. But that huge chunk of human flesh over there toting the football wearing the jersey emblazoned ‘Ung’ is my boyfriend, and judging by that enormous hand of his that is currently clasped around your throat, I’m assuming he cares somewhat more than you do.”

After Ung dropkicked my head into the nearby smiths chip display, a thought struck me as I sat in a pile of cheese and onion crisps. “Of course!” I said to myself, as Ung was too busy kicking me in the stomach to listen to anything I had to say (“No! Please! Stop, I can’t afford to die young, the world needs me!” didn’t have any effect either). “It’s all so simple and clear now – Yodanacity!”

So now that I’m out of intensive care, I can begin to share the magic of my discovery with you all. I should point out that the theory of Yodanacity was actually coined by sp00ge in a discussion that took place about a week ago, but it sounded cooler my way. Anyway, Yodanacity is the name for that intangible quality possessed by a group of people we’ll tout as “Yodas”. Before jumping to any boardgame conclusions, these “Yodas” in question have nothing to do with the little green man out of Star Wars, nor Yoda from Star Wars either.

Anyway, to see Yodanacity in action, just go out to your favourite pub/club/strip bar/back alley and pick any “Yoda” to keep an eye on. Watch them get swamped by most of the females in the place, receiving hugs, kisses, and occasionally even the odd quick dry shebang on the floor or toilet cubicle. You see that? They didn’t even get spat on once. Now, what’s causing that, you ask? Is it charisma? Charm? Self-confidence? Attitude? Good looks?

Nay, it is none of these. One word – Yodanacity.

We’ve decided to undertake an extensive research into this quite thrilling (boring) subject. Anyone that can donate a miniature camcorder would be rewarded with our everlasting gratitude (which usually lasts a little over a week); otherwise we’ll just use our eyes. Should our research prove successful, who knows what the future may hold? Bottled Yodanacity? Yodanacity lessons? Kicks to the groin? Loss of motor functions?

Only time will tell.

Dullest conversation of the week:

her: i have just finished sucking face with the rubber doll!
me: please, i’m eating!
her: oh well you’ll get over it!
me: not with my dinner all over your pantaloons, sunshine!
her: Its allright i was doing cpr and ear!!
me: you mated with a plastic doll? that’s disgusting!
her: of course i did *looks at you strangly*
me: keep your eyes off my strangly!
her: but i have rabies!
me: can i have that in writing?
her: no!


“And unless I’m very much mistaken.. Yes, I *am* very much mistaken..”

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